Shopping With Pretty

Only because it's you, I agree to go shopping. A whole day of schlepping around malls, shouldering through the trendy and the irritatingly stylish? Squeeeeeeal!! Count me in.

I hate fashion. Jeans are timeless, black t-shirts never go out of style, and these black leather boots were made for walking...over the next suburban, no ass, Lance-in-a-trance, baggy jeans wearin', FUBU sportin' wannabe with a goatee that trudges into my path. But, for you, I'll go.

And how you asked meant a lot. First, you wore one of the skirts you know I like. Butt hugging, mid thigh length. And those calf high black leather boots. A long sleeve, almost men's cut white shirt. With the cuffs unbuttoned, draped over your wrists. Long hair tied back loosely, soft and full. And those stockings. My, oh my, those stockings. Sheer, black thigh highs. But only you and I knew they were thigh highs. You knew because you chose them for what you knew they did to me. I knew because you chose to let me see them as you bent to get your purse. As you leaned over to ask me did I want to go.

And the way you asked me sealed the deal. "Wanna go to the mall with me?" Not "C'mon, please, baby, come to the mall, please, huh, please?” No, it was take it or leave it, big fella. But you wanted me to go, and you know I hate shopping, and you didn't put any conditions on it. You left it up to me.

Ok, the thigh highs helped.

So, off we went. You conceded the radio dial to me as you drove. You didn't even wince a little when I cranked Eddie Money singing "Shakin'" until the people around us stared. You even laughed when I rolled the window down and said to the car full of blue-hairs next to us, "So, whaddya think, a guy like me got a chance with you chicks?". Making you laugh means almost as much to me as making you, hey, I'm getting ahead of myself here.

I didn't say a word as we cruised the parking lot looking for a place to park even though we could have walked back and forth twice in the time it took to find a place close to the entrance. As I leveraged myself out of you "sporty" car, it seemed like I stood up forever before I could straighten out. Smiling down at you from over the car roof, the thought went through my mind, "If you weren't you, I wouldn't be here." As we walked to the entrance, you reached out to steady yourself on my arm as you bent to tug at your boot. That's the kind of thing that you do that knocks me out. So casual, yet so full of trust and confidence. Not a word, just the trust that I will stop and that you can depend on me.

Ok, the flash of thigh highs helped.

The mall was too hot, there were too many people, and I really don't feel comfortable in women's clothing stores. The walls are full of murals of twenty-year-old size twos who look like they could use a few months at Betty Ford. Please, fashion industry, start letting straight guys hire the models. And ladies, for what it's worth, boobs like half a volleyball on a boy's body is just gross.

Trying not to look too conspicuously out of place, I stand uncomfortably holding your bags while you browse at Victoria's Secrets. Oh, I have no problem being around women's underwear. Manys the time I've chewed my way through expensive panties. And let me tell you, spontaneity loses a little something when she yells at you for shredding a pair of thirty-dollar drawers. As it happens, you never did hold a grudge about that. Heh heh.

Anyway, after trying to erase the mental images of some of these size 20 women in a thong, I suddenly realized that I had lost track of you. Sighing, I start walking around the store. A saleslady, a salesgirl, really, comes up to me and asks, "Are you with the pretty girl with the long hair?” I tell her yes, and she tells me that you're in the dressing room in back, and you asked her to get me. "Thanks", I say, and she giggles as I walk to the rear of the store. "What's her deal?", I wonder. I feel like such a schmuck, a big, brawny guy carrying shopping bags from poofy clothing stores, but, hey, for you, I've endured jaw cramps, so what the hell?

I near the dressing rooms and I don't see you. I stand there, feeling really stupid, and wonder what I'm there for. Just as I decide that I should look for a seat, I hear you call my name. Looking towards your voice, I see a slender arm reach over the dressing room door, with a cream colored thong draped over one well manicured finger. "Baby?" The very husky reply. "Yes, babe?"

The finger holding the thong crooks at me. "Can you come here for a second?" In my head, I reply, "Well, duh." The bags hit the floor, and I try not to run as I move forward. Looking over the dressing room door, I stifle a moan. You stand facing away from me, looking in the mirror. My view is the best of both worlds, seeing you from behind and seeing your reflection in the mirror at the same time. You're holding the thong over your shoulder while you look at yourself. "Which one do you like better, baby? The cream colored or these?" You rotate your hips back and forth a couple times to show me.

I am speechless. As many times as I have seen you naked, the sight still blows me away. And you've chosen exactly the outfit you know drives me nuts. A pink satin thong that rides high on your round hips, and then dips out of sight between your firm, round asscheeks. The material is soft and clinging, not tight, cradling your closely trimmed mound. Your top is a spaghetti strap midriff shirt, hanging away from your flat belly, held out by your firm, full breasts. In your reflection, I can see you looking at yourself, appraising the lingerie and your body. You know you’re hot, and I love that about you. The casual, unaffected way you know who you are.

After a moment, you speak again. "Baby?" You look into my eyes, reflected in the mirror. "Babe, are you so tired from shopping you've lost the power of speech?" Your feigned wide-eyed innocence is maddening. Breaking my reverie, I say, "Smart ass. Yeah, I like the ones you have on. And I'll like 'em better when you have them off." Your throaty laugh vibrates through me. You look in the mirror again. "I'm not sure I like this material." You rub the satin covering your pussy. "What do you think?" You turn and step close to the door. "Feel it", you say, taking my arm.

"Are you nuts?” I manage to gasp. Still, I let you place my hand where you will. "Do you like how that feels?” you ask as my hand flattens against you. As my big hand rubs against the thong, you spread your legs slightly and rock your hips. My face is flushed, my temperature is rising, and my teeth are grinding. When I don't speak, you go on. "Well, anyway, I like how THIS feels." With that, you squeeze your thighs together, trapping my hand. Resting both hands on the door, you hunch your ass back and forth, grinding your pussy against my hand. You lean in and kiss my other hand where it rests on the top edge of the door. Your kisses are soft on my rough skin. Rocking against my hand, you begin to coat my palm and fingers with your wetness. "My baby is so sweet to go shopping with me." You look up at me, never stopping your erotic dance. "Even though you hate it, you did it for me." A gasp interrupts your speech, followed quickly by a low moan, accentuating the ever-stronger movement of your hips.

I look around, not wanting to stop this, yet not wanting to get arrested, either. Strangely, there is no one anywhere near the dressing room. But I know that someone is likely to come along soon. I look at you and say, "Sweetheart, let's go home. I really need to get you home." My cock begins to swell, straining against my jeans.

"Noooooo," you groan, "I don't wanna stop." Hissing, you lean in and nip at my hand as a tremor shakes your body. "Put your finger in me, baby." "C'mon, babe, please?" I ask. But I do as you say anyway. My thick finger slides aside the damp material, and I trace the length of your wet opening. As much as I can't believe what's happening, it is achingly real. "Oh, yes, lover, that's it. Oh my, that feels so good, you nasty boy." As I slide my finger gently inside you, you pivot your hips, dancing on my finger like a stripper. Your ready pussy is silkier than the satin material that covered it. Molten wetness begins to bathe my skin, the motion of your hips smearing it against my palm. Oblivious now to the threat of getting caught, I begin to fuck you with my finger, every so often running it's length over your raised bud. "Yes, baby, yes!", you gasp. "I'm gonna come soon, baby, faster!" I move my hand more quickly, rapidly pumping my finger in and out of your pussy. I stop for just a moment to ease a second finger in, and you scold me. "BABY! I'm almost there, really, really, really!" You barely stifle a shriek of pleasure, and with that, your body starts to quiver and shake as you come. Your teeth fasten into the skin on the back of my hand, and the pain is almost a thing of warmth. I rub my fingers firmly against your clit as you shiver. Then, as the tremors lessen, I stroke the walls and lips of your hungry, wet mound, avoiding your bud, knowing how sensitive it is right now.

You kiss the bite marks that you've left on my hand. I begin to withdraw my hand, and as I do, you stand on tiptoes to kiss me. Your soft, full lips part against mine, and your tongue darts into my mouth, teasing and exciting me. You break the kiss. "Oh, baby, you are such a sweet man." The throaty, breathy sound of your voice bathes my ears. A slight shiver passes through me. You step back and turn to look in the mirror. "Well, looks like I'm definitely buying this one," you say, sarcastically, as you finger the traces of damp on the thong. I laugh, and you turn, and with raised eyebrows, you ask, "Oh, you think that's funny?" With a quick move, you strip out of the thong and fling it at me. I snatch it out of the air, and hold it clasped in my hand. Knowing what it does to you, I bring it to my face and breath your scent. You stand with hands on hips, naked from the waist down.

It occurs to me again how unusual it is that we haven't been disturbed. Leaning back from the door, I look into the store. No one is anywhere near the dressing room. In fact, all the saleswomen are gathered near the entrance, talking. With a puzzled look, I turn to you. "Hey," I begin, "Doesn't it seem strange...."

"...that no one is bothering us?"

"Yeah."

"You got a great memory, Kreskin."

"What?"

"You didn't recognize the saleswoman, did you?"

"Should I?" I lean back and look at the woman we're discussing.

"You're lucky I love you for more than your brains. I've introduced you to her before. She's a friend of mine."

Starting, I jerk my head around to stare at you. "You arranged this?"

"Oh, who's the smart boy?"

I swallow hard. "She knows what we did?"

"She has a good idea what we did." You step to the door, and to my amazement, push on it to open it. Moving back, I stand speechless as the door opens. You motion me to one side, and as the door swings past me, you grab a fistful of my shirt, tugging me into the cubicle. "AND, she has a pretty good idea what we're about to do." As I stumble into the room, you move to stand between me and the door, pulling it shut and latching it.

I have never been more surprised in my life. As you begin unbuckling my belt, my heart thunders in my chest. Your nimble fingers unbutton my jeans, and pull them apart, the noise of the zipper opening impossibly loud. I gasp when your soft hand encircles my rigid cock. Your eyes are on my swollen flesh as you pump my cock slowly. "You didn't think I was just going to leave you like this, did you, baby?" Groaning, I cup your face in my hands and bring you to me. Kissing you deeply, fiercely, my big hands gentle on your skin. Pressing you to me, I grind my cock between us. "We'll have to work fast, big guy," you whisper in my ear, your breath a fire on my skin, your voice a flame in my mind. An engulfing ache builds inside me. I can't believe you're doing this for me. I slide my hands down your throat, down your shoulders, down your back, reaching to cup your ass. Bending my knees, I lift you effortlessly, your legs reaching out and encircling my waist. As I lift you up, holding you above my hard flesh, you whisper again. "All at once, darling. Take me all at once." Moaning my capitulation, I fit just the tip of my cock against your hot, eager flesh. "Now, baby, fuck me now," you demand.

But, now, I wait. The moment is in my hands as you wriggle and squirm in my grasp, trying to pull me into you. "Aw, c'mon, baby, fuck me now." You claw at my back, reaching beneath my arms, trying to pull yourself down over me. "You son of a bitch, stop teasing me, and put your cock in me now." I watch your face until our eyes lock, and in that instant, when I see the quizzical, surprised, frustrated look on your face, I release you. Your pussy stretches over me as my thick flesh drives into you. The almost agonized gasp that escapes you is my reward for being patient. As you slam home over me, I trap you against me and grind my hips against yours. In an effort to muffle your cries, you bite me hard on the shoulder. I can scarcely believe it, but you begin orgasming almost immediately. Turning, I pin you against the wall and begin to fuck you. The sound of our wet flesh as our hips slam together is loud, loud enough to be heard outside. My hips surge back and forth, my cock pistoning in your gripping pussy. Suddenly, I feel your nails claw my back. "Oh my God, baby, I can see us in the mirror." A quiet shriek, and you say, "Oh, God, I'm watching myself get fucked!" you say, and you begin to spasm over me. Something deep inside me breaks loose, and I bury my mouth against your neck and roar into your skin. Bending my knees, I gather and with a brutal thrust, fuck up into you. Your little fists pound against me as we thrash to climax, bodies battering each other, struggling to drag each other’s pleasure into ourselves. My thighs are straining, my legs locked as I crush you against the wall, fighting to get even deeper inside you. My orgasm races into you, and I feel yours wash over my cock and balls, painting me with your juices.

Bites and scratches and crushing embraces soften to kisses and caresses and cradling hugs. I realize that my face is wet, not only from your kisses, but from both our tears. Kissing you over and over, I slip from inside you as I raise you even higher, my arms around your waist, holding you up so that your face is even with mine. "I love you, Jenna," I whisper.

"I love you, Russell," you breathe back.

As your slender body slides down over mine, before your feet even hit the floor, I ask eagerly, "Don't you need to look for vacation clothes soon?"