Connor Anderson was hunched over and scribbling furiously in his notebook when the bell above the door jingled. For the last hour he'd been on a roll, he was in his fourth year of college studying Psychology and he supplemented his school fees and living expenses by working nights at the local liquor store. Being a Monday night, it had been slow and not at all steady, so he'd been able to get a lot of work done on his thesis while getting paid at the same time.
Looking up at the customer that had just entered, he could tell two things about her straight off.
One: She was incredibly cute. Wearing a skin-tight, canary-yellow top that hugged the generous curves of her breasts and a midnight-black mini-skirt that barely covered her thighs; she could turn the head of a man in traction. Her skin appeared pale in the fluorescent light and her face had been lightly applied with make-up, but what really grabbed his attention was her hair, it was simply lovely. Blond with strawberry highlights, it was tucked back into a simple and efficient pony-tail that bobbed up and down as she walked.
Two: She was underage, she looked twenty-two or twenty-three the way she was dressed and the way her face was done up, but her eyes gave her away. They flickered ever so slightly in his direction as she strode over to the spirits section and plucked a bottle of Vodka from the shelf.
Customers rarely did two of the things she just did. They rarely look at you when they enter the store, and they never look at you nervously if they do. Only in his experience would a girl that looked as young as she did walk directly over and pick up a bottle that fast. No browsing, no casual checking the prices of all the different types of Vodka, she just grabbed what she wanted and brought it over to the counter.
She gave him a quick smile and placed the bottle next to his Psychology text book.
"Just this one, please," she said, her voice soft and sad. She already had a note in her hand which was another giveaway. Customers never have their money ready to pay for their things, and that's a universal truth, not a generalization.
Connor almost let her off the hook. Her entire demeanor conveyed a melancholy that he couldn't miss, and his heart went out to her. He could let her go, but it would be wrong.
"I'll just need to see some I.D. thanks."
What little of a smile that was on her face was whisked away in the blink of an eye, and she dropped her eyes down to her hands and studied them for a long moment.
"I don't suppose the old 'it's in the car' ruse would work, would it?" There was no trace of humor in her voice at all.
"I'm really sorry, but I could lose my job if I sell it to you and I really can't afford for that to happen."
"It's okay," she said, lifting her gaze to his face and flashing him a somewhat sexy smile.
It was hard not to let his line of sight drift downwards to her breasts, they were simply mouthwatering. Round and well-shaped, they were like the negative version of a magnet and his eyes the positive, but somehow he resisted the force of their magnetism and kept his eyes on her face. Not that it was any hardship, far from it; she had one of the prettiest faces he'd ever seen.
"So you're taking Psychology are you?" she asked, tapping his open text book with her index finger.
"Uh...yeah, I'm in my fourth year at the moment, working on my thesis right now as a matter of fact."
"So you're going to be a psychologist when you finish then, huh?"
She seemed genuinely interested, or was it that she just appeared to seem genuinely interested? He couldn't tell, sometimes his logic circuits blew when he was around a pretty girl, and this occasion was no exception.
"I sure hope so; I'm not doing four years of studying just to work in Larry's Liquorland the rest of my life."
Then, before he could speak or tell her to stop, she walked around the counter and slipped her arms around his waist. Before he knew what was happening she moved her hands around to his ass and began to grope and squeeze it.
"So if I were a nymphomaniac, you'd be the one to come and see for that, would you?" she asked, her stare hot and simmering.
Connor was simply speechless, this was the most bizarre and incredible incident that had happened to him in his two year tenure at Larry's Liquorland, and he'd seen a lot of strange shit.
"I...you...well, ahem, it would depend on whether your promiscuity was disrupting your daily life or harming you in any way, either physically or psychologically. Plus, I'm not qualified to determine any of that yet."
"I'll make it easy for you to diagnose me, okay?"
Connor was about to tell her that maybe she should get around the other side of the counter, when she suddenly let go of his ass and with a small jump sat herself up on the counter, facing him and spreading her legs wide apart.
"Give me your hand, Connor."
How did she...? Oh right, the nametag.
Swallowing, he held his hand out and she slipped hers lightly around his wrist, urging it forward and into the dark area under her skirt. Trembling slightly, his hand touched the warm flesh of her inner-thigh and she released her grip on him, allowing him free movement and to be able to stroke her soft skin. Since she'd entered his field of vision his cock had been starting to rise – it was now at full salute and as hard as granite.
"Hmm, that feels nice. Now, good girls wear panties don't they, Connor. But nasty little sluts, well, they don't wear panties at all, they only get in the way of cock. I think you should check to make sure what I am – a good little girl or a filthy slut."
As his hand moved further and further towards the ultimate goal, she reached over and began to caress his shoulders and his neck, kneading and massaging his tingling skin.
She moaned softly when his fingers finally found her sex. Instead of being rough like most guys were, he gently traced his index finger along the folds of her lips. She was warm and soft, and he wanted nothing more than to slide his finger deep inside her. But he didn't, he just stroked her lightly and savored the sensation of her pussy.
"You like that, huh?" she asked with a teasing smile.
"Whoa yeah."
"Imagine how fucking it would feel, sliding your cock deep inside me and pounding away, I'll even let you cum in me if you like. All you have to do is turn your head away as I leave, and maybe after fucking me you'll forget all about the bottle of Vodka you had sitting on the counter."
And that's when it hit him like a fist slamming into his face. What he was doing was wrong, it was dead wrong!
His fingers jerked back from her pussy as if scalded and he backed away from her. She had a startled look in her eyes and her hands jumped from his shoulders.
Shaking his head back and forth he cursed himself silently. He knew that there was something wrong with her, that she wasn't thinking straight, and he'd almost taken advantage of her.
"What?" she asked, all trace of the sex kitten had blown away and the air of sadness had returned.
"That isn't who you are, you're not like that and you know it."
"How could you possibly know that?" She wasn't even angry, she was just miserable looking. "For all you know I could be every bit the slut that I state I am, you felt for yourself, I don't have any underwear on."
He walked over to her and pressed his hands against both her knees, easing her legs closed. Then he wrapped his hands around her waist and lifted her from the counter, doing it in a formal and businesslike manner.
"So," she persisted, "why don't you want to fuck me?"
He sighed inwardly, if only she knew how much he wanted to, that if she so much as reached out and grabbed him he'd probably be a goner.
"Do you promise not to interrupt me if I tell you?"
She nodded her head slowly.
"Okay, first of all, your panties, it doesn't mean a thing. You could simply have run out of clean underwear, or, sometime tonight you had a run in with a guy, which by the way, doesn't mean you're a slut. I'm thinking that maybe you were fooling around with your boyfriend and that something happened, your nose is slightly red as if you've been rubbing at it with a tissue and I can tell that you've reapplied makeup around your eyes. You've been crying.
"Add to this the fact that you're wearing a bra, it doesn't make sense. Guys have more trouble with bras than panties, I know I do, so you're more likely to go completely loose if you're going to slut yourself around town."
"Okay, you've figured out I'm not that much of a slut, I'm just not a very fuckable girl am I?"
"Are you kidding? Look at you, you're the epitome of my every fantasy."
That made her smile and it looked completely genuine. Her entire face transformed when the corners of her mouth tilted upwards and all he wanted to do was reach out and kiss her.
"So c'mon, if I'm so fuckworthy why won't you do it? A girl has pride you know and I'm kind of curious, it's not every day I get turned down for sex."
"Okay, one," he said, holding up his index finger, "a scenario springs to mind. I give you the alcohol and you drink it all straight away, you drive home and you crash, killing yourself or someone else."
"I didn't dri–"
"Two," he interrupted, holding his middle finger going up. "I fuck you and you take the alcohol home and no harm is done, right?"
"Right," she said, nodding.
"Wrong. What if later on down the track you're behind on your rent or you owe money on your credit card? Your waitress salary, or whatever your job is, isn't bringing in enough to cover either and you need to make some money on the side. You cast your mind back to today and realize that simply by fucking me you got something, so maybe you decide to do it for money next time.
