A relatively short stroker in this one.
Jon sees an attractive woman in the supermarket, he follows her. Marion is there to tease, to show off to men.
I've tried a couple of experiments in this piece. There's a shift in point-of-view – third- to first-person – between chapters. I'd be interested to see if there are any comments about it. Does it work or not, etc?
Anyway, I'll shut up and let you get on. Hope you enjoy it.
Thanks for reading.
GA – Burford, Oxfordshire – 13th of September 2014.
One
There was no mistake, he was definitely following her.
Marion smirked and feigned interest in tinned soup while the pulse in her clit quickened.
Just to make sure, she took another circuitous route around the big store. There was neither rhyme nor reason for the meandering circuit She sauntered from aisle to aisle, doubling back twice, pausing here and there to check a label or drop an item into the wire mesh basket.
And he was always there, sometimes behind her, sometimes in front. He was quite good at it, Marion thought to herself. Not too obvious. If she hadn't been looking out for just such an occurrence, he might have gone unnoticed.
Marion quite liked the look of him. She had him pegged at early twenties, which was far too young for her to entertain any serious notion of seduction, but she appreciated his attention. After all, attention was the primary reason for her visit to the vast shopping complex. She wasn't wandering the aisles of the supermarket with any intent of actually purchasing groceries, catching men's hungry stares, seeing the desire on their faces as they passed, a covetous glance or three from some poor bugger shackled to the wife was what she was after.
She was a teaser, enjoyed the thrill of flaunting her body and getting a response. Not that she went out all mutton dressed as lamb; Marion was aware of her years and dressed in a manner that she thought appropriate. It didn't have to be blatant – all high hems and tits on show. No fake tan and lashings of make-up for her.
No, Marion had class, good taste, exhibited a bit of style.
She kept her hair coloured a slightly lighter shade than her natural mousy-brown, nothing too startling, simply a touch of the sun-kissed, lightly streaked tresses she wore tied up in a casual mess – she was just a lady out shopping for food, a busy girl dressed down for the chore in denim jeans and grey crop top with bootlace straps.
Marion went for a less-is-more approach on the make-up, too. There was no getting away from the fact she was closer to fifty than forty, and she could accept a little evidence she might be getting on a bit – but she didn't trowel on the slap, just opted for a carefully crafted look.
When it came to dressing she emphasised what she saw as her positive points. Succeeding by packing her derriere into tight jeans, the size of her big round tits emphasised in a grey top moulded to her bosom.
Attired thus, she seemed to be the target for most male eyes, the black high heels completing the ensemble.
Marion sauntered, confident she looked good, pleased with her self-discipline in the gym, glad the abstinence had paid off.
Just for the hell of it, Marion turned suddenly. Her cute little stalker friend was a few feet behind her. She saw the surprise register in the widening of his eyes before his gaze flicked away, his cheeks reddening.
Feeling mischievous, the tingle between her legs turning to a flood of heat, nipples throbbing, Marion beamed a bright smile into the young man's face. She paused, letting him get a good look at her breasts, the teats prominent courtesy of a quarter-bra beneath the clinging top.
"Hello," she breathed, and then moved on, limbs trembling at being so daring.
Shocked at her own boldness, hugely embarrassed, Marion hurried to the end of the aisle. She quickly made her way to the section of the store laid out for women's clothing. It wasn't a place she'd normally be found – the clothes just weren't her style – but suddenly mortified at breaking her own rule about never letting on she knew they were looking, she needed a place to hide.
It took a few minutes of mindless browsing before Marion settled. She fingered garments with no idea of what she was really doing, not even registering colour, size, or texture of the clothes she handled.
Eventually, she calmed, cheeks ballooning, her light fringe lifted by the updraught when Marion exhaled through pursed lips.
She composed herself, checking her hair in a nearby mirror, adjusting the fit of her top before, with a surreptitious peep along the aisle immediately to her front Marin stepped out into the public eye.
He was nowhere to be seen, and Marion couldn't decide if she was relieved or disappointed. He'd been cute, easy on the eye. She went back to it, strolled the aisles of the supermarket for a few minutes more, part of her hoping to see the boy again.
When there was no sign of him she made a circuit of the mall, drifting in and out of various outlets, attracting a few looks. But, Marion decided, miffed at the dip in her mood, it wasn't quite right, she'd lost the sparkle. Her libido had cooled, set into hibernate mode.
"Well, fuck," Marion cursed, muttering to herself, her disappointment turning her mouth into a fixed and thin-lipped horizontal line.
She shook her head and sighed, considering a desultory drive home and a bottle of wine in front of the telly.
Outside it was a glorious day, a late afternoon made for pub beer gardens or a picnic by a river. Marion slipped her sunglasses down from her hair, the great lenses covering most of her face. Her confident strut across the pedestrian crossing, boobs leading, earned her a wide grin from a man in a white Transit van who stopped to let her cross.
Marion's mood lifted when she saw the cheeky smirk from the driver. She altered her gait so her breasts jiggled, throwing a sideways glance at the van, her body responding to the man's obvious interest.
She hummed to herself,
Beautiful Day
, U2, with the van driver's stare heavy on her swaying bottom as she left the crossing.
A bottle of wine and a session with her dildo, Marion thought, sexual urges rekindled. She could get a light buzz on from the alcohol before a teasing her clit with the heavier, more robust buzz of her BOB.
The battery-operated-boyfriend on her tight clitoris and a thick rubber cock in her pussy was how Marion saw it. She would build up a fantasy, taking her time, maybe even including the dark-haired young man she'd seen in the shops.
Her pace quickened as she approached the big silver Land Cruiser. Marion was so preoccupied with the fantasy already forming, eager to get home, get naked and a little tipsy so she could indulge in an evening of naughty thoughts that she didn't see the man until he was at her side.
Two
I couldn't help it. The attraction was instant, a fist grabbing my insides, a tug of desire that had my nerves singing. She was just so sexy, so hot: hair held up in a casual nest, the length of her legs exaggerated because of the heels, shapely bottom and spectacular boobs, every curve an appeal to the senses.
She had it all going on. I saw confidence, a mature lady with an abundance of spirit. She was no spring chicken but, in my opinion, was still way ahead of some of the vapid, plastic Barbies strutting around the streets. The lady had personality, not just an excess of arrogance I recognised in some of the cunty-faced trollops of my own age.
I didn't mean to be pervy, but I couldn't stop myself from keeping her in sight. I followed her around the supermarket for twenty minutes, shopping forgotten.
It occurred to me that I should just go up to her. I could make an honest, up-front approach. Sneaking around letching at her, a hard-on in my shorts as a constant companion wasn't going to achieve anything.
What was the worst that could happen? She could laugh and point and tell me to go away. It might be humiliating, but I was that far gone I was willing to give it a try.
But, whenever I buoyed myself up to actually do it, my nerve would fail. I'm not the most outgoing of personalities, and to walk up to a stunner like her went against the grain. I'm more a slow lead-in type, not your flash jack-the-lad with all the patter.
In the middle of an internal dialogue, as I revved myself up to make the move, she turned.
The heat rose in my face when she smiled and purred out that husky-voiced "hello". I couldn't help but gawp at the cherry stones of her nipples so clearly outlined against the grey strappy top she had on. Then, when I realised she must know I was ogling her tits, my cheeks burned hotter.
After that, probably because I'd offended her with my blatant stare, she was gone, scurrying away, her own face scarlet.
I wondered at the colour that had suddenly suffused her cheeks, imagining she must be mightily pissed off. Despite what had seemed to be warmth in her smile when she'd turned, my mind filled with scenarios of security guards and accusations, questions as to what exactly it was I was doing in the shop, CCTV footage showing me tracking her.
With all that going through my head, I made my exit, heading to the Starbucks.
She came past fifteen minutes later.
There I was, sitting right up close to the window when she strode past. She didn't see me, I was certain the woman hadn't noticed my presence.
The lure was powerful, a strong yank at my vitals. I was up and out and following behind her, my eyes fixed on that rump swaying side-to-side.
I kept a good distance from her, loitering around outside stores when she went in to browse, picking her up again as and when she reappeared. From my position behind her, I could plainly see men turning to watch her go by. Jealousy curdled my guts when I saw it happen. I wanted her all to myself.
I wondered what it would be like to have that woman stripping down for me. God, to see those big boobs all bare...
Wouldn't that just be the ultimate?
Did she shave her muff? She looked the type. A lady who kept herself in such good nick was bound to take care of the detail.
I was away, dreaming about her, picturing her vulva completely depilated. The image shifted to the lady preferring a precise strip of sculpted fluff between her legs – or perhaps something like a love heart instead?
In my head I saw her grinning as she eased her knickers down, assuming she had any on of course. There was no VPL apparent in the tight fit of her jeans.
The thought of her lush body slowly revealed made me worse. I was going to go crazy over it if I didn't watch out.
When she left the mall, the bright sunshine hitting her, I felt a slide of bitter disappointment. She was leaving. It was over. The chances were I'd never see her again. She might be local, I might come across her in the shops again someday, but she could equally be a visitor to the town, a passing dream.
