I barely remember walking into the crowded shoe store on a recent visit to New York, but unknowingly at the time, must have made an impression on the sales rep. I tried on a few pairs and he went well out of his way to help me, constantly checking me out during the process. Do not get me wrong; I love the attention of men's (and sometimes women's) stares, otherwise I would not dress the way I do when I am alone in a foreign city. On this occasion I wore a new pair of jeans, made from stretch material which fit tight around every curve, and for $300 they should, right?
My white blouse may have been unbuttoned a tad too far, but one of the reason women have breasts is so men can admire us. Besides, I work out every day to keep a flat tummy and tight ass, so why shouldn't I show it off. The prospect drives my husband crazy. As a physician, he is engrossed in his work and hardly recognizes my existence. I have to constantly be the one who initiates intimacy and many times end up satisfying him only to find myself alone with a toy or my eager fingers. But I digress.
I bought one pair of shoes and looked around a little longer and courteously thanked the clerk for his assistance. I smiled and he thanked me as I departed the store. I walked a few blocks to the subway entrance for the 15 minute ride to my hotel in Times Square. I manage a trip to New York every two or three months and always stay in the same hotel. It's upscale, centrally located and has a great seafood restaurant.
I had just stepped onto the subway stairs when I heard a voice say hello. Instinctively I turned not seeing anyone familiar when I heard it again. It was the clerk from the shoe store. I was a little stunned and he handed me my credit card. "Oh my God!" I yelled. I could not believe I had left it behind. I am always careful with my cards and my money, as it is after all the most sacred thing to me. I thanked him and took my card. He smiled and explained he was happy to have caught up with me. He accompanied me down the stairs as I stared curiously. He said he was heading home and his car was parked a few subway stops along.
It must have been rush hour, for I cannot remember that many people in one place at on time. The train arrived and I felt as if I was magically being guided into the car. I had lost sight of the clerk, but could not move for the people. I stood as the train began to move with no fear of falling, but did realize how sardines must feel.
After a few moments I heard the now familiar voice of the shoe clerk as he made his presence known to me. He was directly behind me, but the congestion of passengers made it impossible for me to turn around. Slightly turning my head I said hello. He spoke about the shoes I had purchased and that I had made a good deal. I nodded, for a smile would be wasted with my back to him. We came to a stop and people were shuffling. I was still not able to turn around and just as I wondered if he was still there I suddenly felt his hands on my waist. Quite surprised, I shrugged, but there was little I could do. Slowly has hand moved along the outside of my upper thighs slowly caressing them as they made their way down below my buttocks. A moment later I felt his hand reach around to my front and his finger pressed hard against the camel toe in my jeans.
I looked down but was unable to see his motions and closed my eyes as he slowly, yet firmly massaged my love button. I felt his other hand reach up and somehow unbutton my blouse. I looked, but all I could see was his sleeve pressed between me and the woman in front of me. His fingers slipped inside my bra and I felt his hand squeeze my 36-D cup. I moaned softly, curious if anyone around had caught onto what was happening.
It was not long until his other hand slid up and unbuttoned the top of my jeans. Expertly, as if he had done this many times the clerk lowered my zipper and slid his hand inside, slowly inching down. I felt his boyish finger (I was certain he was not older than 22) slide against my wetness and he expertly massaged my honeypot as the juices began to flow freely.
Somehow he managed to move his hand further down and insert a finger into my opening. I moaned and he squeezed my breast harder, at the same time fingering me deeper. He took his hand away from my breast and I could feel him repositioning, never once stopping his fingering action in my womanhood.