The little Midwestern hamlet we live in is a college town, but there's not much else to it besides the college. The population isn't enough to sustain much business. There is but a single grocery store, and it's small and pricey. Within fifteen or twenty minutes in multiple directions, other towns have better stores. And, yet, my husband Scott has long shown a preference for shopping at the local store.
"Jeni," he would say, "not only is it good to support local businesses, but I'd rather make a quick run over there and get back home more quickly to you."
I never quite bought the cornball romanticism, but I was flattered by his attempt and didn't mind. And so, occasionally, we would do our weekly shopping at the misleadingly named Shop 'n' Save. Almost invariably, if Scott were going to the store, that's where he would go.
It wasn't until I made my own quick afternoon run there that I finally understood the true reason for Scott's preference.
Her name was Becky.
Becky was one of those girls that I both love and hate even before I've met them. Slim and pretty, she had a slightly aloof face that broke into sunshine when she smiled. Freckled with large, teal eyes and lips that had been crafted by artist, her face was framed by long, dusty auburn hair. Her breasts was perky, just less than a handful apiece. When she walked, there was a tight elegance in the sway of her hips, and the curve of her back and upside down heart-shape of her rear made her mesmerizing to watch.
Becky wore the store's standard red polo, but she had it un-buttoned to show a preppy top, whose frilly hem peaked up from below the bottom of the uniform shirt. She wore designer khakis that hugged her curves as tightly as I presumed she hugged her dad's wallet.
The Shop 'n' Save is a small store in a small town, so even though Becky was working the register, when there was no one in line she was also checking stock and helping customers find items. I took my time shopping and even spent a few minutes browsing the little candle and gift section. I was watching Becky closely.
By the time I was ready to check out, I not only appreciated her physical attractiveness, but I also had a pretty good read on her. She was the type of girl who was not the prettiest or preppiest in school, but she was by far the prettiest and preppiest in her family. Her parents spoiled her, but she resented them anyway because she wanted a degree of popularity and fashion that her family background wouldn't afford her. As a consequence, she walked around the store with a disinterested, nearly disdainful expression on her face while going about her job. The moment she was interacting with a customer, though, especially a male customer whose attention she craved, she was all smiles and subtle playfulness.
When I approached her at the register with my small assortment of items, I flashed her a smile and made eye contact. Once I was assured she was looking at my eyes, I glanced at her chest, smiled a little bigger, and then made eye contact again. Her freckled cheeks had pinked just a little and she made an uncomfortable approximation of a smile.
I smiled back. I'm five-nine and thin, a little hippier and a little chestier since having a baby a year ago, but still deliberately toned. I'm a brunette with large, brown eyes and a very dimply smile.
I stopped myself from winking, but I allowed myself a little flirtatious quirk of my mouth. I had to be careful. In a small town like this, if it weren't for the college, there would be little opportunity for a twenty-seven year-old, married bi woman to swing with the fairer sex. The local population was partly conservative and partly ruled by shame.
Becky's shaky smile might have been her flirting back or it might simply have been her being polite.
I was hopeful; she didn't strike me as a girl overly concerned with politeness.
She scanned my order quickly, wordlessly, stealing occasional glances at my face, and giving me that same, uncertain smile each time. I made sure that each time she did, I looked straight into her eyes. They were truly teal, broad and almond-shaped, as clear as crystal. But somehow, even when her mouth smiled, her eyes looked sad.
I found that Becky was already getting under my skin.
When the last item had been scanned she asked, "Will there anything else?" Her voice was surprisingly high, probably not too different than it had been five or even ten years ago. She spoke quietly through, in a breathy way, as if she were embarrassed to still have a childish voice.
"Marlboro lights," I said. "Soft pack."
It was against the law here to sell cigarettes if you were younger than eighteen. She turned to the rack and I smiled. I also stared at the firm, feminine shape of her backside. There was something so perfectly female about its shape that it was difficult to not reach across the counter and caress it.
She turned back toward me and started to scan the Marlboros.
I waved a hand. My heart was beating. It didn't many how many times I did something crazy; every time, it was still a rush. It was a small bit of crazy, but crazy just the same: "No thanks," I said with a sly smile, "just making sure you were at least eighteen." My eyes danced from her eyes to her chest, back to her eyes, to the place where her thighs met, back to her eyes.
She definitely blushed.
For the next month or so, I savored the idea of Becky. I made more shopping trips and enjoyed every moment that I saw her. I lost myself in possibilities every time we interacted. Sometimes, I would see her with some friends around town, now that I had my eye out for her, and I was reminded that I wouldn't really care that much for her personality in social circles. One-on-one, though, she seemed shy and uncertain, not as stuck up as she preferred to pretend. I hoped that her one-on-one personality was the more authentic one.
I immediately began teasing Scott. I didn't ever specifically mention Becky to him, at least not during that first month, but I would give him knowing smiles, winks, would even tease him every time he went to the store. After that month, he and I finally made a trip to the store together when Becky was working, and I saw just how into her Scott was.
We have a complicated marriage and a fairly adventurous sex life, but typically I was the center of that part of our relationship. I'd never seen Scott so taken with another woman. Suddenly, as much as I thought I had shared an attraction to the young woman, it was nearly as important to me to help Scott have his chance at her. He was no where near as bold as me by nature, and would probably need the help.
Scott was a good looking man, a few years older than me. Not tall, he was a mass of lean muscle. He had been a two sport athlete in high school and now worked out in the MMA program at the Y in a nearby town. His smile was easy and gentle beneath piercing blue eyes. Becky noticed. She also seemed to notice his gorgeous hands, smooth and clean but very strong with large fingers.
I thought this had a chance.
That night, as Scott and I sat on the couch, watching Glee, my hand found its way to his lap. It played a little, but very gently. In as sweet a voice as possible I said, "We watch these shows, but I didn't know you wanted a high school girl's legs around you so bad, honey."
"What?" he grunted. He gave me a look of surprise, but his sex was responding.
"Becky is pretty insanely hot, though. You have good taste if you're going to rob the cradle."
"Becky who?" he asked. His moral conscience and sense of rational planning told him he should deny -- deny -- deny. His body told me he was way into this girl.
I laughed, low and purring. "Just how many blow jobs have I given you where you thought about her hot young mouth all over you and those scary beautiful eyes staring up at yours?"
"Becky?" he asked again, stammering.
"And just how close have you gotten to squeezing that perfect ass when you walk by?"
"Who? Becky? Who's Becky?"
I rubbed harder between his legs. He was getting appreciably hard in his pants. "If it makes you feel any better, last night when you were eating me out, I thought about that auburn hair of Becky's between my legs."
"Oh," he said, trying to control his arousal, but not succeeding. "That Becky."
"Yes, that Becky." I drew his zipper down and played with his through his boxers. His lump was large and strong, growing harder and standing taller. "The hot young teen you want to plow. That Becky."
Scott closed his eyes and lay back, settling in as my hand worked him over good. "It's not that she's young and pretty exactly," he said, then groaned and I saw a dab of precum darkening his boxers. "It's that she's so complicated. Her face looks five years older, and then she smiles or talks and she looks and sounds so young. And her body is so painfully tight. I just can't stop thinking about her."
"Don't stop thinking about her," I encouraged him as I freed his cock and my cool fingers made contact with his hot shaft. "Keep thinking about her. Keep thinking about Becky. I want this cum to be all hers. When you cum, you're cumming for Becky, honey."
Scott grunted and humped against my hand.
I watched as he threw his head back, eyes closed, and abandoned himself to the fantasy. I pulled myself up onto my knees for a better angle, and began fisting his hardon outright. Faster. Harder. Then even faster. And even harder.
Impersonations aren't my strong suit, but I spoke high and breathy, like I thought Becky would and said, "Give it to me, Scott. I've wanted your cum for so long. Every time I look in the mirror, I imagine your cum dripping down my freckled face."
My husband groaned and humped as hard and fast as he could, his eyes still closed, thinking of his grocery store crush.
"Oh, Scott, give it to me," I said again, pending over his lap and drooling down onto him, the cool liquid stimulating the hot, swollen head of his manhood and lubricating things for my fist.
Scott was a passionate lover, but usually controlled. Now, however, he grabbed my head and pulled my mouth down over his cock, forcing himself deep into my throat. I coughed and gagged as he bottomed out. Once I had my composure back, I drew my lips in tightly and bobbed my head in time with is fucking and allowed my tongue to flick rapidly back and forth against the sensitive underside of his erection, tapping with my tongue stud.
Everything in the world faded away except for my drive to help my husband cum for his fantasy girl, so when his hands clutched at my head and he began to groan Becky's name, I felt deeply satisfied inside.
Not long after, he was panting, warning me that he was about to cum.
I slid my mouth slowly up off him, keeping a tight seal so that the head popped free. Then, teasing the slit at the top of his cock with the tip of my tongue, I begged for his cum in my Becky voice. "Cum for me, Scott. Please, baby, please. Cum all over my pretty face. Cum for me."
Nothing creative. Just base, sexual, and desperate.
Scott responded with an arched back and a loud sound from deep inside. His cock pulsed visibly and then lashed my face with several thick, gooey ropes of cum.
When my husband opened my eyes, I was smiling up at him, cum streaking my face. It dripped from my bangs, and dribbled over my eyes. It marked my cheeks and teased at the corners of my mouth.
"I want you to have her," I told her, speaking my own voice again.
His eyes were glazed over with an intense dreaminess and I knew he was seeing her face instead of mine. That made me smile with pride.
