It was time to get dressed. I had just finished taking a quick video of myself stripping out of my clothes and uploaded it to my Site. I thought my subscribers would like it, because it featured a long closeup of my pussy, which was perfectly bare from a recent laser treatment. Now that my Site duties were done, for the moment anyway, I could focus on other things I had to do.
It was a Saturday morning, and the kids were busy playing the Xbox in the living room. I could hear them yelling at the screen from across the house. We were running low on some food supplies, so I planned to stop by the grocery store. It was a small store, privately owned and tucked away amid the houses and leafy greenery of our neighborhood. It was usually quiet this time of day, so I figured there wouldn't be any crowds or lines.
I stared at myself in the mirror. I was still nude, from the video I had just made. For the thousandth time, I thought about how strange it was that I was taking photographs and videos of myself, naked, and posting them online, for the world to see. I'd been doing it for a while, and both my husband and I had come to enjoy it, and to enjoy the money we made from it, but it was still always a little strange. I wasn't about to stop, though. It was too lucrative, and way too much fun.
What to wear? You might think I'm always looking to wear something sexy, because of my site and the adventures I talk about. But the reality was that 90% of the time I was just a regular mom and a busy corporate executive. I usually dressed and looked just like anybody else. Plus, I tried to be careful when I was out and about in my neighborhood. I didn't want to make things riskier than they had to be.
I settled on a blue denim, button-up dress with a hem that stopped just above my knee. Cute, but not sexy. But I decided, on a whim, not to wear panties or a bra. My breasts were firm enough that I could get away without a bra when the material, as with the denim of this dress, was thick enough to conceal the swell of my nipples. And I liked the feeling of the air on my pussy. Nobody would know I was going commando but me. I laced up white sneakers and gave myself one last appraisal in the mirror. Again: cute, but not sexy (except the commando part, which nobody else would know).
I made a mental checklist of the things I needed and scooped up my wallet and keys, heading for the garage. My husband, Rick, sat in the kitchen, munching a piece of toast and reading something on an iPad.
"Hey," I said.
"Hey," he said back, eyes running up and down my body. It was somehow comforting that my husband never got tired of looking at me.
"Where are you off to?" he asked.
"The store. Food."
"Don't get in any trouble," he said, with a naughty smile. "If you do, make sure you tell me all about it." My husband knew me well and was 100% supportive of my hot wife activities, but I knew he was kidding. I might have had a hot online alter ego as Mrs. Pillsbury, but in my daily life I was just good old normal Kristen Johnson.
A few minutes later I pulled the Lexus sedan, which I'd recently purchased from the proceeds of my website, into the parking lot in back of the store. As I had guessed, it was quiet. The lot was mostly empty, and I figured the few cars there probably belonged to the store's staff.
It was spring, but the temperature was unseasonably low. Clouds overhead muted the light, and cool air nipped deliciously at the bare skin between my legs. It felt so good, and just a bit naughty!
I wheeled a shopping cart efficiently up and down the aisles of the store, gathering the things I needed. I knew where everything was, and it didn't take long to get what I needed. I lingered a little longer in the produce section, deciding what kind of potatoes to buy for the family dinner. The cucumbers caught my eye. I picked one up, to put it in a bag, but before I did, I held it in front of my face and wondered, wickedly, what would happen if I slipped it under my dress and pushed the tip of it up into my pussy, which was still tingling from contact with the cool store air and growing needier by the moment.
I started to wonder if I could really get away with doing something naughty in the store.
"Mrs. Johnson?" A voice suddenly interrupted me. Startled, I almost dropped the cucumber.
I turned to the source of the voice, to my right, and a tall, good-looking young man with dark hair and dark eyes looked down on me in a friendly, knowing way. But I didn't recognize him.
"Yes?" I replied.
His look showed he understood my confusion.
"It's Sam. Sam Zimbardo."
Sammy Zimbardo! He was the oldest son of one of my neighbors, Leah Zimbardo. To tell the truth, I didn't like Leah very much. After the end of one my kids' soccer games the previous fall, I invited her over to my house for coffee. Instead of saying "yes," she looked to both sides of her, as though to check whether anyone could hear us, and then she fixed me with the most Karen-like stare you could imagine.
"I know what you're doing, Kristen, and I don't approve."
"What I'm doing?" I asked her, feigning innocence even though I knew at once what she meant.
"You know what I'm talking about," she said, her mouth curled into a sneer of disgust. "Your . . . online activities. I think it's disgraceful. You should be ashamed."
Needless to say, Leah Zimbardo did not come to my house for coffee, and that was the last time I ever talked with her.
I hadn't seen Sammy in years. I think he was still in high school when I last saw him. He once babysat my kids, who were years younger than he was. I knew he'd gone off to college a few years earlier—I didn't recall when, exactly, or where—and I hadn't seen him since. He'd been a skinny kid in high school, but I remembered that he'd always been mature for his age, gregarious, assertive, and well-spoken. He'd always been one of those rare kids that seemed to know how to walk up to anybody and talk to them confidently like an adult.
Now he stood looking at me in the produce section of the grocery store, as I held a cucumber. I cleared my throat and put the cucumber in a plastic bag.
"Sammy! It's nice to see you. It's been years. What are you up to?"
"It's Sam, now," he said. "Graduated from college last June. Working here, downtown. Got a place of my own. What about you? What are you up to?"
His eyes strayed to the cucumber in the bag in my cart, and if I wasn't mistaken, I saw a faint smile play over his lips.
"Oh, you know," I said. "Same old stuff. Mom things. Job things."
"Mom things," he repeated. That same subtle smile.
I'll say this: he cleaned up nicely as a young man. His body had filled out well, his arm muscles stretched the fabric of his t-shirt, and his voice sounded deep and resonant. Mrs. P felt a tingle inside.
We were both done with our shopping, as it turned out, so we walked together to the front of the store, and we checked our purchases out one after the other. I had several bags full of food, and he had just a small one.
"Can I help you with your bags?" he asked. He really DID have a very masculine, appealing voice. His hair was cropped short and close to his head. His shoulders were broad. His jawline was full and square, but he had thick, sensuous lips. There was a look in his eye that was hard to read.
"Sure!" I said, maybe a little too eagerly. "Down girl," I said silently to myself. This was the son of an enemy mom, after all.
We walked out the front door and around the building to the parking lot in back, and Sam let me go first, carrying several bags of my groceries as I fished for my car key. I wondered, naughtily, if he was checking out my ass. I almost wished I'd worn something sexier so he could get a better look. I was so bad! They were just thoughts, though, right? It's OK to have bad thoughts if you don't act on them, isn't it? Moms are entitled to that, aren't they?
I beeped the car trunk door open with my key fob, and Sam laid the bags inside and closed the trunk with a solid "thump!"
We stared at each other. I had to break the silence.
"It's so nice to see you, Sam! It's been so long."
"It's nice to see you, too, Mrs. . . . Johnson." The pause was noticeable. The stare was steady, the eyes inscrutable.
Mrs. P was growling inside. Mrs. J was thinking it was time to get home.
I shouldn't have said it, but I did.
"You've grown up into a handsome young man, Sam," I said.
Maybe five seconds elapsed until he replied, but it seemed much longer.
"Handsome enough to fuck you?"
