Part 4: The Shop Assistant
Claire swayed precariously at the top of the step ladder as she stacked a handful of Agatha Christie books on the highest shelf in the store.
"It's OK, Claire," Mr. Sharma said from below her as held the ladder, "I've got it."
Claire smiled down at him. "Thanks, Mr. Sharma." He was so sweet. This was her first day in the RSPHNFFP charity shop and Mr. Sharma had looked after her really well.
Her only minor concern was that she was certain that, if he were to look, Mr. Sharma would be able to see the tops of her green hold-up stockings and her perfectly shaped milky smooth bottom as well as the bulge of her beautifully presented pussy through her miniscule matching thong, all under a petite white micro skirt.
Luckily, Claire thought, Mr. Sharma was an old man, well past the age when a young woman, even one as gloriously attractive and fat-breasted as herself, would hold any sort of interest for him.
She bent down to pick up the last of the books and paused in concern at the unusual growl emanating from Mr. Sharma.
"Oh, are you OK, Mr. Sharma?" she asked.
He swallowed and nodded. Claire considered whether he had been distracted by her considerable cleavage as she leant over him but dismissed the thought before putting the books onto the shelf.
"Right," she said breezily. "That's done. What's next?" she said as she took the hand Mr. Sharma gallantly offered to help her down.
Claire had decided to volunteer for the Royal Society for the Prevention of Hurt and Nastiness to Fluffy and Furry Pets in their charity shop after her training as an actress had come to a premature end.
She had been training under the talented yet obese director of the Southbury Players, Justin Maltravers-Fosteringhall, comprehensively rehearsing the part of a fledgling porn star in Justin's new play.
Justin had kindly played the male parts whilst practising allowing her throw herself into practising the long involved sex scenes in particular.
Unfortunately she had been licking clean Justin's filthy erection after he had just vigorously arse-fucked her, when he'd had a heart attack. She had called an ambulance but the still-conscious Justin had exhorted her to leave before it arrived and Claire had reluctantly assented.
Between gasps of breath, Justin had explained that he didn't want his wife to find out he'd gone into cardiac arrest while his dirty cock was in the hot sticky mouth of a beautiful young woman, even if all they were actually doing was rehearsing a scene. Claire had been a little worried but she'd had to admit that it wouldn't have been easy to explain to Danny, her boyfriend, either.
She had tentatively texted Justin a few worried days later and he had confirmed that he was all right but that he'd had to have triple bypass operation and so their mutual dream of a blockbusting West End sex-industry themed theatre production would have to be put on ice indefinitely.
Cursing her luck, Claire had kicked her heels for a couple of weeks while she had thought about her next move. In rapid succession she had lost her careers as receptionist, saleswoman, teaching assistant and actress and she was feeling more than a little disheartened.
She wanted a job that was within her capabilities and allowed her to meet people but also one of which Danny would approve. He was always expressing his unfounded and overprotective concern that she was easily exploited and a touch naïve which was of course complete nonsense but as the love of her life he had to be humoured.
When she had seen a 'Help Wanted' sign in the shabby window of the RSPHNFFP shop, she had just known that this was her calling. The shop itself was very old-fashioned and dim but what worthier cause was there than the protection of cute fluffy animals?
Danny had also agreed that working in a charity shop where the average age of the other volunteers was in the sixties would not only be safe but also worthy and straightforward.
She had been perfunctorily interviewed by a sweet old lady, Elsie, and told to come in the next day where she would be running the shop with the help of an experienced colleague.
And that was how she had found herself up a ladder helping a tiny wrinkled old Indian man put excess crime thrillers onto the top shelf of the book section.
Claire had decided that the usual uniform of the charity shop wasn't for her. She was an attractive young woman with long auburn hair, green eyes, freckled pale skin and a tall full-busted leggy figure that made her boyfriend and, indeed, many other men drool with desire. She felt that a muted cardigan or a fusty old dress just wouldn't suit her so, in addition to her aforementioned white mini-skirt and green underwear, she had worn white platform-heeled boots and a tight stretchy green-and-white-checked v-necked top that made extraordinary geometric patterns over her enormous yet firm boobs.
Danny had said that her outfit would be too much for a charity shop but when she'd come in Mr. Sharma had been very complimentary about her appearance.
They'd spent the morning unhurriedly putting the previous day's donations onto shelves whilst Mr. Sharma explained the various workings of the shop.
When Claire commented on the fact they'd not had any customers, he explained that they were generally very quiet during the week apart from around lunchtime when maybe one or two customers would come in.
"But the important thing is that we are doing our best for both fluffy and furry pets," Mr. Sharma said solemnly at which Claire smiled warmly. What a lovely old man, she thought.
They chatted inconsequentially as they continued to process contributions, Claire confessing her frustration that she hadn't been able to hold down a job and how much more fulfilling doing charity work felt.
Mr. Sharma explained that he himself had volunteered as a consequence of following the ancient creed of Effulgent Zoroastrianism. "The central tenets of my religion involve generating the greatest net benefit to both humanity and the universe as a whole; in short, I must live my life maximising the pleasure of others (both animal and human) and minimising their pain."
Although Claire didn't fully understand some of the more abstruse elements of Mr. Sharma's philosophical position, she had to agree that, generally, it sounded like a good thing. Mr. Sharma himself came across as very thoughtful and gallant, supervising Claire's work intimately and always willing to offer his hand to her as she climbed up and down the steps.
By the afternoon, the skies had turned ominously dismal and so Claire was unsurprised when it started to rain heavily.
"Oh dear," Claire sighed. "It looks as if we're not going to have many more customers today."
"Let us take this opportunity to sort through the vases and curios. They really are enormously disordered and dusty," Mr. Sharma suggested in his cultured sub-continental accent.
The ornaments were on some rickety old shelves right at the back of the shop wedged into a space between the kitchen implements and ball gowns.
