Buy Me Something Nawtee

You don't want our nawteeness to become boring so decide to spice it up. There's a new adult shop in a nearby town, and we're both virgin to the experience. I know the lingerie in my favourite stores, my brands and comforts intimately, but suddenly I'm in a new world of risque wear. Muted lighting barely softens the shock of crotchless and peephole, siding with unfamiliar basques and suspenders - some sexy, others crude. The privacy of what we only dare with each other seems starkly open here, a shopping list of lusty labels and obscene offers - yours for only £9.99.

You hold up a short sheer see-thru slip of a babydoll. It would be kinda cute in a male fantasy way, and I don't object to being yours but do you have to flash it round so? Other shoppers in the dark glance quickly, not wanting to see or be seen, and I hope the red lighting hides my blush.

Revelling in the lingerie you pick out panties and stockings, strangely intruding my once personal world of intimate wear. A young stick-insect slip of a woman with unrealistically large boobs almost hanging out of a plunging neckline appears from the hangers and enquiries in practiced-to boredom fashion,

"Would madam like to try before you buy?" No, madam would fucking not, my thoughts almost scream as I smile meekly it's not really my colour. Or, I think, my size, style, fukitfukitfukit, not even my fantasy. Stick'n'boob woman politely gestures to a 'his'n'hers' changing room should I change my mind, totters off in way-too-hi heels, showing more bum cleavage the mini-skirt has obviously given up trying to cover. Tart. Your eyes wonder after her. Sigh.

"You want me to dress like that?" Your eyes suddenly light up. "Or just... look like that full stop?" I squash my neatly sweater-covered boobs together in a mockery of stick-woman and pout like a slut, "Would sir like to try?" Eyes suddenly don't know where to look. Or do, as stick-woman's tits'n'ass disappear behind a till, then try not to. Ha! Caught you.

I pretend to sidle up to look at some more postage-stamp sized panties, and rub the front of your trousers. Flagpole - straight up and almost waving. Cos of me, or her? Now who's red?

Okay fine. No point in anger. I'll show you. And her. She might have a fantasy bod - fuckit I wish I had a waist a guy could wrap a big strong hand round like a pint glass - but I bet I'm better at it. She'd break... or her boobs would burst. Ha, they're probably falsies. Ooh I can be a real bitch when roused.

"Okay luver boy," I smile, possessed of an idea, "Let's try these on then." And grasping your hand til it hurts, drag you to 'his'n'hers'. Under the stylised O's of 'him', only the arrow is a stylised cock, and 'her' - don't ask - I find a double cubicle, pull you inside, close the curtains and strip off.

Eyes wide, you stand there mouth opened. I'm completely naked except for my black hold-ups, and shrug tug the flimsy dayglo pink sheer babydoll on. It might as well have been made for a baby doll it's so small, and I try to stretch it over my boobs. Firm hands stop me, and I look frustratedly up into your apologetic smile. You ease it off me, "You're fine as you are." My hair is a mess, I'm half-starkers, red as a poppy... yeh, right. Whisper in my ear a teasing reminder that I look like I've just been roughly shagged by you. By the sound of it, another couple are already hard at it in another cubicle, smothered gasps and creaky bangs. If you can't beat them...

You let your trousers fall and open your shirt, kneel before me like I'm your goddess. Strong arms hook up behind my knees and heft me against the wall. I stare into the full length mirror behind you, get a good look at your firm cute ass as I feel your flagpole plant itself in me. Watch it jiggle as I get a good pumping. See my feet wave goodbye to any semblance of modesty, before they lock together like our hot embraced bodies.

Are you fucking stick-woman in your thoughts, or me? I don't care, cos you're mine, and I've got you tween my thighs right here'n'now. Make sure it stays that way, luver. I'm not sure I care what spice you need to keep things passionate, hot, wild. Just make sure it's only me who waves the flag at the end of it.

Your pole is now throbbing and tingling deep inside, my thighs pulled wide by your elbows, and as I gasp increasingly loud breaths of impending orgasm, you let go with every fibre of your being, spurting and gushing like a hose. Your mouth clamps fast on my lips to stifle my would-be-shrieks into the background musak. I cum in an arms'n'legs waving flurry of shivering, trembling limbs as you pin me to the wall, and I claw your back for dear life. Exhausted you slump to your knees, dumping me straddled into your lap, cock squelchily still inside. God I feel tempted to throw you on your back and ride you to another peak of pleasure. But it's not the time or place.

Minutes later, we're wiped, tissue padded and dressed again. Almost looking respectable except for a couple of wickedly sheepish smirks. I hang the slightly stretched and shop-soiled pink babydoll back up, and we walk past stick-woman at the till with nothing to declare.

"Did madam find anything in her size?" she calls.

I grasp your hand, look into your eyes, "Oh I think so... but mebbe next time I'd like to try something bigger." And let you stare at her just long enough before tugging you away, to make sure how much bigger.