At the Supermarket . . .

He hated grocery shopping. The crowds, the crappy music the store played over its PA system, the interminable waiting in the checkout lane. So this time he tried something different, and came late. It was after eleven, on a Wednesday night. Most of the lights in the supermarket were dimmed, the freezer cases were dark, the produce section was gloom-filled, the vegetables hidden in shadows. By the registers at the front end, one acne-faced cashier stood, hands behind his back, beginning what surely would be a long, boring graveyard shift through the night.

He pushed his cart down the packaged-foods aisle. A bunch of garbage, really, full of MSG and who knew what else, but he hated to cook. He lived off of boxed rice, hamburger helper, and frozen foods. Still, it beat fast-food dining, didn't it? He wasn't sure. He'd have to think about that.

He whistled as he browsed through the merchandise. He'd passed only one customer so far, a fat old guy with a balding head and a gray five o-clock shadow. And, surprisingly, he hadn't seen any late-night employees restocking the shelves. He had the place nearly to himself. If he let his imagination go wild, he could almost believe he'd be mugged in here tonight, or murdered.

As he was looking through the hamburger helper selection (the lasagna had always been his favorite, but he thought maybe he should get something else tonight, shake it up a little), he saw someone approaching, out of the corner of his eye.

A woman. Young, much younger than him—twenty, maybe. God, where had the years gone? Was it possible he'd be forty next year? Shit.

The woman didn't have a cart, wasn't even carrying a hand basket. She was dressed skimpily, which didn't surprise him. The area had been having a heat wave lately, even the nights were sweltering. She had on short denim shorts, which barely covered her crotch. He imagined from behind, the bottom of her ass cheeks would be displayed. On top, she wore a tank top, the shirt barely reaching past her breasts, which, as she neared him, he plainly saw were braless. Her nipples poked out through her top like eraser points.

She had light-brown hair, straight, and luxuriously long. It flowed past her shoulders, and as she approached him, he could see it swaying behind her, back and forth. It reached all the way down to her hips.

The weirdest thing was her focus. She was looking directly at him. And she had an intensity in her eyes, a passion. What the hell . . .? He'd never seen her before in his life. Maybe he really was about to be mugged.

She was just a few feet away now. God, she was young enough to be his daughter. What did she want with him?

She stopped in front of his cart, which was lodged between them, like a buffer. She was beautiful. Her lips were full, her makeup-free face, flawless.

He was about to ask her what she wanted when she pushed his cart away, and came right up to him. Without hesitating, she put her arms around him, leaned in close . . . she was wearing a flowery perfume, and the smell of it, the fragrance of it, of her, assaulted his senses.

She kissed him. He tried to pull away, but she wouldn't let him. She thrust her tongue into his mouth, ground her hips against his, and increased the pressure of her hold on him.

Instantly he felt his dick stiffen. This was one of the hottest women he'd ever seen! She—

She broke the kiss, then knelt in front of him, unzipped his pants. He tried to step back, but she reached around, cupped his ass, threw him a "don't you dare move" glare. He stayed where he was.

His pants were down, around his ankles now, and his briefs followed. How had that happened? Time seemed to be moving in fast forward. And now, now, he felt her lips latch onto his dick, fully erect. She flicked her tongue, tantalizing, teasing. Then she took all of him in her mouth, all seven inches. She was deep-throating him.

He stumbled back, into the shelf. Boxes of hamburger helper fell to the floor. The sound they made reverberated in his head, like a rocket blast. They would be seen! The cashier . . .

He wanted to tell her to stop, to go away, but God what she was doing felt so good. He hadn't had a blow job in so long. So damn long. His luck with women had bottomed out, disintegrating like the hair on top of his head.

She sucked him like he'd never been sucked. How could someone so young be such a pro at giving head? How many guys had she done? Increasingly, he found himself not caring. The sensations she was giving him, the feeling of her lips on his cock, her mouth moving up and down his shaft. . .

He let out a moan as she continued her onslaught. But then, the fat old man with the stubble-coated cheeks, the only other customer he'd seen, turned his cart down the aisle. He looked at them, at this twenty-year-old goddess with the hip-length brown hair sucking the cock of the middle-aged man with the receding hairline. The old guy's mouth hung open, and it looked like he was shaking at the sight before him. Then he turned his cart around and proceeded to the next aisle.

The woman got on her feet, no expression on her face. She kissed him again, her tongue a dynamo, a dervish inside his mouth. He tasted the musky smell of his manhood on her tongue, and it aroused him further. He grew bolder, inserted his tongue into her mouth, reciprocating. They tongue-wrestled for a while, with her winning the match. Her tongue was amazing, tireless, unceasing.

When she broke the kiss, she crossed her arms, lifted her skimpy top up and over her head. Her breasts, full, with large, erect nipples, were right there, staring him in the face. She tossed her shirt aside, and it landed beside the fallen boxes of hamburger helper.

He reached out, wanting to feel those perfect, bronzed tits. She apparently sunbathed in the nude, she had no tan lines. She slapped his hand away.

His mouth moved, ready to speak. His lips formed into a "w" sound, but she closed them with another kiss. When she broke the kiss, he started to speak again, but she slapped him, hard, across the face. Her expression, stern, authoritative, held him there, silent.

Next, she slipped out of her short shorts. She wasn't wearing any panties, and he nearly squirted, then and there. God, she was incredible. Perfectly shaved, smooth, and tanned. Every inch of her, tanned.

She squatted down again, yanked off his shoes, then indicated for him to raise his feet, one at a time, so she could free his ankles from the burden of his pants and briefs. He didn't resist, wondered, in fact, if he'd wake up in a moment, in his bed, the sheets wet with cum stains. But no. Her slap had felt real. Her lips on his dick had definitely felt real. This was truly happening. Wasn't it?

Before he could ponder further, her lips were again working their magic on his dick. She sucked and tongued his cockhead, even nibbling gently. He moaned, and she bit down a little harder, evidently telling him to shut up.

She deep-throated him again. No one had ever done that to him before, and it felt incredible. He could sense he was getting closer, closer. When she went back to pleasuring his cockhead, he couldn't hold it in any longer. He let loose, as ropes of cum shot out, into her mouth. She drank it in, swallowed, then cleaned his tip with her tongue. For the first time, she smiled.

He wanted to thank her, this silent goddess, this twenty-year-old vision, but when he opened his mouth, she reached around and spanked his ass. The cracking sound echoed down the aisle like a firecracker. When he looked down, her smile was gone.

She dropped onto her hands and knees, then rolled onto her back, her naked body against the cold tile of the floor, but she didn't seem to mind. Perhaps it felt good, what with the heat wave and all. She motioned for him to join her.

He went to straddle her, thinking it was time to fuck, but she shook her head no, kicked him off of her. She was strong. Her long, toned legs were those of an athlete. Maybe a swimmer, a skater, a tennis player . . .

He sat next to her, confused. She motioned for him to straddle her, but with his back to her face. Ah. 69. His dick began to harden at the thought. When he took the desired position, when her smooth mound lay inches before him, when he felt her lips again latch onto his manhood, he became fully erect. A shot of man-pride raced through him. Not bad. Not bad recovery time for a soon-to-be forty-year-old.

He felt a slap on his ass, even as she continued to suck him. He knew what it meant. Stop sitting there like an idiot and go to work. He leaned in closer, closer, flicked out his tongue, gently licking her clit. Nothing. No jerking of the hips from her, no indication that it had felt good. Maybe she needed it rougher.

He lifted his left hand, throwing all of his weight onto his right forearm. It wasn't very comfortable on the hard floor, but it would do. With his free hand, he fingered her, rubbing her clit, softly at first, then harder, harder. He felt her mouth-grip on his dick grow firmer, and for the first time, she bucked at the hips. Now he was getting somewhere. . . .

Next, he leaned in, stuck out his tongue, thrust it into her vagina. She was wet, but not soaked. He probed, sticking his tongue as far into her as he could reach, firmly pressing it against the folds and furrows of her G-spot. Again her hips bucked. While he licked her G-spot, he massaged her clit with his thumb and forefinger, pressing hard.

For the first time he heard her moan around the girth of his cock. Well, if he wasn't allowed to moan, neither was she . . .

He drew his hand back, and slapped her, hard, on the thigh. For a moment, she stopped sucking his cock. He wondered if she'd bite him, draw blood. But then she began to suck him again, with even more vigor.

He continued his onslaught, licking her, drinking her. Her juices were flowing freely now, and she tasted like musk, like something secret, nectar hidden within the hollows of the woods. Suddenly, he felt her vaginal muscles constrict around his probing, searching tongue, and she bucked violently, moaned loudly, his dick still stuffed in her mouth.

Again he raised his hand, slapped her thigh. He wished it could be her ass, but he had no access—at least not yet. She moaned again, and he slapped her again. Then she slapped him, firmly, on the ass. She slapped him again. Again. He nearly came, but managed to hold it in.

She pushed him off of her, and he rolled over onto the floor, his dick proudly erect. She was breathing hard. Sweat beaded her forehead. Her eyes looked wild, almost feral. There was a hunger, a lust in them he had never seen in any of his previous partners.

He opened his mouth, ready to speak, but she slapped him again, across the face. He shut his mouth.

Suddenly the cashier, a young kid, probably in high school, appeared at the entrance to the aisle. The old man was behind him. The old bastard. Squealing on them like that.

He eyed them both. The cashier looked scared, and incredibly riveted. The hell with it. That kid wasn't going to stop them . . .

She apparently agreed. She stood up, motioned for him to join her. When he did, she threw her arms around him, and kissed him, her naked body pressed firmly against his, her young, perfect breasts mooshing against his chest.

Then she looked at the cashier and the old bastard, as if daring them to intervene. Neither of them moved. The old guy said something to the cashier, but the cashier didn't react. He just continued to stare, as if in a trance. The old man gestured, disgusted, and left, leaving his cart behind, full of groceries he evidently no longer wanted to purchase.

She moved his shopping cart, placing it sideways against the grocery shelf, lodging it firmly in position. Then she leaned over it, her left hand grasping onto the front of the cart, her right hand gripping the green plastic handle. Her ass, her perfect tanned ass, was thrust into the air. Her breasts hung, swaying, as she leaned over the side of the shopping cart. If she leaned in any further, her nipples might brush up against the groceries he had already placed in the cart.

He knew what she wanted. He moved in behind her, reached in front of her, cradling her breasts within his hands. He squeezed them, kneaded them, pinched her nipples. He positioned himself just so, and then he thrust inside of her. She was still soaked, and his dick slid in easily. She moaned, and he finally had the opportunity he'd been waiting for. He slapped her ass. Smack. Again. Smack! She moaned again, he slapped her again.

She started to gyrate her hips, and the tempo of his thrusting quickened. In and out, as they moved together, in sync with each other's lust and desire. She moaned, and he smacked her butt again. A handprint was already forming, even through her tan. Moan, smack! Moan, smack!

She threw her head back, and he grabbed hold of her hair, pulled it, jerking her head back more, until she was looking straight up at the ceiling. She moaned louder, louder, and he kept pulling her head back, more, more, thrusting faster, faster, harder.

He turned his head to the right. The cashier was there, his dick out. He was jerking himself off as he watched. Briefly, he wondered. Were there any other customers? Had someone entered the store since this had begun? Was someone about to turn down the aisle and see this display?

But she kept moaning, louder, louder, and he was beyond caring about such matters. He was drilling her with everything he had now, pulling her hair with one hand, slapping her in the ass with the other.

Still pulling her hair, he used his other hand now to reach in front of her, pinch her clit, while he fucked her. He rubbed it, pinched it again, and she gasped, screamed, and he felt her cum all over his dick. She would have fallen, hard, back onto the cart if he hadn't kept her from doing so by continuing to hold her up by her hair.

She was breathing hard as she came down from her orgasm, panting, her breasts heaving with every breath she took.

He glanced at the cashier, and the kid had cum, too. Where he stood, there was a pool of jism. The cashier looked at them, put his dick back in his pants, then left. He doubted the kid would clean up after himself.

Before he could think another thought, she pushed him. He slammed into the grocery shelf, more boxes of hamburger helper falling to the floor. She immediately dropped to her knees, and began to suck him again. She was using more teeth this time, perhaps issuing some payback for his hair-pulling and spanking. But she apparently didn't intend to harm him . . . because it felt incredible, even better than the wonders she had performed on his cock before.

Up and down his shaft her mouth moved, sucking him like a horny vacuum cleaner, the slurping sounds she made filling his ears. It was as though she wanted to eat his cock, like she couldn't stuff enough of him into her mouth. And he was already so aroused by their fucking, by her moans and the way her breasts had hung low in the cart, that it didn't take him long to cum. He shot his load into her mouth, and she swallowed, drinking him in eagerly.

Then she was standing up, putting her hardly-there top and shorts back on. Before he could say anything, she kissed him again, wrapping her arms around him, leaning in, pressing her now-clothed body against his still-naked one. And again she tongued him, thrashing her tongue around in his mouth. She was insatiable.

Before he knew it, his dick was erect again, and she was still kissing him, her fingers running through his thinning hair. Then he felt her fingers wrap themselves around his dick, and he noticed that her shorts were again on the floor, in a heap, beside her. When had she done that?

She motioned for him to lie on the floor, on his back. He did as he was told. She straddled him, got on top of him, reached down, pinning his arms against the floor. In a flash, he felt her slide onto his dick. He moaned, it felt like paradise, and she slapped him across the face.

She began to ride him. He wanted her to take her top off again, but she didn't. He reached for her tits, they would be easy to grab onto, easy to reach under her tiny shirt, but she slapped his hand away.

She reached down, pinched his nipple, and he hissed. She pinched it harder, and he moaned. There was so much pleasure in the pain.

She was riding him with abandon now, and he let loose with a long moan. Again she slapped him, hard, across the face, and he just looked at her. She was staring at him, her mouth open, her eyes alive with an electricity that almost scared him. Her long hair fell on his chest like silk curtains, tickling, tickling. . . .

She leaned forward, kissed him, her tongue battling his own for supremacy inside his mouth. Her hair draped all around him, blocking his vision.

He felt himself getting close again. He couldn't believe he could cum three times so fast! Who said he was over the hill? She seemed to sense this, too, and sat back up, gyrated her hips a little more, riding him for as long as possible, and then she hopped off, and sucked him to orgasm.

This time he squirted only a little, the well temporarily having gone dry. She looked disappointed by this, as if she could have carried on much longer.

She stood up, put her shorts back on. He rose onto his hands and knees, gathering himself, then got back on his feet. She went to him, kissed him, a long, lingering, probing kiss. But final. This was a good-bye kiss, he knew.

She broke the kiss. He wanted to say something to her, anything. To thank her, ask her what her name was, why she had picked him, of all people. But she held a finger to her lips, shushing him.

When she backed away, she gave him a wide, beautiful smile, and then she walked away down the aisle.

And then she was gone. . . .