More Stories to Make You Blush (2 page)

“What's going on with you? Come on, out with it!” I took a deep breath.

“Well, actually, I was thinking of you all day. I know

I'm not good at showing it, but, I love you. It's been a long time since I've told you. That's all.”

She laughed and gave me a big hug.

She made me an excellent meal, and as I watched her bustle around the kitchen I felt another surprise erection coming on. I felt awkward as a schoolboy, even though we'd been married so long! But it had been years since our passion had cooled, and I don't think either of us knew how to break the little layer of ice that had grown between us. Should I show her right away how she had affected me, or be more subtle and try to get her to come to bed early? I couldn't make up my mind and asked myself so many questions that my erection drooped back down to where it came from. In the end it was a night like any other, with us sitting in our separate chairs, watching TV.

* * *

The next day, Thursday, October 13, she made another appearance—the woman I'd already started to call “my” customer. Same time of day, same hurried look. She went straight to the lingerie section and picked out one of the bra-and-panty sets she hadn't tried the day before. I didn't even attempt to turn away this time. The same old guilt shyly raised its head, but it was far from stopping me. This time I made myself right at home in front of the screens for fitting room six, and watched the beautiful stranger. She started with the same routine as the day before; this time wearing a dress with buttons that she undid one by one to free her divine body. She was wearing a pretty black camisole that looked like it was made of silk, and adorable stockings, black as well. Her body began to move to the rhythm of music I couldn't hear. I watched this lustful little dance, mesmerized by her fluid movements. She ran her fingers through her hair, then trailed them down to her shoulders in an intimate embrace. She fondled her full, luscious breasts through the silky fabric and I could see her nipples grow erect, begging for a caress. But instead of her breasts, it was her thighs her hands were caressing, gently massaging the velvety white flesh. She kept on dancing, bending down and spreading her legs. I saw then that her sex was covered only by the barest wisp of lace to which her fingers were moving dangerously close, as if answering some irresistible call. All at once she straightened up, as if realizing what a strange situation she was in. She looked around confused, like someone waking from a dream. She hurriedly pulled on the lingerie she'd brought in with her, but seemed disappointed by the way it looked. She quickly got dressed again, left the fitting room, and handed the bra and panties to Nicole, the salesgirl. She hurried out of the store, leaving me panting at the edge of my chair, feeling let down and far too excited for my own good.

That night I mumbled the same excuse to Margaret, then escaped into the shower and jerked off with wild abandon. What was happening to me? Why did that woman have such a hold over me? I'd masturbated more in the past two days than in the last twelve years put together!

* * *

Friday, October 14, I went to the job preparing myself mentally for “my” customer's visit. It didn't seem likely that she'd come three days in a row, but after the previous day's display I could only hope she would return to satisfy my horny curiosity. I tried to muster the strength to resist, in case she did come back, but I knew it was a lost cause. I'd dreamt of her the night before and woke up feeling sheepish, looking over at my dear Margaret, sound asleep and unsuspecting. I felt like a liar and a louse, as if I'd cheated on her. I was mad at myself, but at the same time tried to convince myself that I hadn't done anything wrong. And in reality, I hadn't—it was just my mind and body that had behaved like a couple of jerks.

When I saw her come in at the usual time I desperately tried steering my eyes towards the other screens. In a few fractions of a second I saw her select a pale negligee. Not long after, Nicole guided her to the fitting rooms. That was all it took. Again my eyes were glued to the screen, and all my good intentions were gone with the wind.

She was completely undressed except for her stockings and shoes, but instead of putting on the negligee she grabbed her thick hair and piled it carelessly on top of her head. She took a look at herself, again pivoting to get a better look, then let her hands slide down her neck to her breasts, lightly stroking her erect nipples. She leaned forward and picked up the silky camisole that I suppose she'd been wearing before. Was it beige or pink? I could only imagine its wonderful, subtle harmony with the color of her skin. She rubbed it over her generous breasts then wrapped it around her waist, letting the delicate fabric tickle her round buttocks.

Suddenly, she seized one end of the camisole and slid the other between her legs. Before my astonished eyes she started grinding her pelvis with undulating movements. She watched herself closely in the mirror, sliding the silky cloth back and forth over her pussy. At last her entire body collapsed up against the mirror, the magnificent breasts crushing against the screen. I could almost feel her hot breath fogging the glass, feel her breath on my cock, which was stiff and hurting with desire. I was dying to free it from my pants and milk it hard and fast—but what if someone came in? To make things worse, the beautiful stranger kept stroking herself with the cloth, faster and faster. I rubbed at my crotch through the thick fabric of my pants. I wasn't used to this kind of lone pleasure— especially not at work!—and was having trouble relaxing and letting go. Wasn't I the guy who everyone trusted to respect the anonymity and privacy of women? I was none too pleased with myself. But in spite of everything my hard on was becoming a monster. “My” customer spread her legs slightly, put her finger right in the middle, and started moving it with a steady rotation. After only a few moments she closed her eyes and her entire body arched with pleasure. My hand between my legs, I was just about to undo my zipper when the office door swung open; it was one of my colleagues wanting to know if I'd had lunch. Red with shame, I leapt to my feet to hide my customer from the intruder. I mumbled that I'd be down in ten minutes, and told him to wait if he wanted. My excitement wilted to nothing. What a close call!

That evening I decided to convince Margaret to come to bed early. I said I was tired and needed to feel her close, but told her she could read if she wanted. She got into bed, propping up the pillows, and gave me a kiss on the forehead before turning to her book. At least she wasn't wearing that damn cream on her face. I cuddled up against her and stroked her soft cheek lovingly, but she just smiled and kept reading. Why couldn't I make her see what I really needed?

* * *

Saturday, October 15, I was glad to be working only until one o'clock . I was tired and irritable after a sleepless night and was in no mood to kid around with my co-workers. I went straight to my office, avoiding the cafeteria. I thought I was home free until I saw Nicole coming down the hall with such a bright smile and shrill, cheerful voice that I felt a terrible headache coming on.

“Hi, Paul! Having a bad day?”

“I'm fine!” I snapped, without meaning to. “Hey, take it easy. You seem a bit frustrated.” She was nobody's fool, that Nicole.

“No, just a little tired.”

I was dying to ask her about “my” customer. Did she know her? What was she like? What kind of voice did she have? Was she going to come today? What was her name? But I managed to hold myself back, and escaped into my office with a thermos of strong black coffee for company.

The hours passed and she didn't appear. I was very disappointed, but at the same time relieved. I realized this woman had become an obsession. I thought about her the way you think about a lover—longing after her, trying to be satisfied with what little she wants to give you, craving a kiss, even a smile. I felt totally ridiculous. Totally miserable. My shift ended, and she hadn't even bothered to stop by.

Sunday, October 16 was a day of complete mediocrity. I spent the day in an almost feverish state. All I could think about was her—daydreaming about that splendid body, her hands stroking her pale skin, silky hair tumbling down over her shoulders. I missed her. I felt like an addict in withdrawal from just one day of not seeing her. All I could do was wait for the next day, Monday, a day so quiet it was almost dead. She was sure to come break the monotony, brighten the day with her presence; I just felt it! I had no concrete reason for thinking such a thing, but I was convinced.

That Sunday morning I left my house, got in my car, and drove to the Fashion Gallery. No, I wasn't working that day, but the store was open. Who knows, maybe she'd be there. I'd thought of sitting quietly by the door, maybe having a bite to eat and watching people come and go. And if she appeared, what would I do? I'd be happy just to look at her; I'd be satisfied for the rest of the day. I would finally know all those details I was dying to know: the exact shade of her blonde hair, the color of her eyes, the perfume she wore. I could follow her without being seen, pretending to do some shopping for my wife. And what would I say to the employees I ran into who knew I had no reason whatsoever to be there on Sunday? I'd think of something.

By late Sunday afternoon I was still there waiting. I ate a sandwich and waited. I drank a cup of coffee, then another, and waited. At four o'clock, bitterly disappointed, I decided to go home, pathetic and ashamed. Just by chance Margaret had to go out that evening, leaving me alone with my obsession. And that's what it was. For the first time in ages I took the rum bottle from the cupboard and poured myself a good shot to try and forget her, or at least make the next day come faster. I drank more than I should have and Margaret had to wake me up as I lay passed out on the sofa. Luckily, I'd had the sense to zip up my fly before falling asleep in an alcohol haze. The last thing I remembered was fumbling to wash my hands after coming all over myself, my pants rolled down over my hips, imagining
her
kneeling in front of me, welcoming my cock into her beautiful, wide-open mouth.

* * *

On Monday, October 17, I got up with the dawn. I was ready for work ridiculously early, which made Margaret suspicious.

“What're you up to this morning?”

“Oh, you know! It's busy at the store. There's a meeting to talk about the shifts over Christmas. I'd better get going.”

Another lie. This was definitely becoming a bad habit. But I was so excited I couldn't stand it; I just wanted to get to work as fast as I could, sit down at my station and wait for “my” customer. There were still hours before she arrived, many long hours to wait. Monday morning was usually pretty deserted and boring; everyone knows that nothing happens on Mondays. But I didn't care a bit. There I sat, waiting for her visit, ready to welcome her and savor what little of her beauty she was willing to share with me.

I was pleasantly surprised to see her arrive around ten. Maybe she wasn't working that day? What exactly did she do for a living, I wondered. She could easily have been a model, but I had other ambitions for her. I imagined her as the head of a big cosmetics firm, or maybe a fashion magazine. But none of that mattered. There she was in front of me; that's what counted. What's more, she didn't seem in as much of a hurry as usual. She strolled up and down the aisles, examining a jacket, then a pair of pants. She tried on a magnificent fur coat and admired herself in the mirror for a long time, wrapped in soft fox pelts. She looked like someone who wanted to buy herself a treat, but was hesitating. Could she afford it? She continued on her way, this time stopping at the fine jewelry counter. The Fashion Gallery prided itself on its vast assortment of precious gems and gold. She tried on pearl necklaces, diamond rings, and bracelets studded with tiny emeralds. She lingered a long time in front of some earrings that I couldn't see in detail, but which were glittery and obviously expensive. Then she moved on again; she seemed to be wandering with no precise goal. Suddenly, her face lit up with a sweet smile. A tall, impeccably dressed man with a self-assured step was coming towards her.

My heart skipped a beat. What I fool I was! How could I be so upset by the sight of this spectacular woman with an equally spectacular lover? It wasn't like I'd been hoping to have her for myself! This impressive man was a world apart from my humble self!

The couple headed for the fine lingerie section. Coquettishly, she showed her companion some of the ensembles she'd tried on. The man slowly walked around the displays, selecting a few items and handing them to her. His taste was less subtle than hers, to say the least. She seemed to prefer clothes that were chic and attractive, not crass and suggestive, but he preferred the sort of thing that left nothing to the imagination. He held up tight corset tops that looked uncomfortable but exciting, and tiny g-strings with matching garter belts. She laughed, they laughed together, and kissed; they seemed happy. Well, at least someone was happy! She took the most daring corset top and a g-string with garter belt,and headed into one of the fitting rooms. Before my eyes my angel from heaven would soon be transformed into a far less respectable woman, and the idea gave me an instant hard-on.

When she got to the fitting rooms she went to Nicole and they had a long conference in low murmuring voices. They giggled and exchanged knowing looks, glancing over at the man, who seemed to be having quite an effect on little Nicole. My angel entered the dressing room and I saw Nicole go over to the shoe department. She chose a pair of thigh boots with dizzying high heels and brought them back, leaving them in front of fitting room eight, where
She
was already getting undressed.

This time she seemed to be in a hurry to put on the items chosen by her lover. I watched admiringly as she stood naked before me, not taking the time to look at herself, but grabbing the bustier, whose small waist made her breasts bulge out provocatively over the top. The stiff fabric made her waist seem tiny, while making her voluptuous hips look rounder. She tugged hard, almost frantically at the strings in front, lifting her breasts until the nipples popped out the top. Dazed, I reached out to the screen, hoping to touch those plump, full curves that offered themselves sadistically, driving me out of my mind! She slipped on the tiny g-string. (Why had I never noticed that the Fashion Gallery sold such get-ups? But what a nice way to find out!)