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I’m in town, looking for a birthday present for my girlfriend. I want to get her a leather skirt, partly because she once expressed a wish for one, but mostly because I like the thought of her wearing leather. I find a little shop specialising in leather and suede clothes. The smell of leather strikes me as I go in and close the door.
The assistant is a young woman with long brown hair, attractive in an inelegant sort of way. Her baggy green ‘overalls’ do not help, in my conventional eyes, but I daresay they are the height of fashion. She has a bored, sullen expression, and I get the feeling that she does not get many customers. I nearly go out again.
I always feel slightly embarassed buying women’s clothes, expecting shopkeepers to suspect me of being a transvestite or some such. Especially things like underwear and leather skirts.
‘I’m looking for a leather skirt – for my girlfriend. She’s about a size 10.’*
‘I think it’ll be too long.’ I stumble over the words, for some reason. ‘She’s not as tall as you.’
‘Let’s try the mini.’ She flashes a smile at me, which makes my heart miss a beat. Obviously my body knows more than my head.
I expect her to go into the changing room again, but instead she casually unzips the skirt and steps out of it. I gape at her small white briefs, but she is unconcerned. She pulls on a mini skirt, making a great play of smoothing it down over her hips, then knots the front of her T-shirt so that her stomach is bare. The skirt is shorter than I expect, over halfway up her thigh, and with a slit at the front. It is very tight.
She poses for me, turning this way and that, hands on hips. ‘What do you think?’
I can’t take my eyes off her legs and bottom. I feel my trousers becoming distended with a fierce erection.
‘I think it’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.’ I blurt.
‘Mmm. Feel how soft it is,’ she says quietly, and I have to obey. I kneel and run my hands over the leather, trying not to make it seem that I am touching the body underneath. The thin soft skin is taut over her hips and bottom.
‘The longer ones are lined,’ she says. ‘The minis aren’t. They’re slightly stretchy too. The trouble is,’ she turns so that her back is towards me, and sticks out her bottom, ‘you can see the panty line very clearly.’
‘Mmm,’ I say, unable to take my eyes off it.
‘I don’t usually wear anything under güvenilir illegal bahis siteleri skirts,’ she says, and forthwith reaches up and slides the small briefs down her legs, dropping them on the floor. She smooths her hands over her buttocks. ‘It looks a lot better now, doesn’t it. You can feel it if you like.’
The smell of the warm leather mixed with her perfume, and the faint musk from her newly liberated crotch, not a foot from my face, rids me of any inhibitions I have about obeying her. My hands roam over her behind, her hips and flanks, round to her loins and the pubic mound. I run my tingling palms down her silky smooth thighs and up under the skirt – she lifts one leg slightly to let me stroke the inside of her thighs. I touch the soft dry hairs of her most intimate place. I wonder how this will end – soon my trousers will split or there will be a messy accident.
‘The feel of leather against my skin always makes me horny,’ she whispers. She turns and bends over the counter, planting her feet wide apart and pushing her bottom into the air. ‘Take it if you want it.’
It’s obvious she’s not referring to the skirt. I do want it. Quickly I unzip and with a tremendous feeling of relief release my swollen member. I run my hands up the backs of her thighs from the knee, my thumbs between her legs, pushing the hem of the skirt up. My thumbs reach her crotch and sink into her soft, hot, juicy entrance. She is plainly as ready for it as I am. With my thumbs deep in her wet tunnel I pull her lips apart and plant my tool between them. I push the skirt up to her waist, grip her hips and sheath myself in her.
She grunts as I slide in up to the hilt. She’s hot and tight, her muscular güvenilir bahis şirketleri tunnel rasps against my penis as I thrust in and out. She grunts sexily in time with my pistoning. Her juices flow freely, loud slurping and sucking noises coming from her entrance each time I withdraw. She tilts her hips to get more pressure on her pubic bone, and I see her reach down and start to rub herself. I increase speed, feeling my own climax to be not far off.
She goes rigid and utters a series of high-pitched cries. I try to hold off my orgasm, wanting to prolong hers, but it is impossible to resist the fierce squeezing of her insides, and with a moan I pull her onto me, as deep as I can go, and empty my bursting organ in a long series of pulsing spurts that seem to start at the back of my skull and flow down my spine, gathering force until they burst out of my rock-hard tool like a hot geyser.
We stay coupled, silent, until I soften and slide out of her liquid tunnel. She reaches under the counter and brings out a box of tissues. I take a handful and hold it to her gaping hole. I feel the cool air on my hot penis. Carefully and luxuriously I wipe her dry – she seems to enjoy having this done – marvelling at the quantity of fluid in her.
She stands up and I see she has that inward look that women sometimes get after orgasm. She picks up her panties and puts them on, then wriggles out of the skirt and puts it on the counter. She fetches the overalls and begins to dress.
‘That was good.’ she says, more to herself than to me. ‘Do you want to buy anything?’
I am a bit numbed by it all, but relieved that she’s so matter-of-fact about it. I think (too late) of all the awful consequences that could result from an emotional attachment. Still, no harm in being gallant.
‘I’ll take that skirt,’ I say. ‘It’ll remind me of you.’
She looks inside it. ‘It’s not wet or anything.’ She wraps it up and takes my money, still with a preoccupied manner, then unlocks the door. ‘Bye.’
I never even asked her name.