Weeks passed. He didn't come back. At first, I thought he would. Expected him the very next day. So I applied some subtle extra make-up. Took a little more time with my hair. And though the customers got more flirty, it was otherwise all in vain. He never showed. Still, I didn't let up. I began a rigorous diet. Just in case. Joined a gym. Well, you never know. I lost eleven pounds the first week. Six pounds the next. It dropped off me. I saw my ribs again. Felt my hip bones. Lost the chins. Gained a coterie of admirers. I dyed the streaks of grey from my hair. Waxed away every bodily follicle.
To fill the time - and everything else that mattered - I got myself a new bloke from the shop. I was filling shelves. He was emptying them. Dropping all sorts of crap in his trolley just so he could stand there and watch me bend, squat, and stretch. God, it felt so good! Though I'm naturally shy, the presence of this man turned me burlesque, created a pole-dancing shelf-stacker. Again and again, I rose and fell; up and down, like a wanking fist. Finally, I stood on tiptoe, stretched till my skirt rode all the way up my lean thighs. And hold... A cool breeze from aisle two kissed my arse cheeks. They were tight as a drum, primed for a good spanking. I could almost hear the blood pumping up his cock. He sighed. Mmm. For the merest moment, I thought of Alice and what she would do. Then I thought like Alice and spoke like her too. Confidently and care-free. Flirtily and fluently, with not a stammer in sight. It was almost better than cumming.
'Condoms are in aisle three, love.'
'Sorry?'
Like a dancer, I turned as I came back to Earth. Like a whore, I bit my bottom lip and smouldered.
'It's just that If you keep leering like that, we're going to need some.'
On our first date, I stopped the car and fucked him in the back like we were teenagers. On the second, he ate me out then shoved it up me while I did the washing-up after a takeaway. That Saturday, he invited me to suck him off while he watched the football then returned the oral favour during Strictly. And so it continued. However, despite the promising start and my best efforts, his interest eventually waned. And so did mine. At night, with him sound asleep and with my fingers gently circling my poking clit, I pictured Jack loading up my conveyor with sensuous goods: chocolate; champagne; cucumbers; and condoms. In my tightest black skirt, I'd slide off my stool, show him my stocking tops, my skimpy white knickers, then slip them off, stuff them into his bulging carrier, and whisper my sordid instructions. Wank into them and bring them back. I'll wear them. Press them to my smooth slippery quim till I squirt then hand them over to you again. Then we'll repeat it. Round and round. Cummy knickers. Spunky undies. Mmmm. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I realised too late that the bed was bouncing.
'Caz! Wake up! You're having a nightmare! Come on, wake up! For fuck's sake! I've got work in the fucking morning!'
'W w wha? Oh... S s sorry. Was I? Oh, yeah. It was a dream, that's all. Just a dream...'
One night, I called him James, the sex was so pedestrian. The next day, he walked out.
Read the conclusion of this torrid tale plus eleven further stories in ' The Big Bag of Sexy Allsorts', a tooth-rotting collection of concise erotica, available now exclusively on Amazon.
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