More Stories to Make You Blush (3 page)

She hooked the garter belt around her waist and attached the silky stockings she was wearing when she came into the store. She looked at herself in the mirror and seemed pleased by what she saw. She quietly opened the door, picked up the boots that Nicole had kindly left, and gracefully pulled them on. She was breathtaking. I was in heaven, I could barely contain myself—and that was just the beginning!

My beautiful customer loosened her hair with a skillful gesture, and her magnificent blonde curls tumbled down over her shoulders. Then she rummaged in her purse and took out a tube of bright red lipstick, rouged her nipples, then applied it to her lips. She spun around and I admired her magnificent derriere to my heart's content—the almost exaggeratedly round buttocks, the slender thighs snug in the soft leather boots, her tiny waist. Then, she opened the door to her lover.

He examined her closely and had her pivot, admiring his choice of clothes and their full effect. Then he entered, closing the door behind him, and took her in his arms. He kissed her with hungry passion, caressing, pinching, and kneading her delicious buttocks. His hands moved over my beauty's tender flesh, and I let my own hand do what it was aching to do. I seized my stiff member and watched the couple. She was perched on a little stool and swung her breasts in the man's face. He took hold of them and freed them from their tight confinement, greedily licking off the lipstick. Then he pushed the g-string aside, freeing my customer's hot bush, teasing her pussy with an impatient finger. She threw her head back and played with her breasts, allowing her companion to multiply his caresses. He bent even lower in front of her, lifted one of the booted legs onto his shoulder and licked the bared sex. I could almost hear the beauty's moans and feel the shudders that ran through her body as her lover hungrily ate her. Then he stepped back, spread the sweet lips, and flicked his finger back and forth over them. She grabbed his hair, wild with excitement, and smiled as he shoved his finger into her over and over. She let herself be penetrated this way for a few moments before adding her own finger to the sweet torture. She stroked herself violently to the rhythm of the penetration, then suddenly shuddered and collapsed, her eyes closed.

The man took advantage of the moment to pull down his pants and jerk off. It was strange, he was going at almost the exact same rhythm as me, but that was okay by me. He brought his big cock up to her mouth and plunged into it. At that moment she opened her mouth wide and sucked him into her, kneeling before him, submissive. She seemed to know what she was doing, drawing almost his entire member into her hot mouth, taking a breath before sucking on it again. She sucked so hard I could see the movement of her cheeks. It was painful; I wanted her so badly it hurt. I wanted to take her this way and watch her do what she was doing to this man, but to me—do it with her dressed the way she was and in the place where she was doing it.

I could see very well (too well) the man's reactions, his cock growing bigger and harder with her strokes. He gripped her head, forcing her to take him deeper in her mouth, and she did not resist. He made her go faster and her head was a blonde whirlwind. Then, suddenly, he interrupted her, turned her around in front of the stool, and made her lean forward, still on her knees. He got behind her and entered her in a single stroke, with such force that her head hit the wall. Her back arched and she spread her legs further apart to receive him. I had an excellent view of his big pole entering her. I could almost feel, with every thrust, the muscles of her sex squeeze around my own cock. I was so excited I thought I was going to come without even touching myself, but instead the tension just mounted all the more.

The man stood up and grabbed my beauty by the hair, pulling her to her feet. She let herself be manhandled without saying a thing. In fact, she seemed to like her lover's roughness. He pinned her wrists on either side of the mirror, and I could have sworn she was looking at me. There she was in all her splendor, all mine, helpless, her eyes wild, with a little veil of sweat glistening on her upper lip. The man got behind her. Perched on her dizzying heels she was almost as tall as he was. She pushed out her buttocks and shimmied her upper body even closer to the mirror so her breasts were crushed against the screen. I watched, hardly daring to breathe. Suddenly he took her, hard and savage, crushing her breasts and face against the mirror to the rhythm of his thrusts. Any harder and she'd have gone right through the mirror and landed on my lap—and I'd have been ready for her! I was harder than I could ever remember being, and I pumped my poor member to the rhythm of their lovemaking. She looked like she was in another world. Eyes closed, mouth open,
She
made a superhuman effort to stifle the cries that would have alerted the other customers. He thrust harder, deeper. I could feel they were close to coming, and so was I. Suddenly, the lovers were taken over by a sort of frenzy and they went faster and faster, going from passionate to unbearable. She opened her eyes, damp strands of hair sticking to her face. She didn't look much like the sophisticated and elegant woman I'd been fantasizing about for five days. She had become a tigress, a whore, out of control. She was as wild as he was, thrusting her hips and pelvis in a dance of ecstasy, until they both reached a massive climax. They fell onto the floor in each other's arms, kissing, exhausted, and completely satisfied.

Meanwhile, at my station, I surveyed the damage. An incriminating stain on my pants and a huge puddle in my hand, which wasn't big enough to hold my flood of pleasure.

I was planning to make sure no one was lurking in the hallway, before sneaking into the washroom to clean myself up. As I was getting up something on monitor three caught my attention; two young men were exchanging bulging backpacks between racks near the jewelry department, and they looked in quite a hurry to leave the store. Something fishy was going on, and, feeling guilty about not watching more closely, I instantly forgot the stain on my pants and pressed the button that would alarm the main security post just outside the store. Better safe than sorry; after all, this was really what those cameras were for.

* * *

When I got home Monday night Margaret met me at the door. She'd seen the report on the early news: robbers caught red-handed making their getaway with over $800,000 worth of merchandise from the Fashion Gallery! Nicole and the rest of the gang were in jail, and I was a very astonished hero. Their dressing room diversion—that's all it was—had almost worked.

“Are you sure you're all right?” Margaret asked, buzzing around me with wifely concern. I felt better than all right. For the first time in a long time I felt like a lucky guy. I could have lost my job, I could have gotten caught jerking off—instead, I was an accidental hero. I held my wife in my arms for a long time and she didn't seem to mind. In fact she got really interested when suddenly, I had a fabulous hard-on. Margaret nuzzled my neck, then, with a playful nip to my earlobe, whispered, “It's been awhile, but I still remember how you like it… .”

I guess I'm going to have to stop saying that nothing ever happens on Monday.

 

 

 

Dear Julian,

I saw you play at the Crystal Club last Saturday. You were spectacular, as usual. My girlfriends told me I should go talk to you, try and get you interested, but I just couldn't. Not that I haven't thought of it!

I know I'm your most faithful fan. You must have tons of them, but not like me, I can tell you.

I get in this state every time I see you. It's something about your face, your look of being in another world, your hands stroking your guitar strings, or your sublime talent. I love to watch your long fingers move up and down the neck of the guitar, feeling its every vibration, making it live and die. Something about you puts me in a trance. Nothing else exists. There's no other sound, no other image. I'm not in a noisy bar any more; there are no multicolored lights, or people. I float in a sort of bubble where there is nothing but you. Just you, your faraway eyes, and your music.

Maybe next time I'll finally go talk to you. But I don't know. For the moment, all I dare do is let you know that I exist. That somewhere out there, there's a woman who is dying to meet you, who would be crazy with joy if even one of those songs you bring to life was inspired by her.

But I'm getting carried away. Forgive me. For now I'm content just to find out where you're playing next, go watch you, admire you, desire you.

See you soon,
X

 

Julian could not believe it. Nothing like this had ever happened in his career—though maybe the word “career” was a bit strong to describe his music. This music, which in fourteen years had earned him barely enough money to pay his rent and eat, had brought him far more worries than glory. This music, which he had never been able to give up, had even cost him Janelle.

He crumpled the letter into a ball, then thought again. What man would let himself throw a letter like that in the garbage? It was probably from a girl barely old enough to legally enter the Crystal Club, or some frustrated woman who had no other, more direct way of showing interest. Still, he could not hide his pleasure. And why should he? He had never—at least, not as long as he could remember—been the object of such admiration from a woman, not even Janelle.

They had met in one of those trendy bars where he sometimes played with his band. He noticed her right away, but could not think of any intelligent or coherent way to strike up a conversation. True, he was used to women making the first moves, even if it never amounted to much—especially in that kind of place. But Janelle had not even looked at him. Then later, during the show, Ian, the singer, had asked if anyone in the audience wanted to come up and “sing the blues.” Janelle had gotten up on stage with an air of confidence, and flashing him a smile that could have melted an iceberg, started to sing.

That was when he started to feel the signs of love at first sight. His hands grew damp, which interfered with his playing. His head started buzzing, and it wasn't because of the thundering percussion a few feet away. Suddenly, there was so much adrenaline pumping through his body that he almost thought he was having some kind of attack. But no, it was just her.

To make a long story short, the evening ended much better than it had begun. Around 2 a.m. Julian was madly in love with a girl he knew almost nothing about. All he knew was that she had no dark secrets that could spoil everything—no husband or other problem lurking on the horizon. She was the woman of his dreams, and they ended up living together for over four years.

He pushed these memories away before they became painful, and went back to his admirer's letter. Despite the memory of Janelle and the pain she had caused him, he could not help but feel a little flicker of flattered curiosity.

A few days later he received another message.

 

Dearest Julian,

Last night, you were even more enticing than usual. This time it was your hair that set me on fire, not your hands. The lighting made your curls shine. I imagined them brushing over my face.

I never see you with a woman, Julian. Did someone hurt you? Or maybe one woman isn't enough? Last night, I imagined you naked on that stage. I saw you alone beneath the multicolored lights, your body bathing in an orgy of colors, and me next to you, secretly admiring you.

Soon I'll be brave enough to introduce myself. I just need to know that your body and heart don't belong to anyone. If I could be sure of that, I would give my whole self to you.

See you soon, Julian.
X

 

Well! She wanted to be sure his heart did not belong to anyone! In spite of himself, this sentence took him back to his four years of almost complete happiness with Janelle. Happiness that was so stupidly interrupted.

At the time he had managed to provide for their needs, but she was painting and selling more and more of her work. She started reproaching him for not buying her treats the way she did for him. When he tried to reason with her about an overpriced vacation, pointing out that it would be wiser and just as much fun to stay close to home, she accused him of being selfish. She said he did not love her enough to “make a few little sacrifices.” In other words, he did not earn enough money and did not prove his love to her the way he should, while she just grew richer and more generous. Everyone knows that women are perfect; it goes without saying! But her attitude became unbearable. Then came the day she accused him of playing with his “sleazy little band” just so pretty young women would come on to him.

That was the last straw. For the first time in four years of living together she had stooped a little too low, dealt the ultimate insult, refusing to understand Julian's deepest motivations. He had never given her reason to believe he could be unfaithful. Never! He never even looked at another woman, knowing that his other half was a little possessive, and touchy. What's more, he was still madly in love with her. Being a pacifist, he preferred to avoid unpleasant discussions. And anyway, she was always so sure she was right.

Two months ago she had given him an ultimatum: either he would get himself together to have a more “normal” life, that is, with a bigger income and guaranteed presence after 10 p.m., or he would find another apartment and someone else to share it with.

For once, he stuck to his guns, no longer feeling the need to justify his lifestyle. He left without a scene, without protests. But the drawback was that he missed her terribly. At first he had to restrain himself from trying to patch things up. Then, when he got no sign from her, he became resigned. Maybe it really was time to turn over a new leaf.

For two weeks there was no news from his mysterious correspondent. But he was not performing as much, either. Julian started to think that his mysterious fan had found someone else, when, coming out of the dressing room of a seedy bar one night, he saw a letter with his name on it stuck to the door.