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In the Jeans

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© Bad Hobbit 2012

It had been a wet summer, but I guess I didn’t mind. I was working on only my second project since leaving university, and it wasn’t exactly thrilling, based in a nondescript converted factory in a nondescript west London suburb. However, the work was OK, and I was well-rewarded for my age. In those days, IT people were treated more like gurus than geeks. I was just 23, with only a year’s experience under my belt, but I was relishing the way that my arcane knowledge of the way computers worked was almost worshipped. Looking back, I was just an inexperienced programmer, but the need for companies to automate and the huge range of different computers and systems — this was before Windows — meant my skills were in high demand.

The last few weeks had been busy, trying to meet deadlines while the machines kept breaking down. I’d often end up strolling around the local shops for an hour while a hardware engineer puzzled over what had gone wrong this time. But tomorrow I was at last going on holiday for two weeks to the sun, away from the constant drizzle and greyness of the past months.

I needed a new pair of jeans for the holiday. My last pair of Levis was almost falling apart, but having become used to student frugality, I was still wary about splashing the cash. I’d noticed that the local jeans shop was having a sale, so towards the end of the day, I decided that I would actually go down to the town and see what they had.

It was around 5:20 when, a little damp from the recurring drizzle, I made it to the shop. In those days, most high street shops closed at 5:30, so I guessed I’d either need to find a bargain quickly or leave empty-handed. The shop was deserted, and the only sales assistant in evidence was hunched at the counter, reading a newspaper.

As I browsed through the racks of sale items, she came over to me.

“Can I help you? What size are you looking for?” she asked.

I looked at her, and immediately noticed three things; her pretty smile, and her rather nice tits. She was wearing a sort of denim bib dress, with a short-ish skirt and this panel at the front with straps over the shoulders. Underneath she wore a tight, white t-shirt, and her breasts pushed the denim panel forward and swelled nicely out at the sides. As she turned round to extract some pairs of jeans from a nearby rack for me, I could see there were no bra straps showing through the t-shirt. Nice. Her blonde hair was thick and curly, and came down to her shoulders, and her legs and bum weren’t bad either.

“Try these,” she said, handing me two pairs of denims.

I thanked her, and she smiled again as I stepped into the changing cubicle and drew the curtain across. I’d barely zipped myself into the first pair when the curtain was suddenly pulled back.

“How are they?” she asked. I was a bit surprised. If I’d been a little slower in getting the new jeans on, I would still have been only half dressed.

“Er — they’re OK, thanks,” I stammered.

“Mmm. Let’s see. They look a bit loose at the back. You need them to be a little tighter to show off your bum better.” She smiled.

“I — I don’t think I’d fit a smaller size,” I said, a little surprised.

“No, but there’s another make that’s less generous across the bum. I think they’ll suit you better. Try the others while I sort you out a pair.”

She pulled the curtain closed, and I removed the first pair and put on the second. Almost before I’d finished buttoning them up, the curtain swished open again.

“They’re better,” she said looking me up and down appraisingly. “Turn round. Yeah, the only problem is that those show the outline of your underwear. Try istanbul escort these.” She handed me another pair from a different brand.

Actually, another problem with the pair that I was wearing was that they also showed the significant bulge developing at crotch level as a result of her rather blatant flirting. “Thanks,” I said with a smile.

Her expression showed that she fully understood the game she was playing. The curtain swished closed, and I realised that I had a choice. I could just play dumb and try on the new jeans that she had handed me, or I could go along with her game and see what happened.

Quickly, I peeled off the second pair of jeans and with them, my underpants. I grabbed the third pair and slipped them on, facing away from the curtain to arrange my now-nearly-full erection carefully. Before I could even zip myself up, the curtain swished open again.

“Oh yes, they’re better. They mould to your bum really well. And it’s a nice bum — worth showing off.”

I turned around. “But I’m having a bit of trouble at the front. I can’t seem to fit this in.” I’d left the waist button undone, the zip open, so my cock was pointing out of the V in the front of the jeans. I looked for the expression on her face. Would she be shocked or pleased? Was she serious or had I gone too far?

“Ooh! I see the problem. Yes, you would have a problem keeping that in your pants, wouldn’t you?” she grinned back at me. “Let me see if I can help.”

She reached out and placed her fingers around my cock. “Oh yes, that feels nice,” she said, slowly sliding her hand up and down the shaft.

I reached out and slipped my hand into her hair, behind her head, pulling her face to mine and kissing her hungrily. I was pleased that she responded in kind. I fumbled with the buttons on her bib dress, and as the denim panel fell away, reached up to feel her breasts through the tight t-shirt. She pulled back, and I thought I’d done something wrong, but she simply smiled and in one smooth movement, pulled the t-shirt off over her head and dropped it on the floor. Her tits were pretty good — firm, round, full and with nice, hard nipples. I cupped one in each hand, gently squeezing her nipples between my fingers, and she gasped.

She put her hand back on my cock, gently stroking it while I played with her breasts and nipples. Then she sat down on the little stool in the changing cubicle, bent forward and took the head of my cock in her mouth. Her lips and tongue were soft and wet, and the sensations were fantastic. I reached down and continued to play with her nipples as she gently licked and sucked me.

After several minutes of this, I decided that unless I wanted to shoot my load in her mouth, I’d better change what we were doing. I reluctantly pulled away, kneeling down and kissing her. I then reached under her skirt and started to pull down her panties. She obligingly lifted her bum off the seat, and then, when I’d slipped the lacy garment over her feet, she pulled up her skirt and spread her thighs to give me access.

I traced the outline of her outer lips with my fingers, and then slowly pressed deeper. She was already wet, and as I stroked along her pussy, her eyelids fluttered and she let out a soft moan. I leaned closer and inserted the tip of my tongue between the dark curls of her pubes into the pink, wet slit inside, and she moaned louder.

“Oh yes. Lick me. I love having my pussy licked.”

And so I did, for maybe five minutes, circling in, probing inside her with my tongue, then switching to long, slow strokes that first circled, then stimulated her clit. I came kadıköy escort up for air and inserted a finger inside her and started finger-fucking her, which she seemed to like. Then I dipped my head again, focusing on her pink love-button, and she thrust forward with her hips, rubbing her juicy slit on my face.

I got the impression she was about to come, and I was quite happy to let her, but she suddenly pushed my face away. “Do you — do you want to fuck me? Only — only I need it — before I come.”

We both got up, rather unsteadily. “Where?” I asked, looking round. The floor was pretty filthy, and I couldn’t see anywhere we could reasonably lie down.

“Over here,” she said with some urgency, indicating the sales counter. I looked around. If we used one end of the counter, we probably couldn’t be seen from the street outside, and there didn’t seem to be anyone about anyway.

She quickly unfastened her skirt and dropped it onto the counter, and I got my first real look at her naked body. Her dark pubes were at odds with her blonde hair, but she was very sexy.

“Get your jeans off,” she said to me. “I want to see that nice little bum of yours.”

I threw off my shirt and peeled the tight jeans over my feet, and she immediately pressed up hard against me, rubbing my cock against her wet mound, her impressive tits on my chest, and reaching around me to squeeze my buttocks . “God, you’ve got such a sexy arse!” she breathed.

“You’ve got a sexy everything,” I replied. “Do you have a rubber?”

“No need. I’m on the pill. Now…” She put her hands on the counter behind her and lifted herself so she was sitting on it, legs apart, facing me. “Stick it in. Now!”

These were the days before everyone was worried about AIDS, when the worst thing you could get from a casual shag was reckoned to be a dose of the clap — and you could fix that with a course of antibiotics. I wasn’t going to deny her, so I lined up and pushed.

She wasn’t the tightest girl I’ve had, but she was hot, wet and very willing. We fucked on the counter for several minutes, her legs hooked around me, those impressive tits on my chest and our mouths devouring one another. Then she broke away again.

“Need to change. Do me doggy. Frig my clit.”

She slid off the counter, turned round and bent over, putting her hands on the surface as if to brace herself. I took up position behind her and slipped it in once more, sliding one hand round to cup her mound and stroke her clit with my middle finger while the other squeezed one of her fabulous tits and rubbed her nipple with the palm.

“Oh yeah! Oh yeah! I love it — doggy. Like it — hard — from behind. Deep. Oh yes! Just like that! Yes, yes — on my clit. Ooooh!”

“You like my cock, baby!”

“Oh yeah! Give it to me! Stick it in hard! Oh yes! Oh yes!”

So I did, pounding her as hard as I could. Unfortunately, the effect of this was to take me beyond my zone of control, and tipped me over the edge. I started coming, pumping what felt like gallons of cum into her sweet, wet pussy, all the while rubbing her clit to try to give her what she was giving me. And then, just as I thought I’d blown it completely, I felt the first spasms, and she moaned and threw her head back.

I slumped forward, pinning her down onto the counter, as my last spasms subsided and I felt hers pulsing around my cock. She was making all of the endearing noises you expect from a woman in orgasm — the moans, squeals and sighs — which told me that I’d hit the spot. I licked the back of her neck, and she giggled.

“Christ you cum a lot! I could feel kağıthane escort you jerking inside me for ages, and it’s all starting to dribble down my legs. Get off me for a moment.”

I stepped back and my limp cock slipped out of her. She stood up, cupping a hand between her legs. She kissed me, then said “Hang on a moment,” and hurried off into a back room. I noticed a small puddle of cum on the floor by the counter, which would clearly add to the rest of the mess on the floor.

I went back into the changing booth and collected my clothes and her t-shirt and panties, as well as the last pair of jeans I’d tried on. I started to dress, and then the phone rang. I stood there, not knowing what to do, until she came running out of the back room and answered it.

“Hello? Oh, hi. No, just cashing up — we got some new stock in today. Be there soon. Bye.”

She put the phone down, and handed me a wad of toilet paper she’d been holding. “You’ll need this,” she said. I took it and began wiping myself. “Looks like I’m going to need a bath when I get in. Otherwise I’ll have to explain to my husband why there’s so much cum leaking out of me. Seems like you haven’t had a shag for weeks and you’ve been saving it up for me!”

She smiled and kissed me again. I admired her body. Naked, she was very sexy indeed.

“You’ve got fabulous tits,” I told her.

“Why thank you kind sir!” she said with a smile. “And you have a gorgeous, tight little bum. And actually, a rather nice cock, too. It felt really good when you were shagging me with it.”

I held her and kissed her again. “That was actually the best shag I’ve had in ages,” I told her.

“Judging by how much spunk you squirted into me, it was the only shag you’ve had in ages.”

I laughed. “No, not really. I just cum a lot — under the right circumstances.”

“It’s just as well I didn’t try to suck you off, then. You would probably have drowned me! Anyway, Mr Cute Arse, I need to get home. Hubby wants his dinner. Are you back tomorrow?”

“I’m afraid not. I’m just off for two weeks’ holiday. But I’ll be back after that. Oh, and I’ll take the jeans. How much are they?”

“Oh, you definitely must take them — your arse looks irresistible in them. But have them on the house.”

“That’s very kind.”

“Not at all. Just wear them next time you come in.” She slapped my buttock, playfully, then turned back to the counter and started to put on her clothes.

I dressed quickly, and then she put the jeans into a bag, kissed me and groped my bum again.

“See you — and shag you — again in a couple of weeks!” she said as she unlocked the door of the shop to let me out into the damp street.

She was right about the jeans. I went on holiday with my mate Brian, and even he got lucky. I pulled twice, each time while wearing the new jeans. One girl, an English waitress working in a local bar, took me back to her place and we shagged five times in three days. Brian thought I’d been kidnapped when I didn’t come back to the room at night. I also got off with the 19-year old daughter of a family I shared a table with in the hotel restaurant, and we shagged in my room while her parents thought she was out shopping. (Brian had to sit in the bar).

The first day back at work, I wore the jeans and went round to the shop straight after work. It had closed down. The guy in the newsagents next door said that the bloke who had owned it had gone bankrupt, and all the staff had been laid off. I asked if he knew the blonde manageress, and he said that she used to come in occasionally for chocolate or cigarettes, but no, he hadn’t seen her since the place closed and no, he had no idea where she’d gone. And we’d never even exchanged names.

I wore that pair of jeans until they fell apart. I pulled loads of times, and shagged probably twenty girls and women as a result. But I still look back on that rainy day that I met a woman with great tits and a deep appreciation for my arse, who gave me the most useful pair of jeans I ever owned.

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