Dressing Room

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Like a lot of women, often when I feel especially frustrated or ill at ease about something I try to get it out of my system by going shopping. So I suppose the constant rounds of shopping I was engaging in recently must have been linked to an even greater sense of frustration than usual. By now I had completely given up on my attempts to revive my husband’s utterly deadened interest in any kind of intimacy with me. At this point, even if he suddenly awakened from his numb slumber, and wanted me again, I don’t think I’d have him. I had crossed a line and now was seriously thinking about leaving him and eventually filing for divorce. I was young. I was full of zest and energy. I knew I had a lot to offer men. And, God knows, I was still brimming with sexual desire, probably more so than ever.

But in the meantime, until I set all that in motion, shopping was one of my great outlets. And that’s what I decided to do one day after Matt crept off to work with barely a hello when he woke up or a goodbye when he closed the door behind him.

I went down to my local mall and headed right over to my favorite store.

I was casually looking over the new clothes when I noticed this rather handsome man glancing my way. Like me, he was idly walking past the racks, looking at various items. I thought it a bit strange, because I was in the women’s wear section and he was unaccompanied. Maybe he was shopping for a present for his wife or his girlfriend, something Matt used to take relish doing for me but never did any longer.

After I noticed him staring my way several times, I caught his gaze rather boldly the next time he looked over at me and gave him a sly little smile. He immediately turned away, but then he turned back to me and smiled himself. Soon we were acting like two young teenagers, all cute and coy with each other, slowly walking around the garment racks and tables, tap dancing around one another. He was probably in his early thirties and had a very attractive face, with warm, but piercing brown eyes and a friendly, engaging smile.

I found myself in the lingerie section and I lingered here, checking out the underwear, looking his way as I did. I’d pick up a bra or a pair of panties and examine the fabric, looking up to see if he was watching me. He was. I’d pick up more and more provocative garments, little lacy half-bras and bikini panties. I’d do something rather intimate, like looking closely at the lining of the crotch of a pair of panties and running my fingers over the fabric there, as if to note how it would feel against my pussy, making sure that he noticed me doing this.

For some reason this was exciting to me, looking at intimate women’s apparel while being eyed by a strange man. Lately the idea of sudden intimacy with a strange man turned me on. Turned me on immensely. Recently I’d become quite the flirt, but by now I was ready to do more than just flirt with such a man. But still I wanted to avoid any sort of ‘affair’ or ‘relationship.’ Running into a guy in this serendipitous fashion and feeling a charge from the encounter was exactly what pressed my button.

Now I decided to be a little bold. So I wandered over his way. He was standing in front of a panty display and I picked up a pair of very sexy panties, lifting them up.

“What do you think?” I asked.

“I think they’d look very nice on you,” he said.

I noticed he was wearing a wedding ring and I thought I’d get right to the point and let him know I noticed it.

“Buying something for your wife?”

“Yes, I thought I’d get her some alluring lingerie, you know, liven things up a little,” he confessed.

“Do they need livening up?” I asked flatly.

He smiled knowingly, then looked down at my hand.

“I see that you’re married too. Do you think your husband will like this item?”

“Frankly, I don’t care if he likes it or not. If I decide to buy it, I’d be buying it for myself, not for him. He wouldn’t even notice.”

It felt so liberating to be talking so forthrightly to a strange man and I was certain it was provocative to him as well.

“With the season almost over, there’s a sale on swimsuits. So I was thinking of buying myself a bikini for next summer,” I said to him. “Would you care to wander over to the rack with me and help me select a bikini? I could use someone else’s opinion, particularly a man’s,” I said, stunned myself at just how bold I was being.

At the bikini rack I picked up an especially skimpy and sexy item imported from France.

“What do you think?” I asked.

“I think it would look terrific on you.”

“Do you really? Maybe I should try it on,” I said.

“Maybe you should,” he said. Then he paused and lowered his voice. “I only wish I could see it on you,”

“Is that so?” I said, pausing a moment. “Well, why don’t you come with me to the dressing room then? And maybe you could do exactly that.”

In just a few words we had established so much. I was married, he was married. I frankly admitted, albeit indirectly, bağdat caddesi escort that the last thing on my mind was my own husband. In his even more oblique way he told me pretty much the same thing about his wife. We were obviously coming on to each other, talking about sexy underwear and bikinis and what they would look like on me.

When we got to the dressing room, I turned to him.

“The only problem is if I go in there and try it on I can’t very easily come out here to have you see what I look like in it, can I? After all, it’s a little bikini I’m going to try on, not a pair of jeans. And there’s all these people out here. That’s too bad, because I’d really like to know what you thought.”

I pretended to think this dilemma over a moment.

“I know!” I said brightly, continuing my flirtatious seduction of this stranger. “Maybe you could come inside the dressing room with me?”

“But they wouldn’t allow that, would they?” he said, looking around a little nervously.

“I don’t know but, anyway, if you could, would you like to come in?”

“Sure, I’d love to,” he said, looking me right in the eye and speaking with a soft, but low, masculine purr.

“Let’s see what we can do,” I said.

I walked over to the salesgirl who was watching over the dressing rooms.

“Do you think he can come into the dressing room with me?” I asked her. There were three individual dressing rooms, each completely self-contained. I had been here before and I knew the set-up.

“You know,” she said half-heartedly. “It’s only supposed to be one to a dressing room.”

“But he’s my husband and I want him to tell me what he thinks of this before I buy it,” I said, holding up the exceptionally minimal bikini. “You don’t expect me to come out in front of everybody wearing this, do you?”

The guy was stunned hearing me say this and obviously quite excited by what I was proposing to the salesgirl. Then I leaned over and whispered something to the girl, who laughed raucously and then happily let us both enter the cubicle together.

“What did you say to her?” he asked, curious, as we went inside the dressing room.

“I told her, what if my husband should get horny seeing me in this? That she wouldn’t want to see him getting a big old erection out in front of everybody in the store.”

He stood there, smiling, amazed at my audacity.

We walked into the cubicle and locked it. It was completely private inside, with a real door, not one of those half-doors where you can see legs. Normally I like those booths; I always get a little turned on seeing other women scampering around barefoot, putting on and taking off skirts and pants and undies. But now I was happy we had this privacy.

“Alone at last,” I said, turning to him. Then I held up the bikini. “Turn around and I’ll put it on.”

He was a little disappointed. I knew he was hoping I’d rip off my clothes right in front of him. I fully intended to do that, but I wanted to tease him, and have him hear the rustling of my clothes as I took them off and the sound of my snapping the bikini top on and pulling the bottoms up over my thighs and hips. I’ve always felt that dressing and undressing sexily for a man is something I really like to do and find very provocative. I used to do that for my husband all the time, but he could care less about that sort of thing these days.

“First I want you to see me with the bikini on,” I said as I took off my clothes. I knew he could hear every sound I made as I disrobed. We were in such close quarters I’m sure he could smell me. I had showered just before going shopping and had put on a new, and what I thought was a very provocative scent.

“Okay, you can look now,” I said.

He turned to look at me and his eyes almost popped out. I knew that my rather perfect figure was barely concealed by the tiny bikini. With him just two feet away I saw his eyes dwell on the contours of my body — my firm breasts, slender waist and flat stomach, my cute and very tanned round, firm buns which, as I now turned around for him, were nearly all visible with the exceptionally skimpy bikini bottom I was wearing.

“How do I look?” I said.

“You look just great,” he said.

“Me, or the bikini?” I teased.

“Both,” he said, “but especially you.”

“How do I compare to your wife?” I said. I couldn’t help teasing him. I was glad I had brought that right into the open, that we were both married and were wearing wedding rings. I had already decided I was never going to have to pretend to be single and to have to deal with that awkward moment where I’d need to pull back and tell a guy that I was married and that I had to go because my husband was expecting me.

“There’s no need for us to talk about my wife,” he said.

“Sorry,” I said. “There’s sure no need to talk about my husband.”

We stood there.

“So, you like the way I look in these? Well, this is going to look even better,” I said, suddenly bahçelievler escort unsnapping my top and exposing my breasts to his view. I walked closer, almost pressing my tits against him, but not quite.

Again I was approaching a threshold, something I hardly expected to be doing when I set out to shop at the mall that afternoon. I had been masturbating like crazy lately, but now I was about to enter a new arena, sexual intimacy with a strange man, the main arena for an adulterous wife.

I lifted my breasts up to his face.

“Do you like them?” I purred.

“I like them very much,” he growled softly.

“Well, if you like them, why don’t you touch them?”

He cupped my full breasts in his hands, grazing the stiff nipples with his fingertips as I closed my eyes, sighing at the sublime sensation of his touch. I could tell right away that this was a man who knew how to touch and caress a woman.

“They’re so sensitive,” I said. “And I’m guessing that this is sensitive too.”

I reached down to unbuckle his belt, dropping to my knees as I pulled down his jeans and briefs. And under those briefs I found exactly what I expected to find — a hard, swollen penis. After my long drought, suddenly men’s cocks had entered the landscape of my experience again, in a big way too. And by ‘big way’ I mean two different things. One, it seemed I was thinking about and picturing stiff cocks all the time these days. And two, the cocks I was picturing were always very, very large ones, huge ones really, long and extra thick, and nicely proportioned. Cocks that were works of art and not just tools for bringing about pleasure.

And now I found myself staring at just such a cock.

“Oh my God, you’re huge!” I blurted out, gazing at the mammoth shaft. It had to be ten inches long. And the thickness! I’d never seen one that thick. Plus it stood up nice and hard and straight and was gorgeously shaped. It’s like my perfect fantasy of a cock had suddenly materialized right in front of my eyes.

“Do you like it?” he asked cockily as he stood there with that unmistakable expression of manly pride at this display of his awesome endowment in all its rigid, virile glory, his jeans and briefs bunched around his ankles, that cock standing up like a flagpole.

“I love it!” I told him, and I meant it too.

I took the rigid cock and placed it right in between my warm breasts.

“I’ll bet you never expected to find your cock in a place like this today,” I said, a sassy smile on my lips.

Outside I could hear people going in and out of their booths. Little did they know that in this particular cubicle an unfaithful husband’s massive and fully erect penis was being squeezed between the breasts of a horny and unfaithful wife.

Or, who knows, maybe there were other couples, out for an afternoon of shopping, who had the same idea in mind as we did and were occupying dressing rooms similarly engaged. Though I doubted it.

I lowered my mouth over it and started to suck him. I really had to open wide to engulf the bulbous knob and get it between my lips. And, believe me, I’d had plenty of practice over the years doing just this. But since these last years of a pointlessly faithful marriage it once again felt rather novel and odd to feel a strange penis in my mouth.

I looked up at him with what I knew were excited and sparkling eyes as I wrapped my lips around his dick and sucked him nice and slow and easy.

“Everything all right in there?” the salesgirl asked.

Startled, I pulled back. The guy reached down to quickly pull up his jeans, but I stopped him.

“Uh– oh, yeah–” I stammered.

“I bet it is,” she whispered against the dressing room door, a knowing tone to her voice. She knew exactly what we were up to and, from her attitude, I was guessing that we wouldn’t be bothered or interrupted again for as long as we chose to stay in here.

He let his jeans fall to the floor again, his cock never having softened in the least. Now I returned to him and, after leisurely sucking his cock and licking his balls, and even turning him around and briefly running my tongue up the crack between his buttocks, licking his asshole briefly, I pulled away from him and sat on the little bench provided in the booth.

I still had on my bikini bottoms and now I took those off. Beneath them I had my own panties.

I spread my legs apart and let him stare into my panty-clad crotch.

“That’s where I want your tongue now,” I said as I pulled the crotch of my panties aside and spread my legs further, revealing the moist slit of my pussy to him.

“See, I’m all wet for you down there,” I said, knowing he’d notice my very obvious and extravagant moistness.

“Make me feel good,” I whispered, now taking my panties off, and flexing and spreading open my legs.

He dug right in to feast on me, his expert tongue lavishing me with eager caresses. This was a man who knew how to use his mouth and make bahçeşehir escort a desirous woman, a long frustrated wife, feel good!

“Yes… you do it so nicely,” I told him, panting with pleasure.

He licked me leisurely for a while longer, but now I very urgently wanted more than just his tongue.

“Come inside me,” I told him. “Take that huge, beautiful cock of yours and bury it in my cunt!”

Here I actually was asking a strange man to fuck me.

He stood up and got in between my legs as I took hold of his cock and guided it to its snug, moist home. With one expert move he slid it all the way inside me as I gasped at the thrilling sensation. I was so aroused, so wet by now, that I had no trouble at all accommodating even his stunning thickness.

“That’s it, fuck me!” I urged as I thrust my hips against his, luxuriating in his smooth and steady strokes.

We knew no one was going to chase us out of here, so we took our time, turned on by the fact that we were fucking like two hot young rabbits here amidst all the customers. Before me were through we did it in all sorts of positions.

I had him sit on the bench and sat over him, straddling him and impaling my cunt on his hardness. Then I stood up and bent over, my hands on my knees, as he came at me from behind and slid it inside.

“Oh yeah,” I moaned. “It feels so good like that.”

He was really slamming it into me athletically, working every last inch inside with a hard, steady, pounding rhythm. And that pounding rhythm was pretty noisy, I realized.

“Shhhhhh,” I said, turning back to hush him. “We don’t want to draw a crowd.”

He was screwing me so hard I was actually afraid that others outside would be able to hear us.

“Sorry,” he said as he let up a little, fucking me more slowly now, but still keeping up a nice, smooth rhythm.

“Don’t be sorry,” I said. “I love it! I love the way you’ve been doing it to me. I love the way it feels, the way you’re filling me, stretching me open. But we don’t want to have a couple of store detectives knocking on the door, do we?”

When he was really banging it inside me savagely he had been holding on to my hips. But now he let go of my hips and wrapped his hands around my breasts, cupping each one and gently squeezing my nipples. If there’s one thing I adore it’s having my nipples played with while I’m being fucked. The new sensation just about made me swoon.

I brought a hand down to my pussy and flickered a fingertip over the smooth, glossy surface of my clit as he kept screwing me and playing with my tits.

I loved doing it like this, standing up, with him behind me, and he kept fucking me in this position until I finally climaxed. Naturally I couldn’t make a sound when I felt that sharp rush of pleasure coming on, and had to bite my lips to restrain my normally loud and vivid orgasmic response. Instead, my whole body shook and throbbed as though I were having a seizure or something. I sometimes lose control of my body like this when I climax strongly.

This guy was such a great lover. I knew he could’ve kept it up forever; he just had that sense of perfect control some men manage, but most men don’t. My husband never did. Not for a minute.

But now that I had climaxed I knew he was ready to climax himself. And I didn’t want him to cum inside me. I wanted him in my mouth. I wanted to taste him. When I was younger I’d love nothing more than sucking a man off when he was ready and feeling my mouth fill up with his rich, warm spunk. Some women don’t like to taste it, but I’m one of those who always did. And it’s not just the taste, it’s the incredible intimacy of having a man get off in your mouth, feeling his cock throb between your lips at the moment his pleasure peaks.

“I want to suck you off now and have you spill it in my mouth,” I whispered to him as I pulled away and dropped to my knees.

I stared at his cock for a moment. It stood straight up, rigid as a length of steel tubing, glistening from the wetness of my cunt. The shaft was so long, so massive, I managed to wrap both my hands around it as I ran my tongue up its length and then engulfed him in my mouth. I could taste myself on him and, somehow, that was terribly arousing now too. Quickly I wet my finger and brought it back down behind his balls, searching for his asshole. Finding the rubbery entrance, I gently slid my moistened finger inside his anus, sucking him all the while.

“Ahhh!” I heard him sigh when I did this. Here was one more man who loved that particular bit of stimulation. It sure didn’t surprise me.

And when I felt his sphincter pulsate around my probing finger I knew he was on the brink. That’s one reason I like to finger a guy like that when I suck him off or when he’s on top, fucking me. Because just moments before he actually cums you can feel his anus pulsating. It’s a sure sign of what’s next.

What was next was that his cock began to throb and then suddenly I felt a gush of liquid warmth fill my mouth as he literally poured his pleasure between my lips. I thought he’d never stop as I swallowed his semen so I could accommodate more. Finally he let up as I sucked out the very last few drops.

“Wow!” I said, when I finally pulled away. “You must’ve really been saving it up.”

“It’s been a little while,” he confessed.

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