my thighs and pushed my fist between my legs. I pressed it hard against the seat of the chair. The base of my thumb jutted towards me and I rubbed myself against it. It only took a roll of my hips, a roll as though I was riding against a broad and rigid cock, and the first tremors of a climax began to shiver through my body. As soon as I realised what I was doing, as soon as I privately acknowledged that I was wanking in the shop, the excitement grew even more intense.
It was behaviour as bold as exhibitionism or outdoor sex. It was behaviour as depraved as anything I had ever done in my life – and no one had ever called me a prude when it came to sex – and it was totally exhilarating.
I rocked my hips slowly back and forth.
The seam at the crotch of my jeans was a rock-hard ridge that pressed against my clitoris. The sensation dithered between an absolute agony and a furious, satisfying delight. Grinding harder and faster against my own wrist and the seam of the jeans, I rubbed myself to a slow and deliberate climax.
The explosion began in the tips of my toes. It was a tingle of pure pleasure that trembled through my legs and caused the muscles in my thighs to spasm. It travelled up to the centre of my sex and culminated in a warm wet eruption between my thighs. I stifled a groan of satisfaction and allowed the ripples of pleasure to eddy through my body.
I was still shivering when the shop’s bell rang and a customer walked in.
I blushed, as though he could have known what I’d been doing. My heart hammered. Each pounding beat made me feel as though I’d been caught in the act. I imagined that I looked dishevelled and ravaged, although the truth was that I probably had a little colour in my cheeks and no other obvious symptoms of satisfaction. Nevertheless, we studied one another until the customer rushed out of the shop without making a purchase.
And I told myself I would never do it again.
Jilling myself in the job had been too risky and I couldn’t face the embarrassment or the consequences of being caught doing something so depraved. And yet, while those arguments made sense, the next morning I dressed in a skirt rather than jeans.
I didn’t even realise why I’d made such a fashion choice until I was browsing through another of the magazines that I happened to have pulled from the shelves: Back Door Sluts.
This was a magazine about anal sex.
It showed glossy pictures of feminine backsides being spread by thick throbbing cocks. Some of the pictures showed dual penetration. Two massive cocks slid side by side into one woman. Those pictures left me breathless with a hungry desire to be the woman in the picture. I could imagine myself being the subject of so much hot, sweaty intimacy. The thought had me close to melting.
I glanced towards the shop’s collection of vibrators with an avaricious eye.
It was the largest selection of dildos and plastic cocks that I had ever seen. I wasn’t even sure where my thoughts were going as I studied them, except for the fact that I was thinking about the perks of the job. I was close to doubling over with a violent sexual need.
I teased a hand against my bare thigh.
That was all that was needed to have me desperate for more.
Within a moment my hand had slipped beneath the hem of my skirt. I tugged the sopping crotch of my panties to one side. And then I was caressing the moist split of my sex and was only seconds away from climaxing.
Wearing a skirt made it easier to bring myself off.
I could draw slow and lazy circles against the thrust of my clitoris. I could slide one finger, and then two, in and out of the warm, syrupy heat of my pussy. Wearing a skirt made it simple for me to squeeze the bud of my clitoris and wring a searing climax from its centre.
I came with a growl of bitter satisfaction.
Maddeningly, after a week, I realised that I needed more.
I took a modest-sized vibrator from the shelves. By a stroke of unprecedented good fortune, I happened to have brought a pair of batteries into the shop with me that day. I think it was the same subconscious stroke of unprecedented good fortune that had me wearing skirts to work each morning. The batteries fitted into the vibrator. Within seconds it was buzzing brightly in my hands. I covered it with a condom and then slipped it inside my pussy.
I was so wet there was no resistance. The buzzing length of plastic simply pushed its way into my cunt.
I almost climaxed from the thrill of that sensation alone. And I held my breath for a moment, savouring the dizzying rush of pleasure that came from the throbbing and pulsing sensations that shot through my pussy.
By the end of that day, I was weak-kneed from suffering multiple climaxes. That was one hell of a perk.
By the end of the month, I had acquired a collection of different-sized vibrators and dildos and plugs from the shop’s shelves. Sometimes I would use two at the same time. I’d have a plug nestled inside my anus and a dithering vibrator throbbing through my pussy. I tried to imagine what it would be like to serve a customer while those delicious sensations were pounding through me. The idea was so exciting it always brought me to a shuddering explosion of pleasure. I could picture myself struggling to appear calm and unaffected on the exterior while creaming myself internally. The idea was so stimulating I would explode as soon as the image filled my thoughts.
And, when I first did manage to serve a customer while impaled on two plastic cocks, I only just managed to hold back my screams of euphoria.
It went on for a month before I got caught.
Richard paid an unexpected visit to the shop.
He came in while I was frigging myself to a slow climax over the pages of No Holes Barred. Fortunately I wasn’t using any of the plugs or dildos that day. I had only slipped my moist and eager fingers against the slippery folds of my sex. I tried to pretend I wasn’t doing anything. I tried to casually slip my hand away from beneath my skirt but he gave me an understanding wink.
‘This place gets everyone like that,’ he assured me. As an afterthought he added, ‘Just make sure you never have sex with a customer for money.’
I heard the words.
But this time they didn’t make me as angry as they had on that first day.
‘Do you really think I’m likely to do that?’ I asked.
He shrugged. ‘If one of the punters catches you wanking he’ll likely make an offer. And I realise that I’m only just paying minimum wage, so I don’t doubt you’ll be tempted. But I can’t let you carry on working here if I catch you doing that.’
He went on to explain that it could mean he’d lose his licence as an adult bookseller, and that a store clerk whoring herself to the punters was likely to cut into his profits. He went on to point out that there was a noticeboard of business cards behind the till, each one advertising the services of someone local who was willing to exchange sex for cash.
I’d seen the noticeboard on previous occasions and had marvelled at the number of exotic names on there, but I didn’t have time to discuss it with Richard. I was busy assuring him that I had no intention of fucking anyone for money. And I wanted him to hurry out of the shop so I could finish rubbing myself to climax.
He had
