[13.8 minute read]
I found myself following her down the travellator at Ikea, short and smart. Business suit with dark skirt over black tights, the skirt so tight around her arse that I knew for certain she wore tights rather than stockings, full-back panties rather than a thong. High heels giving her that ‘Check out my arse’ posture.
Her short-bobbed, bleach-blonde hair gave away nothing of her age until she glanced over her shoulder (sensing, I suspect, my eyes on her) and I noted that she was not young – mid forties – and not unattractive.
Five minutes later, I saw her again, staring unconvincingly at a shelving unit and, though she didn’t look directly at me, I sensed that she was again conscious of my attention. I walked slowly down towards the furthest aisle, Aisle 23, pausing until I was sure she’d tracked me, before turning out of sight between the high-stacked racks of cardboard covered flat-packs.
At the furthest end of the deserted aisle, I gave a good impression of looking for something. She appeared at the top of the aisle and, keeping her eyes on the other side, she walked slowly down towards me until we were back to back.
“Have you found what you’re looking for?” I asked without turning.
“I’m not sure”, she replied, with a smile in her voice, “maybe…”
I turned and, with a glance to check the aisle was still ours, I took the hem of her skirt between finger and thumb on each side. I heard her breath catch and I paused. Slowly, slowly, I raised my hands, teasing up her tight skirt, giving it a little side-to-side wriggle to ease it over the swell of her arse. She cast a nervous look down the aisle but offered no resistance as I settled her skirt above her hips and hooked my thumbs under the waistband of her tights.
Even more slowly, I peeled those tights down, taking care not to shift her silky black bikini panties which were brief enough for me to be rewarded with a glimpse of the sweet divide of her décolletage derriere.
Down over her thighs I lowered the tights to just above her knees, the gusset briefly snagging between her legs before pulling free.
I took a step back to admire my work. She stood motionless, her skirt bunched up high, tights stretched between her knees, and between the two, the perfect curves of her arse. The crease below each buttock showing below the black lace edging of her knickers and the white of her thighs.
I purred approval.
As I stepped forward again and reached towards her, her hands came back to shield herself.
“No”, she sighed, yet she tilted that curvaceous rear at me.
Swiftly, I caught her by each wrist, brought her hands forward and pressed them on to the shelf she was facing, making her bend forward.
“Stay”, I whispered in her right ear, as my hands closed over hers, commanding her to grip the shelf. “I’ll take care of everything, just nod if you want this.”
When she stayed in place and nodded her head, I had my green light.
I stepped back then and suddenly swung my arm, delivering a sharp smack to her right buttock. She gasped, as the sound of the smack echoed down the empty aisle.
“Be good”, I whispered in her left ear.
Her breath came in whimpers. With my foot between hers, I pushed her feet apart. She now looked as though she was forming an arch, playing a party game. With a hardening cock, I imagined the shame and humiliation she would feel if she was indeed forced into such a position at a party, all the guests jeering as they ducked under her outstretched arms…
I heard a movement and turned my head to see a plump young girl, 18 at most, in Ikea uniform, halted at the top of our aisle. My eyes locked with hers. I sensed my undressed victim shift and, before she could let go of the shelf, I slapped her arse again, harder, even louder than the first time.
The mouth of our voyeur literally fell open and her face flushed scarlet, but still she stood, her eyes casting back and forth; locking with mine, to the predicament of my shameful slut and back again. At length, a smile flickered across her face, she turned and was gone. I knew she wouldn’t be telling anyone what she’d seen. With equal certainty, I knew that tonight, in her single bed at her parents’ house, she’d replay this scene in her head. Under the covers, she’d be pulling up her nightie, sliding questing fingers inside her knickers to push into herself before rubbing herself until she shuddered, biting her lip to silence her climax.
Turning my attention back to my compliant and expectant plaything, my hand roamed over the taut silk and lace that was now her only protection. Below her right arsecheek, my finger slipped under the lace trimming, sliding towards the middle to lift the soft fabric, I pulled her knickers to one side, letting her feel herself now fully exposed. I observed that her legs were beginning to tremble.
I made her wait for my touch.
When it happened, it was so slow, so gentle, that at first she didn’t know if it was real or her urgent, fevered imagination. The tip of my index finger first detected her heat, then brushed soft hairs, then finally touched the hot flesh of her lips and, oh-so-gently, traced the line where they met. With a second finger joining, I slid these two fingertips either side of her crease, pressing lightly. Almost imperceptibly stretching my fingers apart, my slut groaned as her lips spread, immediately releasing her warm juices on to my hand. She was copiously wet.
I cupped her whole cunt under my firm hand, the heel of which now pressed against her anus, my index finger locating the unmistakable knub of her swollen clitoris. Her knees briefly buckled, causing her hands to grip the shelf even tighter. With a gentle rocking motion of my hand I gave pressure to her perineum, slid forward over her clit, circled it with my fingertip, rocked back. Again she felt the pressure on her arsehole, and forward, sliding over her slippery clitoris again, and back. My hand travelled forward, this time my finger slid into her, feeling her full wetness, and back, and forward. Now two of my fingers pressed deep inside, filling her passage. And then she was shaking all over, panting and moaning. I felt her cunt gripping my fingers, gripping and shuddering, gripping and shuddering.
She cried out. I felt her legs go, so with my left arm I caught her around the waist and held her up. My fingers slid out of her as I urgently unfastened my jeans, my aching cock springing free just in time. As the tip touched the silk of her panties, I spasmed again and again, spurting my cum all over her fine arse and down her legs.