Saturday Errands

“Dress and a thong, I love summer” was my flirty status update. One of my followers posted a “love” and sent a DM asking where he could see me in a dress. I flicked up a body selfie of the yellow sundress taken for maximum cleavage exposure. My G cups stretched the cotton bodice, the slightest erect nipple was on show. Gawd, I’m so glad lace bras were back in vogue, was my tag line. Padded bras are too warm in summer. I was horny and in the mood for adventure. Sundresses and wedge heeled sandals made me feel beautiful and sexy. Saturday morning groceries and the wind under my skirt intensified my sexual hunger.  Yes, a man buying fresh veg was a turn on. I was hunting, I wanted to consume, to fuck. 

It was errand day. I brought the groceries home and was putting them away before heading to town for lunch and a little shopping. I heard the screen door bang in the wind. My ex-husband walked in. I was bent over, my head in the cupboard and ass in the air. “Did you need anything done before I take the girls?” he asked.

I thought, “well, me?” but figured I’d prefer something a little less vanilla than sex with the ex. I stood up and flattened the front of my dress. “No, thanks, I appreciate the offer,” I said casually hugging him, “I’m good, I got my running around done, so I am going to do a bit of shopping this afternoon.”

The slow build to summer seemed to mirror my need for sexual satisfaction. Today, I would see if “FORyou71” really was willing to be with me on any terms. I fired him a message. I will be in the department store café at 3:30. You know what I am wearing. Find me and you can have me.

I was pretty ballsy when it came to hooking up, but I did do a double-take before hitting send. He was fun to flirt with, but it seemed like he wanted a dating situation. I did not.  Most guys I meet, do, and forget. I enjoyed the foreplay, he was flirty, but unsure. This was his one and only shot. I am comfortable with my sexuality and confident in my ability. When I started talking to FOR, a few months ago, I made it quite clear that my rules were simple: I used a safety, condoms, and no pictures.

I’m slutty not stupid. My best friend is my safety.  I message Gretta and tell what I am up to. Specifically, I was off to the Department store for coffee and a fuck. I shared the name and profile I was meeting as well as his cell number. I gave her the details of the meet. Standard procedure was a text if he showed, another if we made it through coffee and a check-in during or after depending on how it went. I told Gretta I would message if it was a go and check in around 4. 

I’ll be there. Was all he replied. Straight and to the point. 

I quip back, Excellent.

I reapplied my lipstick and was inspired to accessorize for my outing. I have the cutest anal plug. It’s gold with the prettiest blue stone. I tucked the edge of my dress into my cleavage. I take a moment to massage the lube onto three fingers. I slide my index finger under my thong between my lips and over my asshole. I resist the urge to masturbate, but I do give my vagina a quick inspection, it’s wet already. With my thumb and middle fingers, I cover the plug with the lube. Air from the AC unit is cool on my bare ass. I place my foot on the bathroom counter. I am open and ache to cum. My clit tingles and I flex my muscles in pleasure, bend my knees to spread my cheeks, and place the cool tip to my asshole. My breath is ragged in anticipation. I push it in and my ass sucks in into place. It feels so good I can hardly contain my urge to fuck. I use my muscles to increase my wetness, my breath is shallow, and I slide two fingers in and pump, I am slick as I feel my nipples tighten. I am so ready to fuck. I suck my taste from my fingers and watch myself in the mirror imaging him watching me as I am now. After washing and drying my hands I take my dress from my cleavage straighten my skirt and put my blue sapphire pendant and earring on. I do love when things match.

In final preparation, I moisturize my arms and legs and put my shoes on. I text FOR and ask him if he is in town. His reply is a picture of a sandwich and a beer. I know he likes the pub near the Department store. I keep promising to try the tomato bisque and gourmet grill cheese. 

I hope there aren’t any onions on that, I reply. 

I’ll see you soon, is his response.

I can barely contain myself. The nerves of youth are replaced with the rush of anticipation fused with my desire to consume him. The thrill of new electrified with the fear of getting caught is almost too much to bear as I drive. My window is down, and the wind whips my hair around. I turn up the radio and sing along. I have plenty of time to do some shopping before we meet. 

I take advantage of the fine weather and park on the top floor of the parking garage. No one parks outside on days like today, I have the roof to myself. I throw a blanket over the hood of the car, put my feet on the wall, and lie back for a few minutes, letting my skin bake in the early summer sun. I hike my skirt up to my thighs, skimming my panties. The sun is intense, my skin warms quickly. A message notice requires me to sit up. I put my feet on the ground and rise, my dress falls in place. Gretta is checking in. I confirm where I am and my need to proceed. Her complete support of my sexual exploits is so special to me. She doesn’t judge, she celebrates my sexuality and joy in my conquests. She offers counsel when I ask, and I heed her advice when it is offered.

The elevator is cool as my eyes adjust to the artificial lighting. I attempt to be purposeful in my shopping. New sheets for my bed and new bath towels are the main purpose of the Department store visit. The store is buzzing with shoppers, the displays are cheesy and cheerful, sand pails and bathing suits highlight the hope for the season. I finger and caress the various thread counts and squish the pile of the towel. Thin towels are better in summer, a cotton-blend stays softer when dried outside. But when 100% cotton is line-dried the towels are stiffer and rough on sun-kissed skin. I love how the coarseness softens as the towel wicks the moisture from my body. I am lost in the smells and sensations my imagination provides. I take a half dozen towels and a set of sheets to the cash. Completing the purchase is automatic. I window shop the new sandals, and swimsuits mentally planning a week at the beach. I check the time on my phone as I bring my shopping back to the car. My stomach rumbles as a reminder that I haven’t eaten since six. I make my way to the food-court. I love people watching as I nibble on a scone and sip an iced tea. I flip between reading the news and texting with my kids. Trying to pick a week to book a cottage for us to go away. If we don’t book soon, I will have to be content with camping. That’s a bit more effort than I feel like making this year. I halt our conversation with, I want the 3 of you to decide a date by tomorrow morning, I have told you when I am willing to go.

A brunette catches my eye, she’s late thirties with a French braid, but not just a French braid a flawless, meticulously proportioned French braid. That hair contrast with her cliché Boho suburban mom look. Cut-off jean and layers of tank tops with high heel sandals made her just interesting enough to hold my attention. She is not comfortable in her own skin, she is fidgeting and looking around, trying so hard to be casual. Oh, I would love to have her fidget and twist for me. Twist and moan in pleasure. She looks like a Sally or Sara. I can envision her restrained and blindfolded, wispy pieces of hair stuck to her forehead with sweat from our sexual encounter. Her tiny tits aching for attention, nipples erect from her excitement. Her hips rising and falling with my touch and I awaken her sex, delicate finger fondle and flick her clitoris until she begins to writhe. 

Christ, I’m wet just thinking about her. I check my phone. I have to leave Sally on the bed, I’ll revisit her when I have time. My clit is aching from my fantasy. I go to the ladies’ washroom and freshen up. The plug always feels weird when I have to pee, but the intensity it adds to fucking is worth that moment of awkwardness. As I wash my hands, I wonder if I should retrain my hair in a braid. I opt to leave it down and loose. Flavored lip balm, not lipstick and it’s time to go for coffee. 

The crowds are starting to thin, children who have missed their naps top the chorus of voices and noises that echo through the mall. The Department store is much more civilized. Piped in music is the order of the day. I slowly make my way through the make-up and perfume counters, touching and smelling, but no applying any product. The restaurant is behind the men’s section. I get an ice water and a coffee; as I am digging for change, the cashier places a wrapped set of cookies on my tray. I walk to the back wall near the exit that leads to the washrooms. With my back to the wall, I face out into the room and place my cell on the table. I sit on the edge of the chair pressing my legs together, squeezing and releasing my muscles. I can feel the dampness of my panties against my bare pussy. I text Gretta and tell her where I am and what I am doing. I smell pine and feel warm breath against my neck. 

“Please be Musemeow?” is whispered in my ear. I have to pull away so I can rotate to see his face. He does not disappoint. I’ve seen his cock and even an entire naked body shot, but not his face. He is bookishly handsome. I can’t restrain my approval. I smile so broadly that my cheeks hurt. I make the motion to rise and greet him, he takes my hand and kisses the inside of a wrist. This intimate gesture throws me for a loop, and I freeze momentarily. 

  I want to say, “who the hell are you?” just to watch his reaction, but I am not willing to lose this encounter. My fetish for sex in public is difficult to satisfy. FOR has been enthusiastic about helping me take this off my bucket list. We exchange niceties and I offer to get him a coffee. 

  He sits across from me. “If only to enjoy you walking away.”

I grab some change and get a coffee for him. I survey the clientele attempting to anticipate the challenges we may have. I sit across from him and he moves his chair so he can be closer to me and he’s back on to the restaurant. I cross my leg and position myself; my feet rest next to his, he is able to easily caress and rub my calf as we chat. The world quickly slips away as I become fixated on the tenor of his voice and the heat that rises from his hand. I sit up and slide close. I want him between my legs. His hand slides under my skirt. I hold my water glass to my lips, sipping and eyeing the restaurant, no one has noticed us. I slide forward and part my legs so he can easily feel my panties. His muscular hands are rough on my freshly shave legs.

  “What have you been up to?” he pauses, his expression is playfully quizzical, “To be wet already? I wasn’t even sure you were going to show. I’m now hard as a rock.” His fingers slip behind the fabric of my panties. I continue to sip water, and my eyes widen with the adrenaline rush. I lay my glass down and hold his eyes. I feel the edge of my dress to ensure the skirt has held its place as far as the rest of the world can’t see. I casually brush non-existent crumbs from my chest, his index finger finds my clit and he starts to flick. 

I can’t hide my reaction and I quickly inhale in response. A purr rises from my throat, my eyes flutter and I grab the edge of the table. I ache to let him fill me, to ride him. Another moan escapes I reach for his face. He retreats from me ever so slightly and licks me from his finger. He impishly states, “I have to go wash my hands.” He starts to leave. 

  “Just a second, I have something for you,” I place a condom in his hand. “I have to do a quick check-in. As he gets up to leave, I send Gretta a quick message. 

All is well, msg u when done and in my car.

I silence my ringer, toss everything into my purse, and zip it closed. I survey the men in the room to ensure no one is about to stand. I slip into the men’s washroom it is clean, but there is a mix of cleaner and stale piss. Years of missing must be soaked into the grout of the tile or something. The squeak of the oversized stall door calls for me to enter. I turn to lock the stall and he is behind me. There is a bag on the floor, if anyone comes in, they will see the bag, rather than our feet. Where did the bag come from, how had I not noticed him carrying it before? Both hands hold and fondle my breasts and he pushed me into the stall door. My nipples are confined in their fabric prison. He maneuvers so that I am between the wall and him. I bite down on my lip to avoid making noise. He inspects my dress to figure out if he can access my tits. I know he won’t be able to have me naked, but he is not convinced. I say nothing and try to draw his attention to get to the fucking. I used my nails through his hair and along his neck. He locks his mouth on to mine and kisses me roughly. I offer firm velvety motions from my tongue; his kisses soften and deepen. His hands move from my neck and around to my ass. 

“The tits and dress stay where they are,” I whisper. We can hear people in the hall. He assesses the space. He squats so his face is at my pussy. I lean back against the wall and hold the grab bar. He goes under my skirt and pushes the wet fabric to the side. He discovers my accessory and murmurs approval, not to be distracted from his mission. He lifts my leg over his shoulder as he moves to his knees. He sucks, licks and nibbles my sex, his tongue is strong, and I feel it enter me. His fingers begin to push against my plug as he consumers my pussy juices. My orgasm builds. Discovering my ass plug is a major turn-on- he increases the frequency and intensity of the motion. I tuck my chin and moan as sweat rolls down my back and I fight the urge to buck and ride his face. He takes my squirming motion as a signal. I hold my breath waiting for him. I had visions of straddling him for a quickie while he sat on the toilet, this is so much more than I had expected. When he comes out from under my dress his glasses are slightly squished and steamed up. I reach to suck my wetness from his lips, I can’t contain my gratitude. 

  “Can I take you from behind?” he asks. 

  I reach up and kiss him only to hear the bathroom door open. I freeze and my eyes bulge. My smile of delight illuminates my face. The adrenaline makes my heart race and my breath quicken. We both resist the urge to laugh. This is the real rush. I cup his penis through the fabric. As I drag fingernails across the fabric, he puts a finger to his lips and smiles. We listen and hear a zipper, he clears his throat and releases his cock, his legs are spread to keep his pants at his hips. Silently, he sheaths his cock in the condom I had given him. He motions for me to turn around, he pulls me back onto his cock as our guest flushes the urinal. His departure is punctuated by the thud of the bathroom door. I exhale heavily and he slaps my ass. I hold the grab bar and grind back onto his cock. He reaches forward and holds me by the hair pounding me as squeaks of ecstasy leave me. My orgasm builds quickly, my back arches and I am dripping in sweat. The crescendo is no more than a dozen slow, deep thrusts, my vagina contracts, cum drips down my leg and I am spent. Time starts again, I grab a handful of toilet tissue to wipe myself. He drops the condom in the trash, takes a handful of paper towels, and leaves. I lock the door, raise my skirt, and sit on the toilet. My head is full of cotton and I can’t form a thought. I pee and compose myself. I take a wipe from my purse, wash my face, and drink from my water bottle. As I walk to the car, I keep stroking and flattening my skirt. I start the car, turn on the AC and send Gretta the text.

Stupendous fuck, pleasantly surprised.

Eve D’Pomme is a college professor and erotic writer. The endless possibilities of human connection motivate Eve’s desires to paint images and make possibilities seem tangible through her writing. Eve has been publishing online for the last year or so and teaching for almost 20 years.