More Stories to Make You Blush

by Marie Gray

  That evening I decided to convince Margaret to come to bed early. I said I was tired and needed to feel her close, but told her she could read if she wanted. She got into bed, propping up the pillows, and gave me a kiss on the forehead before turning to her book. At least she wasn’t wearing that damn cream on her face. I cuddled up against her and stroked her soft cheek lovingly, but she just smiled and kept reading. Why couldn’t I make her see what I really needed?

  * * *

  Saturday, October 15, I was glad to be working only until one o’clock . I was tired and irritable after a sleepless night and was in no mood to kid around with my co-workers. I went straight to my office, avoiding the cafeteria. I thought I was home free until I saw Nicole coming down the hall with such a bright smile and shrill, cheerful voice that I felt a terrible headache coming on.

  “Hi, Paul! Having a bad day?”

  “I’m fine!” I snapped, without meaning to. “Hey, take it easy. You seem a bit frustrated.” She was nobody’s fool, that Nicole.

  “No, just a little tired.”

  I was dying to ask her about “my” customer. Did she know her? What was she like? What kind of voice did she have? Was she going to come today? What was her name? But I managed to hold myself back, and escaped into my office with a thermos of strong black coffee for company.

  The hours passed and she didn’t appear. I was very disappointed, but at the same time relieved. I realized this woman had become an obsession. I thought about her the way you think about a lover—longing after her, trying to be satisfied with what little she wants to give you, craving a kiss, even a smile. I felt totally ridiculous. Totally miserable. My shift ended, and she hadn’t even bothered to stop by.

  Sunday, October 16 was a day of complete mediocrity. I spent the day in an almost feverish state. All I could think about was her—daydreaming about that splendid body, her hands stroking her pale skin, silky hair tumbling down over her shoulders. I missed her. I felt like an addict in withdrawal from just one day of not seeing her. All I could do was wait for the next day, Monday, a day so quiet it was almost dead. She was sure to come break the monotony, brighten the day with her presence; I just felt it! I had no concrete reason for thinking such a thing, but I was convinced.

  That Sunday morning I left my house, got in my car, and drove to the Fashion Gallery. No, I wasn’t working that day, but the store was open. Who knows, maybe she’d be there. I’d thought of sitting quietly by the door, maybe having a bite to eat and watching people come and go. And if she appeared, what would I do? I’d be happy just to look at her; I’d be satisfied for the rest of the day. I would finally know all those details I was dying to know: the exact shade of her blonde hair, the color of her eyes, the perfume she wore. I could follow her without being seen, pretending to do some shopping for my wife. And what would I say to the employees I ran into who knew I had no reason whatsoever to be there on Sunday? I’d think of something.

  By late Sunday afternoon I was still there waiting. I ate a sandwich and waited. I drank a cup of coffee, then another, and waited. At four o’clock, bitterly disappointed, I decided to go home, pathetic and ashamed. Just by chance Margaret had to go out that evening, leaving me alone with my obsession. And that’s what it was. For the first time in ages I took the rum bottle from the cupboard and poured myself a good shot to try and forget her, or at least make the next day come faster. I drank more than I should have and Margaret had to wake me up as I lay passed out on the sofa. Luckily, I’d had the sense to zip up my fly before falling asleep in an alcohol haze. The last thing I remembered was fumbling to wash my hands after coming all over myself, my pants rolled down over my hips, imagining her kneeling in front of me, welcoming my cock into her beautiful, wide-open mouth.

  * * *

  On Monday, October 17, I got up with the dawn. I was ready for work ridiculously early, which made Margaret suspicious.

  “What’re you up to this morning?”

  “Oh, you know! It’s busy at the store. There’s a meeting to talk about the shifts over Christmas. I’d better get going.”

  Another lie. This was definitely becoming a bad habit. But I was so excited I couldn’t stand it; I just wanted to get to work as fast as I could, sit down at my station and wait for “my” customer. There were still hours before she arrived, many long hours to wait. Monday morning was usually pretty deserted and boring; everyone knows that nothing happens on Mondays. But I didn’t care a bit. There I sat, waiting for her visit, ready to welcome her and savor what little of her beauty she was willing to share with me.

  I was pleasantly surprised to see her arrive around ten. Maybe she wasn’t working that day? What exactly did she do for a living, I wondered. She could easily have been a model, but I had other ambitions for her. I imagined her as the head of a big cosmetics firm, or maybe a fashion magazine. But none of that mattered. There she was in front of me; that’s what counted. What’s more, she didn’t seem in as much of a hurry as usual. She strolled up and down the aisles, examining a jacket, then a pair of pants. She tried on a magnificent fur coat and admired herself in the mirror for a long time, wrapped in soft fox pelts. She looked like someone who wanted to buy herself a treat, but was hesitating. Could she afford it? She continued on her way, this time stopping at the fine jewelry counter. The Fashion Gallery prided itself on its vast assortment of precious gems and gold. She tried on pearl necklaces, diamond rings, and bracelets studded with tiny emeralds. She lingered a long time in front of some earrings that I couldn’t see in detail, but which were glittery and obviously expensive. Then she moved on again; she seemed to be wandering with no precise goal. Suddenly, her face lit up with a sweet smile. A tall, impeccably dressed man with a self-assured step was coming towards her.

  My heart skipped a beat. What I fool I was! How could I be so upset by the sight of this spectacular woman with an equally spectacular lover? It wasn’t like I’d been hoping to have her for myself! This impressive man was a world apart from my humble self!

  The couple headed for the fine lingerie section. Coquettishly, she showed her companion some of the ensembles she’d tried on. The man slowly walked around the displays, selecting a few items and handing them to her. His taste was less subtle than hers, to say the least. She seemed to prefer clothes that were chic and attractive, not crass and suggestive, but he preferred the sort of thing that left nothing to the imagination. He held up tight corset tops that looked uncomfortable but exciting, and tiny g-strings with matching garter belts. She laughed, they laughed together, and kissed; they seemed happy. Well, at least someone was happy! She took the most daring corset top and a g-string with garter belt,and headed into one of the fitting rooms. Before my eyes my angel from heaven would soon be transformed into a far less respectable woman, and the idea gave me an instant hard-on.

  When she got to the fitting rooms she went to Nicole and they had a long conference in low murmuring voices. They giggled and exchanged knowing looks, glancing over at the man, who seemed to be having quite an effect on little Nicole. My angel entered the dressing room and I saw Nicole go over to the shoe department. She chose a pair of thigh boots with dizzying high heels and brought them back, leaving them in front of fitting room eight, where She was already getting undressed.

  This time she seemed to be in a hurry to put on the items chosen by her lover. I watched admiringly as she stood naked before me, not taking the time to look at herself, but grabbing the bustier, whose small waist made her breasts bulge out provocatively over the top. The stiff fabric made her waist seem tiny, while making her voluptuous hips look rounder. She tugged hard, almost frantically at the strings in front, lifting her breasts until the nipples popped out the top. Dazed, I reached out to the screen, hoping to touch those plump, full curves that offered themselves sadistically, driving me out of my mind! She slipped on the tiny g-string. (Why had I never noticed that the Fashion Gallery sold such get-ups? But what a nice way to find out!)

  She hooked the garter belt aro
und her waist and attached the silky stockings she was wearing when she came into the store. She looked at herself in the mirror and seemed pleased by what she saw. She quietly opened the door, picked up the boots that Nicole had kindly left, and gracefully pulled them on. She was breathtaking. I was in heaven, I could barely contain myself—and that was just the beginning!

  My beautiful customer loosened her hair with a skillful gesture, and her magnificent blonde curls tumbled down over her shoulders. Then she rummaged in her purse and took out a tube of bright red lipstick, rouged her nipples, then applied it to her lips. She spun around and I admired her magnificent derriere to my heart’s content—the almost exaggeratedly round buttocks, the slender thighs snug in the soft leather boots, her tiny waist. Then, she opened the door to her lover.

  He examined her closely and had her pivot, admiring his choice of clothes and their full effect. Then he entered, closing the door behind him, and took her in his arms. He kissed her with hungry passion, caressing, pinching, and kneading her delicious buttocks. His hands moved over my beauty’s tender flesh, and I let my own hand do what it was aching to do. I seized my stiff member and watched the couple. She was perched on a little stool and swung her breasts in the man’s face. He took hold of them and freed them from their tight confinement, greedily licking off the lipstick. Then he pushed the g-string aside, freeing my customer’s hot bush, teasing her pussy with an impatient finger. She threw her head back and played with her breasts, allowing her companion to multiply his caresses. He bent even lower in front of her, lifted one of the booted legs onto his shoulder and licked the bared sex. I could almost hear the beauty’s moans and feel the shudders that ran through her body as her lover hungrily ate her. Then he stepped back, spread the sweet lips, and flicked his finger back and forth over them. She grabbed his hair, wild with excitement, and smiled as he shoved his finger into her over and over. She let herself be penetrated this way for a few moments before adding her own finger to the sweet torture. She stroked herself violently to the rhythm of the penetration, then suddenly shuddered and collapsed, her eyes closed.

  The man took advantage of the moment to pull down his pants and jerk off. It was strange, he was going at almost the exact same rhythm as me, but that was okay by me. He brought his big cock up to her mouth and plunged into it. At that moment she opened her mouth wide and sucked him into her, kneeling before him, submissive. She seemed to know what she was doing, drawing almost his entire member into her hot mouth, taking a breath before sucking on it again. She sucked so hard I could see the movement of her cheeks. It was painful; I wanted her so badly it hurt. I wanted to take her this way and watch her do what she was doing to this man, but to me—do it with her dressed the way she was and in the place where she was doing it.

  I could see very well (too well) the man’s reactions, his cock growing bigger and harder with her strokes. He gripped her head, forcing her to take him deeper in her mouth, and she did not resist. He made her go faster and her head was a blonde whirlwind. Then, suddenly, he interrupted her, turned her around in front of the stool, and made her lean forward, still on her knees. He got behind her and entered her in a single stroke, with such force that her head hit the wall. Her back arched and she spread her legs further apart to receive him. I had an excellent view of his big pole entering her. I could almost feel, with every thrust, the muscles of her sex squeeze around my own cock. I was so excited I thought I was going to come without even touching myself, but instead the tension just mounted all the more.

  The man stood up and grabbed my beauty by the hair, pulling her to her feet. She let herself be manhandled without saying a thing. In fact, she seemed to like her lover’s roughness. He pinned her wrists on either side of the mirror, and I could have sworn she was looking at me. There she was in all her splendor, all mine, helpless, her eyes wild, with a little veil of sweat glistening on her upper lip. The man got behind her. Perched on her dizzying heels she was almost as tall as he was. She pushed out her buttocks and shimmied her upper body even closer to the mirror so her breasts were crushed against the screen. I watched, hardly daring to breathe. Suddenly he took her, hard and savage, crushing her breasts and face against the mirror to the rhythm of his thrusts. Any harder and she’d have gone right through the mirror and landed on my lap—and I’d have been ready for her! I was harder than I could ever remember being, and I pumped my poor member to the rhythm of their lovemaking. She looked like she was in another world. Eyes closed, mouth open, She made a superhuman effort to stifle the cries that would have alerted the other customers. He thrust harder, deeper. I could feel they were close to coming, and so was I. Suddenly, the lovers were taken over by a sort of frenzy and they went faster and faster, going from passionate to unbearable. She opened her eyes, damp strands of hair sticking to her face. She didn’t look much like the sophisticated and elegant woman I’d been fantasizing about for five days. She had become a tigress, a whore, out of control. She was as wild as he was, thrusting her hips and pelvis in a dance of ecstasy, until they both reached a massive climax. They fell onto the floor in each other’s arms, kissing, exhausted, and completely satisfied.

  Meanwhile, at my station, I surveyed the damage. An incriminating stain on my pants and a huge puddle in my hand, which wasn’t big enough to hold my flood of pleasure.

  I was planning to make sure no one was lurking in the hallway, before sneaking into the washroom to clean myself up. As I was getting up something on monitor three caught my attention; two young men were exchanging bulging backpacks between racks near the jewelry department, and they looked in quite a hurry to leave the store. Something fishy was going on, and, feeling guilty about not watching more closely, I instantly forgot the stain on my pants and pressed the button that would alarm the main security post just outside the store. Better safe than sorry; after all, this was really what those cameras were for.

  * * *

  When I got home Monday night Margaret met me at the door. She’d seen the report on the early news: robbers caught red-handed making their getaway with over $800,000 worth of merchandise from the Fashion Gallery! Nicole and the rest of the gang were in jail, and I was a very astonished hero. Their dressing room diversion—that’s all it was—had almost worked.

  “Are you sure you’re all right?” Margaret asked, buzzing around me with wifely concern. I felt better than all right. For the first time in a long time I felt like a lucky guy. I could have lost my job, I could have gotten caught jerking off—instead, I was an accidental hero. I held my wife in my arms for a long time and she didn’t seem to mind. In fact she got really interested when suddenly, I had a fabulous hard-on. Margaret nuzzled my neck, then, with a playful nip to my earlobe, whispered, “It’s been awhile, but I still remember how you like it… .”

  I guess I’m going to have to stop saying that nothing ever happens on Monday.

  Dear Julian

  Dear Julian,

  I saw you play at the Crystal Club last Saturday. You were spectacular, as usual. My girlfriends told me I should go talk to you, try and get you interested, but I just couldn’t. Not that I haven’t thought of it!

  I know I’m your most faithful fan. You must have tons of them, but not like me, I can tell you.

  I get in this state every time I see you. It’s something about your face, your look of being in another world, your hands stroking your guitar strings, or your sublime talent. I love to watch your long fingers move up and down the neck of the guitar, feeling its every vibration, making it live and die. Something about you puts me in a trance. Nothing else exists. There’s no other sound, no other image. I’m not in a noisy bar any more; there are no multicolored lights, or people. I float in a sort of bubble where there is nothing but you. Just you, your faraway eyes, and your music.

  Maybe next time I’ll finally go talk to you. But I don’t know. For the moment, all I dare do is let you know that I exist. That somewhere out there, there’s a woman who is dying to meet you, who would be crazy with j
oy if even one of those songs you bring to life was inspired by her.

  But I’m getting carried away. Forgive me. For now I’m content just to find out where you’re playing next, go watch you, admire you, desire you.

  See you soon,

  X

  Julian could not believe it. Nothing like this had ever happened in his career—though maybe the word “career” was a bit strong to describe his music. This music, which in fourteen years had earned him barely enough money to pay his rent and eat, had brought him far more worries than glory. This music, which he had never been able to give up, had even cost him Janelle.

  He crumpled the letter into a ball, then thought again. What man would let himself throw a letter like that in the garbage? It was probably from a girl barely old enough to legally enter the Crystal Club, or some frustrated woman who had no other, more direct way of showing interest. Still, he could not hide his pleasure. And why should he? He had never—at least, not as long as he could remember—been the object of such admiration from a woman, not even Janelle.

  They had met in one of those trendy bars where he sometimes played with his band. He noticed her right away, but could not think of any intelligent or coherent way to strike up a conversation. True, he was used to women making the first moves, even if it never amounted to much—especially in that kind of place. But Janelle had not even looked at him. Then later, during the show, Ian, the singer, had asked if anyone in the audience wanted to come up and “sing the blues.” Janelle had gotten up on stage with an air of confidence, and flashing him a smile that could have melted an iceberg, started to sing.

  That was when he started to feel the signs of love at first sight. His hands grew damp, which interfered with his playing. His head started buzzing, and it wasn’t because of the thundering percussion a few feet away. Suddenly, there was so much adrenaline pumping through his body that he almost thought he was having some kind of attack. But no, it was just her.