Desire

by Alex Palange

  Desire

  An Anthology of Erotic Short Stories

  Desire

  An anthology of Erotic Short Stories

  Author Poppy Goodhead

  Author K L Sherrington

  Author Alex Palange

  H.E. Olsoe – Editor

  Copyright © 2018 by Alex Palange. All rights reserved.

  This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review or scholarly journal

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, Characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to the actual person, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  The following stories contain mature themes, strong language and sexual situations. It is intended for mature readers.

  All characters are 18+ years of age and all sexual acts are consensual

  Special thank you note:

  Many thanks to Photographer Ray Haslam for the chance to use this beautiful picture “Amy Rose” for the cover page.

  It was a pleasure to have you on the team.

  www.madcowmodels.co.uk/ray_haslam

  Contents

  Emily Undone

  Chapter I

  Chapter II

  Chapter III

  Chapter IV

  Chapter V

  My Desire – Only You

  Virtual Reality

  Chapter I

  Chapter II

  Chapter III

  Chapter IV

  Chapter V

  About the authors

  Emily Undone

  A short story by Poppy Goodhead

  Chapter I

  Emily’s hand stroked down the long elegantly tailored sleeve. She toyed absently with a shiny black button on the cuff. Then, remembering where she was and what she was to do, she began to loosen the jacket and slide it delicately off. Next, she undid the pastel blue silk tie and with the tall brooding figure of Mr. Ramsbottom in the back of her mind, laid it carefully next to the jacket. Now she was ready to slowly and deliberately tackle each of the tiny white shirt buttons. Each one she undid revealed a little smoother chest. She pulled the shirt from belted trousers, then hesitated. A brief moment of confusion, of indecision. Should she remain standing to undo the belt and, ultimately the trousers, or ought she to kneel?

  What would Mr. Ramsbottom say? What would Mr. Ramsbottom prefer? She wasn’t getting any help deciding, no words of encouragement or advice. Perhaps, once the trousers were nearly off she would kneel? She unbuckled the black Italian leather belt, enjoying the crisp sound it made as it swished from its loops. Furtively she looked around, checking no one could see her. There was no need, of course, she was quite alone. She undid the top button of the grey suit trousers, unzipped the zip and slid them easily down. There were no shorts beneath, no pants, no posing pouch, no briefs, nothing. This might be where she would need some help. Some assistance. Another pair of hands.

  Emily Perkins was nineteen, on the short side, petite, with large, gentle blue eyes and blonde hair cut short in a bob. She had been working in the men’s clothing section of Robertson’s Department Store since the summer holidays and she was still struggling to get trousers off the shop’s mannequins. She would need someone to lift it up and off the long metal spike which ran up one ankle, otherwise there would be arms and legs everywhere and the trousers might get damaged and ruined and she would be in trouble with Mr. Ramsbottom again and if there was one person she didn’t want to get on the wrong side of it was Mr Ramsbottom, she’d seen the state of some of the other girls who worked on her floor after a dressing down in his office.

  Emily was eager to please Mr. Ramsbottom, very eager indeed. She had taken the job after leaving school. She hadn’t intended on staying for more than a week or two, just long enough to pay off her debts, but now there were other reasons to stay. She looked at the smooth plastic bulge just above the detachable leg and briefly wondered about the bulge she’d observed in Mr. Ramsbottom’s trousers at the previous day’s staff meeting. It was of little importance. At thirty-five Mr. Ramsbottom was nearly twice her age and her senior in every way. But that hadn’t stopped Emily going back to the tiny bedroom at her parents’ house and fantasizing about him nightly for the past few weeks. Perhaps it was the bulge in his trousers or perhaps it was the power he held over her that Emily found so intoxicating? She was both fascinated and terrified by him in equal measure. He would never look at her though, would he?

  “Come on you slacker.” Kate Baxter worked in shoes and was Emily’s only real friend. She expertly unclipped one of the mannequin’s arms and started jabbing Emily in the stomach with it. “Need a hand?”

  “Very funny. Put that down and help me get these bloody trousers off, will you?”

  Kate lifted whilst Emily slid the trousers off leaving the shiny plastic man ready to receive the year’s autumn season.

  “Daydreaming about the boss again?” Kate asked. Emily had singularly failed to hide her feelings for her superior from her friend. “Can’t say I blame you.” Emily coloured endearingly. “Listen,” Kate continued sensing her discomfort and happy to change the subject, “you know there’s about to be this huge sale in lingerie starting in a couple of days? Once the stores shut, we

  could pop down there, have a look around and see if there are any bargains? Maybe tomorrow night?”

  “Could do.”

  “We can put some things aside. Sure the girls down there wouldn’t mind. Might even try a few on?” Emily laughed. “Anyway, can’t stand around here all day. Need to see Jerry in transit about some missing orders.”

  “Jerry in transit, eh?” Emily shot her a meaningful glance.

  “See you later, Emms.”

  There probably wasn’t a woman in the store who hadn’t silently, and sometimes not so silently, wished they could get into Jerry in transits tight blue overalls. There was something about the tall, often unshaven man. Rough trade, Emily wondered? He wasn’t for her though. She had her sights set much higher up the managerial ladder.

  Chapter II

  Emily had just finished serving a customer when Jerry strode into the men’s department. He was tall, muscularly built and his thick dark hair was matched by a dangerous black stubble. He looked like the archetypal bad boy, but with a heart of gold. Just the sort of man with a trail of broken hearts behind him.

  “Got some fresh stock in for you. Do you want to come and give me a hand? Show me where you want to put it?”

  That morning Emily had woken late and horny and hadn’t managed to shake the feeling off, so now when she looked at Jerry from transit she could only think of one thing and she knew exactly where she’d like him to put it.

  “Emily?”

  “Yeah, sure. What is it?”

  “Underwear.” Emily felt her cheeks redden again. “You know? Pants, boxers, that sort of thing. I’ve got a crate of the stuff in the service elevator, just need to know where you want them.”

  She followed Jerry obediently down a series of aisles to the elevator. He inserted the keys and the doors slowly opened. There were three huge cardboard boxes stacked high on a hand pallet jack. She tried to see what was inside from the delivery slip but it wasn’t much help and so, with a bit of help from Jerry, Emily opened the first box. The season’s new range of men’s briefs, complete with the obligatory photograph of a bulging lunch box and bristling six pack. Emily’s eyes widened. As she gawked at the container, with its dozens of boxes of tight-fitting briefs, Jerry leant forward and grabbed the one she was holding.

  “Not bad
. Yeah, like the look of these,” he said, holding the box in front of his crotch. “What do you think Emily, fancy me in these?”

  Now she was blushing, full on. She shyly looked back at Jerry, imagining him walking into her tiny bedroom in nothing more than the pair of the purple pants he was currently mucking about with, his huge cock cosseted there for all to see, just waiting to be released, licked, sucked and sat on. She started to feel a little uncomfortable. A little hot.

  “Give those back. Come on Jerry, stop mucking about.”

  With a cheeky grin, he threw them back in the container.

  “Sorry, just tell me where you want them then?”

  Emily knew that she would have to lead him halfway across the department. The thought of having Jerry staring at her bottom as they walked round the shop wasn’t helping her mood. If she hadn’t been at work she’d have locked all the doors, drawn the curtains, jumped into a nice warm bed and stroked her pussy to a thundering orgasm, but here she was stacking shelves. As she made her way across the men’s department, with Jerry wheeling the pallet jack behind her, she tried not to wiggle her bottom too much.

  Jerry left her with a mountain of men’s underwear to unpack. She set about stacking and displaying them and clearing the previous year’s stock. But the images of bulging Y-fronts, well-hung models in tightly fitting boxers and bikinis really weren’t helping. Emily was just about to furtively press a hand between her thighs when she realised there was a customer bearing down on her. On second inspection, not just any customer. He must have been six foot, slim yet muscular and clearly, judging from the suit he wore, doing rather well for himself.

  “Excuse me,” he purred looking down at Emily, “I’m not very good at this sort of thing, but I wonder if you might assist me?”

  “Assist me?” If only you knew, thought Emily, desperate to touch herself. She could feel every fibre of her cotton panties as they brushed across her sticky lips.

  “It would be my pleasure. What is it you were looking for, sir?”

  The gorgeous man in front of her awkwardly spilled out a long list of clothes that he thought he should probably own. Fresh shirts, ties, jackets, a new suit. Some casual items too: jeans, t-shirts, sweaters. As Emily showed him around the department it became clear that, until now, someone had done his clothes shopping for him. Emily was going to enjoy this. She began fussing around him. Holding up shirts and tops. Running her tape measure along dangerous seams. Fastidiously measuring every sculptured inch of him.

  “I take it you don’t often shop for clothes?” she asked flirtatiously.

  “No, Tabatha used to buy all my clothes,” he said in a small faraway voice as Emily held up another pair of jeans for him to consider. Oh, perfect. There was always a bloody Tabatha or Caroline wasn’t there? Why were the gorgeous ones always taken? “She died last year,” he continued “in a bizarre accident. On holiday.” Emily looked at him with astonishment. “I’d rather not talk about it if you don’t mind? She fell off a cliff, you see?” he said, talking about it. “We’d been playing frisbee. That was the last time I saw old Tabs, as she vanished over the edge of the cliff… clutching a Frisbee in her hand. Hell of a catch.”

  He looked away wistfully and Emily took the opportunity to find some different trousers. Blimey, widowed and a sportsman. And there he was again, looking down at her. Was he staring at her breasts? He seemed to be. Emily straightened her back. She was quite proud of her perky little tits and she knew that the thin pale blouse the store made her wear meant that, in certain lights, you could see her bra and sometimes the outline of her nipples.

  “What did you say your name was?”

  No, he was looking at her name tag. Typical.

  “Emily,” Emily said.

  “I’m so sorry about that, Emily. Sometimes it all just comes gushing out.” I bet it does, thought Emily naughtily. “My name’s Kok. With a K. Graham Kok.” Emily tried her best to hide her amusement and smiled weakly back at him “Well,” he cast a glance at the enormous pile of clothes they had accumulated, “I suppose we’re all about done here?” Emily hoped she didn’t let her disappointment show too much. “Better go and pay.”

  “Don’t you think you ought to try one or two things on?”

  “Ah yes. Completely forgot. And, er, I suppose I could do with some new, you know, Tabs used to call them, unmentionables.”

  What the hell was he talking about now? Unmentionables? What the hell had bloody Tabs called unmentionable? Frisbee presumably. Ah, of course, underwear.

  “I see, I think.” Emily led him to the display where they had first met and Graham Kok proceeded to look embarrassed and shy and altogether ill at ease. Emily realised she was going to have to take control of the situation. She was going to have to find some underwear for this shy, embarrassed, adorable young widower whose wife had thrown herself off a cliff chasing a plastic dinner plate. She could do that. Hoping that Mr. Kok wasn’t watching her too closely, she looked him up and down. Whether he still played frisbee or not, probably not considering the circumstances, he was in pretty good shape. She guessed, under that shirt, there was a rippling six-pack, and then lower, well, who knew? Possibly a firm, fat Kok. Cock. Oh lord. She looked at the display, trying to picture him in the various shorts and posing pouches. Emily was going to have to do something soon. The heat between her legs was excruciating. She just wanted to sit down somewhere quiet and fiddle with her pussy. Was that too much to ask?

  Hurriedly she grabbed a few different items and then followed him to the changing rooms. God, he had a cute ass too! There were no two ways about it. Emily was going to have to touch herself and soon. Leaving Graham Kok with half of the men’s department stock she quickly disappeared into the neighbouring changing room. If she were caught it would be awkward and bloody embarrassing too but needs must. She swept the curtain across behind her and quickly unzipped her work skirt. If anyone found her now and asked what she was doing she could say, what? She was trying something on? In the men’s department? Oh bugger it, she thought, I don’t care anymore. Her hand plunged deep beneath her loose skirt and pushed down and across the smooth front of her white cotton panties. She briefly considered propping her foot up on a radiator but thought better of it. Her fingers travelled lower, tracing the contours of her pussy lips, pushing at the soft cotton, feeling the damp heat beneath. If she was caught now it would be almost impossible to explain. She’d get the sack for sure. Well, bugger that too.

  She pushed her fingers between her lips and gently began to rub herself, her mind swimming with images of Mr. Ramsbottom and Mr. Kok and Jerry from transit. She was kneeling in front of them all, naked, her cute little-upturned breasts pointing toward them, her puffy little nipples desperate to be sucked, licked. Their huge dicks were out, pushed in her face, dripping with sticky juices.

  “Emily?”

  Her eyes snapped open. Now what?

  “Emily, I say, would you mind giving me a quick hand?” It was Graham Kok, in the next booth, his voice floating over the open top of the cubicles. She’d give him a lot more than a hand the way she was feeling. Emily gave her pussy one last frustrated rub and rather breathlessly zipped up her skirt.

  “Hello, Mister... Yes Graham, how may I help you?” Emily stood obediently outside his cubicle and took the opportunity to straighten her clothes. The curtain drew back.

  “What do you think about these?”

  Holy Cow! Graham Kok, with a K, and now Emily looked, quite a significant C, was standing in his stockinged feet, a fresh shirt on and a new pair of the tightest briefs she’d ever seen. They must have been at least a size too small Emily realised.

  That was it. That was all she could take. Emily coughed lightly and tried not to look at the truncheon like bulge in his pants.

  “You look... very nice, Graham.”

  He spun around playfully, showing her his perfect butt.

  “Yep, that all looks just great,” she heard herself say. Would it be too unprofessional, Emil
y wondered, for her to drop to her knees, ease his tight shorts down and give his truncheon a little suck, on the house so to speak? Probably. Probably a sackable offence that Emily. But then if you were going to get fired for something, make it a biggie. Make it a whopper. Go out in a blaze of glory. No point in getting sacked for forgetting to put the milk back in the fridge or stealing a couple of paperclips. She was going to do it. She was going to live a little. She was going to risk it all to have this man’s magnificent dick in her mouth. She’d made up her mind. Opportunities, not least to say cocks like this didn’t come along every day of the week. He wouldn’t mind. He’d bloody love it. Take his mind off his fucking frisbee throwing wife. Right...

  “Thanks, Emily.” Swish. The curtain was drawn shut.

  Fuck it. Fuck it. Fuck it! The first time in her life Emily Perkins had ever been about to take the initiative and she’d blown it. Well, in fact, she hadn’t blown anything and that was very much the problem. And now she was wetter than ever.

  “Glad I could help,” she said meekly to the drawn curtain.

  Only one thing for it. If she wasn’t going to be able to suck him off, at least she could have a sneaky fiddle and watch as he changed. Between the two cubicles stood a chair. She dragged it into the empty one, pushed it up against the shared wall, which stopped some way short of the ceiling, drew the curtain and very gingerly clambered up. She peeked over the edge of the partition. A mountain of clothes hung on the far wall. Where was he? She should be able to make out something of him by now. Then Emily realised the reason she hadn’t been able to see Graham Kok. He had bent down to remove his pants and was only now standing, bollock naked pondering what to put on next. Emily unzipped her skirt again. That was some butt he had, tight and honed. She imagined sliding her hands over those firm, hard cheeks, giving them a little bite. Her hand slipped back into her cotton panties and her fingers pushed down and through a thin little tuft of pubic hair. He bent again, picking up something fresh to try on from the pile of clothes near his feet. God, what an arse. Emily put a foot up on the back of the chair so she could spread her legs and allow her finger to trace between her lips, seeking out the source of her wetness. He’d found whatever he had been searching for and so had she, the tip of her middle finger slipping easily into the pool of sticky wet juices between her legs. He stood again, presenting Emily with a view of the back of his head. She ran her finger up, parting her soft, wet, swollen lips. He had another pair of the briefs she’d found for him. He held them up and inspected them for a moment before slipping them on.