by Tia Siren
As we finished up, I walked with Michael to my front door. And there, just as he was about to leave, he turned back and kissed me on the lips. I returned the kiss. It was our first kiss since we had broken up, and I could tell that he had been thinking of doing it for some time. At least, if the sudden bulge in his pants was anything to go by anyway.
Unfortunately for me, the kiss was nowhere near as alluring as it had been for Michael. Suddenly, I felt grateful that Michael hadn’t stayed over tonight. After he left, I found myself sitting in my kitchen, thinking of Grant again. I remembered how each time after we kissed, I’d be able to taste him for hours. How I’d be able to think of nothing more than when I got to kiss him again. There was a passion there that was unbridled and hotter than the sun.
With Michael though, it was so plain and unmoving. I felt nothing.
I had spent the date with Michael convincing myself that he was what I wanted. That he was better in every way than Grant. And for a moment there, I actually believed it. But all it took was one kiss to bring that house of cards tumbling down. All it took was one kiss, and again, I couldn’t get Grant out of my mind.
Chapter 25
Grant
Loren was asleep next to me, and right now, I wanted to keep it that way. It was Wednesday morning, and for the third time in as many days, Loren had spent the night at my place.
It started with dinner after I came back from Atlantic City. I had no intention of sleeping with her that night. I was still reeling from my falling out with Kendra. My plan for Loren was to have dinner with her and tell her to stop spreading the lie that the two of us were sleeping together. But obviously, the date hadn’t quite gone as planned, and it was all Kendra’s fault.
She had gotten into my head. Not only had she gotten into it, but she had built a little house and set up shop there, too. I couldn’t stop thinking about how she had acted that morning after Loren called, and on the plane ride home, and when she left with an anemic goodbye wave and nothing more. Those images had stayed with me all day, rattling around in my brain and driving me crazy. By the time I finally met up with Loren that night, I wanted nothing more than to prove to myself that I was over Kendra, once and for all.
So I did. Or at least I tried. We had dinner, followed by drinks, followed by a night of very enthusiastic sex. And by that, I meant that she was enthusiastic. Overtly so. Loren was an ex-ballet dancer and still sported a very athletic body. She seemed determined to show me what I had been missing.
For a brief period, being with Loren had worked. I completely forgot all about Kendra. Well, until Loren and I finished. The moment we were done, with Loren lying in my arms, I found myself thinking of Kendra again.
Loren had a rocking body, but it didn’t excite me the way Kendra’s did. I needed a full-bodied woman with something to grab on to. Kendra’s round ass and heavy breasts thrilled me in a way that stick-thin Loren could never compete with. Kendra looked so fucking good in the uniform I made her wear at Luscious. I knew she would. That was the reason I’d chosen the corset and skirt. I imagined Loren in a similar outfit, and the image depressed me. She had no curves for the corset to accentuate. She was a pirate’s worst nightmare: a sunken chest with no booty.
I groaned in frustration. I needed to get Kendra out of my head somehow. That had been the reason I suggested to Loren that I see her again. And then again. Each time I saw her, the night ended in fucking. And each time we did, I was released from thoughts of Kendra, albeit only briefly. It was always the moment that we were done that thoughts of Kendra came flooding back. How much better in bed she was. How much sexier her curves were. How much I loved her sass, her smile, her everything. Loren wasn’t even in the same ball park. Hell, she wasn’t even in the same sport.
Lying in bed, trying to will myself back to sleep, the doorbell suddenly rang. I was out of bed a second later and at the door a second after that. The last thing I wanted was Loren waking up. As terrible as it sounded, she was frightfully annoying, and I really didn’t enjoy spending time with her. I was a sucker for self-punishment, and being with her satisfied that need.
A delivery man was at the door with a package for me. As if the gods were delighting in my misery and wanted to see me sink even further, the package contained the custom molds of Kendra’s vagina. Finally ready for display, and possibly sale.
I sat down in the kitchen, staring at the still closed box. Should I open it? Was it tacky to do that with Loren sleeping in the next room? In my bed?
I opened the box anyway, realizing that I really didn’t care what Loren thought. If she woke up and saw me with them in my hand. I would simply lie. Or not even that. I just wouldn’t tell her whose pussy they’d been modeled after. There was no chance of her recognizing Kendra’s vagina. At least, I didn’t think there was. That would make for a very interesting conversation.
The moment I opened the box, I wished that I hadn’t. Thoughts of that day came flooding back to me like a tidal wave. They washed over me with overwhelming force. If I hadn’t already been sitting down, then I would have had to. I had forgotten just how perfect Kendra’s lips were. Just how plump and supple they were. The mold had captured them perfectly, and like a punch in the face, it was all I could think of.
It was that day that haunted me. Each time I thought about it, I found a different reaction within myself. Sometimes, I was mad at what I had done. Other times, I was apathetic. This time, however, I was horny.
With the mold right in front of my face, I thought back to that day with Kendra, her propped up in the chair and her legs spread apart. I imagined what it would have been like to have just kicked all those men out of the room. To have demanded that they leave so I could be alone with Kendra. And then, when I was finally alone with her, I would have had her all to myself. I would have left her in the chair, legs spread while I penetrated her. I would have fucked her rotten. I would have made her eat the gummy mold, taste herself while I tasted her, too.
Without even releasing it, my hand moved down to my crotch, squeezing my hard cock. It took all my willpower not to pull myself out right then and there and masturbate over the molds. It would have been so easy. It would have been so good. It wouldn’t be the first time that week I had pleasured myself with thoughts of Kendra. In fact, even sometimes while having sex with Loren, I would find myself thinking of Kendra instead. If I was ever having a hard time finishing, thoughts of Kendra and her perfectly curved body would make it easy for me to come.
I had to snap myself from that reality before I got carried away. My dick was hard as I sat there in the kitchen, and I shuddered at the thought that Loren might walk out, see me with an erection, and get the wrong idea. She would either want to fuck or talk about what the molds were, and neither of those options appealed to me.
I shoved the molds back into the box and closed it back up again. I wasn’t even sure if I wanted them in my store anymore. If they were in my store, I would have to sell them. Someone, some horny male pervert, would buy them and use them for his own sexual fantasies. In a way, it would be like he was having Kendra to himself. That I would not allow.
Because they were of Kendra, I would let her decide what to do with them. If she wanted to sell them, then I would. If she wanted me to throw them away, I would. But I would ask her nonetheless. I owed her that much.
Also, it would give me an excuse to go and see her. I hadn’t spoken a word to her since the airport. Since the hotel room, actually. All week, I had resisted the urge. All week, I avoided the store while she was there. I called on days she wasn’t working. I visited on days she was home. I made a conscious effort to avoid her in every way, hoping that by the end of the week, I would be over her. Surely that, plus my romps with Loren, would cure me? Obviously, that wasn’t the case.
So yes, that was what I would do. I would go to the store and finally see her.
I would be mature, too. No more games. I would go down, ask her what I should do with the molds, and respect her decision
. I would also ask her how she had been, and maybe even have a civil conversation with her. I shook my head bitterly. Yeah, right. Because things always went that smoothly with Kendra. God damn, I was way over my head.
The first thing I needed to do, though, was get the hell out of that apartment before Loren woke up. The last few days, I had been making sure to disappear long before she got up. She always wanted to cuddle in the mornings, and more often than not, she wanted sex too. At night, when I had been drinking, that was fine. But in the day time, it was too personal. She was becoming rather clingy, and it was getting worse of late. I had already told her that we were nothing serious, but something told me that she wasn’t taking me at my word.
I was quick to duck into the bedroom and get changed. I did it in total silence, watching Loren the whole time. Luckily, she slept like a log, and I was out of the room and my apartment before she had a chance to wake up.
That was the first task taken care of. That was the easy part. The hard part was going to be seeing Kendra again. And not just seeing her, but behaving myself. I still loved her, despite how much I tried to hide it. Maybe it was time to stop playing games and treat her like she ought to be treated? Maybe it was finally time to grow up and forgive her?
I knew what I had to do. I just didn’t know if I could actually do it.
Chapter 26
Kendra
I was always surprised by how busy Wednesdays were in the store. I would even go so far as to call them the busiest days of the week. My main theory behind this fact was that Wednesday was in the middle of the week. Saturdays and Sundays were our slowest days. I figured this was because most people used our products on these days, rather than buying them. Mondays and Tuesdays were when people started to think about the possibility of getting something a little naughty for the wife or partner. Then Wednesday was the day where they actually had the balls to do it.
In that respect though, Wednesday was also the day when we had the fewest VIP customers. Wednesday was nearly always the day of the week where the amateur, first-timer came through our doors. That was another reason that they always felt busier than they actually were. I usually spent the majority of the day explaining our products to customers and showing them how to use them. It was exhausting.
The Wednesday after I had dinner with my ex, Michael, was no different. The doors to the store opened at nine in the morning, sharp. Fifteen minutes later, we had our very first customer. Fifteen minutes after that, we had our first sale. By ten o’clock, I had to abandon all hopes of doing any of the little tasks around the store that needed to get done. The store was far too busy to allow me to do anything but serve customers.
The endless stream of questions tired me out, but I had to admit that the customers here tended to be polite. Much more polite than the customers at the other candy store. They didn’t have the same sense of entitlement, maybe because we were literally the only place in the world that sold these products. They could get sex toys anywhere, but if they wanted candy sex toys, they had to come here. So they couldn’t risk pissing us off and getting banned from the store.
Polite or not, a girl could only deal with so many customers before needing a break. The only reprieve I had was knowing that Michael was going to take me out to lunch. It was just a matter of surviving until then.
After Michael left the previous night, I spent a long time considering my options and how I felt about him. I decided that the best thing for me to do was to give him another chance. My only complaint about him was that he was a little too nice and a little too normal. I really shouldn’t complain about that. Most women would have killed for a nice, respectable, employed man. I had already cried a dozen times over Grant, and I’d never once shed a tear over Michael. Not even after we broke up. Shouldn’t that be reason enough to give him another shot?
“I really don’t understand the point,” a slow-witted customer was saying to me. “I mean, I hear what you are saying. But I just don’t see the point.”
It was getting close to noon, and I had been serving this one customer for the better part of thirty minutes. When he had come into the store, he seemed genuinely eager and curious. I thought he was going to be a nice quick sale. But he had very quickly devolved into the type of customer that all retail workers hated—the type that needed their hand held with every single decision. The type that needed things spelled out for them step by step.
“The point is to add a little spice to the situation,” I said. “Anyone can go down on a girl, but with these sprinkles, it makes things a little more fun and adventurous.” I kept my tone light and jovial, making sure to smile the whole time. Inside, my patience was wearing thin. I was close to making up an excuse to abandon this customer altogether.
“But I don’t need sprinkles to eat my girlfriend out,” he said. “I do it all the time without them, and it seems to work just fine.” I was pretty sure he didn’t have a girlfriend. In fact, I got the distinct impression that he’d never seen a real vagina up close in real life. But I couldn’t tell him that, no matter how quickly it would end this tedious conversation. Maybe if I flashed him my goodies, he’d run away screaming in fear. I sighed internally. If only I was that kind of girl.
“You’re still not answering my question,” he said. “Do the sprinkles make it better for me or for her when I go down on her?”
“You know what?” I asked. “You might be right. These might not be for you. How about this, instead?” In desperation, I leaned around the customer and grabbed the closest thing on the shelf, a canister of flavored whipped cream. It was part of our oral collection and was probably one of our best sellers. “This is similar, but a little more practical. This works for either partner.”
He frowned. “What? So I need to give my girlfriend some incentive to blow me? She blows me every night without the need for whipped cream.”
I struggled to suppress the sigh that formed on the tip of my tongue. All I could do was push through and hope that he either lost interest and left, or had a sudden heart attack and fell to the ground, unconscious. Those were my two best bets.
“It’s not really about that. Think of it like this—”
“There she is!” Without warning, a pair of hands wrapped themselves around my eyes, blocking off my view. I grabbed at them and pulled them down, then spun around to see who it was.
“Michael,” I said, letting out a sigh of relief. I was glad for the distraction.
“I’m early,” he said. “Finish up here, and let me know when you’re ready. I’ll amuse myself by stealing some candy.” He turned to the customer. “And sorry for interrupting.” Michael clapped the man on the shoulder.
The customer grimaced at his touch, before turning back to face me. “So, go on. Tell me, why would I need whipped cream as an incentive for my wife to blow me?”
His girlfriend had suddenly become his wife, but I decided to not point that out. Nobody was putting his cock in their mouth, whether it was covered in whipped cream or not. “Well, like I was saying—”
“Hold on a minute!” Michael exclaimed, stepping in between myself and the customer. I thought that he had walked away, but clearly, he hadn’t gone far enough to miss the customer’s question. “What did you just ask her?”
“The whipped cream,” the customer answered, not looking the least bit put off. Big shock that he didn’t understand social cues. “It’s sold as an incentive to get people’s wives and girlfriends to blow them. But I was just telling her that my wife does it every night. Sometimes twice. So why would I need the cream?”
The customer held the can of cream up for Michael to take, which he did. As he studied it, his face dropped, then contorted. His eyes narrowed with what I thought would be rage. But this was Michael. He wasn’t capable of such a dramatic reaction.
“Kendra,” he began, keeping his voice calm and steady. “What the hell is this? Why are you selling... who...” I could tell he had a million conflicting questions propelling themselves throu
gh his head, and he struggled to decide which was the most pressing.
Funnily enough, I hadn’t even considered what might happen when he came here to pick me up. I had been at the job for so long now that the strangeness of the situation had faded entirely from my consciousness. I didn’t even stop to consider what an outsider might think when they came in here for the first time.
“Michael. If you want to wait for me in the back? I just need to finish with—”
“No, don’t worry,” the customer said. “It’s quite all right. I don’t think any of this is for me. Good luck with it all. And uh, good luck with this.” He gestured at the obviously enraged Michael. Then he turned and scurried from the store without hesitation.
As glad as I was to see that particular customer leave, I was also a little mad at how it had happened. I had wasted thirty minutes with him, and it would have been nice to get a sale out of it. Instead, he was scared away by my prudish boyfriend. Or whatever we were.
“What was that?” I turned on Michael, hands on my hips.
“Me?” he asked, looking shocked by my reaction. “How am I in the wrong here? You’re the one selling sex. Acting like it’s an everyday thing. I thought you worked at a candy store?”
“I do. This is a candy store. Everything in here is edible and sweet. It just so happens that they can also be used for sex. That’s all.” I could tell that my explanation wasn’t going to cut it.
“You’re basically whoring yourself out. I mean, look at what you’re wearing!” He blurted the last part out, his voice raised. So much so that a few of the closer customers turned around to see who was causing the ruckus.
“Michael can we finish this out back?”
“I just can’t believe you’re okay serving all these perverts all day long. They just want to fuck you, so they come in here and—”
“Come on!” I hissed through my teeth, grabbing him by the arm and dragging him into the VIP room which I knew to be empty. His last exclamation had been even louder than his first, and I didn’t need him calling the clientele perverts. That wasn’t good for business, no matter what business you were in.