He still had one finger, maybe two, inside me, and was gently stroking my walls, crooking his finger occasionally in a come hither gesture.
He hit something and I spat out the green lollipop in surprise. “What was that?” I said between panting breaths. “Holy, oh, holy, what was that?”
He pulled back his face for just a second. “Your g-spot.” Then he let out a hot, steamy breath on my vag. “Want me to do it again?”
On the other side of the wall, a woman said, “Do I hear a gentleman's voice?”
The salesgirl said, “Must be something over the speakers,” then the music in the rooms turned up. The song was a sassy jazz piece, not my favorite music, but as Mr. Hubert ran a skillful, firm tongue up and down my folds, darting in and out of my opening and then over and under and around my nub, I started to like the song. I put my hands on his shoulders and gripped him by his firm muscles, my fingernails leaving tiny red crescents on his lightly-freckled skin.
He tongued me some more, and I imagined his cock, trapped in his suit slacks, rigidly straining against the fabric, kissing his cotton or silk boxers with slick pre-come. I couldn't reach his crotch with my hand, but I could with my foot. I kicked off my shoes and maneuvered my foot so I could stroke his package.
He moaned, right into my pu**y, and I came, straining against him, filling his lips with mine. He continued to moan, low and throaty, covered by the sound of the jazz on the speakers, and I shuddered as I cl**axed for the second time.
And then he swirled that tongue, slid his finger in, and I came again.
Or maybe it was still the same orgasm, just dragged out.
In any case, he dragged it out and on and on, up and over, so many times I lost count.
Eventually, after my world rocked and waved a few more times, I had to beg him to stop, because I was so sensitive down there. Plus, I worried he was spoiling me for all other future experiences.
He picked up my white cotton panties and wiped his mouth on them. Then he rose, and gently kissed me on my lips.
“Mm, lollipop,” he said, because I must have still had the sugar from the lolly on my lips.
He reached for my pu**y again, but I pushed his hand away. “Your turn,” I said.
He stuck out his lips in a pout. “Not allowed.”
“I can touch your balls. She said I could.”
He looked like he considered it for a moment, then shook his head. “Better to resist temptation.”
I looked around the change room, then down at his bulge, still restrained.
I felt good, shaking and warm and relaxed all over, like I'd just had a week's worth of relaxation and rejuvenation. I wanted to thank him. I really wanted to thank him.
I asked him, “What kind of socks are you wearing?”
He was standing now, up from his kneeling position at my altar of oral bliss, and he pulled up a pant leg and showed me an argyle sock. The sock looked like silk, like those hundred-dollar socks Suzanne and I would laugh at.
I said, feeling rather bold, “Take off everything from the waist down, so you're as na**d as me.”
Someone knocked on the change room door.
“Hello?” I called out, stifling a naughty giggle.
“How's that red dress?”
I grabbed it and flung it over the door. I hadn't even tried it on.
He put his hands on my waist and whispered near my ear, “Say you'll take it, I'll put it on my tab.” He nibbled on my earlobe.
“I'll take it,” I said to the girl.
He whispered, “See if they have it in another color.” He stroked my nipple, which was hardening from his touch, as hard as the lump in his pants.
“Do you have it in … black?” I asked.
The woman said, “I'll see. I might be a while.”
“That's fine!” I said.
Mr. Hubert was already taking off his shoes and socks.
We switched spots again. I turned and got down on my knees so I could be eye level when he revealed his package.
He was lovely. Slender and pale, like him, with the slightest curve. My mouth watered to take it in, but he pulled away from me before I could catch the head with my lips.
He said, “The rules. I can touch it and you can watch. That works fine.”
“Sounds good,” I said, then I picked up one of his socks.
He gave me a funny look, then he understood. He nodded.
The sock was fresh and clean, or I wouldn't have even attempted such a trick. He must have put the socks on just before heading out on the shopping trip, and his shoes were brand new, slightly scented of leather.
I pulled the argyle-patterned sock down over his shaft and gave him a wicked little grin.
“Will this work?” I asked, careful to hold back.
“Be gentle,” he said.
I grabbed onto the base with one hand and the tip with the other hand, the sock keeping our flesh apart, technically.
“I take it back,” he said. “Don't be gentle.”
I tugged away, pulling at his throbbing c**k through the thin, silky sock. The sock wasn't much thicker than a sturdy condom, and if I didn't look directly at the argyle pattern, the endeavor didn't seem so odd at all.
He seemed like he was about to blow any second, so I decided to slow it down a little. I released his dick from my hands and leaned forward, still on my knees, nuzzling my cheek against it, still socked. I used my chin to nudge at his balls, covered in fine salt-and-pepper hairs that hadn't turned as silver as the ones on his head. I stuck out my tongue and gently cupped one, then the other ball.
His sword strained toward me, rubbing against my cheek, his h*ps thrusting eagerly.
I grabbed onto his butt cheeks with both hands and plunged his head and shaft into my mouth.
He bucked and quivered, coming instantly. His hands covered my hands, still on his butt, and he pumped toward my face a few times, amping up his own orgasm, which was only fair, after the treat he'd given me.
When he released my hands, I reached up and gently grabbed him by the base, still honoring the agreement by keeping the sock between his flesh and mine. When he was finished his spasms, I withdrew him.
Mr. Hubert, the silver fox, looked down at me with sweet gratitude. His voice relaxed, he said, “That was amazing.”
Someone else was making a noise, and we both cocked our heads at once. We heard a woman cry out, whimpering with sounds of pleasure.
“That'll be the Missus,” he said to me.
He was still seated on the bench and lazily pulled me down to sit on his lap, the sock on his member between us. The sock actually did a nice job of keeping everything tidy—like a condom, but about a thousand times kinkier. I added expensive silk socks to my list of possible sex-related purchases. A girl did well to try new things.