It was the winter of my junior year of high school, and my friend and I had decided we wanted some holiday money. So, we applied to work as seasonal help at the major department store, JC Penney. She ended up working in Women's Clothing, and I was assigned to the credit and catalogue desk to help there and also with giftwrapping, since I had skill in that area.
I was tall, 5'8”, with long, dark brunette hair, big, dark-brown eyes, and a winning smile, a helpful attitude, and I did very well in the department I was assigned to. I enjoyed helping customers find what they needed in their searching in the catalogues, phoning in their orders, ringing up the deliveries that would come, and wrapping their gifts. It gave me a very grown-up feeling, even though I was a teenager, being able to work diligently with other adults, garnering a paycheck, and learning about professionalism in the real world.
One of the best things about working in the catalogue department was talking to people intimately about the things they needed. I really got a sense of other peoples' lives, a little inside look at their common, every-day, sometimes very intimate behaviors and routines. I didn't understand at the time why my heart beat a little faster, why I hung on their every word.. when they would tell me about what bedding they needed, what underclothes they wore... but I do now.
He was tall, in his late 30s, early 40s, and well dressed. He had a dark tan, black hair, striking blue eyes, and a professional haircut. His cologne was amazing. I could tell he was well built beneath the sport coat he wore, the way his body moved as he walked up to the counter, but the surety in his demeanor, in the way he moved seemed to erode little by little as we began to converse.
“Ma'am,” he says, his face flushing just a little bit... I know he didn't know how young I was. The brightness in my eyes, maturity in my expressions... the way I dressed and appeared belied my youth. He was instantly attracted, and I could tell. It was all over his face. I had seen the expression enough times in the boys I went to school with to know. I had him... easily.
He had his thumb stuck in the pages of the catalogue and was scratching the back of his neck. He was definitely uncomfortable, and I was soaking in every drop of his unease. I leaned forward, giving him a sure look, “Can I help you?” I asked.
He replied, with his southern drawl, “Yes, Ma'am, maybe you can... I need to figure out the sizing on this... my wife isn't here... she usually does all this.” I knew already he was married by the beautiful, gold ring on his hand. I nodded, my eyes not leaving his, my lips curling into a smile and said, “Of course. Well, for just a little bit, I'll step into her shoes and hopefully get you to the right place.” I grinned, taking the book from him, our bodies closer. You know, sometimes when you meet a stranger, there is an electricity, a palpable buzz between two bodies, and you both know that the other's heart is beating a hundred miles a minute. I know mine was. I could tell his was.
He let the book fall open to pages of men almost naked, save for their boxer briefs. His face instantly, terriby reddened, and I looked at him straight in the eyes, and then back down. He was embarassed! How delicious. I nodded and then said, “So you need sizing.” I looked down at his ass just a moment and then back up, “You're a... say.... 34? 32 waist?”
He cleared his throat and nods, “32, yes, Ma'am.” I tilted my head and turned the next page over. I knew what was on the next page, of course. I had looked at these pages many times as the hours grew long for distraction. I had decided I loved the look of the white, tight underwear I saw on the men. I could see very clearly their bulge beneath the underwear. I imagined stroking them over top of the fabric, teasing them until they could no longer hold that nice, striking magazine pose. I fantasized about being the director in those photos. About telling them how to flex their ass muscles that I could see so clearly because of the lines of the underwear, and how very white and revealing it was. I also liked them because I could tell the new trend was to wear boxer briefs. Everyone was buying boxer briefs. I always liked to go against the grain, so to speak, and the thought of making a man wear different underwear to please me made me so aroused – even as a teenager.
The boys were constantly wearing boxers at school with their pants hanging just a bit below. I could see them. It repulsed me, their flaunting. Their open sexuality, trying to get girls' attention, bragging on how great they were. I wanted to make all of them switch for me. Hide that arrogant attitude and admit they were powerless. And here was a grown man, still wearing boxers. Oh, he should change, I thought. Never... too late to change.
I turned the page, and I could see the fine tremor of my fingers as I did, “Had you considered these?” I asked. I just let the words hang in the air, not giving a reason for them. Not trying to qualify my question. I just waited for his reaction.
He quirked a brow and looked at me, “Oh, no, I wear boxers,” he said.
I smiled, nodded my head, “Yes... you said that, sir.” I turned the page back again, “But... “ and I looked back up at him, “Had you considered these?”
He chuckled and jokingly said, “Well, Ma'am, they are a little cheaper.”
I smiled, and he could see in my eyes that I was excited, and I could tell by the way he shifted that he was definitely responding to it. The thought of him wearing the underwear that I had chosen... even though he typically wore something else... it made me so aroused, so wet. I could feel my panties getting wet, my thighs rubbing together beneath my pantyhose. I could feel my skin warming, my body responding as the idea kept repeating itself over to me.
I looked down purposely at his crotch and then back up to him... a gesture that was risky, but I was already sure. “I think you'd do well in these, really.” And his smile faded. He took a deep breath and sat the catalogue down and said, “I'll do that then, Ma'am,” and grabbed his wallet. When he handed me his credit card, his hand lingered on mine, and it was the most powerful top space I think I'd ever been in, in my life. That first time.
From that day on, I never looked back. It was always a quest for more control. I have always struggled with embracing different aspects of my dominance, what is right to me, what feels natural, what must be, and what I can tolerate. But it all began here, and I did. I embraced it, loved it, and now I live it joyfully every day.
0 comments:
Post a Comment