Blow Job

When I open the door, I'm blasted in the face with air-conditioning and the smell of cinnamon buns. I've come in next to the Cinnabon store. A senior-citizen mall walker rushes by me with elbows jabbing into the air as I make my way down this side hallway. I pass the Regis hair salon, the Spencer gift shop and the kiosk map. So far, so good. No one seems to notice me. My cock is still stiff.

I hit the down escalator and round the corner to the right. There it is, in all it's pink splendor. Victoria's Secret.

My chest tightens. I can barely breathe. My steps become labored. The pure lust-excitement of my mission is too much for my brain to handle. I think, "Fuck it. I'm going home." But, no, I can't. Not this time. I sit on the brick edge of a water fountain and search for the courage. I find none but soon learn that I don't need it. I find another source of inspiration. It hits me like a lightning bolt.

The Victoria's Secret clerk. She's folding panties near the front of the store. She has long, black hair and white skin as smooth as a porcelain doll. Her flimsy, leopard-print dress shows off all her curves -- and she's got them in all the right places. I'd guess she's in her early 20s. A lanyard with a name tag hangs in her cleavage. Like Tanya, this little tart has reminded me of why I've come -- my perversion, my fantasy. I picture myself in her place. Folding panties while wearing a flimsy dress. The blood rushes to my cock.

I stand up, feeling refreshed. My boner hangs with me, as hard as ever. But I'm not ashamed of it anymore. It's just the opposite. I want people to see it. I want them to know what kind of a sex freak I am.

As I step onto the pink, Victoria's Secret carpeting, I put a faggy lilt in my step. I walk with sexy confidence to a rack of corsets.

The clerk is on top of me in less than 30 seconds.

"Can I help you?" she asks.

I look over my shoulder at the name tag between her tits. It says "Cory." She bats her eyelashes at me.