So I'm in this department store looking for a birthday gift for my girlfriend, Moira, when I notice in the power tool section a woman who's fine as frog's hair.
This girl, as Lyle Lovett says, makes me think so fast I leave my thoughts behind. She's tall, maybe 5'7", and draped in a short dress and -- feature this -- cowboy boots.
Who cares what I'm wearing.
I move in for a closer look, but she's headed out of the power tools and into the men's wear, so I follow at a distance. She picks up a cologne sample and slips it into her purse, keeps moving. Next, naturally, on to the women's lingerie. As she's moving through the racks, she glances around and slips a pair of panties into her purse, then heads for the dressing room. This is too much, and my mind is racing over the possibilities. I stand near the dressing room entrance, hold my breath for 30 seconds, and slip in. A light perspiration breaks out across my forehead, I can't believe what I'm doing, and I push open her dressing room door. She looks up, gasps, I move into the stall and quickly shut the door behind me. No time to waste and no room to fuck up, I say, " Mall security, ma'am," and quickly flash my Waldenbooks Frequent Readers Card. "We prosecute shoplifters. Turn around."
"But, but, but," she's stammering, I'm thinking this is whacked, what am I doing, and say sternly "I said turn around!"
She faces the wall and I have a moment to catch my breath, keep my head from spinning, and survey the scene. Okay, okay, stop sweating and stay calm. This girl's brown hair is shaking a bit, she's trembling, and her golden shoulders are tensed. My eye carries down the ridge of her spine to a sweet round ass and shapely legs. I revise her height estimate up to 5'8". I haven't had the best look at her face, but from the glimpse I've seen she's a beauty, a bit of the Teri Hatcher type -- and not the modern edition, dried up and skinny. I mean the "New Adventures of Superman" Teri Hatcher. The flowery dress is hanging on a peg, and all she's wearing is a blue satin bra, her cowboy boots, and the stolen panties. She's obviously picked a size too small, because her ass is spilling out around the blue fabric. Enough looking, if I don't keep this thing moving the spell will break and she might wise up and shout.
"Hands against the wall, Miss, now." She hesitates, but after another "NOW" she puts her hands up against the wall of the dressing room. She's shaking and stammering something, I lean in closer and hear her whispering "I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry."
"All right, miss, that's enough. I'll do the talking. You stole those panties didn't you?" She nods, whispers yes. I say "We'll need to retain those panties for evidence," and she tentatively brings her hands down to remove them. "Hands on the wall!" I yell, and she quickly obeys. "You might be carrying a concealed weapon. I'll need to remove them myself." She tenses up, as I lean forward, and think -- what the fuck am I doing? This is the sort of behavior that lands your ass in jail, brother. But I push those thoughts aside and place my thumbs under the strap of her panties and slowly peel them down, only an inch. I lean close to her ear, and whisper, "You know you can go to jail for this sort of thing" -- hey, if I'm freaked out she should be too. She gulps, and actually says, "I'm sorry I'm sorry I'll do anything you say."
I pull the panties down over the swell of her ass, and only with superhuman effort restrain myself from licking a cheek while I pull them past thighs, calves, and boots. "Step out of them," I say. She gingerly lifts one booted foot, then another, and from this angle I notice just how big and sweet her ass is compared to the rest of her body. I slip the panties into my pocket, stand up, and say, "That bra may be stolen too, it should come off." I reach around, fumble with the clasp between her breasts, and release them from the confines of the satin. Now she's naked except for the cowboy boots, and she's not coming out of those if I have anything to say about it.
I'm surprised it's gone this far, and can't think of what to say next. There's an awkward silence while I look blankly at her beautiful back, and after a moment she looks over her should at me and asks, "Were you going to search me?" This is almost too easy and I briefly wonder how many people she's fucking.
"Hush," I say, "I'll do the talking. What's your name?" She mumbles something that sounds like "mines of Moria" and I say "what?!" She speaks up a bit, "Mine's Moira."
"All right, Moira," I tell her, "spread your legs." She does, awkwardly, and I reach my hands around to hold the fullness of her breasts in my hands. She gasps, and I squeeze them gently. I slowly let me finger tips drift over her stomach, her thighs, and the cheeks of her ass. "Sit down Moira," and I motion her to the dressing room bench. She sits, and I get my first good look at her face. She's breathtaking: big brown eyes, creamy skin, and pillowy lips. She's looking up at me expectantly and I know that no matter what, I have to ball this woman.
"What should we do with you, Moira?" I say.
She looks down at the floor, hesitates, mumbles, "I don't want to go to jail." Me neither, I'm thinking.
I scratch my chin, pull a face, and say, "Maybe we can keep you out of jail. How much are you willing to cooperate?" As I say this I sit down on the bench next to her, close enough to smell her nervousness. "What should we do here to keep you out of jail?" I ask, softening my tone.
"Are you going to punish me?" she says softly, looking away. "Tell me what to do. I'll do... what you say."
"I don't know Moira," I say. "What do you think I should do about this?"
Moira shrugs, but I reach up and hold her chin, look her in the eye, and say, "I think you need to take this seriously, Moira -- and that means being part of the solution."
"Can't you just make the decision," she says. "I don't want to right now. I'd rather not."
"I am making the decisions Moira, but I need to see that you understand the meaning of what you did," I say. I know, I know, pretty weak, but I'm still nervous that things could go wrong and I'm buying time to think.
"Well, I guess," she mumbles, "I guess it's all about me taking the panties. So maybe I need to be punished for that." She looks at me, our eyes meet.
"That's right Moira. Since the panties covered your bottom, maybe that's where we should begin," I say. "Bend over my lap, Moira."
She tenses up, "Why?"
"Just do as I say, Moira."
"What are you going to do?"
After a long look, I pull her across my lap. She tries to twist, but strength is on my side, and I position her face down across my lap. She struggles a bit and attempts to reach back, but has no purchase. The toes of her boots are just off the floor on my right; her small waist and golden round bottom struggle before me. I can feel her breathing, in and out, and I can feel the heat from her body as she tries to gain control. I wait her out, and after a time she quiets down. Her bottom is soft, round, and very vulnerable. Finally, she waits, supine on my lap.
"Spread your legs, Moira." She hesitates, and I smack her lightly on the ass. She complies by moving her legs slightly. I spread my hands across her bottom and caress her roundness, feeling the softness and texture of her prime ass. I shift her a little until her bottom is centered over my knees. She struggles again. "Is this how you obey me?" I ask. "Spread you bottom Moira; I want to see it all. Use your hands."
After a pause she reaches back and pulls her cheeks just a little. I give her ass a sharp stinging slap on one cheek. "Owwww!" she cries, " That hurts!" She begins to struggle again, and I hold her to me, waiting her out. "Spread your bottom, Moira, do it now."
After another moment, she reaches back and pulls her cheeks much farther apart. "There, can you see everything now?" she says, with attitude.
"Yes, that's fine, Moira. Just keep holding yourself open." I can see the small, tight rosebud between her golden cheeks, with its tiny folds narrowing in the center, and below it the moist crease of her pussy. Damn this girl is perfect. "Very well, Moira. You can take her hands away."
"About time," she says. Her upturned ass is relaxed -- soft and round. But when her hands go down, I spank her, hard. She cries out in surprise and tries to cover herself with her hands, but I grab her wrists and held them together at the small of her back. "You -- SLAP -- will -- SLAP -- do -- SLAP -- as -- SLAP -- I -- SLAP -- say!" Her bottom jiggles helplessly as she cries out, taking the blows, her heels kicking in the air. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she sobs, her bottom quivering, " I'll do as you say!"
I let go of her wrists and, after a moment, gently spread her bottom as she whimpers to herself. Carefully holding her cheeks apart, I suck on my middle finger and gently touch the center.
"Oh God -- not my ass... Please not my ass!" She flinches, and tries to clench her cheeks together, but she doesn't have the strength. I slap her again, hard, and push against the dark rosebud between her cheeks. She twitches and squirms, trying to evade my probing finger, and I quickly spank her again, slapping her sweet wide upturned ass with my open hand.