Cock-Up in Aisle Four xxx

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by Lauren McAllister

It seemed like just an average day at the time. In other words, about as appealing as dogshit on a cheese board. I was out performing my wifely duty and picking up some last-minute groceries for hubby’s evening repast. Well, I mean, wouldn’t you put off something as spiritually riveting as shopping for pre-cooked chicken and pre-washed salad till the last minute?…second?…okay, I was running a little late. I don’t know why I just don’t stock up on a year’s worth of dinners in one massive microwavable-meal-buying spree; the guy only eats 6 different things. That way, I could shop at Costco instead of Trader Joe’s and save myself having to play bumper-cars with ultra-trendy eco-bitches in that goddamn parking lot. It’s probably all that fiber that makes them such terrible drivers. Gotta be tough to concentrate on steering when you’ve got a colon like a circus cannon.

So, I’m aimlessly wandering around the produce bins, trying to decide how many boxes of Two-Buck Chuck my trunk will hold if I put off purchasing kitty-litter and Kleenex, when I see this youngish guy giving me the eye. Now, it’s not like I don’t get my fair share of hungry looks from anonymous be-testicled gentlemen in commercial establishments, but this was far deeper than your average “nice tits” ogle. While he wasn’t “lift up your skirt and jump up on top of the Granny Smiths” attractive, there was a certain intensity to him that gave me a little warm rush in a place of unspeakable privacy. So…I sort of returned his gaze. Not a lot! I was just sort of acknowledging the fact that I was not hugely offended that he thought I was hot. I mean, there’s nothing wrong with a little harmless flirt before going home to watch The Amazing Race reruns, is there? A little sneaky glance, the smallest of smiles and I was out of there. It was on to steel cut oatmeal, Red Leicester cheese and a couple of boxes of all natural frozen turkey burgers. He may have been out of my sight, but he was certainly not out of my mind.

God, what was it about that guy and his weird “I really want to do you” gaze? Even as I’m picking through the salmon fillets, I continue to semi-obsess over my brief encounter with Mr. Starer. I actually caught myself peering down the aisle to see if he was possibly lurking nearby, but of course he wasn’t. Time to get back to reality girl and go home to that nice safe husband of yours! So I’m about equidistant between the Korean Style Beef short ribs and the organic Mango lemonade and I start thinking that maybe I might give good old Gordon a little “sugar” between the main entre and our post-prandial coffee. Fuck, the way my man-magnet was feeling right at that moment, I might just jump his bones before dinner and order out. So, with my little produce-section romance fast becoming a fading memory, I give a horny little sigh and head off for the cash register. Maybe the cashier will take a quick gander down my top to keep my “bone-me battery” charged at full. Yet again, I stealthily peruse the surrounding vicinity for any signs of my legume lothario, but alas in vain. Ka-chingggg. Goodnight.

I lugubriously wheeled my liberally-stocked cart out to the furthest most section of the Trader Joe parking facility in search of my seriously-space-deprived and lonely SUV. The sun was fading even quicker than me as I push the little button on my Escort key remote and heard it chirp out a welcome. This is where my “just an average day” suddenly got very interesting. Before I could open the passenger door and fling in my hastily gathered provender, I felt a pair of strong firm hands grip the sides of my blouse and push me flat against my vehicle. “Unbutton your blouse, then lift up your arms and grab the roof rack,” a soft but serious sounding voice commanded. I knew right away, it was the stranger from the produce section. I could see his face in the reflection of my tinted windows but I do not turn to look back. I silently did as he asked, popping open my buttons with trembling fingers and then gripping the shiny aluminum bar in breathless anticipation. Immediately he drove his taut and insistent body into mine, jamming my almost-naked breasts and stomach forcefully into to ice-cold passenger-door window. My nipples were so hard; I’m surprised they didn’t shatter the glass. I could feel his alarmingly-sized nookie-nightstick pressing into me from the crack of my ass to well up into my lumbar region.

Still, I chose to do nothing. I could have screamed, but I didn’t. I could have called for help but I remained obediently mute as his rough hands brazenly dropped from my sides to the very brink of indecency. What was I doing? What was I allowing this stranger to do? Before I could even think, his teeth sank hungrily into the nape of my neck at the precise moment that the sanctity of my skirt hem was boorishly violated and my underwear unceremoniously wrenched from its appropriate location. Christ! My last line of virtuous defense had been obliterated. I was now his to do with as he pleased and it was apparent that he pleased to do much. Wanton shameful fingers imposed themselves upon the cheeks of my naked ass, taking lascivious liberties of untold impropriety and yet I did not protest. As I stood there pinned against my car door, my fervent and only prayer was that he had not reached the limit of his crude and barbaric groping. It turns out, I needn’t have worried. Within seconds his wet mouth released my teeth-ravished neck to go in search of more sulliable flesh on which to find purchase. I could hardly breathe as I felt him repel down my spine and when he shoved his head up under my skirt, I almost lost my grip on the roof rack and fell backwards on top of him. I could now feel his nose and cheeks prying my ass-crack apart as his hand reached between my thighs and stroked my sopping girly-flaps. The more he debased and fondled the absolute core of my womanhood the more my legs drew apart to welcome the salacious assault. Shit! I should have shaved. My poor throbbing clitoris was begging to be put out of its misery. It ached to find release as he expertly swirled his thumb in rhythmic rings around my beautiful love button. And then I felt it.

His profligate tongue began to paint a circle of his warm gooey saliva around my backdoor. The lingual probing as he wandered back and forth from the very edge of my vagina to the epicenter of my sphincter was mind-blowing. This was a tactile intimacy that I had never before received, even from my best girlfriend in high school. I almost snapped the aluminum bar I was holding as his ring-finger slowly breached the initial tightness of my girlie-opening and slipped up inside me. I let out a few involuntary whispery squeals and moans as he plumbed the very depths of my ever-moistening delicates. I wanted to grunt and kick like a rutting elk but because of our location, could only drool down the tinted glass.

I had no way of knowing if anyone was watching us at that point because the window was completely fogged from my hot steamy panting. What’s more I didn’t care. There could have been a class of 7th graders staring at me and it would have mattered not. I only knew or cared that I was heading towards the kind of orgasm I hadn’t experienced since I found my mother’s vibrator in a drawer. I could feel the pre-cum rush growing between my legs like a huge self-inflatable raft. Overpowering sensual sensations were shooting up my vaginal canal and into my abdomen like the fireworks at a Chinese New Year. Meanwhile, my ass had been reborn as an insatiable whore-hole of unbridled carnality and desire as he had burrowed and slithered his way inside and was now sodomizing me with the tip of his tongue. I could tell by the towering waves of concupiscent, pulsating pleasure battering the very core of my being that the final moments of blinding consummation were upon me. Everything I had was his to take. Nothing would be denied. “Fuck me right here in this parking lot. Jam your unholy cock wherever you want. Stain me with your goo. Just don’t stop! Don’t…! JESUS…FUCKING…That tongue!” The shudders and spasms were so violent; I thought I was going to set off my car alarm. I couldn’t see. All I could hear was the sound of my own gasps and moans and sobbing. My knees collapsed and I found myself writhing on the filthy, black tarmac with my hands between my legs desperately trying not to be torn in two by the almost unbearable climactic surges shooting out of my clit like the sparks from an exploding electrical relay station. Hours seemed to pass before the merciless blood-engorged pounding of my pudenda ebbed to the point where other senses began to function again. And when I finally did open my eyes…he was gone. All there was to see was some crazy lady lying next to her car in a parking lot with her shirt undone and her underwear around her ankles.

I staggered to my feet with as much dignity as I could muster and insouciantly dusted-off my debris-encrusted skirt while holding my blouse together with my other hand. “Yes,” I thought as I fumbled for my keys. “Definitely take-out night.”

Copyright 2014 Lauren McAllister

5 Comments

  1. sam carmack said,

    April 24, 2016 at 9:51 pm

    one of your best. write still longer ones, like a mystery novel about sex.

    • darrell said,

      April 25, 2016 at 5:11 am

      I shall give some thought to a naughty mystery story. Thanks for the kind words.

      Lauren.

      • sam carmack said,

        April 25, 2016 at 12:21 pm

        yes. your writing shows you are an interesting perso

  2. Lily said,

    July 30, 2016 at 1:05 am

    This might be my new favorite! Your writing is artful and sassy and I love it!

    • Lauren McAllister said,

      August 6, 2016 at 5:46 am

      Thanks so much Lily. I shall try to stay sassy but not too classy. Wink.
      Lauren.


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