Borrowed Billionaire #2 Lexie Goes Shopping (4 page)

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 pussy, 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 climaxed 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 pussy 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 naked 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 cock 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 hips 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.

Once my body made contact with his warm lap, I realized I'd gotten a bit chilly post-climax, with no clothes on, moist with the sexual sweat of several orgasms.

I asked him, “So she's allowed to touch other women?”

“That's right,” he said. “But not men.”

“Ah. Restrictions.”

“Some things we save for each other.”

He kissed me on my shoulder blades. I felt his member come to life underneath me. He rocked his hips, and his soldier awakened and knocked at my back door.

I stood up quickly. “I should get dressed,” I said.

Just then, a black dress whipped into the room, over the top of the change room door.

“Perfect,” he said, grinning.

The dress was backless, so it wouldn't be worn with a bra anyway. I tucked my nude-colored bra and my white cotton panties in my purse, next to the sticky, wet lollipop, and put on the black dress.

“Wear it out of here,” he said. “You look so great. I'm saving this image of you, in my mind.”

He pulled off the sock and stared at it, as though confused about what had happened, then he tossed it in the garbage bin, a bin I hadn't noticed sitting in the corner. He picked up the other sock and tossed it in as well. Within a minute, we were both completely dressed, and had both fixed our hair.

“You go out first,” he said. “I'll follow in a minute. Check to see if the Missus is good to go. Ask her if she's ready for a man to stretch out her lady-licked pussy.”

I covered my mouth with one hand. “Goodness! I don't know if I can say that.”

He leaned back on the bench and reached for his cell phone. “Get creative,” he said. “Thanks, Charlotte.”

I started to tell him my name was Lexie, but then I stopped. It didn't matter. We'd had our fun, and now I had a great memory, and so did he.

I left the change room with my modest clothes folded over my arm, and told the shop girl waiting in the adjoining room that I'd decided to wear the dress out.

As the girl was removing the tag, Mr. Hubert appeared and instructed her to put the two dresses on his bill, along with whatever Mrs. Hubert picked out.

The girl nodded and took me over to the wrap station, where she folded up the red dress for me.

A lithe arm snaked around my waist. I turned to see Mrs. Hubert, flushed and looking ten years younger, standing at my side.

Mr. Hubert said to us both, “If you'll excuse me, lovely ladies, I've gotten a business call just now that I must attend to. I'll take a taxi and leave the driver here for you to get home.” He made a disgusted face.

Mrs. Hubert sighed and said, “Not Thorne again.”

Mr. Hubert frowned and said, “He is a literal thorn in my side. The name is so apt.”

She nodded at him, dismissing him. “Go get him.”

He turned and walked off, the silver fox leaving the scene.

So … Mr. Hubert had business dealings with Mr. Thorne. What a small world!

I'd been trying to forget about the man, and here the idea of him kept popping up, as though the universe was trying to send me a message.

I turned to Mrs. Hubert. “What next? Did you need a second opinion on anything you tried on?”

The pale girl from the makeup counter scurried by, looking disheveled, with messed-up hair and makeup.

Mrs. Hubert said, “I got what I came for.” She nodded at an impressive stack of clothing next to my neatly-folded red dress. “Plus those.”

“Super,” I said, and I meant it. Making people happy made me happy.

She gave me a kind smile. “What a great day this has been.”

Exactly one week after my first personal shopping job and my first change-room multiple orgasm (or, really, my first anywhere multiple orgasm) I wore the black dress to meet my friend Jacob for cocktails. And by cocktails, I mean mostly cock.

Jacob, you see, was what people euphemistically call a fuck buddy. Wait, that's not a euphemism, is it? I suppose a euphemism would be “special friend.” Fuck buddy pretty much says it like it is.

For the sake of prolonging the action, we met for drinks at the fancy restaurant under his condo. The bar at the restaurant was much hotter than what waited for us upstairs, which was a fold-out bed in a modest bachelor apartment. Jacob kept the place somewhat tidy, but it didn't make my pulse race quite like all the shiny polished surfaces downstairs in the lounge.

He brought me over a martini and sat a respectable distance away, on the fainting sofa—it was one of those thinly-upholstered deals with a back and one arm on one side. The thing looked perfect for sex, because you could go one way and use the arm for pumping leverage, or do a one-eighty and let your feet stick off the end.

I was eyeballing up the sofa for position possibilities as Jacob eyeballed my hot, new dress.

“That's not cheap,” he said.

“Neither am I.”

He pulled out his wallet and took a peek. “I can buy you two more of those martinis, so long as I nurse this light beer.”

“Sounds good. We can't have you losing your … edge.”

He leaned in and nuzzled me on the ear. “Come on, Lexie, drink up and let's go upstairs.”

“Don't you want to know how I got this dress?”

“I want your sexy black dress on my floor. I'm gonna pound your pussy.”

I pulled away from him, simultaneously turned on and also revolted by his vulgar talk. Jacob had that push-pull effect on me, which was why we weren't a regular item.

He leaned in and said, “I'm going to eat that dirty pussy that you've been sitting on all day. Then I'm going to ram my cock down your throat until you're gagging on cum.”

I pushed him away. “Eugh. Really? You watch too much porno. That shit's ruining your mind.”

He shrugged. “Talking dirty is hot.”

I sipped my martini, waiting for my revulsion versus attraction to slip closer to the positive. “I'll only go upstairs if you promise you won't say another word.”

“No can do. I like to vocalize.”

“Fine. I'll give you a list of words, and you can only say those select words.”

He raised his eyebrows and chugged half his beer, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, which triggered a memory of the last time he went down on me. Once he had his mouth full and shut up, Jacob could be a fun guy.

I quaffed back the rest of the martini, then counted off some words on my fingers. “Good. Yes. Pussy.”

He leaned in, excited. “And what else?”

“That's it. Three words.”

He stroked his non-existent beard. Jacob had black hair, a dark complexion, and short, curly hair. I'd never seen him with a beard, and his body was remarkably hairless. He had a wide, handsome chin and a prominent brow—very masculine, so no reason for a beard.

“I've been working out,” he said, rolling up a sleeve to show me a thick bicep. 

I said, a little on the loud side, “I hope you did a lot of core work, because that's where the fucking comes from.”

An older couple heard me and turned to give us a scandalized look. I sat up straighter and enjoyed their moral outrage. 

Jacob moved in closer, took one of my hands, and kissed it romantically.

Loud enough for the couple to hear, I said, “Take me upstairs and stick your big cock in my mouth.”

The older woman looked like she might have a heart attack.

Jacob jumped up from the fainting sofa and scooped me up in his arms like a fireman—which he was.

“My hero,” I said, swooning into his wide, fireman chest.

The older man gave Jacob the thumbs-up as he carried me out of the lounge.

We got into the mirrored elevator, where Jacob set me down. Next, he dropped to his knees, stuck his head under my dress, and blew hot air on my pussy, through my underpants.