Department Store

Department Store Amy

By: Bridy McAvoy

ISBN -
978-1-877546-11-2

All rights reserved

Copyright © Dec. 2009, Bridy McAvoy

Cover Art Copyright © Dec 2009, Brightling Spur

Bluewood Publishing Ltd

Christchurch, 8042, New Zealand

www.bluewoodpublishing.com

Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.

No part of this e-book may be reproduced or shared by any electronic or mechanical means, including but not limited to printing, file sharing, and email, without prior written permission from Bluewood Publishing Ltd

To everyone who helped me write this. Especially my husband who encouraged me to explore my fantasies in print.

“Miss Brown is here to see you, sir.”

“Thank you, Felicity, send her in please.”

The door opened wider and Felicity ushered the petite, long haired blonde into my inner office.

“Come in, come in. Amy, isn’t it? Please take a seat.”

I gave her my best welcoming smile.

“Thank you for seeing me, sir.”

She sat down on the high backed chair facing my oversized desk. Her pretty face displayed her nervousness.

“Now, Cecilia Jones tells me you asked her this morning about overtime?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Please call me Charles or even Mister Chisholm like all the staff do, Amy.”

She bobbed her head.

“Now you know it is company policy not to allow temporary staff to work overtime, don’t you?”

“Yes, sir.”

Although I’d asked her not to she was still calling me sir, under most circumstances something I would be upset about but for the moment I let it ride.

“You’ve been with us for, what, four weeks,” I had her file open in my desk, “and you are with us another week. In fact you’ll be leaving us on Friday next week, just under a week’s time?”

“Yes sir, the lady I was employed to cover for will be back the following week.”

She smiled and then continued.

“I’ve managed to get a position at Moore’s book store just down the road.”

“Working for Ken Moore? He’s an old friend of mine, ah yes. . .I signed your reference letter. You’ll like working there and I think you’ll do well.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Now, why do you suddenly need overtime? I assume you need some extra money for something?”

“Yes, sir. My car broke down last night. Alan, my husband, says it’s the fuel pump and that’s a big expense we can’t afford at the moment.”

“So, you are asking for the overtime to cover the cost of the repairs?”

“Yes, sir.”

She was still calling me ‘sir’. She looked so mouse-like sitting there, and the possibilities of the situation were running through my mind, so I decided to change tack.

“How long have you been married, Amy?”

She looked a little taken aback by the change of subject but answered without hesitation.

“Three years, sir.”

“And you love him very much, don’t you, Amy?”

“Yes, sir.”

Her smile was something to behold, like the sun coming out from behind a cloud, literally lighting up her face. In an instant she turned from a pretty young woman into a ravishingly beautiful one. Behind the desk, unseen by her, my prick twitched, scenting the chance to do exactly that, to ravish this young woman.

“I can see that, Amy.”

She blushed, the rosy colour in her cheeks accenting her beauty.

“I bet he treats you like his princess, doesn’t he?”

 
She nodded.

“Gentle and considerate at all times?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Especially in the bedroom, no doubt?”

“Sir!”

“Answer the question, Amy!”

For the first time my voice cracked like a whip, giving her a command authoritatively. If she obeyed it would be one further sign of her nature, to add to the several I had observed on the shop floor over the preceding weeks, as well as over the last few minutes. She hung her head for a second or two and then looked up.

“Yes, sir, he does.”

I smiled at her, and she relaxed a little.

“I bet he does. I’m sure he is gentle, and makes sure you are happy as well, doesn’t he?”

She blushed an even brighter scarlet and bit her lip but nodded agreement.

“So, tell me, Amy, does he ever dominate you? Tell you what to do? Make you do what he wants?”

Her breathing was heavier, the blush still high on her cheeks.

“No, sir! Alan’s not like that.”

“But you’d like him to be, just occasionally, wouldn’t you, Amy?”

She hung her head. I could see her throat move as she swallowed convulsively, all at sea at the way the conversation was going.

“Answer me, Amy!”

Again the command. Again I waited for the response, even more certain I had gauged her correctly. Her head came up slowly, and she licked her lips.

“Yes, sir.”

The answer was barely audible but it was enough.

“That’s your innermost fantasy, isn’t it, Amy? To give yourself over to your husband completely? To submit to his desires, to have no control over what happens? To be used rather than merely made love to?”

She swallowed nervously and eventually nodded once more.

“You want to be taken, don’t you? By a man who will dominate your submissive nature. Take away your free will and turn you into his sex slave?”

Each question now was producing a reaction. Amy started to shiver, and on the word ‘slave’ she shuddered violently. I was amazed at the scale of her reaction.

“Alan doesn’t treat you like that?”

She shook her head.

“Why not?”

She remained silent.

“Answer me, Amy.”

Her head shot up to look at me, her eyes a deep blue pool of both fear and desperate longing.

“He . . . he tried, but he’s basically too nice. He can’t keep the pretence and after a few minutes he just finds it silly and starts laughing.”

“But it’s no laughing manner for you is it, Amy?”

She shook her head no.

“So, you are a submissive, aren’t you? You want to give in, to be taken? Your husband can’t satisfy that part of you, can he?”

“No he can’t.”

Again the answer was low and only just audible.

“Tell me, Amy, what would you do if another man took charge of that part of you?”

Her eyes came up again seeking mine, just as they had on several previous occasions during the conversation. She swallowed hard.

“I don’t want to be unfaithful to my husband.”

The phrasing she used was exquisite, if she’d said ‘won’t’ instead of ‘don’t want to be’ I’d have probably left it there. As it was . . .

“So, Amy, maybe I can help you with both your problems.”

“Sir?”

“How much will the fuel pump for your car cost?”

“About one hundred and fifty.”

“What a coincidence. The same amount as working all day Sunday on the stock take will pay. The special stock take that I’ve decided I need your help with. Is that acceptable?”

“Oh, yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

“You won’t need to wear your uniform. It’ll only be you and me here. Wear some jeans and a tee shirt when you get your husband to drop you off at about ten.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’ll also help you with your other problem too.”

“Sir?”

“Yes, I’ll drop you at home when we’re through, toward tea time. You might find you have some explaining to do to your husband, after I’ve dropped you off.”

“Sorry, sir, I don’t understand?”

Perfect, she was as naive as she was submissive.

“Well, we are going to start in the ladies wear department and no doubt you’ll have to try on some of the outfits for me to check the size labels are correct. Of course as there will only be the two of us here you won’t need to use the fitting rooms, will you?”

Behind those liquid pools of her eyes I saw the moment the penny dropped.

“That’s right, my dear. You will happily show me how much of a natural blonde you really are. Assuming, of course you aren’t fully shaven. When I drop you home you will be wearing different clothes entirely from the ones you wore when you left home. Much more sexy clothing, probably without underwear.”

“Oh.”

“There’ll be love bites all over your breasts and your inner thighs. You’ll probably have my cum running down your thighs, or plastered all over your face, messing up your blonde hair. I won’t allow my slave to clean it off before she gets home.”

She shuddered again at the word slave.

“I see.”

“You have a problem with that, slave?”

She shuddered again, her mouth opening in reflex as she panted for breath.

“You like me calling you that, don’t you?”

Meekly she nodded.

“You’ll like it even better when you are naked and kneeling in front of me in the jewellery department, won’t you, slave?”

“Yes . . . Oh God, this is wrong . . . but yes!”

“How about when you’re tidying the CD’s in the music department, wearing just a cashmere sweater and hold-up stockings? Well, slave? Do you think this will satisfy the fantasy, Amy?”

She groaned, her hips bucking on the seat as I spoke to her, filling her mind with lurid details to fuel her own fantasy. Eventually, her involuntary movements slowed to a stop.

“You just came, didn’t you, slave?”

“Yes, sir.”

The small meek voice was back.

“Until tomorrow then, slave. Get your husband to drop you off at the back door at ten o’clock sharp. Tell him not to wait around for you. You’ll be given a lift home afterwards.”

She hung her head, partly in shame and partly to cover her still heightened arousal, an arousal I could clearly smell as her scent wafted across the room.

“Yes, sir.”

When I left Mister Chisholm’s office my mind was all over the place. I could not believe I’d had that conversation with him, let alone had an orgasm without either him or me touching my body intimately. I quickly used the ladies to clean and freshen up before returning to my position behind the stationery counter. I don’t know what the few customers I served must have been thinking but I could smell my own arousal and was conscious they probably could too. At least there were only a couple of hours left until closing but it took an age for them to slide slowly past.

Alan picked me up from in front of the store, his old Chevy bouncing and rattling and roaring down the road toward me. As soon as he stopped, I jumped in, for once heedless of any leg show I might be giving as the tight uniform skirt rode up my thigh, exposing my black nylon clad legs to the world.

“Hi, honey!” I breathed into his mouth as I kissed him ferociously. He broke the kiss when the car behind honked loudly.

“Wow, sweetie! What brought that on?”

“Nothing, honey. I just love you so much, take me home. I want to make love to you now!”

I sat in the passenger seat, half turned toward him, the seat belt across one shoulder, pulled tight between and accentuating my breasts. My skirt was half way up my thigh. I dropped my hand casually onto his thigh and began to rub his leg softly. He kept looking at me, but didn’t say anything as I slowly increased the pressure on his leg, breathing heavily myself as I watched him. After a while I plucked up the courage to tell him.

“Mister Chisholm has given me some overtime, honey, cash in hand.”

“That’s great!”

“Well, not quite so great.”

“Why?”

“He wants me to help with the surprise stock take. Tomorrow.”

“Oh!”

I could sense his disappointment. Sunday was our special day. The only one we had entirely on our own together given our job schedules.

“The money he’ll pay will cover the fuel pump. I can have my car back and you don’t need to leave work early to pick me up any more. Pete said he could do it Monday if we could stump up the cash to pay him.”

He shrugged.

“Besides, honey…”

“What?”

“As soon as we get home I want you to ravish me . . . repeatedly. That’ll make up for it!”

My fingers dug into his thigh, he squirmed in his seat, and obviously I was getting to him. I smiled.

* * * *

The minute we pulled into the driveway of our double wide I leapt out of the car, my door key already in my hand. As Alan carefully locked the car I dashed through the door.

“Honey!”

He looked up and I turned round. As I’d entered the house I’d very quickly opened the top five or six buttons on my work blouse, now I was flashing my lacy white bra at him.

“Amy!”

“Come straight upstairs, tiger!”

I giggled and disappeared from his view. Mind you, I did leave an obvious trail for him to follow. One shoe was lying in the middle of the hall, the next on the lounge floor. My work jacket was hanging on the newel post at the bottom of the stairs, my blouse lying on the step about five up from the bottom. My work skirt was two steps down from the landing where my tights were strewn. I heard him coming up the stairs as I hung my bra by its strap from the bedroom door handle and stripped my knickers down to toss them onto the vanity unit.

By the time he came through the door way I was laying on the bed, naked, my legs spread and my arms above my head, my hard nipples pointing straight at the ceiling.

“I said I wanted you to ravish me, honey. I meant it.”

“This isn’t like you, Amy. Not like you at all.”

“Hey, don’t knock it, honey. Take it!”

There was a wealth of hidden meanings in the final statement but somehow I knew Alan wouldn’t get them. Nevertheless, I could tell from the outline in his trousers he was hard, the out of character display yielding satisfactory results. Idly, I dropped one hand to gently caress my breast and I watched through lidded eyes as he removed his own clothing. At one point, as he stopped to fold his jeans, laying them over the back of a chair I almost screamed in frustration. My husband seemed incapable of spontaneity.

Eventually, he too was nude and he climbed onto the bed alongside of me. My hands reached up to grasp the top of the headrest, in my fevered imagination they were secured there, in reality merely holding on.

He began to gently stroke my naked flank, in no hurry.

“Take me, Alan! Now!”

My shout caused him to jump, cutting through his normal nice self.

“Please, Alan, just put it in. I need to feel you inside of me!”

For a wonder my normally foreplay-addicted husband did just as he was told. He rolled to occupy the space between my widely spaced legs, my knees rising to present my slit to him at the best possible angle. One hand held his weight suspended over me, the other dipping to play with my outer pussy lips, no doubt as always checking if I was wet enough for him to enter me without hurting me. I nearly screamed in frustration.

“I’m ready, for God’s sake, Alan! Do it!”

Again the message sank in, he took his hand away, and leaned forward. As the end of his prick reached my outer lips I reflexively pushed my hips up and out at him, dragging his end inside of me. He continued to push forward, gently, as my overheated sex captured more and more of him inside me. He sank all the way into me, probably the first time in three years we’d done that with a single thrust. I clutched at the headboard moaning incoherently as the waves of passion washed through every nerve in my body.

Without letting go of the headboard I strained up against him, attempting to draw every last part of him inside of me. Of their own accord my legs came up to wrap around the lower part of his ass, crossing at the ankles as I urged him to push in further and harder.

After a long moment he began to slide back out, and then as my crossed ankles kicked against his backside back in again. My hips were lifting off the bed to meet him, churning in small circles at the same time. His thrusts became quicker and quicker, my obvious desire for him driving him wilder in turn.

As my gyrations became more and more extreme it became too difficult for him to control his own moment and after less than a couple of minutes of frantic ploughing he came, a tremendous blast of his jism coating the inside of my vagina. I, on the other hand, was a long, long way from my own orgasm, nice as the experience had been. He collapsed on top of me and I slowly allowed my legs to relax to the sides.

“I’m sorry, sweetie. You were acting so wild, I couldn’t stop myself; couldn’t hold back.”

I stroked the fine hairs at the back of his neck.

“That’s alright, honey, you did what I asked you to do. Just because I didn’t come this time doesn’t mean I didn’t enjoy it. Now you go and grab a shower and I’ll follow, while you start the dinner.”

As he rose and left the room I knew things had changed in our household in a major way. Not necessarily for the better, either.

That night, after cooking, eating and watching TV snuggled up on the couch together, we made love again. Made
love
this time, properly, and just as Alan always did, the kind, considerate caring lover, anxious to ensure I took as much pleasure from it as he did. For the first time in our life together I faked an orgasm.

Later as he lay there next to me, gently snoring in his sleep, I wondered what I’d become. Amy was not the girl who had gone to work that morning. Lying there awake for a long time, my pussy throbbed as I imagined what tomorrow was going to bring. The thought of not going through with it didn’t even enter my head.