Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
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   BetweenHerLegs says -

   This story, like all BetweenHerLegs stories, is a literary exploration
of sexual fantasy.  It it not intended to describe actual persons or
events, nor to condone or encourage any of these activities.  Likewise,
this and every other piece of erotica on this site should not be read by or
to minors, nor by or to anyone for whom these materials are illegal,
immoral, or ill-advised.

   Otherwise...  enjoy!

   Love and kisses,

   Jenny (ManyJennies@yahoo.com)

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   "Katie's Thrift Store Quickie"

   by BetweenHerLegs

   (C) Jenny Clark, 2008

   My name is Theresa, and this is the story of how I got my slot swiped at
the thrift store.

   I was used to getting my fair share of looks.  I was twenty-five and
good-looking.  I was a little taller than average, a little thinner than
average, with firmer, more pronounced curves than average.  Dark brown
curls in a pony tail and expressive brown eyes completed the package.  My
butt rarely went anywhere without being patted by some stranger.

   But that day I was a little creeped out by the persistent looks of one
particular girl.  It wasn't that she was a girl that creeped me out.  I'd
never been with a girl and I wasn't interested in doing so, but I'd been
ogled by girls before and it didn't especially bother me.  But there was
something about this girl that made it creepy.  Despite smooth skin and
long, shiny hair with copper highlights, she was basically plain, and so
pale and simple that she seemed almost ghost-like.

   Too, her stare looked empty on the surface, but still seemed deeply
probing somehow.  This paradox added to the creepiness, and I wasn't really
prepared for it.  Still, I didn't feel like being chased out of the thrift
store so I just tried to avoid her while shopping.  Easier said than done.
She kept turning up everywhere I went.  Her face still staring at me, blank
and desirous at the same time.

   I was tempted to leave, but instead I actually found myself looking at
her more closely.  She wore a loose peasant blouse which hid most of her
figure, and faded jeans which did little to compliment the rest.  Still,
there was a certain prettiness about her, and a charm to her hidden
femininity.

   And that almost made her more creepy yet.

   Creepier still was when I was trying a dress on in one of the
thin-walled changing rooms and realized that she was in the one next to
mine, trying on a dress of her own.  We were standing there, practically
naked, inches apart.  I glanced at the flash of leg beneath the divider. 
Not bad, I evaluated.  And for one moment I was suddenly overcome by the
urge to reach down and touch the girl's leg.

   I blushed and turned away, and as I faced the mirror in high-cut white
panties and a white bra, I had a flash of the girl in my arms, me holding
her to my chest in an embrace.  I blushed deeper, shuddered.

   I had no intentions of starting to fantasize like some rug-munching
lesbo.  I was straight, and I was married, and that was the end of it. 
Some plain-looking psycho chick couldn't change that unless I allowed her
to.  And I wasn't about to allow her to.

   I pulled back on jeans and t-shirt and resumed my shopping, intending to
hurry up and get out of there.  This girl was spending way too much time in
my thoughts.

   Then suddenly -- "These would look good on you," a voice said behind me.
I spun and there was the plain, creepy girl holding a pair of panties. 
They were high in the hips, low on the waist.  Pink with scarlet lace
fringe and deep vermillion embroidery of an angel on the front.

   "I don't buy used panties," I said stiffly, offering her a tight-lipped
smile so forced I was sure I was making myself clear.  "Kind of creepy
isn't it?"

   The next thing I knew, her hands were on my hips, the panties still in
one of them.  "But these would really look good on your curves."

   "Thanks, but no thanks," I said, turning away.

   "I'll make you a deal," she said.

   "What?" I returned reluctantly back.

   "You try those on, I'll try these on." In her other hand she now held
another pair of panties.  Bikini-cut, sky-blue and navy tiger-stripes.

   To my horror, I found myself picturing her in them and being curious
about whether or not she would look as cute in them as I thought she would,
and I actually said -- "Deal."

   She nodded, expressionless, and took my hand in hers, both pairs of
panties in her other hand.  She led me to a changing room and we both
entered, as if it was perfectly natural.

   "So, what now?" I asked.  "I'm not changing into these panties with you
watching."

   "So now we guarantee privacy by looking into each other's eyes while we
put our respective panties on, and you talk dirty to me to keep things
interesting."

   "You really are a weird little fuck aren't you?" I laughed, grinning
despite myself.

   "That's the spirit," she cooed, a flash in her eyes for the first time.
She seemed to be alive in that moment.

   "Creepy," I muttered, looking into her eyes and reaching to undo my
belt, just the same.  I'm not sure what had possessed me, but the spirit of
the moment was carrying me away.  A harmless panty show for this plain
little freak wouldn't hurt and would give me a story to tell, if nothing
else.  The day a weird, non-descript young girl asked to see me in a pair
of second-hand panties.  But, as I looked into her eyes, I decided she
really wasn't as plain as I thought.  The surface was calm and quiet, but
there was life below, and there was something very attractive and
captivating about that life.

   She was wearing a skirt, so she was pulling up her new panties while I
was still stepping out of my jeans.  "Used to undressing in front of
strange women?" I asked, remembering that she wanted me to talk dirty to
her.

   "None like you," she gushed.  A blush touched her cheeks.  "Normally I'm
in charge, but this time I'm at your mercy."

   "My mercy?" I laughed.  "You're the one who's got me in here with no
panties on."

   "And it's making you wet isn't it?"

   "No," I said truthfully.  "I'm not some cheap whore that gets turned on
by this sort of thing."

   "I am," the girl said.  "Can you smell it?"

   "You are definitely a sick little girl," I remarked, arching an eyebrow
as I pulled the previously-owned panties on.  But, despite that, I found
myself inhaling, and I did pick up her scent.  As she had said, she was
getting wet.  Contrary to my inclinations and my interests, this fact
started to wetten my own pussy.

   "My name's Katie," she said, stepping back against the wall and pressing
her back into it.  "What do you think?"

   I looked at her.  The peasant blouse hung low, but I could see the tiger
shades of blue on the bottom of her mound.  "What I can see looks good on
you, Katie," I admitted, not sure what that meant coming from a straight
woman like me.

   "I said talk dirty, bitch," she spat, her eyes now angry.  "Do your
part."

   I raised my eyebrows.  "Well, what I can see of your skanky little cunt
looks good in those panties, Creepy Katie."

   She smiled, and then looked down.  "You're right, it's hard to see." And
like that, she lifted her blouse off.  She had no undershirt on, and, in
fact no bra.  Her breasts were small, but well-formed with melon-colored
nipples that turned slightly up.  I was startled and, at the same time, I
admired her chest.  "Better?"

   "Very good."

   "The panties, you lesbian whore," she chastised me.

   "I'm no lesbian."

   "Then stop staring at my titties."

   I realized I was.  I swallowed hard, and then realized that I still
hadn't stopped looking.  Her breasts were pretty.  I'd never thought that
about a woman before, but I'm not sure how many other women had presented
their breasts to me.  Not many.  "Sorry," I said, still looking at her
chest, trying to memorize the curves and contours and changes in texture.

   "You like my tits?" she asked.

   "They're pretty," I admitted in a rough voice.

   "I'm glad," she said.  "Now what about the panties?  I mean, if you were
just a few years older you might be my mom, so I really don't need you
drooling while you check out my tits."

   "I'm not drooling."

   "But you are definitely checking out my tits."

   "And I'm nowhere near old enough to be your mom."

   "The panties, slut, the panties."

   I looked.  "God," I whispered, not sure why I said it out loud.  Or why
I said it at all.  She was very thin, but her tummy was slightly rounded
and her hips had more shape than they appeared when clothed.  But I was
enchanted by the way the tiger striping accent the swell of her mound.  It
was beautiful.  Maybe I was a lesbian.  Maybe the only reason I didn't
think I was a lesbian was because a woman had never so displayed herself
for me.

   "Stand back and let me see you," Katie asked, gesturing me towards the
other side.  I stood in my tight t-shirt and the panties she'd chosen. 
They were a little small and there was a tuft of my bush showing above the
top.  Katie was pleased.  "You're a pretty lesbian whore."

   "I was never a lesbian before now, cunt," I spat, a little angry at the
complication this was going to be for my married life.  My eyes wandered
over her entire body.  "You and your little queer tits and your little
queer pussy." I bit my lip, and then spoke more honestly.  "Your pretty
queer tits, and your gorgeous queer pussy."

   "You didn't think I was pretty when you saw me in the store did you?"
she asked, walked towards me and taking my hand in hers.  The touch was
gentle and cool, but it sent a surge through my body.

   "No," I admitted.

   "But you do now?" She placed the flat of my hand on her mound.  I could
feel her warmth, her moisture.  I had never touched another woman like this
before, and I couldn't speak, couldn't think.  She laughed.  "It's okay,
honey, I want you touch me." She pressed my fingers against her.  "Go
ahead. Touch me." I pushed my middle finger into the fabric of her panties.
I could feel the warm slit.  I didn't know what to do.  I couldn't have
done it anyway.  I was still paralyzed by the newness of this experience.
And then Katie took control again, and lifted my hand and then slid it down
inside the waistband of her panties.

   "Oh god," I whimpered, tears forming in my eyes and butterflies in my
stomach.  "Katie, can I...?"

   Before answering she slipped her hand inside my panties, raking her
fingernails through my bush, and resting her hand on top of my labia.  I
was now very wet.  "You'd better, bitch, 'cause I'm gonna get you off, and
I'd better fucking get something out of it, too."

   I think she was still looking into my eyes, but my own gaze was back to
her tits as I started to use the fingers which were on her womanhood.  She
left hers still over mine, a warm and arousing blanket for my love.  I
loved the way her tits moved and jiggled, but still held their shape as her
body rocked from my efforts inside her.  While I'd never touched another
girl before, I suspected it was a lot like masturbating, so I approached
her pussy the way I would approach my own.  I pet her slit with my index
finger, slowly working it into her warmth.  It was incredible feeling
another woman's layers peeling to the side around my finger.  It felt great
around my finger, and it was an emotional high to feel the wetness of her
pussy, the swelling of her inner walls and the pulsing her veins.  The more
I worked my finger in, the sloshier she got inside her panties, and finally
I just left he finger inside, wiggling it around in circles while my thumb
pressed in and sought her clit.  The two-pronged attack always worked for
me, and it seemed to work for her, too.  She yelped quietly with each flick
of her clit and held my wrist tight with her free hand so there was no
chance of me pulling out.

   Soon, she came, yelping only a little more loudly, biting her lips until
it bled.  She held my hand in place, so I kept going.

   "You smell so good, whore," I groaned, truly finding the growing scent
of her pussy irresistible.  "I love the way your cunt feels."

   "Shut up," Katie spat.  "No talking.  Dirty talk is for when the sex is
crappy."

   I took that as a compliment, and felt the adrenaline surging inside me
in response to the praise.  I was truly loving the experience of her body,
and was taking pride in giving her pleasure.  I reached out with my free
hand and covered one of her tits, feeling her nipple rubbing my palm and
the swell of her flesh filling fingers.  The added sensation put Katie over
the top again, and this time she went to work inside me.

   She took to fingers, fully-extended, and made a hook-motion, entering my
pussy at a downward angle and swooping upward inside me.  She hit every
spot this way, and I couldn't not keep up my own ministrations.  I'd never
been this wet before in my life, and I was walking a tight rope when she
surrounded my clit with three fingers, and moved each one independently,
creating a flurry of sensation on my sensitive button.  I banged against
the wall of the changing room as I came.  Katie didn't slow down.  It
doesn't touch much to get me off once I've already climaxed, but the
eroticism of this situation made the second climax even harder, and I was
so caught off guard that I screamed out loud and collapsed to the floor.

   We were both panting.  Our eyes were locked, taking only momentary
excursions around one another's bodies.  Then there was a knock on the
door.

   "What the hell is going on in there?  You girls need to leave the store
-- right now!"

   I burst out laughing, and Katie smiled and starting pulling her clothes
on.

   We didn't speak until we were both fully dressed.  "Thanks, Katie," I
said softly.  "I never realized."

   "What's your name?" she asked.

   "Theresa."

   "Theresa," she said, reaching into her purse and pulling out a piece of
paper, "you need to know that I have sex with strangers all the time."

   I flushed.  I supposed I had known that, but it was a little bit of a
downer to hear right after such an amazing experience.  "Sure," I said,
trying to force insouciance.

   "In fact," she went on, handing me the paper, "I've never had sex with
the same person twice."

   I looked at the paper.  It was a phone number.  I looked back up at her,
a question in my eyes.

   "Call me," she said, and then left.

   I watched her go, suddenly enchanted by her walk.  It wasn't until after
she had left that I realized I was under intense scrutiny from the store
manager.  I laughed again, and left the store, forgetting about my
shopping, but grinning from ear to ear.

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   Read more from Jenny about this story at:
   /~BetweenHerLegs/spoilers.html