Fitting Room Fling — The Mall Hookup
I was trying on a dress for my cousin's wedding — a slinky emerald green number that looked amazing on the hanger but was impossible to zip by yourself. I'd been wrestling with it for a solid two minutes when I heard a knock on the fitting room door.
"Everything okay in there?" Male voice. Deep. Slightly amused.
"I, uh, can't reach the zipper," I admitted.
"Want me to grab a female associate?"
I thought about it for about half a second. When I'd walked in, I'd noticed the guy at the counter — tall, blonde, maybe 22, with arms that his polo shirt was struggling to contain. "No, it's fine. Just... come help?"
He slipped through the curtain. The fitting room was tiny. Suddenly we were inches apart, my back to his front, the dress gaping open down my spine. His fingers brushed my skin as he found the zipper.
"Sorry," he murmured.
"Don't be."
He pulled the zipper up slowly, torturously slowly, and I shivered. His hands lingered on my shoulders. "There. It looks... really good."
I turned around. We were nose to nose. "Does it?"
His eyes dropped to my lips. "Yeah."
I kissed him. Bold, not thinking, just acting on the electric charge between us. He kissed me back immediately, pressing me against the mirror. The dress was half-unzipped again, his hands inside it, gripping my waist.
"Anyone out there?" I breathed.
"Slow afternoon. Manager's on lunch." He kissed my neck. "We've got maybe ten minutes."
"Then hurry."
He pulled my dress down to my waist, his mouth on my breasts. I fumbled with his belt, got his jeans open, and took out his cock. He lifted me onto the little stool in the corner of the fitting room — the one meant for sitting while you try on shoes — and pushed my panties aside.
He thrust into me in one motion, and I muffled my gasp against his shoulder. The mirror behind me was cold against my back. He fucked me with quick, urgent strokes, his hand clamped over my mouth to keep me quiet. Outside, a mom with a stroller was asking about return policies maybe ten feet away.
"You're so tight," he whispered. "This is insane."
"Don't stop."
I came with his hand still over my mouth, my body shaking, my pussy clenching around him. He followed seconds later, pulling out and coming across my stomach with a stifled groan.
We cleaned up with tissues from my purse. He straightened his shirt. I zipped up the dress — I didn't need help this time — and actually bought it.
He gave me his number on the receipt.