Port Edward, where I ply my trade as a perpetually horny car-guard, is a small town. It is so small that the town jail is known as 'Amoeba' because it only has one cell (a little like KICKASS's brain) and a night out on the town takes only eighteen minutes whilst the main drag is a Transvestite. The town is so small that we don't even have a village idiot ...well not, at least, until Steve Hofmeyer visited us last year, and a major advantage of the dorp being so compact and tiny is that it only takes 30 seconds for me to drive to the local Brothel...and that is way across the other side of town.

But I digress.

We have had some shocking weather on the South Coast recently, rain, rain and more rain. And if its not raining the clouds are grey and low and brooding and gruff... and as gloomy and leaden and dour as a Zuma speech.

But today the sun came out. Bright and cheerful and glowing and hot. The sea is sparkling with ten million jewels and the sky is clear and enchanting and a shattering blue. There is a gentle breeze and the beaches are shimmering. The whole world is clean and crisp and clear and crystal.

I head off to the local Kwikspar to do a little grocery shopping. In Port Edward, people tend to multitask. You will find that the Postmistress doubles as the Librarian, the Mayor doubles as a Twat and the Police Chief doubles as a Bar prop. A lot of the locals hold down two jobs... the Mechanic at the BP garage works as a Barman at the Club in the evenings, the Chemist often helps out at the Clinic... and one of the Kwikspar Cashiers moonlights as an Escort.

I discovered this just this morning.

I am standing in a line of vacant faces waiting to pay for my goodies, hemmed in behind by a large sweating lady with a bag of fetid cabbages and a squealing baby on her back (in this heat it's hard to tell which is which) and channeled by those narrow packed aisles that boast everything from jelly-beans to toothbrushes to condoms.
I am being herded forward in the queue and I glance up and at the cashier...and straight into the sultry dark knowing eyes of Lingerie Girl.

The last time I had seen Lingerie Girl, which was some two years ago, I had just finished worshipping and exploring her succulent curvy Rubenesque body, and sipping on her sweet slippery juicy snatch, before ejaculating like a burst fire hydrant deep between her plump sweaty thighs. She had held me tight to her generous bosum, and whispered sweet nothings in my ear, before kissing me gently on my lips and sending me on my way on weak shaky legs. It had been a memorable evening!

I visited and enjoyed her bounteous delights a number of times until, one day , like so many other Working Girls, she suddenly vanished.

And now...here she is again, sitting on a stool in front of a cash register in the local Kwikspar.

Our eyes lock, and the recognition is instantaneous!

I can feel the colour rising in my neck and cheeks, and my Adams apple is bobbing up and down like a buoy lost at sea. She sports a tight cheerful white and red Spar T-shirt, and her copious breasts strain and struggle against the thin cloth like twin caged beasts. Her dark areola are outlined by the red logo and her skin is soft and creamy and sweet sweet coffee. On the high stool behind the counter I can just see her slick knee-length dark skirt and silky black stockings. Her hair is pulled back tight, her lips are puffy and her face is clear and open and friendly...and she KNOWS!

My immediate reaction is to turn and retreat, but Sweaty Baby-cabbage Woman has me cornered, so I gulp nervously, and move into Lingerie Girl's personal till space.

Lingerie Girl is extremely welcoming. She gives me a promiscuous little smile, lifts herself slightly forward on the stool, and rucks her skirt back up her thighs a good couple of inches. She parts her legs coyly...and I am awarded with a clear view of the skin of her creamy thighs above the black stocking tops. I also catch a glimpse of a cramped silky g-string with it's swollen lips and I wince, and blush a deep ruddy scarlet.

"How are you today sir?" she smiles, but I am lost between those wanton thighs and behind that beguiling wicked little g-string.

Again.. "Hello sir, how are you sir?"...and I rip my eyes away from her friendly crotch and try to focus on what she is saying.

But Lingerie Girl is sly, and she leans a little more forward and kidnaps my eyes in return for a full wondrous view of her swollen cleavage and the milky flesh at the top of her breasts. My cock is going fucking crazy deep down in my shorts, my face is flushed, my heart is tripping and my body temperature has just shot up ten degrees.

I can't quite remember paying for my purchases, or even what I bought, and I vaguely remember my trance-like walk back to my modest little home up the main street from the Supermarket.But what I do distinctly remember is her husky "Thank-you for coming sir, see you later tonight sir,"

"Tonight sir, Yes?"

Oh well, I guess I shall be taking that long monotonous thirty second drive across town once AGAIN later this evening.

Thank goodness, they always come back!

Bravo! Nicely written, engaging, and leaves you wanting to know more!

/T