“Enjoying the view?” the woman asks without the slightest hint of friendliness in her voice or facial expression. She is three steps ahead of me on the department store escalator, bent over adjusting her sandal, when she notices my eyes intently gazing up her skirt.

Busted!

My initial impulse is to divert my attention from her toned legs and white lacy panties and feign innocence, but instead I reply quite brazenly, “Yes, thank-you for asking, I am licking what I see very much!”

This softens her expression somewhat; she intends to embarrass me and is surprised that I readily admit my guilt. She also considers my words for a moment, wondering if I meant to say “liking” what I see, rather than “licking.” She finishes adjusting her sandal, however, making no attempt to tuck her skirt closer to herself or otherwise quench my enjoyment.

She is still staring back at me with a perplexed look on her pretty face when her escalator step vanishes into the floor at the top of its ascent and her sandals skid slightly.

I climb the two steps separating us and swiftly grab her elbow just in time to prevent her from falling, and her disposition toward me softens even more.

“Thanks,” she says sheepishly.

“I’m sorry I distracted you,” I reply sincerely, releasing her elbow as we both take our first tentative steps onto the second floor, two complete strangers.

“I guess I was the one distracting you,” she says with a smile, turning toward me.

“It was worth it,” I say, returning her smile, then wave my hand toward the aisles of merchandise ahead of us and add, in a mock-announcer voice, “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the second floor, where women’s underwear is half-off and there is a big thing in men’s pants.”

“I would like to see that,” she says in her own version of my mock-announcer voice, sizing me up with her eyes.

“The big thing in men’s pants?” I ask.

“No,” she replies coquettishly, “I want to see you lick what you saw.”

We walk together to the lingerie department, where I offer to buy her a new pair of panties, in exchange for the ones she is wearing. She picks out a sexy leopard-print thong, for which I pay cash, and we discover an empty changing room.

“May I?” I ask rhetorically as soon as she latches the door behind us, dropping to my knees in front of her and reaching my hands up her thighs to the elastic waist-band of her panties.

She steps out of her sandals as I slowly and deliberately pull her panties down her smooth legs and over her bare feet, then bring the moist crotch to my face and inhale deeply.

“Ahhh,” I moan as I exhale, “…so womanly.”

“You don’t have to do that,” she whispers, then lifts her skirt and pulls my face into her yawning sexuality.

She is smoothly shaven beneath a small strip of woman-fur, which tickles my nose as I enter her with my willing tongue. She tastes as delightful as she smells, and I feel intoxicated by her feminine essence.

Through the fabric of her skirt, she guides my head, and I give my unlimited attention to every aspect of her womanhood.

Soon she begins bucking her hips and thrusting herself forward into my hungry mouth, and I am only too eager to lick and suck and swallow everything she gives me. She moans very lady-like as she reaches her first summit, patting and stroking my head the way one rewards a good dog, then turns around and puts both hands on the changing room bench, offering me an even better view than the one I enjoyed on the escalator.

I lift her skirt and bury my face in her soft flesh, kissing and nuzzling her unbridled sumptuousness, my arms wrapped tightly around her thighs as she shifts her weight from one foot to the other. My hands discover her labia and I enter her slippery vagina with two fingers, wiggling and twisting them in and out as I continue to slowly explore her anatomy with my tongue and lips.

When she is about to reach her boiling point, she stands upright and turns around, so my face is back between her legs, and I slide my wet fingers in and out of her vagina while sucking and licking her clitoris until she achieves another quivering climax. I continue to kiss her gently, enjoying the last remnants of her tasty nectar, and she strokes and pats my head again for a job well done. When her breathing is under control, I stand, lick my fingers clean, and straighten her skirt.

I wipe her vaginal exudate from my face with my newest acquisition, the white lacy panties that first caught my interest on our ascent up the escalator, then tuck them into my pocket. I hand her the small shopping bag containing her new leopard-print thong panties, help her steady herself as she steps into them and adjusts them for comfort, kiss her tenderly on the forehead, and turn to unlatch the changing room door.

“Are you forgetting something?” she asks softly, touching my hand as I reach for the latch and easing me back around to face her.

When my facial expression betrays my oblivion, she winks and says, “The big thing in men’s pants!”