Charity store to Charity whore
Introduction:
A charity store shopifter pays with her pussy
The shop was just like any other charity shop, rows of second hand clothes on moveable racks, old books, toys, nick nacks, paintings, photographs, books, CDs, tools, cutlery, plates, musical instruments some vinyl records and cassette tapes although we no longer accepted them. No electrical goods either, but furniture, sporting goods, basically all unwanted junk and all donated to charity.
The window frames were sky blue once but the paint was flaking showing the green paint from when it was a greengrocers and general store and the diffusers on the strip lights were full of dead insects and the floor was filthy and the whole place had an air of genteel dereliction.
The clothes at least were reasonably clean, freshly laundered before being hung on the racks for the great unwashed British public to maul, but that didn’t last and so the regular clientele developed a sixth sense about which items were fresh in and made a bee line for them, rushing to the changing room clutching several garments to emerge later either with garments secreted under their own clothes or to haggle and try to get a discount on the already ridiculously cheap prices.
Young and old came to browse, women mainly, some came to dump the sort of tat they couldn’t shift on Freecycle or eBay, boxes full of the rubbish, you’ll gather I loathed and detested the whole lot of them.
But next door the charity had our very successful drop in centre, we couldn’t say so but it was for the local Afro Carribean youth or more specifically, young black men who we kept off the streets quite successfully.
Why did I work in this detestable hell hole you may ask?
Satisfaction, a job well done, oh and a hundred thousand pounds largely tax free in 2011/12, and you may well ask how did a volunteer on minimum wage make that much.
Diversification. Keeping people happy, giving satisfaction.
The key was the connecting door between the shop and the former warehouse now “The Warehouse” drop in centre known locally as “The Whorehouse.”
There was one connecting door to begin with, now there were four, installed over a period of several week ends, concrete lintels cast with reinforcing steel in situ, cast by a team of unemployed black lads under the direction of a posh middle class chap in spirit of co operation.
Yeah, bring on the Violins.
So how did it work?
Take Marilyn, mid thirties, pass for fifty, quite a regular browser, worked part time in Woolworth until they closed, bored to tears, husband away a lot, probably impotent or shagging his secretary, frustrated, looking for excitement.
Then there was John, black, eighteen or so, frustrated, no money, no girlfriend, would shag anything given the chance, but how to get them together for their mutual satisfaction.
The connecting door.
Marilyn came in on an ordinary grey Thursday afternoon, she selected a few garments and entered the number two changing room which unusually had a full height door with a working bolt instead of the customary curtain.
She hung the collection over the back of the chair and admired herself in the full length mirror against the back wall, I watched her, not only was the mirror a two way mirror through which I could see her as she admired her reflection but it was hinged at one side and hid the connecting door to “The Warehouse,” which was open and behind which I stood quietly waiting.
She pulled her dress over her head, I checked the CCTV monitor and flicked a couple of switches, the outer changing room door locked with a click as did the outside door while the cheap LED sign on the door changed to “Closed.”
She cupped her breasts and looked at her reflection, I swung the mirror open, “Very nice!” I agreed.
She stared open mouthed, “Wha?” she gasped, “I wasn’t stealing!”
“No of course not, come through,” I said, “Leave those,” I said pointing to the clothes.
She stared into the pale red light illuminating the passage way, “If you please, Marilyn isn’t it, I’m afraid I’ve had my little CCTV eye on you.”
She tried the outer door, it was firmly locked, “It’s locked, come through,” I repeated, and when she just stared at me I added, “Come along please, I don’t have all day.”
She took that first fateful step into the warehouse, still in her underwear, “I wasn’t stealing,” she said.
“No, come through,” I suggested and I shut the door behind her.
“You won’t call the police!” she pleaded as she stepped into the red glow of the narrow oak board lined corridor .
“No, just sign the book,” I suggested and I stepped through a narrow doorway to the left of the corridor and motioned for her to look through an unglazed window slightly further down.
A book lay on a desk within the window, “Just sign and date it and print your name and address, oh and land line phone number,” I suggested.
“Look, really I wasn’t,” she said plaintively.
“No,” I agreed, “Just sign,” she found it awkward the window was rather narrow, she couldn’t reach, she wriggled both arms through the narrow gap and as she did so the top of the window silently slid downwards on polished steel guides that had once graced the front of a Harley Davidson motorcycle controlled by hydraulic valves operated by the control unit in my hand.
“Ugh” she exclaimed as the panel gently slid into place across her back between her shoulders and hips, trapping her, “What’s happening?”
Five interlocking panels of wood had descended, pinning her within the gap in the wall.
The locking mechanism prevented her lifting it away and she looked completely shocked as she looked up at me while taking her weight on her elbows.
“Doing our bit for charity Marilyn, helping our African cousins.”
The corridor was an illusion, the back wall was itself a series of doors which closed the corridor off into a series of four cubicles each accessed from the main room of “The Warehouse” by an individual door.
I closed the doors behind her, “In a moment I shall open the doors and for the next hour you will be available for our young black gentlemen to use as they please, think of it as charity work.”
“But, no please you can’t!” she said even as I pulled her petticoat down revealing her boring big white knickers and her rather fetching suspender belt and stockings.
The panties had to go, “Do you find it rather exciting?” I asked as I pulled them down.
“No! let me go!” she protested, but a brief rub of my finger between her legs belied her denial, she was moist, a finger tip slipped within and she moaned, I stepped back, closed the side door and stepped into ‘The Warehouse,’ where several young lads were playing table tennis, bar billiards, watching porn or just hanging out.
“Number four open for business gentlemen,” I announced, “Stephanie will take over at four.”
“So who’s this?” someone asked.
“Who cares, it’s a cunt, close your eyes,” I suggested, “Enjoy.”
I went back to the office side of the corridor, “TV?” I asked Marilyn, “Shall I turn it on?”
The monitor was across the room, I turned it on, turned it to channel three, “What’s happening?”
Marilyn asked.”
“No idea, probably some young stud sliding his huge cock up your tight cunt,” I surmised as I unlocked the main door remotely, “Relax, enjoy, they know to use a condom and plenty of lube.”
“He has his thumb in me, he’s going to rape me!” she said quietly, calmly.
“But my dear, you just signed a consent form,” I explained, “And your nasty cunt was already wet when I fingered it just now!” I added as I held my finger for her to sniff.
She gasped, “Oh god, he’s putting it in me!”
I checked the monitor above her head, John was behind her, he had closed the outer door and dropped his pants, his ebony cock was straining as he guided it into her tight pink wetness, slowly sliding ever further into her yielding flesh with every grunted thrust, and for every grunt she gave a tiny excited gasp until finally he was fully sheathed his wiry black pubic hair merged with her soft black down.
I made a mental note to tell her to shave, much more hygienic, and her tightness wouldn’t last, soon we would have to take steps to loosen up her tight ass if we were to keep the young lads happy but that was for the future.
Now was for fucking, and she writhed as she took her weight on her elbows and rocked to his eager African rhythm as she became more aroused than she had for years.
Her head was bobbing now, gasping slightly, her breath rasping, the monitor showed him humping furiously, trousers around his ankles, beads of sweat on his face, his hands gripping her hips, I smiled, two people who would normally not even have spoken to each other fucking away, pleasing each other satisfying, each other, it made it all seem worthwhile somehow.
Marilyn’s orgasm came swiftly and noisily, her tight cunt overwhelmed by her energetic partner, such a difference to her husbands feeble efforts, and beyond her orgasm still he carried on humping and she wallowed in a state of euphoria scarcely able to believe something so wonderful was happening to her until finally he came too.
John threw the used condom in a bin and wiped himself with a wet wipe from the dispenser then ignoring Marilyn he pulled up his pants and left the cubicle allowing the door to slam closed on its own and wandered across the room to buy a can of Pepsi from the machine which he drank in one swallow.
“What’ she like?” Raphael asked, “She new right?”
“That bitch is all right,” John admitted, high praise indeed from a connoisseur.
I collected the clothes Marilyn had taken in to the changing room and put her own clothes on a chair in the office and finally unlocked the number two changing room again.
Raphael wandered across to the cubicle, peered inside and then closed and locked the door behind him. Wordlessly he dropped his pants and wanked his semi a few times until it stood up, then he took a rubber from the dispenser and started rolling the cheap the Mates condom down his thick shaft.
Marilyn had not recovered from Johns attentions when she felt Raphael’s shaft sliding inside her, she thought it was John again and marvelled at his powers of recovery but the angle was different, there were more ribs or veins and the cock was longer or was it shorter, but her mind went to a purple haze and she wished there was a cushion or something to take the weight off her elbows as her arms and shoulders began to ache as she rocked to Raphael’s urgent rhythm.
The boards were an untidy fit around Marilyn’s waist, Raphael could be seen through the gaps but this was just the temporary arrangement, later I would take accurate measurements and cut a board to the exact shape and fit a rubber and leather moulding as a seal with a matching rubber and leather seal to support her waist, which she would need for the longer sessions she had ahead of her, but for now she slopped around as Raphael banged into her.
She was a natural, sometimes I had to do a tit massage to excite them, maybe put clothes pins on their nipples but Marilyn seemed to have juiced up nicely all in her own so I left her to it.
Marilyn had little respite, John’s praise of her prowess had alerted his friends,
A sort of untidy queue formed waiting for Raphael to finish and I considered sending Doris in but then it dwindled again,
Doris looked disapprovingly at me as I stepped back into the shop, she was one of the regulars, splitting her time between serving customers and serving the black lads, part shop assistant, part anonymous cunt, whore, for the rule was anonymity, no one man to see who they are fucking, and no woman must see who is fucking them, not among our day staff and part timers anyway.
“You’re taking a chance on her,” Doris said jealously.
She wouldn’t see fifty again, her tits sagged and her ass was not what it had been, these days she was reduced to wearing a leather corset, leather boots and little else and sitting around with the lads often wanking herself with a vibrator until someone took pity on her and slipped her a length, stupidly enough she could probably have charged five hundred pounds plus an hour five miles away in Soho but she never was that bright.
“Got to keep turning over the stock,” I reminded her.
“You going to get another boy in?” she asked, “Julian was very popular.”
“Huh!” I snorted, I once took a week off and came back to find a nineteen year old rent boy on roster, not funny, especially when I found him screwing Doris in the stockroom with a shop full of customers, “I had enough trouble with the last one!”
Heather arrived as we were talking, a peroxide blonde with modest B cup breasts and well developed thgh muscles from her love of Tennis wearing her inevitable while Tennis skirt and skimpy top. “Want a cup of tea love?” Doris asked.
“Coffee, milk two sweeteners,” Heather replied.
“You’re early,” I observed, she blushed, six months she had been coming, she usually did a couple of hours on Tuesdays and Thursdays, “We have a new lady in four, Marilyn.”
“Oh, right,” Heather replied.
“Doing Doris’s shift,” I explained and Heather brightened.
“Good,” she said, “Many in?”
“A few,” I suggested, “Should be steady.”
“Good,” she said as Doris handed her the coffee.
It was far mor civilised with the regulars, she used number three cubicle beside Marilyn but instead of a window there was just a bare wall before I lifted the sliding panel and slipped Heather’s own shaped leather trimmed back panel and tummy rest into position, she merely placed her handbag and coat through the aperture and onto the desk and bent over and pulled her skirt up out of the way exposing her backside and hold up stockings while her shaved cunt glistened as she had already discarded her knickers which were safely tucked in her coat pocket.
The side sceens were in place so while she couldn’t see Marilyn or Marilyn see her both could see the TV screen and chat if they wished.
“Footrest please John,” she requested, as being somewhat short she needed something to support her feet. I clipped the footrest into place and she thanked me, “Mmmm that’s good,” she said as I gently checked if she was moist, and then I unlocked the door and announced she was available for business.
I had a three o’clock appointment upstairs, downstairs was the ‘Warehouse,’ the black male department, above it in the former offices more a Blackmail department.
My three o’clock was Serena, a young black girl, her parents were devout religious nutters of some weird cult or other and she had fallen in with a bad crowd and it was up to me to set her on the straight and narrow.
She was in room four, sullenly staring as I unlocked the door and stepped in, “You can’t keep me here,” she said.
“I think we both know that’s not true,” I said as I looked at her as her breasts and hips strained the one piece denim dress I had given her quite obscenely, “And how far do you think you’ll get dressed like that?”
“Like what do you want?” she asked.
“Blow job, white girls fuck, black girls suck, my little motto,” I explained.
“Look, if I, you know?” she asked awkwardly.
“Big Mac with fries, coke maybe?” I suggested.
“I want my clothes back!” she protested.
“Serena, you were so drunk you couldn’t stand up when you came, I can’t just let you go can I?” I explained, “Now how about you blow me and we can move on, ok?”
She looked unconvinced but her diet of toast and water must have become boring as she said, “Ok.”
“Good, we’ll us the practice glory hole,” I suggested, I knew she had worked out what the strangely shaped platform which almost reached the ceiling was, a vertical wall with a hole at mouth height with an adjustable step the other side and a projection over the girl’s head to take a TV screen, ideal for watching porn as someone sucked you off except this one was free standing instead of being built into a cubicle.
She watched as I pulled it to the centre of the room and plugged in the electric lead, “Just a precaution,” I said, “Put your wrists in the clamps please,” I ordered, “I’s just in case you bite give you a bit of a jolt, not life threatening but bloody painful so I’m told.”
She let me fasten the clamps to hold her before the hole, I had already adjusted the step so flicking the video clip selection to “Story of O” I opened my flies and eased my tool through into the unknown.
“Aren’t you wearing a rubber?” she asked.
“Spit or swallow I don’t care,” I replied and then her soft rubbery lips were on my soft but stiffening tool and I was lost in a warm soft place where clouds of marshmallow toy with purple
Elephants, and I stared dreamily at the screen until my balls churned and a solid bolt of cum ripped down my shaft to explode on her tongue.
“Ugghh, you filthy!” she spluttered bringing me back to reality.
“Delicious,” I agreed, “Absolutely delicious, be a darling and lick me clean.”
“Fuck you!” she protested, I nearly gave her a jolt through the heel operated electric shock system but decided she had done her job rather well so I used a handkerchief before I released her hands.
“That was very very nice,” I said, “Thank you.” She stepped away, spunk still dripping from her chin, “Will you come and sit on my cock?” I asked.
“Fuck off!” she said.
“Pity, you passed the last test beautifully,” I suggested, “I just need to know you fuck acceptably and you can be out of here, lots of chaps would like a nice well rounded dusky slavelet, maybe somewhere in the country, would you like that?”
“Anywhere is better than here,” she said wistfully.
“I’ll order your Big Mac,” I promised and I slipped away.
Julia was downstairs, “John darling,” she said, “Look sorry but.”
Julia my nemeses, my weak spot, my self proclaimed sometime girl friend who saved herself a fortune in taxi fares by crashing at my flat, late twenties, marathon running law school graduate now working at a firm “In the City,”
“Oh lord, not now,” I said awkwardly.
“Not you silly,” she explained, “I need some black cock John, you know serious action not lovey dovey, you do understand don’t you?”
Doris smirked nastily.
“How about a nice nine inch strap on,” I suggested, “Doris isn’t busy at present.”
“Not even remotely funny darling,” Julia replied, “Black cock now if you please.”
“I’ll put you in the glory hole if you don’t watch out,” I explained, “But the new girl’s time is up so why not, an hour do you?”
“Perfect!” she said, “I better get changed, is there anything my size, this suit cost an absolute fortune!”
“Can you find her something please Doris?” I asked.
“Some very funny stuff out back, rubber skirts and that,” Doris replied.
“Perfect,” Julia agreed, “I’ll change in the staff loo, do you have a hanger and cover I can use?”
They disappeared and started rummaging through a sack of distinctly odd clothing someone had donated.
I served a couple of ordinary customers, no I wouldn’t take 75p for a book listed at £2.50 which upset a miserly old dear who looked like she was well past her die by date and I sold a bookcase to a chap wearing a cycle helmet for ten pounds, mainly to see just how he hoped to carry it on a push bike, sadly he asked if he could pick it up next day.
Julia was ready, so Doris said and I went to find her, somehow she had squeezed into a latex Super-woman outfit which left nothing to the imagination though the white high heels and open crotch fishnet tights rather cheapened the illusion, “Down Tiger,” she said, “I want a real man!”
I led Julia through, found her pad and screen and settled her in to cubicle one before I rescued the now exhausted Marilyn from her session by locking the outer door as Glenn, I think it was, left her.
But first I had to measure her, I had a form tool with separate plastic fingers which I slid down over her and when I was satisfied it was correctly and snugly fitted around her I snapped the fingers off where they protruded above the frame, it barely took a minute and then I scrawled “Marilyn” across the tool and set it aside.
Releasing her was more difficult as the lower portion of the wall was fixed so rather than take her out through the waiting black youths I took her into cubicle three and then through to the office area where the clothes she had chosen were waiting.
“I need a wash,” she said.
“No you don’t,” I said, “Choose something from the pile and put it on, then go ot the back way and sit in the park for half an hour, no handbag, no knickers, no money, ok?”
“No!” she protested.
“Good girl,” I replied,”Knock twice when you’re ready.”
I left her and returned to Julia, she was moaning softly so I kissed her, “Oh god no you bastard!” she swore as she rocked to the African rhythm as someone fucked her from behind while I took her face in my hands and forced my tongue between her lips, “No!” she repeated and the humping stopped.
“Not you, she’s gagging on my cock,” I explained and the humping resumed.
“Total bastard!” she opined so I popped her tits out of her outfit and clamped an ugly bulldog clip onto each nipple.
“You know you like it!” I replied and with a wave I was gone.
Marilyn had chosen a shapeless green number with a black jacket, her shoe size was seven so I found her some black size six shoes with three inch heels, they were uncomfortable, and quite deliberately so, but I showed her out the back way with instructions not to return for half an hour and I accompanied her the first hundred yards or so to McDonalds where I bought a Big Mac and coke for Serena as promised.
I don’t think Serena believed me when I promised her a meal, but she smiled when I walked in.
“I sort of have you pencilled in for a friend of mine,” I explained, “He wants you collared and leashed at all times, naked of course, but you’ll have somewhere warm and dry to sleep and minimum wage paid into a bank account monthly, six months contract initially.”
“What’s in it for you?” she asked perceptively.
“Five grand finders and admin fee,” I replied, “You just need to sit on my cock.”
“Can’t I eat first?” she asked.
“Sure,” I agreed, “I’ll find a leash and collar.” It didn’t take long, there was a brand new collar in a box, a high black leather collar, not a dog collar but right up the neck to keep her head up, and manacles for wrists and ankles.
I put them on the table, “Your new uniform.” I said.
“Right, I’ll get a long way down Oxford street wearing that,” she replied.
“Cloak, or better still a Muslim Burkah,” I said, “That’s how we usually move naked slaves these days.”
“Cripes!” she said, “Like the money, like its guaranteed, yeah?”
“Proper contract,” I agreed, “There’s a specimen copy somewhere, except you haven’t sat on my cock yet.”
“No,” she agreed, “Like the collar, like do I have to wear it twenty four seven?” I nodded, “I suppose I had better try it,” she suggested.
I fastened it gently around her neck, tightening the buckles one by one and then took her hands gently and fastened the manacles gently around her wrists, “Ok?” I asked before I took the other pair which I fastened around her ankles, “You need to be naked,” I added.
She pulled the denim dress over head, “Satisfied?” she asked.
“Sit on my cock,” I suggested.
“Take your trousers off first,” she replied.
“Only if you promise,” I countered.
“Just do it,” she insisted, so I did as she suggested and sat down feeling rather stupid with my cock no more than semi hard, “Rubber,” she insisted so I took one from my jacket and rolled it down rather awkwardly over my less than rigid tool.
“Oh don’t you fancy me?” she mocked and she pointedly pushed first one then two and finally three fingers inside her moistening snatch.
My tool reacted immediately stiffening and then she was poised over my lap and sliding her black snatch down on to my pink pole as she cooed with pleasure as she began to hump me.
“You’ll do,” I laughed, “You’re a natural!” but the hard chair was playing havoc with my back and enough was enough and quite suddenly I started to cum.
She did her best but my softening pole was not what she needed to bring herself off and she climbed off me cursing as she tried to frig herself off with her fingers before finally giving up the unequal struggle and flopping onto her bed, “Damn you,” she squealed.
“It’s my back,” I said as I dressed, “Stupid position, and then I remembered Marilyn was due back after her humilliating half hour walking around in someone else’s clothes with no knickers and no money.
I made my apologies, and rushed downstairs.
To be continued.
Previously entitled, “Black Charity The Connecting Door Pt 1 Removed because of offensive spam adverts in comments
