SHOPLIFTER SURPRISE

Introduction:
copyright: Lesley Tara, 2009I like to think of this happening to me … but take it as fiction (all names and places have been changed, and any resemblance to real persons or places is purely coincidental).
They had set me up! And they had done it so neatly that there was no way out. I stared at the two women in shock and dismay. There was no alternative – I was going to have to do whatever they wanted – anything at all.
I was fifteen and a half years old, although I looked two or three years older – a fact which caused me a lot of bother, with older boys and men constantly making passes or dirty remarks. The reason for this was partly my height – I am five foot nine inches – but most of all my bust. My family all have big boobs, inherited from my grandmother who came from somewhere in northern Italy. From her I also have my straight black hair, which I had grown quite long; at school I kept within the rules by platting it into two pigtails, which came to just below my collar. My tits had developed early, and were probably the largest of any girl in my year at school – perhaps even of the year above as well. I kept them firmly enclosed in a plain white bra, though its uplift did give me a striking profile and cleavage – I hid the latter from view, but couldn’t disguise my breasts’ jutting prominence. It wasn’t that I didn’t like my breasts – I had become used to them now, and was much less self-conscious – but I was fed up with their effect on the male sex and the boorish behaviour that resulted. Not only were the boys at school constantly trying to get their paws on them, but they treated me as if I was just an appendage to my bust. In particular, they acted on the assumption that the bigger a woman’s breasts, the smaller her brains. This was far from the case – I was clever and ambitious, worked hard, and was predicted straight A grades in the important exams next summer. I was aiming to go to Oxford or Cambridge university when I was 18, and then on to a professional career – certainly not to settle for being a boring housewife and mother.
My Tuesday afternoon timetable was sport with no last lesson afterwards, so I was free to leave school an hour earlier than normal. I always used this to spend some time in the town centre, going to the library or window-shopping, sometimes with a friend but usually on my own. One of my favourite places was our medium-sized branch of a national chain of department stores, and I enjoyed looking through the clothes and – in particular – the lingerie department. On this particular Tuesday I had been admiring some flimsy items of underwear in lace-edged black which were very sexy and adult-looking, and then I looked through the party dresses for teenage girls – there was one I had been thinking of buying, and I tried it on in the changing rooms, but the only size they had in stock was a bit too tight. With regret, I gave it back to the assistant, picked up my satchel and sports bag, and headed for the exit. Just as I was about to go out, I felt a grip on my sleeve and heard a polite but firm voice saying: ‘Just a moment please, young lady, I must ask you to come with me’. It was the store security officer, who I had seen quite often before, particularly when I was in the lingerie section. She was an imposing black woman, aged around 30; she was taller than me, and looked like a former athlete – she was trim and fit, with well-muscled arms and legs, but also full-figured and shapely around the waist and hips. I was not alarmed, thinking there was some mistake – whatever it was would be easily cleared up, and it would waste less time if I went with her and sorted it out. So I was quite calm as I accompanied her through to the back of the store and down a quiet corridor to a door marked ‘Duty Manager’, at which she knocked.
I was ushered ahead of her, into a rather bare and utilitarian office. There was a couch against one wall, a couple of basic chairs, some filing cabinets, and a desk behind which sat a poised, capable, but rather severe-looking woman in her mid 30s. She had dyed blond hair cut in overlapping layers, in a quite short ‘businesswoman’ style, trimmed around and behind her ears and cut to the nape of the neck. She was wearing a dark grey jacket which offset a pink blouse; I saw later that she also had a matching grey skirt which was quite short and tight, with a slit vent at the back, and black calf boots. She took off her glasses and laid them next to some paperwork, and regarded me steadily. ‘Is this the one, Melissa?’ she asked the security guard, who nodded and said: ‘Yes, Miss Campbell’. I began to feel a bit less confident, but interrupted at once: ‘There’s been some mistake – I don’t know what all this is about!’ ‘We’ll see then, shall we,’ calmly replied the manageress, and she asked if I had bought anything in the store that day. I said no, explaining that I had tried on the dress but the fit hadn’t been right. ‘OK,’ said Miss Campbell, and she cleared the papers from her desk into a drawer before rising and walking around to the front. The black woman turned a key in the lock of the door, and then placed my satchel and kitbag on the vacant desktop. ‘Open these, please’, instructed the security guard. Foolishly thinking that this would clear everything up, I unzipped my sports bag – and gave a gasp of dismay. Lying on top of my kit were two pairs of the expensive black panties that I had admired in the lingerie department, still with their store price tags and labels. My breath was taken away for a moment, my stomach gave a sickening lurch, and I sat down heavily in one of the chairs. ‘I don’t know – I don’t understand – I didn’t’, I stammered, and then with a wail ‘They’re not mine!’ ‘Indeed they aren’t, young lady’, said the manageress grimly, ‘as you did not pay for them’, and the black woman standing behind my chair gave a gruff laugh. ‘Please, you must believe me’, I said desperately, ‘I don’t know how they got in there – I didn’t put them there!’ ‘Oh, yes?’, said Melissa derisively, ‘who did – the pixies, was it?’ I felt bowled over, and close to bursting into tears: I was a good girl, I’d always been a good girl and obeyed all the rules – how could this be happening to me?
I was in a daze as Miss Campbell explained that it was company policy to prosecute all shoplifters, whatever their age. She then reached up to a shelf in the corner and brought down a small video camera, which I hadn’t noticed was there. The manageress told me that it had filmed me from coming into the office to the discovery of the stolen items; its evidence, together with the in-store camera which showed me looking at and fingering the panties in the lingerie department, would ensure that I was convicted however much I protested my innocence. The black security officer alarmed me even more by saying that I would be sent to a reformatory or perhaps even prison. ‘A pretty young thing like you – they’ll eat you up,’ gloated Melissa. As I looked at her in horror, I could see the lustful way she was looking at me – and with shocking suddenness I realised who had put the panties in my bag, and why the security guard had known to stop me. The bitch had planted them on me herself – she often watched me in the lingerie department, which I had put down to the usual knee-jerk store suspicion of young people, and she knew what I had been looking at. Whilst I was in the changing room trying on the dress, my bags had been left at the attendant’s desk ‘for security’, and that was when the items had been inserted. I turned to the manageress to launch my accusation, but the words died on my lips – for she was regarding me the way a spider would a fly, and with redoubled fear I realised that she was part of the set up as well. I swallowed with a gulp, biting my lip. I was at their mercy – they knew it, and now so did I.
Miss Campbell rested her trim buttocks against the side of her desk, regarded me coolly with one eyebrow raised, and reached for her telephone. She knew from my expression that I had finally understood my situation, and with a half-smile she asked: ‘So, shall I phone for the police?’ ‘NO!’ I squealed desperately; ‘Please – please don’t!’ I knew that even if I didn’t get sent to jail, a criminal conviction would end my chances of getting into a top university or ever having a professional career – and I would do whatever was necessary to avoid that. I had a dawning suspicion of what that might be, but drew a shaky breath and said pleadingly: ‘I’ll do anything – please, don’t – I’ll do anything you want’. ‘Really – anything?’ queried the manageress. I closed my eyes for a moment, and accepted my fate: ‘Yes,’ I mumbled, ‘whatever you want, I promise.’
The manageress looked at me for a long moment, and then smiled in anticipatory satisfaction. I was certainly an attractive prospect for any predatory lesbian, with the combination of my blossoming figure and naive innocence, all prettily packaged in traditional school uniform. I was wearing sensible black shoes and white socks which came nearly up to my knees; above this was my grey pleated uniform skirt, which I wore at the regulation length of one inch above the knee. This was topped with a white buttoned shirt and striped school tie, and my navy blue blazer. Miss Campbell ordered me to stand up and take off the blazer, after which she grasped my tie and used it pull me close to her. Although I suspected what was in their minds, it was still a shock when I felt the manageress put her hands on my breasts and squeeze them firmly through the material of my shirt and bra. At the same time, the black security officer stepped up close behind me and ran her hands from my shoulders down my back, ending by squeezing my ass and then pulling my grey skirt up towards my hips. Miss Campbell loosened my tie a little, but then let go of it and unbuttoned my shirt. I made no resistance or protest as it was tugged out of my waistband and then back off my shoulders; Melissa undid the cuffs and the shirt was removed completely and tossed across to the couch. ‘Oh, my!’ said Miss Campbell as she admired the size of my breasts and their upswell in the bra, ‘Well-spotted, Melissa, this one’s a real peach’. She left my tie on, but tugged it towards one side so that it lay across my right breast rather than between them.
The next move was made by the imposing black woman. She reached under my armpits and grasped a bra-cup in each of her large and powerful hands, and then began to massage and squeeze them. This began to set off funny feelings, first in my breasts, then in my stomach, and then lower down – I felt my nipples responding to the attention by swelling erect, and I became aware of a loose and damp feeling between my legs. Melissa unbuckled my bra, and it joined the shirt on the couch. As I looked down, I could see the contrast of her black hands on the creamy white flesh of my boobs, stroking them and tweaking the nipples, and this vision and the feel of her warm firm grasp was starting to arouse me. I had never really thought of sexual relations with women before, though I had realised that I felt no enthusiasm for being poked with a male penis; I had thought it was just a matter of time and boys would somehow interest me when I was older, but my second and greatest shock of the day was the realisation that they wouldn’t. This was far more exciting and satisfying, and these masterful mature women were compelling in their raw sexuality. I found that I was thrilled by the fact that they desired me, that my body was arousing their lust, and I discovered that I wanted to be taken by them. I felt myself becoming wetter and looser in the vagina, and my shoulders went back to raise my breasts and proffer them to my conquerors. I breathed huskily: ‘Do anything, anything you want’, and Miss Campbell at once picked up on the change of my pose and my tone of voice. She gave me a full appreciative smile and then glanced at my panties, which were now on view as Melissa had pulled up my school skirt and rucked it around my waist. I shifted my feet to spread my legs a bit wider apart, and the manageress dropped her hand to cradle my Venus mound through the thin and damp material of my white school knickers. She felt my softness and wetness, and then pulled the elastic waistband of the knickers outwards with her left hand and slid the right hand down inside. I gave a gasping moan as the palm of her hand slid electrifyingly across my lower stomach and then found my cunt. She slipped her fingers through the hair, which was not long as I trimmed it about once a week, and found my opening. I shuddered in arousal as her thumb slid up and down my slit, prising it open. She caressed me intimately, and then withdrew her hand and looked in pleasure over my shoulder at her partner in crime, who through all of this had continued to grope and fondle my ample breasts. Miss Campbell offered her finger to the black woman, who sniffed it appreciatively and then licked it clean of my juices.
Miss Campbell hooked her fingers into the sides of my knickers, and slid them down over my hips; without needing to be told, I stepped out of them, and spread my legs wider still. I was now naked apart from my school tie, the grey skirt bunched around my waist, and my knee socks and shoes. I felt exposed, wonderfully vulnerable and totally available. The manageress knelt in front of me and pushed her index finger into my vagina. ‘Are you a virgin?’ she enquired. I said truthfully that I had done it a couple of times with boys at parties, and hadn’t enjoyed it – but my hymen had been broken. ‘That’s good’, she said decisively, standing up and taking off her suit jacket. I was instructed to unbutton her blouse, which I did with trembling fingers, half eager and half afraid. When it was discarded I found that she was wearing a sexy bra in navy blue, which was displaying to advantage a pair of breasts that were average-size but pointy and still firm. The next instruction was to kneel and undo her skirt, and I gave a gasp of wonder when I found that beneath it she had a matching blue suspender belt holding up her stockings, with the ensemble completed by skimpy thong panties over the top. Together with her black boots, it was a mouth watering sight, and I hardly needed the encouragement of her hand on the back of my head to bring my face forwards and kiss her crotch. She pulled down and threw aside the thong panties, leaned her bottom against the edge of the desk, and spread her thighs apart. I could see the puffy lips of her labia protruding from her vagina, and it drew me like a magnet. I rested on my knees, gripped behind her thighs with each hand, and for the first time in my life experienced the wonderful taste, texture and smell of another woman’s pussy. It was deeply arousing, redoubling my own wetness, and I gave a sudden squeal as I felt a large finger enter me there from behind and roughly probe me. The black woman had stripped off her uniform jacket, shirt and tie, and had dropped down behind me, reaching between my spread knees to explore my tight young cunt. She began to frig me forcefully with her right hand, and then brought her left around to resume the groping of my tits.
I slapped my tongue up and down the slit of Miss Campbell’s vagina with enthusiasm but little skill, but she was turned on by my innocence – and even more by her success in corrupting and seducing me. ‘Push it in, you silly bitch’, she gasped, and I did my best to follow her instructions, shoving my tongue in where there was less resistance and then slurping it around. After a while, I felt a nub which I correctly deduced must be her clitoris, and focused my efforts on that. ‘Ah, yes! Better,’ she gasped, her legs spreading wider and her hips starting to judder and thrust. Finally she orgasmed, after which she pulled me to my feet and gave me a passionate French kiss.
‘Very nice,’ said Melissa from behind me, ‘now it’s my turn, and I’m gonna fuck you, baby’. My fear returned a bit, and I looked at her wide-eyed in a way that turned her on even more. Before I could say anything, she roughly pushed me forwards so that the edge of the desk caught the top of my thighs and I went face down across it, with my ass sticking out backwards over the edge. Miss Campbell went back to her side of the desk, in front of my face, and gripped my forearms so that I could not have risen if I had wanted to. In fact I didn’t, partly because I was too unsure, but mostly because in this position Miss Campbell’s sweat-soaked pussy was right in front of my face. I stuck out my tongue, and with a grunt of pleasure she shifted nearer so that I could resume my oral caresses.
My uniform skirt had fallen back to its normal position whilst I had been eating out Miss Campbell, but now I felt being it being lifted from behind and pushed up to my waist, exposing my private parts. I looked over my shoulder, and gave a small squeak of alarm. The security guard had removed her skirt and panties, and was resplendent in black boots, black hold up stockings, and a black bra – but what had caused my concern was that she was also wearing a black plastic strap-on cock, which looked enormous. She stepped between my spread legs before I could instinctively close them, bringing the knob of the dildo to rub against my pussy lips. Then she pushed a finger into me, coated it with my juices, and rubbed this as lubricant on the plastic phallus. I managed ‘Please’, intended to be the start of ‘please be gentle’, but the rest was lost in a shriek as she shoved the dildo into me. It went further than I would have believed possible on the first thrust, and further still after she slowly withdrew it and then rammed the battering-ram in again. I felt her hands on my shoulders as her powerful stomach muscles flexed the dildo in and out in a faster rhythm. Then, in a moment of delicious ecstasy, she ran her fingernails slowly down from my shoulder-blades to my buttocks, ending with pinching, squeezing and lifting these. The sensation was amazing, and it both relaxed me and opened me up further – unbelievably, I felt the dildo slide in a further inch. I had never felt so filled and stretched, so totally possessed, and I surrendered completely to the experience. I was whimpering and moaning, and would have been thrashing round all over the desk if Melissa had not been firmly gripping my hips and Miss Campbell holding my forearms. My stomach was sweat-slicked and pressed flat against the unforgiving wood of the desk top, and its sharp edge bruised my thighs as Melissa heaved in and out of my cunt. I had never felt anything like it, and the experience of being taken by these two women who were twice my age, and of being mercilessly fucked by the tall dominant black woman, completed my conversion. If this was lesbianism, I wanted more.
I don’t know how long my roller-coaster ride of a fucking lasted, but I can still recall it vividly. After a few minutes, when I thought I might explode, Melissa paused for a second and took her hands off my waist. She seized my pigtails as if they were the handlebars of a bicycle, jerking my head upwards and arching my backbone, so that my ass jutted out and my cunt was presented at an easier angle for driving the dildo in with straight hard strokes. Miss Campbell let go of my arms as my front was pulled up, and instead grasped my breasts, partly supporting my weight whilst she tweaked and pulled on my nipples. This added to the overpowering sensations, as Melissa drove the dildo all the way up my cervix, spitting me and stretching me wide. With an incoherent moan, I came in a cascading wave of orgasms that were far beyond any of my previous fumblings with boys or inexpert attempts at masturbation. This was the real thing – shuddering, convulsive jerks of my hips and pelvis, pouring wetness from my pussy, and blistering pleasure exploding in my head and down my backbone. As I collapsed inertly, Melissa withdrew the strap-on and Miss Campbell released her hold on my arms. For several minutes I lay spent on the desktop, gasping like a landed fish. Then Melissa drew me upwards and took me in her arms, with my rounded pink breasts rubbing against her even larger dark ones. She gave me a warm smile that transformed her face and kissed me gently, exploring my mouth with her tongue. ‘One more thing, and then you can go,’ she said. Setting me back on my feet, she went to one of the filing cabinets and came back with an enormous vibrator which she handed to me. The black woman then lay across the couch, spread her legs open, and instructed me to make her come by licking her tits and fucking her vagina with the vibrator. I obeyed with alacrity, working the vibrator into her with see-saw circular motions, and sucking on the wonderful melons of her ripe black breasts. I was amazed that she took the whole length of the vibrator, and began to shove it in and out in a steady rhythm. Just as my hand was beginning to tire, she arched her back and let out a rasping noise from her throat. She grabbed my hand and rammed the vibrator in even deeper and held it there for a long moment, her eyes squeezed tightly shut and her mouth open. She panted for breath, gave a sudden cry, and then went limp. I looked down at her in wonder: had I just done that, made a grown woman come with complete abandon? I could get to enjoy that. Melissa opened her eyes, licked her lips, and said to me: ‘Well done, honey, you’re a quick learner.’
Whilst the two women got dressed, I used the towel from my sports kit to rub myself down, and then put on my school skirt and shirt. However, I left my underwear in the bag: my tits and cunt were too sensitive to wear anything next to them, and I relished the feel of open air around my pussy – and the sensual knowledge that I was naked under the skirt. Before I closed my bag, Miss Campbell removed the store tags from the sexy black panties and handed them to me. ‘With the management’s compliments’, she said with a smile, ‘I think you’ve earned them.’ I stammered my thanks, and turned to leave – but at the doorway I stopped and looked back at them. Hesitantly I said: ‘I’ll be coming to the store again next Tuesday – I’m such a naughty girl that perhaps you should search me again.’ They smiled slowly, and nodded once.
This happened in 1986. The store isn’t there any more, and now I live in another town. But however many women I have opened my legs for since then, I will never forget my first time – every second of it is fresh in my memory.

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