Leave the store.

You walk out of the store with all four sets of lingerie, all stained with Gemma's secretions. You're well over a thousand dollars down, but they are worth every penny. The shopping bags rustle in your grip as you step out of the boutique, the late afternoon sun glinting off the windows of the store. Gemma walks beside you, her fingers brushing against yours every few steps, her cheeks still flushed from your activities in the fitting room.

You don’t make it far. The alley beside the shop is empty, the shadows long and cool, and the second you pull her into it, she’s against the brick wall, her back arched as you press against her. The bags drop to the ground between you, the crinkle of plastic and tissue paper muffled by the sound of her breath as your mouth presses into hers. Her hands are already working at your belt, her fingers working quickly, efficiently. Your zipper comes down with a sharp hiss, and she’s on her knees in an instant, her tiny hands wrapping around your cock. The first touch of her tongue is electric, her lips parting as she takes you into her mouth. The alley is quiet, but the wet, sloppy sounds of her working around you fill the space, echoing off the walls.

It takes only a few moments before she's swallowing every last drop of your load. The bags rustle again as she bends to pick them up, her ass brushing against your thigh as she straightens. As you walk onto the main street, a gust of wind kicks up, and she stumbles slightly, her free hand reaching out to steady herself against your arm. You don’t pull away. Neither does she. For a moment, you’re just standing there, the bags swaying between you, her fingers warm against your sleeve. She squeezes your arm once before pulling away, but not before you catch the way her lips curve, just a little, into a contented smile. You start walking again, side by side, the bags swinging lightly between you. The city moves around you, but for now, it’s just the two of you.