The Tween Scene

You cower under the circular clothes rack, freed from your sundress by the long arm of the law. Granted a reprieve by the flimsy material, you crouch in the large rack's open center as you watch the legs of the security guards scurry around, looking for you.

As things seem to quiet, you look through the hanging clothes. You realize you have hidden in the tween girls' section. Shirt and skirt sets are arranged by size around you.

You find your favorite color shirt, pink, in the largest size available and pull the teamed denim skirt down with it. As you tug the shirt meant for a girl ten years your junior over your head, you flashback to some of your first ventures into exhibitionism, where you would borrow your little sister's clothes and parade around the neighborhood half-dressed.

You look down as you struggle to contain your lush tits in what has become a baby tee. The popular feline from a far off land adorns your chest. The large cum-colored countenance of oooh kitty is stretched wider by your boobs, the little kittie's body barely noticeable under your rack. You then wriggle into the denim tube, the material worn at the ass and legs in the popular style. The hem that was meant to be near the knees had oooh kitty scripted across the front in pink. Now the caption fell right across your crotch as the hem was now barely legal. The kitty also winked from a back pocket.

As you continue to wait out the dragnet, you decide to change your look. As you sit and braid twin pigtails, you look up. Through a circle of glass, you see a middle-aged man staring into space, leaning on the glass, a purse by his elbow.

'Poor, hen-pecked man!' you think, your naughtiness resurfacing.

You push through where he stands and slowly unzip him, pulling out his soft long prick. You watch his eyes bug above you as he feels himself being orally favored.

He looks down, finding the source. You smile saucily at him as you continue to suction him down your throat in the middle of the store.

The poor undersexed man can last no longer. Pent-up cum bulges your cheeks. Before you can swallow it all, a little leaks from your pursed lips, dripping down to feed the kitty.

The man now wears a smile. Before he moves to his approaching wife, he opens her purse and throws you a couple twenties in appreciation.

It's time to get going. You get out from underneath, your legs wobbly and stiff from the long crouching. You spy an exit on the opposite side of what the signs call 'Tool Territory'