lay-away

"I really need these shoes, mister. Isn't there some way you could find that I could leave with them today?" you ask, your voice dripping like honey.

"Don't you have layaway?" you ask, your voice full of yearning.

"Uh, no ma'am. Store policy is cash or charge," he says, sounding disappointed in not being able to send you home in these 'fuck me' heels. He continues to look up at you, and up your sundress.

"Not even for little Lacey?" you pout, pooching those full red lips. "Not even for some backroom nookie on a Friday afternoon? Every Friday until Valentine's Day? Whichever way you choose? I could be your private layaway from home," you urge, your fingers toying with your pussylips underneath your dress hem.

"Alright, girl. A man's only human. You've got your layaway," he sighs, throwing his hands in the air.

"No. you have got your lay--anyway," you smile, waving to him. "see you Friday!"