Mr. Cocky Cellphone salesman visits

"Well, is that the new uniform here? I should start coming here more often."

You look up from your glass to see that a salesman from the cellphone shop two stores down has helped himself to a seat across from you. He's giving you a big fake smile, brushing at his overly gelled hair, like he expects a little ice cream girl to adore him. You decide to play him.

"Well, yes," you say non-chalantly, "they are going for some sixties minidress retro look," tugging at the simple black polo shirt, feebly trying to hide your curvaceous legs as you cross them back and forth in front of him.

His dumb smile fades as he watches your thigh muscles ripple and flex as you continue.

"I mean, how short do they have to be? I thought we're selling ice cream here, not sex." You stand up and turn your back to him, looking over your shoulder. "I mean, this one's so short my cheeks practically hang out,can you imagine!" You can see by his tented Dockers and gasping breathing he is.

You resume your seat, the chair now further in his field of view. "The worst part," you continue to lie, "is now the old man that runs the place won't allow us to wear panties below them. Says it leaves unsightly lines. I mean, it's all I can do now not to flash you my naked little pussy." You catch him glancing down at your barely covered snatch. "The old perv even checks before our shift to make sure we've shaved clean. Says he doesn't want any pubes in the food. "Look," you show him for emphasis, standing again before him, "cleanest kitty in town!" 

He buckles against the table as you lift the short hem and reveal your juicy sluice of pussy.

You resume your position. "I'm surprised he doesn't have us under the tables giving blowjobs for every sundae!"

"Arrumph!"

"Are you okay sir?" you ask, trying not to giggle at the spreading stain on the once-conceited saleman's tan slacks.

"Come again" you giggle as he leaves, hunched over.