To try something on

The clack of your heels on the marble floor is the only thing you hear as you lock in on the photo booth, **** to see who might take those incriminating photos of you, and you see someone in a uniform of some sort reach inside before Crassle's yanking forces you to turn the same way he's going, lest you fall and make a mess of yourself.

It's not that he's going very fast, being 65, but his grip on your arm makes you desperately paw at yourself to stay covered, the cum drying on your thighs making you ever conscious of the fact that the coat is the only thing covering you right now, and you constantly tighten your sash as you follow Crassle into a well known department store.

Curiously, the two of you pass through the women's clothing section near the entrance, making your way through women's clothing and kitchen items into the men's clothing section. While the store itself is upscale (along with the clothing it sells), it seems today was the bottom of the barrel for employees, as none of them pass a glance to your or any of the other customers (other then the ogling looks of the male employees, glancing at your long legs, their numbers increasing as you get further into menswear).

The changing booths are all unoccupied, if sparsely covered, the doors leaving a large gap at the bottom, as Crassle looks around and then pulls you into one. You know someone probably saw you get yanked inside as the door clicked shut, but his hands work quicker then your brain as they untie your sash, pushing the coat off of your shoulders as it falls to the floor with a plop.

"Suck." He's already pushed you to your knees and you quickly pull out his member and start sucking, fully aware that anyone with the right angle could look into your stall and see that you're on your knees, on your coat, in a public changing room, the motions of your body and moans from the other occupant making it obvious what you're doing to anyone close by.

Crassle doesn't care, and you obediently lick and whirl your tongue around his dick, trying to bring him to his end quickly while straining to hear if anyone's nearby. It's easier then it was to hear while your photos were being taken but Crassle's thrusting in and out of your mouth distracts you enough that you almost forget to swallow his ending, as a trail of cum follows him out of your mouth while he zips himself back up.

You start to wipe it off, but he grabs your hands, motioning for you to sit on the low bench lining the booth. You obey him, reaching for you coat but he pulls it away, throwing it over his shoulder.

"You've made me cum, now you have to match it." He pulls the sash out of your jacket as he talks. "I'll go find something for you to try on, but you have to masturbate and cum 10 seconds after I return." He grins wolfishly as he starts moving to you with the sash in hand. "I'll hang on to your jacket for safekeeping."

He ties the sash around your head like a blindfold. "Start now - no removing the blindfold." Your world is blackness as you hear the mettalic click of the door opening, your senses all on edge as you remember how far away the women's clothing area was, coming the full realization that you're naked and blindfolded in the men's dressing area, with no clothing to cover up with.

Your hands eventually start moving of their own volition, as you wonder how low the bench was -if anyone from the right angle could see your legs spread over the bench, your hands moving up and down your body, forgetting that you never heard the door latch closed after Crassle left, store employees going about their business not knowing that a naked 18 year old was masturbating several metres away.

Your fingers slowly keep the burn of pleasure within you, getting near but not over your peak as you thrust in and out of yourself gently with two fingers, one hand making circles over your breasts with occasional squeezes and pinches. Eventually, you hear footsteps nearby, and the door opening, and you quickly finish.

You assume it's Crassle but only quick breaths identify the other occupant as a familiar sticky substance coats your right hand, and you involuntarily rub it off on yourself as you speak.

"I finished because you came in, sir." Your orders were not to remove the blindfold, but eventually you feel a hand on your shoulder and...