‘That’s a fair summing up of the situation,’ he says in a low, broken croon. He kisses my defeated lips. ‘And now you’re going to come getting fucked by a strange man in a supermarket staff room. Let’s do it.’
I freeze at first, terrified of discovery, but Serge yanks me out and checks the coast is clear before rushing me into the empty staff room.
He pushes the water cooler up against the door and pulls down the blinds.
‘Safe sex,’ he says with a raffish smirk. ‘Mustn’t forget to take precautions. Now.’
He seats himself on a tattily upholstered green chair and plonks the basket down at his side.
‘Come and eat my cherries.’ He slaps the knee of one elegantly crossed leg.
I look around, as if expecting a third party to materialise from behind a dusty pot plant.
‘I’m waiting.’
I take a step towards him and he reaches out, lightning quick, and pulls me onto his lap, making me straddle him with my skirt high around my waist again. His erection pushes my damp knickers up between my pussy lips. He squeezes my arse, demanding and urgent, then lifts my top over my breasts and explores inside my bra cups with his tongue and teeth.
‘Cherries?’ I ask from somewhere inside my fog of intense lust.
‘Oh yeah. I got mixed up. Thought these were them.’ He kisses a nipple then reaches down into the basket for the paper bag of dark, stone fruits.
He holds one to my lips and I bite into it. It’s at that perfect point of ripeness and the juices stream down my chin. I’m going to have purple stains all over my clothes, sticky patches on my bare thighs. We share the cherries, taking a bite each, or passing them from mouth to mouth, popping the stones back into the bag when we remember what we’re doing. He takes one and crushes it down inside my bra. The magenta juice seeps into the white satin cup so it looks as if my nipples are bleeding strange coloured effusions. He smashes the fruit against my nipple; it feels cold and tingly, then warm as his tongue laps it up and his teeth nip at it.
He pushes them between my sex lips, drenching them in my juices before eating or feeding them to me, letting them disintegrate in the hot clasp of my cunt so that I am cherry flavoured.
‘I want to eat them out of you,’ he whispers, ‘but I don’t think we’ve got time and I really need to fuck you now. Can we do that next time?’
‘Yes, yes,’ I say urgently, tugging at his belt. I want him inside me, a good hard replacement for the soft, squashy fruit.
He’s had the presence of mind to grab a pack of condoms from the pharmacy shelves and he skins one on the moment his cock escapes from the dark fabric of his trousers. I move my knickers to one side and lower myself down on the rubbered tip, enjoying its wideness against my opening, circling my hips to tease until he grabs them, holds them still and pushes his way inside.
Oh yes, that feels full, that feels luscious. I sit back and revel in the sensation for a moment while he slips one hand back up to my breasts and flicks at the nipple.
‘How’s that?’ he asks in a barely-there murmur.
‘Amazing. You feel amazing.’
‘Good. ’Cause you’re going to be feeling amazing a lot from now on. You’re made to be fucked, aren’t you?’
‘Am I?’
‘Oh yeah.’
He pushes up, signalling that I should start to grind. I take him all the way in and work his shaft hard, squeezing my muscles together to milk him dry, taking it slowly so I hear him moan, quickly so I hear him pant, licking his sensitive neck until he goes wild and pinches my hips hard, holding me in position while he powers into me.
I lean into the angle I need and hold tight as my second orgasm rips through me. My head blurs, my eyes sting and when everything clears, he is making a series of grunts and throwing me around on his lap, enjoying an orgasm that seems to go on and on.
The poster on the wall behind the chair advises all staff to wash their hands before handling food. I read it before letting my head drop onto Serge’s shoulder.
‘We should go,’ he yawns, but he doesn’t sound very connected to reality yet.
I look up at the clock. That half hour’s grace he mentioned is almost over.
‘Come on.’ I lift myself off him and try to find my feet, kissing him on the way down. ‘You have to pay for that stuff.’
* * *
At the checkout, the cashier eyes us askance as she puts the stained, half-empty bag of cherries, the open doughnut wrapper and our generally shambolic shopping through the scanner. The open condom box draws a particularly fierce pursing of lips.