The Customer is Occasionally Right
I work in a sex shop.
There, I said it. Just make sure you get it all out of your system.
Working in the adult industry, if we can use a more delicate term, as I do isn't all orgies with famous porn stars and drinking absinthe out of eight inch stiletto heels served by guys wearing more leather than your average cow or enough latex to take down a forest of rubber trees.
No, more often than not, it's me wearing some t-shirt with a moronic attempt at wit plastered across the front and a pair of bicycle shorts at least a size too small for me while leaning back in my chair and flipping through the latest issue of 'Slits and Tits'. Why I indulge myself in this, I have no idea. After all nine-tenths of said slits, and ten-tenths of said tits, are always attached to a female. Don't get me wrong I'm sure women are beautiful but after two years of unpacking boxes with all matter of crazy, cheaply made underwear for them if I wasn't already gay, I sure would be by now. So I make faces at the pages and the often oddly juxtaposed groinal areas with any manner of inanimate objects while I wait for the 'wah-chicka machine' doorbell to ring.
Occasionally, Toby will swing on by to say hello. He's the stripper down at the Pink Martini. Beautiful body, the smoothest, greenest scales I've ever seen on a fellow reptile, beautiful blue eyes and a firm rump capped by the most elegant tail on this Earth. Straight as an arrow too. Sure, he strips at a gay club but nobody said he had to be into guys to do that. His girlfriend, a rather hyper bunny, often drops by since the bar is across the street. Nice girl if a little bouncy. She often gabs on about Toby's exhibitionistic tendencies and how at first it really freaked her out until she realized that Toby didn't care about the acres of wealthy and occasionally good-looking guys who ogled him. If fact, and she leaned in to whisper this as if it were a state secret, after a show he'd come home and they would have the wildest sex she'd ever dreamed of.
Being that it's probably been a good year since a decent piece of tail walked through my workplace's door, Toby notwithstanding, I just tried to smile through gritted teeth as I imagined Toby's naked, beautifully sculpted body locked in intoxicating coitus with the busty mammal across the counter from me. If I needed further proof at the utter disparity of life, it would be twitching it's whiskers at me while browsing through lace panties.
If it wasn't the two of them to greet me, or the myriad of freaked out or freaky people who normally come to my place of business, it was Hans. Hans, if the name wasn't a giveaway, was a German import. Stocky fellow who looked like he regularly benched Volkswagens back home. Somehow hearing that thick accent from a black-lipped rottweiler never seemed odd. A few days out of the month he'd come in for some new metal and leather assemblage. If Hans was into anything but bondage of any flavor, he never showed any signs of it to me. Other signs, he was bordering on blatant.
I can't count the number of times he showed off some harness he was about to buy, hiking up that stub of a tail and flexing his rump at me. Oh, he knew I was into guys and made no effort to hide this mutual fact. Mammals, though, are not really my thing. Gimmie sleek and smooth any day. Besides, I'd fear for my backside if Hans ever got his way with it. On top of his rather ample endowment, which he was always certain to show off considering our clothing optional policy, and the knot attached to it, he always kept his fur cropped short. Barely an inch or two above his skin. Half the time it looked, from a distance, like his colors were just painted on. I could only imagine what that would feel like while he pummeled some like-minded slaveguy from behind. I giggled at the thought of said fantasy partner groaning out 'schnell!' while his face was mashed against the wall.
For the moment, however, I was left sans the scaled god of my dreams or a rottie who'd like to see most of me in black leather and impaled on the end of his cock. Instead there was a meek little waif of a lizard, rainforest species from the nice array of greens and blues in his scales, obviously trying to purchase something but lacking the recently dropped kahones to do such.
If I'm a little unfair to the young men and women who walk through my door, it's largely because after selling well over a thousand cheap, plastic ice trays with little penis molds to tittering teenagers you tend to get a little jaded. So I sighed softly to myself, set down the magazine and walked up to the raised dais that comprised the counter/cash register area/employee lounge and asked in my best customer service voice, "can I help you find something?"
While you're used to hearing and saying that sort of thing in retail, when you work in a store that stocks foot long tiger dildoes it has a very different effect on people. Most of the time if they aren't serious shoppers they'll blush and immediate navigate towards the door while trying to seem polite. The die-hards, on the other hand, will ask where I keep the chipotle lube while browsing through panties. This one seemed somewhere in between. His cheeks immediately went a shade of burnt sienna and he shook his head vigorously while continuing to move towards the back of the store. I shrugged, reasonably satisfied that this kid wasn't about to pull anything, and returned to my magazine. After a few moments the scales on the back on my neck were tingling, I call it my Porn Stalker Sense, and I had the distinct impression that someone was looking at me. Glancing over the edge of the magazine I caught a glimpse of the kid's eyes all but openly gawking at me while he tried to appear to be browsing.
I felt oddly flattered at first. I'm not exactly a spring chicken, or rather genetic predecessor to said chicken, and getting the attention of a cute teenager certainly made me grin a little but I figured I was likely just reading too much into it. Still, I was going to enjoy my fantasy of being eye candy for a little while at least. Lord knows I have to hear about it often enough from Toby. So to that end, I shifted a little in my chair, offering a better view of my thigh and abdomen as I appeared to continue reading the magazine. I knew I'd be crushed to look back and see the kid giggling or averting his eyes so I kept it nonchalant.
I'm a little rusty at it but practice makes perfect.
A few more minutes later and the kid was at the counter, still watching me, and appeared to have something in his paw. As I moved to ask what he needed I noticed the item, The Subjugated was the name of it I believe, and raised an eyeridge.
"Pretty serious piece of hardware you've got there," I mentioned, glancing over the rings and straps.
Again, he shifted shades towards brown, "can... can I try it on?"
Kid was either leaping into this with both feet or had been tied up before since novices tended to stick to the simple stuff. Or at least the cheaper ones. "Sure, kid. Dressing room's over there." I pointed in the direction of the matte black painted door towards the back of the store.
He paused for a moment, obviously trying to say something but wrestling with his tongue, before he meekly asked, "can ... can you help me out with it?"
I was torn. Firstly "The Subjugated" nearly needed a team of bondage professionals to strap into place so it was hardly odd for the kid to ask for some help. Fortunately, we in the adult industry are trained how to fasten things that people were not meant to fasten in that way. Secondly, however, the kid had been eyeballing me for the better part of fifteen minutes and then walks up with something that he couldn't possibly try on by himself.
Third, as I mentioned before, I was hard up enough for even the smallest bit of tail that I'm pretty sure it had an effect on my thinking, if not my blood flow as well.
I am a professional and as one I swallowed my hornyness, lonelyness, and the three new fantasies I'd already dreamed up between me and Toby while I whiled away the hours, and stepped down to help the lad with his potentially new purchase.
The two of us shuffled off to the dressing room, barely able to slip ourselves in there and looking into those cute little baby blues I said in my most professional voice, "strip."
The kid shucked his clothing almost like it was on fire.
Needless to say I was now a rather ruddy shade around my ear holes and the base of my tail. Don't ask me why but I blush down there when I'm horny. People tell me it's cute. I tell them it's why I wear shorts with a tail sleeve.
Gingerly, my veil of professionalism hanging by a thread, I begin to strap the kid into the harness. Just looking over him as I begin to pull the leather taut, is enough to give me a rather distinctive bulge in my already tight shorts. He's not an Adonis like Toby but he's got that sleekness to him of someone who at least tries to work out. No hard corners or obvious ridges of muscle, just gentle slopes and curves in all the right places. I can feel the muscle beneath his scales as my hands cross his chest and slide down to his hip. It's torture that doesn't just break the Geneva Convention, it rips it to shreds and pisses on the tattered remains. Doesn't help the situation that this harness is designed to strap all over the place. Along the curve of his hip and down to the base of his tail, hiking it up just enough to be alluring, and then down across the biceps and to the wrists. I can feel the blood rushing to my tail and cock in equal measure. As I snap the last strap into place, I look up into the mirror against the wall. He's standing between me and it with leather cupping every curve, cheeks pushing rose red, and a rather obvious boner of his own which it quite firmly lodged in the cockring that hovers above his slit. I manage to push my own cheeks into a blush as I watch him hike his tail a little higher and press his whole body back against me with the softest and most delicate moan I've ever heard.
My shorts are off in a moment as my moistened cock arches from my slit and presses firmly against the base of his tail. At this point, if he's not making a pass at me he's certainly doing an excellent job of faking it. I can feel my slit fluids oozing down along my thighs as I lower my snout and brush my smooth, scaled lips against his. It's clumsy but he responds in kind and soon our tongues are twisting around each others. As I nudge the tip of my cock against his taut little vent, he draws away a moment and breaks the kiss.
"I want to see you..." He stutters and turns to face me.
Sliding my arms around him, I'm kissing him again in moments. Who am I to argue with a customer? Summoning strength I didn't even know I had, I hike him up, pressing his back against the wall and tossing his legs over my shoulders. The two of us are now visible in the mirror and I see his head turn to watch as my throbbing ebony shaft slides under his tail and into his inviting vent.
The kid is mindblowingly tight. I have to be his first time, I think, as I feel my shaft nearly crushed by the velvety tunnel of muscle. For his part, the kid isn't watching so much as gasping with his eyes shut tight. Between his thighs his own cock is spurting pre irregularly as droplets of sweat and slitfluid splatter onto the floor below. As much as I want to plow this little treat home until I burst, I take it slow and steady, pumping in and out of him as I lay down kisses along his chest. Each touch of my lips elicits a whimper and a gasp. His toes curl as he rocks back against me eagerly, taking me to the hilt as rapidly as possible. I grin; the kid needs this as badly as I do.
So I slide his hands up to my chest, tell him to hold on tight, and proceed to give him the ride of his life. Each time I hammer into him and slap my hips against his tailbase before drawing out to the tip and doing it again. Long, steady strokes that build up in speed as each drive against his swollen prostate draw another muffled cry from his lips. My hands are splayed out against the wall behind him, supporting me and him as my hips move faster. Soon he starts bucking back against me, claws digging into my scales as he clenches down around my cock. It doesn't take much of that before I'm biting my lip and pouring the product of a year's frustrations into his supple backside. Even after that, I look down to see his own erection still throbbing like mad. Kid's got some stamina, I'll tell you.
I slide him off me, my arms aching and my breath coming in spurts. My body's telling me I'm too old for this but the kid, newly energized and hornier than a herd of reindeer, won't take no for an answer. He presses me against the wall, rubbing that sweet young body over me as I feel his cock press against my groin. Before I can protest my need for a cane to hobble out of here, his tongue begins to bathe my chestscales as his hands kneed and rub my sore thighs. It's all so exquisite after hitting the afterglow that I can't say a word against it. Every nerve seems to be pulsing as an overeager newbie tires everything he can to rejuvenate my flagging erection. The aches seem to fade under the endorphin rush and just when I feel like myself again, his snout is over my groin before I can say 'cash or credit'. My hands fall to his head as I feel the full length of my shaft disappear down his gullet. Worried he was going to choke, I pulled back a little but his tongue would have none of it. It teased and tantalized every inch of flesh between his lips and before I knew it, I had a raging hardon again. Without so much as a word he pressed against me, forcing me down onto the narrow bench running along the wall and straddled my waist.
That tailhole of his slid over my shaft once more as he settled into my lap. Between the two of us, his angry cock sputtered and splattered pre along our scales. As he clenched around me, lifting his snout to mine, I couldn't help but smile as I reached down to cup his firm rump. Slower now, so we could both enjoy it, he began to ride me. It seemed he was unconcerned about getting himself off, just enjoying this moment. Between kisses and cooing noises as I bucked steadily into him, his tongue kept busy along my chest and abs, flickering over the scales and sending shivers down along my spine. Soon his head was buried under my shirt and I felt small nips along my shoulders and down along my sides.
Gingerly, I slipped a paw along the curve of his hip, trailing over the crease between it and the thigh. With two fingers I began to gently stroke along the top of his shaft, pressing it firmly against my abdomen as I rocked in and out of his rear. The response was impressive; hot puffs of breath trailed along my scales as he buried his snout into them. His hips bucked weakly against my paw as the volume of his slitfluids began to increase. Ceasing this opportunity, I slipped the remainder of my paw around his shaft and began to stroke him firmly, forcing his cock along my palm with each thrust. It didn't take long for that monumental, and likely youthful, stamina to shatter and thick globs of lizardseed to splatter across my shirt and belly. Not to be left out, however, I continued to pump into him, using my own seed and natural lube to keep things slick. My paws clutched him tightly to him as my gaze wandered off to the mirror that was now in front of me. Reflected I could see my own cock pummeling the teen's well-used tailhole. Every inch as it slid in and out, the arch of his tail and the jostling of my balls, tucked away beneath a layer of scales and flesh. As my claws dug into his hide I could feel the pressure in my groin reach it's breaking point. As I hammered home once more, spreading the poor kid open wide, I felt another less substantial rush of seed splash inside him. His arms wrapped around me as I felt myself slip from within him, splattering a little seed against the floor. Between delicate kisses and cooes along my neck he whispered, "I'll take it ..."
I have to say that for a first ... purchase, the kid couldn't have picked a better store.