“The fucking whore wrote her phone number on the receipt!” I was slightly furious.

He just looked at me and shrugged, not fathoming the meaning. “I guess she does that to provide better customer service.”

He is always so oblivious. “It’s her damn cell phone number! The store number is right here on the top of the receipt!” I shoved the newly crumpled receipt into his face.

In a sarcastic slut-voice I mocked her assumed behavior. “I’m Cindy the lingerie salesperson.” I shimmied my body in a caricature of being wanton. “Call me Cindy, heart, heart, heart…In fact, call me any time.”

“It’s not like that,” he waved to me as if it were no big deal.

“Bullshit!” I countered. “You don’t write your name, all swoopy like that, with three hearts around your fucking phone number to provide a positive customer experience unless you’re a whore. Did her name tag say ‘Cindy the Whore’?”

“Nah,” he dismissed again, totally missing the point, as always. “I think she was just trying to be funny because I was teasing her.”

“You fucking teased her? Why are you so dense? What did you call her?”

He shrugged again and launched that pussy-melting, crooked smile of his that made his eyes sparkle. “Original Cindy.”

My face spoke my dissatisfaction for me.

“Look,” he continued. “It’s no big deal. I don’t know why she did it. I didn’t even look at the receipt.”

I saw Marcy poke her reddened face out from the back room and quickly go back into hiding.

“Original Cindy, as in ’Original Sin’?” I think I was shouting. “You fucking flirted back with her, brought up sin which would make her think about sex, with you I might add, and you’re clueless over why the fuck she gave you her number!“

I adopted my sarcastic slutty bimbo voice once more. “If you like, I’ll model them for you!”

“Krystal,” Glade said to me. “She didn’t offer to model them for me.”

“I’m shocked!”

His expression got just a bit sheepish. I knew that look; there was more here than he wanted to volunteer.

“What? You’d better fucking tell me!”

He shrugged and smiled as if he were totally clueless that I was in a rage. “She was wearing the same thing in red and kind of showed me.”

“She fucking flashed you her designer panties? Diana fucking Pan!”

“You have it all wrong,” he soothed. “She just mentioned how well they fit because they are her favorites and she was wearing them.” He threw up his arms. “She kind of just flipped up the front of her skirt to show me the cut.”

“Get the fuck out of my store!” I stamped my foot and pointed dramatically towards the door.

He just smiled. “As you wish,” he said, sounding slightly amused at my behavior.

He reached for the box but I snatched it away. The box did say “Agent Provocateur,” after all.

He left, brazenly appraising me with his eyes before stepping out. As always, his stare left me dripping wet. Being enraged and incredibly horny is an interesting mix of emotions.

Where did he find Agent Provocateur lingerie in this town, I mused. A couple of weekends ago he had torn my seven-dollar Shein panties off of me and had promised to replace them. My delight at the gift was eclipsed by the jealousy-inducing, probably intentional, gesture of “Original Cindy,” the whore.

Marcy emerged from hiding in the back room and slowly approached me. “Are you alright?”

“Fucking fine, Marcy. He’s just so infuriating sometimes.”

“I really don’t think he knew anything about it. He was just trying to give you an intimate gift.”

“It isn’t just this, Marcy.” I complained. “He’s always showering me with gifts; it’s not normal. If I say I like something, it magically appears all wrapped up like this.” I held up the box and noted a dry-cleaning receipt fell out. The fucker had the panties dry-cleaned before giving them to me!

“Can you imagine what it’s like to be constantly doted over like that?”

“Heaven?” she responded in a dreamy voice.

I ignored her. “Everywhere we go, women throw themselves at him! He just trucks on, totally oblivious. It pisses me off.”

I did an impression of his voice. “Nah, stop fretting, m’lady, she was only being nice.”

“Krystal, as your friend, let me say this. Take a chill-pill.”

“I just wish he wouldn’t always be, well, his damned self! Every woman on the planet, including mom, is trying to steal him from me.”

“Such the drama queen!” Marcy chuckled at me. “Your problem is that you’re so used to guys being frogs you can’t accept the fact that you’ve found Prince Charming. Stop being obsessed over finding something nefarious and enjoy it.”

“You’re fired, Marcy.”

She laughed at that; it has been a running joke for well over a year.

“Take your lunch, boss lady, before your tantrums scare off our customers.”

She was right; I needed to calm down. I took his gift, designer lace panties in my size, up to my office and studied them for a moment. They were soft, delicate, finely cut and stitched, and of much better quality than my Amazon-purchased panties.

Mentally shrugging, I removed my budget thong from under my short cotton skirt and tried them on. Not only were they comfortable, but they fit perfectly. I secretly wished I could afford them for daily wear.

With my insecure, jealous rage subsiding, I decided to actually go get lunch and finish calming myself down. Mom, Kiera, my online friend “K”, and now even Marcy were sick to death of me nit-picking every little thing about him. I wondered how I even managed to maintain any friendships. There were no “chill pills” in the general vicinity, but I could grab a sandwich or something.

There was a little café a few blocks away that I had been wanting to try. I marched over there, fantasizing about crushing “Original Cindy” under my booted heel. The place was small and cozy with only two other patrons, a lone woman reading a romance novel and a man sipping a craft beer and picking at a salad. I ordered water and a roast beef sandwich and sat across from the young man. His eyes glanced upwards and stopped as he looked me over.

He was cute; not exactly handsome, but cute in a hipster sort of way. He was wearing khaki pants, tennis shoes without socks, and a tight t-shirt. His hair was cut asymmetrically and short and he had facial hair that was just past the peach-fuzz stage, but not a full-blown beard. I minded my own business and ruminated over how insensitive it was for my boyfriend to give me designer panties with some bitch’s phone number on the receipt.

My food came and I pecked at it idly, mostly listing each and every woman that had hit on him since I met him. It was a long list. At one point I had raised my head to look around and noted that the young man seated across from me snapped his head away quickly.

It dawned on me that he had been staring at me. I immediately realized that I had been rocking my knee back and forth. I do that when I’m lost deep in thought. In fact, my first experience with flashing strangers was for that very same reason. The remembrance made my blood boil with lust.

If Cindy the slut is going to flash my boyfriend her designer lace panties then it is perfectly fine for me to return the favor! I thought to myself. I have mastered the mental art of justifying what I want to do.

I lowered my gaze to my mediocre sandwich and let my knees spread open. Pretending to ponder the menu I chewed on my lower lip and scooched my hips forward just enough to give him a good view up my short skirt. I felt my body heat up at the naughtiness and my nipples swelled. I glanced upwards, careful to not meet his eyes, and saw that his eyes were riveted to the show going on under my table.

I flipped a page in the menu, idly letting my left hand rest on my inner thigh, and started gently running my fingers up and down my thigh. My thighs parted a bit more and my fingers went up to the hem of my panties and scratched an imaginary itch. I barely contained a laugh when he drew in a sharp breath.

I raised my eyes to him and began running my fingers overtop my designer panties. At least my boyfriend had the decency to have them dry-cleaned so I could wear them immediately. I could feel the warmth radiating from my pussy and the material was already growing wet. It must have been thirty seconds before he noticed that I was staring directly at him.

When he noticed that I was looking at him, his face became riddled with guilt. He glanced around, quickly; it seemed as if he were looking for an escape route. I smiled broadly, got up, and walked over to him, adding extra sway to my hips.

“Follow me,” I said and then turned to the door.

I waited for a small eternity. While it was probably only twenty seconds or so, it seemed like forever. I had assumed that he was too timid to actually follow me but then he emerged from the café.

I looked him over, noting the signs of an erection in his pants. “Do you like my panties?” I said to him in a breathy voice.

“Uh, hi,” he stuttered. “I’m …”

“No names,” I interrupted. “Since you like to watch, come around back and watch me.” I slowly walked around back. It was a typical alley complete with dumpsters and hidden from view. I waited until he came around. I let him approach me, stopping him about six feet away from me.

“Stay there and be a good boy and I’ll let you watch.”

I hiked up my skirt and thrust my hips outwards. “Pull it out for me.”

“Uh.”

“Do it, or I’ll leave right now.” I began rubbing my mound in earnest over the top of my panties. That was all the persuasion he needed.

His average-sized cock was already hard. It was pretty, but not as thick as I like. “Stroke it for me. I want to see you cum.”

I thrust my own hand inside of my panties and began flicking my clit. The soft material felt amazing as I undulated my hips forwards and back. He finally got the clue and began masturbating himself. He pumped his cock rapidly.

My pent-up frustration aided my lust and I burst into an orgasm almost immediately. I fell back against the brick wall and could feel my juices soaking my new panties. It was too much for him and he shot several long streams of cum in my general direction before the first wave of my orgasm crested.

“I so fucking needed that,” I said to him as he looked at me in a daze.

“That’s the hottest thing that ever happened to me,” he said in disbelief. “Can I get your number?”

“No silly,” I giggled to him as I closed the gap between us. “I just needed a diversion and you seemed safe.”

I bent down and gave his cute cock a gentle kiss and licked up the cum on the tip. Then I turned back down the alley, leaving him with his manhood hanging out. As soon as I rounded the corner I sprinted back to my store.

“Wow,” Marcy said. “Your mood seems to have improved. You’re practically glowing.”

“I found a way to get relieve the tension,” was all I told her. She’s extremely conservative and would probably have had a heart attack.

Later that night, I was lying in bed wearing only those panties. I looked amazing in them. I was no longer upset. I had given myself three more orgasms and wanted one more; I wanted a powerful, kinky, naughty orgasm. Picking up my phone I dialed my lover’s phone number. He answered on the second ring.

“If you’re going to flog me some more for buying you a gift, please come over and do it,” he began. “You’re so hot when you’re emotional.”

“I actually called you to apologize,” I purred out. “I overreacted; it runs in my family.”

He chuckled.

“I’m just not used to everyone trying to steal my man and every other man that’s given me gifts had ulterior motives.”

He laughed. “I just want you to feel like a Princess.”

“Princess Slut,” I responded.

“Huh?”

“Well,” I said as my fingers reached under my panties once more. “I’m lying in bed, wearing only the panties, and I’m fingering myself to the sound of your voice.”

“Really?” He said with sexy delight. “That’s so hot!”

“I was a naughty slut today and I ‘broke in’ your gift. Do you want to hear about it?”