The day had finally arrived. After years of hard work and planning, she did it and it was finally here. Today would be her grand opening. Yeah, there were plenty of clothiers on Rodeo Drive, but this was hers and she meant to make it special. It wouldn’t be a chain like most of the others but it was something that she could personalize. Naming it after herself, Elizabeth on Rodeo, to a point, she had already accomplished that . She had ideas for the rest.

Eliza grew up in New York where her grandfather owned a haberdashery. Having been raised in a clothing store from birth and working there since she was old enough to separate wire hangers, she knew the ins and outs of the business. She knew what it took to be successful. 

One of those traits to success is to make your business attractive to your customers. Her grandfather, a man of wisdom and commercial savvy, had figured out a way to do that. He didn’t invent it, but he did perfect it. One had to understand how people shopped in New York. Yeah, some came in the store to browse the merchandise but many did it differently. 

Her grandfather opened his store in the late 1940s, after the war so, no I’m not talking about the internet. People shopped from the outside looking in. Window shoppers. Now you see where I’m going, right? Her grandfather knew that if he were to compete, he would need something dramatic to catch the eye of the window shopper. Most proprietors would play catch and release like they only wanted a certain kind of fish. 

Grandpa was a gill netter. He wanted a boatload of fish. His windows were that dramatic element. A haberdashery, though a men’s clothier, was patronized by women as well, shopping for their husbands or the men in their lives. That dramatic element, the bait, if you will, would attract that female element as well. He didn’t just dress a few headless mannequins and stick them in the window. He made scenes that depicted life. A cafe’ or bus stop, a small American family in front of a fireplace playing a board game. So many different scenes that changed weekly. 

Holidays were extra special as far as his creativity. He even hired actors to create a live scene for the pleasure of onlookers. Not everyone came in but damn if he didn’t outdo his competitors. Some of them tried to copy his idea but none had her grandfather’s imagination and creativity. He was the master and he taught her well. 

It was devastating for her when he passed away but also a blessing. 

Eliza was his sole heir and he left her a fortune to start her own business. Five years later she was on Rodeo Drive and getting ready to open. It wasn’t easy but she had made it. The building had to be approved by a finicky planning board. The property, not to mention the construction, cost a small fortune. Then there was inventory and finding the right employees. There was a long line of people seeking employment, but not so many that wanted to work. 

Today was the day. It was nine forty-five and the doors would be open for the first time in fifteen minutes. She was on pins and needles. The excitement had her wringing her hands and then hugging herself to keep from bursting. Her heart fluttered. One more minute, “Everyone ready?” she called, her fingers on the key, looking around at the smiles and nods, “Remember, friendly and helpful. The custom, no matter how rude, is always right.” 

It was a very good day, with hundreds of customers and many thousands in sales. There were not a few celebrities in the mix but that was to be expected. A trashy pop singer that thought dressing like a slut improved her talent. Certain movie stars that always traveled with bodyguards. Tourists that bought things they really couldn’t afford but did anyway. Eliza was happy. The day was a success and the future was bright. 

The business seemed to be running smoothly after several weeks. Eliza’s window dressings have been the subject of much press. All the newspapers had covered them, some with full-page photo layouts. There was a television news reporter scheduled to visit in the next few days. Eliza had seen her on television many times, a miss Kim Oliver from KISZ Twelve Action News. She had also heard the rumors that the reporter had starred in not a few pornographic movies. 

Time passed and business was great. Eliza’s biggest challenge was keeping fresh displays in her windows. Something her grandfather worked hard at and taught her the importance of. Just as creative as the old man, she earned the business of many a late-night window shopper. She noticed that she had caught the attention of someone else. This was interesting to her because she never saw him in her establishment. 

Terry was an artist. A street artist to be specific. Eliza noticed that every time she changed her window display, he would be out on the sidewalk across the narrow street. Easel and chair, canvas and brushes, he sat there alone after the crowds had thinned, painting the scenes. She wondered who he was, especially when he was approached by the police one night, asking him what he was doing.

Being the typical artist, he was annoyed by their questions which prompted them to escalate the situation due to their perceived authority over the citizens. Eliza, thinking quickly, poured a cup of hot cocoa and rushed across the street to diffuse the tense situation.

“What seems to be the problem, officer?” She asked, handing the artist the paper cup of steaming chocolate, “Why are you bothering my artist?”

“You know this man?” The officer asked, his ego obviously bruised.

“Of course,” she answered, “Has there been a complaint?”

“No ma’am,” the officer admitted, “I just don’t need him obstructing the sidewalk.”

“Obstructing the sidewalk?” She shot back, her annoyance beginning to show, “Look around, sir. There is no one to obstruct. The sidewalk is plenty big enough for anyone to pass without a problem, and he is doing nothing wrong.”

“Ma’am,” he began only to be cut short by the business owner.

“Officer P. Campbell,” she interrupted, reading his name from the tag on his shirt, “Are you telling me that this man, whom you claim is, ‘Obstructing the sidewalk,’ is the only thing that the Beverly Hills Police Department has to do.”

“Ma’am,” he began again, obviously flustered, only to be cut short again.

“Sir, I suggest you leave my artist alone and go find some real criminal to catch. Unless that is, you want a complaint on your record.”

“Have a nice evening, ma’am,” Officer P. Campbell said, tipping his hat as he walked away.”

“Thanks,” said the artist, “And thanks for the cocoa. It’s nice and warm on a cool evening like this.”

“You’re welcome,” she replied, “I’m Eliza and that’s my store.”

“Nice to meet you, Miss Eliza,” he answered, “I’m Terry. I hope you don’t mind me stealing your scenes. They are very good.”

“I don’t mind at all,” she said, “I’ve been meaning to come say hi and introduce myself. The cop just gave me a good excuse.”

“The long arm of the law, right?” He scoffed, “Nothing better to do than fuck with someone that isn’t breaking any laws.”

“Yeah,” she sighed absently, looking over his shoulder at the scene he was painting, “Damn, that is amazing.”

The scene in the store window depicted four teenagers, two boys, and two girls, playing volleyball at the beach. His painting took her display from the storefront and set it on the beach beside an ocean. She was almost taken aback by the fact that her store wasn’t pictured. He could see the confusion in her eyes, “You’re wondering if I ever put your storefront on canvas.”

“I’m that obvious?” She asked with a slight laugh, “But Yeah, do you ever?”

“Once,” he said, “You were sitting in the window alone. I think you were trying to decide your next display.”

“You painted me?”

“Yes,” he answered with a smile, “You were sitting on the floor of the display, just thinking. It’s one of my favorites.”

“I would love to see it.”

“I am almost done with this,” he said, suggesting that she could walk with him to his studio, “It’s just a few blocks past Wilshire.”

With no hesitation she agreed, “I need to lock up first.”

“No hurry,” he said, turning back to his work, “I have a few more details to finish.”

Eliza took his empty mug and walked quickly across the street and into her store. Gathering her purse and donning a knit shawl, she locked her doors and walked back across the empty street as Terry was packing up his gear, “Ready?” He asked with a Tom Selleck smile. 

“Absolutely,” she replied, handing him another cocoa and taking some of his load to help him, “I can’t wait to see what you’ve painted.”

“Thank you,” he said, taking the cup of steaming chocolate, “I hope you will like my work when you see it.”

After a five-minute walk and scattered conversation between the two of them, Eliza learned that he was from Mississippi and had moved to California seven months earlier. He worked for MGM as a set decorator and artist. He only did his paintings for a side income, selling them online and from a small gallery that consigns them for him. 

“Do you sell many?”

“Eh,” he replied with an animated shrug, “A few. It pays the rent. Your windows have helped my inspiration and my sales over the past few weeks.”

“Maybe you owe me a commission,” she joked.

“Uhm, I may have to work it off by sweeping your store or washing dishes,” he said with a laugh.

At his apartment, he set his supplies on the floor and unlocked the door. It was then that Eliza became nervous, reconsidering whether to go in with him. He was, after all, a stranger that she met only half an hour before. She watched as he picked up his supplies and then walked in. He turned to see that she waited in the hall.

“You can come in,” he offered, then seeing her hesitation, “Or I can bring it to the door for you.”

After several seconds of indecision, Eliza took one step inside, “No, I’m sorry. It’s just, well, I don’t usually.”

“Follow strange men to their houses,” he interrupted, that Tom Selleck smile returning.

“Yeah,” she replied with an exasperated breath.

“Don’t worry,” he said, “I’m a nice guy. You can leave the door open if it makes you feel better.”

Eliza leaned his easel against the wall and pushed the door closed, finding herself put at ease by that smile, “No, I’m sorry. It’s just that I’m from New York. A girl has to be careful.”

“New York,” Terry said with a nod, “I think I would be terrified in a place like that.”

“To be honest,” she shrugged, “I’m from the Upper East Side.”

“I have no idea what that means,” he said, smiling again.

“Not much to be scared of,” she explained.

“Ah,” he nodded, that smile beaming.

“Anyway,” Eliza shrugged.

“Oh, yeah. The painting,” he said, hurrying to a different room, “Can you set that easel up please.”

She unfolded the easel and stood it in the center of his small living room. Terry returned with the painting with its back to his guest, “Close your eyes,” he said, then added, “Please.”

“I’ve trusted him so far,” Eliza thought, “What the hell?”

Closing her eyes, she waited patiently as her new acquaintance set up his painting. She could hear him humming an old Jackson Brown tune as he rustled around outside her eyelids that were tightly closed. She caught herself mouthing the words to the old song, 

“Doctor my eyes

Tell me what is wrong

Was I unwise to leave them open for so long?”

“Wow,” he exclaimed, “You have a great voice. You can open your eyes.”

She was surprised when she saw his depiction of her in her window, “Oh my. I wasn’t expecting this. This is amazing.”

She took a few steps closer and just stared at the image of herself, naked and reclined on the old Queen Ann chair that was even now in her store. The detail was stunning. She smiled to herself at the only inaccuracy she could find. There was a small patch of red hair at the center of her thighs, ‘He wouldn’t know that I’m bare down there,’ she thought.

“You like it?”

“I didn’t expect that I would be naked, but yes, it’s beautiful.”

“It’s yours then.”

“No,” she responded in surprise, “I can’t take this. You can sell it.”

“I never planned to sell this,” he said, “This one is special.”

“I couldn’t,” she weakly argued.

“Well,” he suggested, “Just borrow it, indefinitely.”

“I could display it in my store,” Eliza said, thinking aloud, “Behind the checkout. But I should compensate you.”

After thinking for a few seconds, Terry held up a finger as if he knew exactly how she could compensate him. Turning to the other room again he said, “I have an idea.”

“Okay,” she responded, nervously hoping that he wouldn’t return with a whip and handcuffs. To her relief, he returned with a stack of business cards in a display box.

“Would you mind putting these by your register?”

“Absolutely,” she responded, breathing a sigh of relief, “I can do that.”

“Thank you,” Terry said in a polite southern accent, “That may help sell some of my work. My website is on the card.”

After a few seconds of awkward silence, she nodded and said, “Okay.”

Terry smiled again and answered, “Yeah. Well, I guess you have things to do.”

“Yeah,” she said, turning to the door.

“Wait. Don’t forget your painting.”

With a nervous laugh and an awkward shrug, Eliza shook her head and turned back around. After taking her gift from the easel, she turned back to the door.

“Wait,” Terry grunted a laugh, “You forgot the cards.”

Shaking her head and laughing at her nervousness, she turned around again, “I’d leave my head if it weren’t attached.”

“Well, let’s just be glad it’s attached,” he laughed, pushing the cards into her pocket, “Now you are all set. Do you think you can find your store?”

“I’ll do my best,” she answered with a raised eyebrow and a smile, “Listen. I’m sorry to be so nervous.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, opening the door for his guest, “I mean you did have to pull me out of trouble with the cops.”

“Yeah,” she said, nodding in agreement, “You try to stay out of trouble. I may not be there to save your ass next time.”

“Yes ma’am,” he answered, “Have a good evening and keep those storefronts inspiring.” 

Another smile and Eliza walked down the hall, Terry watched her move and heard her continue that Jackson Browne song, 

“People go just where they will.

I never noticed them until,

I got this feeling,

That it’s later than it seems.....”

“Damn,” he thought as he closed his door, his guest now walking down the brightly lit street, “Doctor my eyes......”

Ten minutes until opening, Eliza stood under the painting, a tingle in the depths of her body. She would be on display, naked for the world to see. It was a new feeling. A different kind of excitement that she had never experienced. She could not believe how turned on she was. Her nipples ached and her panties, moist with her excitement, seemed tight.

“Eliza?” called one of her workers, “It’s time.”

Tearing her attention from the painting, she shook herself back to reality, tossing her keys to the cashier, Angela, “Open for me please.”

“Yes ma’am.”

As usual, the store was filled with shoppers, tourists, and locals. Every day there were visits by at least half a dozen celebrities. That day was no exception. She had one employee, Charlotte, who was dedicated to assisting the famous guests. She was great with them, never star-struck nor was she intimidated when they turned out to be assholes. 

Charlotte was busy with one of them presently. An a-list star that has been in a few times in the past weeks. She was known to be a diva bitch but so far has been very nice. She was shopping for gifts for her parents who supported her until she got her big break in one of those Pirate movies.  

Although the store was very busy, Eliza was too distracted to help anyone so she was in her office with Jackson Brown playing in the background. Her mind, definitely not on work, drifted to the night before and her new friend.

Terry, tall and handsome, was swirling in her mind. Good-looking and friendly, he had a smile that would melt a nun’s pussy, “He would have her panties soaking wet,” Eliza thought with a naughty smirk. 

Still wondering why she was so nervous around him, she was not a little bit taken with his friendly demeanor and big blue eyes. Watching the people on the sidewalk, shopping bags in hand, passing her window, she absently teased herself under the black skirt she wore. Her fingers moistened by the fabric of her white cotton panties, slid up and down her crotch. 

Oblivious to the meandering crowd of tourists, she brought herself to the edge of climax several times before easing back to a comfortable buzz and then slowly back to the edge. In her thoughts, oblivious to the world, she nearly jumped out of her panties when the knock sounded on her office door. 

“Come in,” Eliza called after righting herself behind her desk.

“Zoe is asking about the new painting,” Charlotte said, just poking her head through the doorway, “Are you okay? You look very flush.”

“Yeah, I’m good, thanks,” she answered, “I worked late and didn’t sleep well. Zoe?”

“Yeah,” she smiled, “You know. The actress. She wants to know who painted it and if it’s for sale.”

Raising an impressed eyebrow, Eliza quipped, “You’re on a first-name basis?”

“She insisted.” Charlotte answered with an, “You should be impressed,” expression.

“You talked her into bed?”

“Bed my ass,” she laughed, “She talked me into the dressing room.”

“When?”

“Just now,” Charlotte replied, “She knows how to eat some pussy.”

“Son of a bitch,” she chuckled, “I need to hide a camera in there.”

“No you don’t,” Charlotte smiled, wagging her cell phone at her boss, “I got it all right here.”

“She let you video it?”

“It was her idea,” she said, coming in and closing the door, “She even held the camera.”

“This, I gotta see,” Eliza said, shaking her head in disbelief.

“I’ll send it to you,” Charlotte agreed, “But I need to let her know about the painting.”

“Yeah. About that,” she breathed, “I don’t want to sell it but I do know the artist. I have some of his business cards.”

As she dug through her purse for the cards, Charlotte forwarded the video to her boss. Not being a bashful woman, the twenty-two-year-old sales assistant didn’t mind her boss seeing her in such graphic detail. Beth heard her phone ding and Charlotte said, “That’s the video from the dressing room.”

“I can’t believe she let you keep that,” Eliza remarked, handing her the cards, “Give her one of these and put the rest by the register. He doesn’t live far from here and he has some work in a gallery just a few blocks over on Wilshire.”

“I’ll let her know,” Charlotte said, closing the door as she backed out.

Alone again, Eliza turned to the window, standing with her hands clasped behind her back. The crowds milled by on the sidewalk, bags in hand, spending their money in her store and so many others. Her thoughts were so far from money and merchandise at that moment. She just couldn’t get the thought of Terry out of her mind. He, as friendly and polite as he was, painted her in the nude. He thought of her body, even pictured it in his mind, duplicating it in the pigmented oils on his canvas. 

She tried to imagine his naked body again, this time pressed against hers. His cock throbbing against her ass as he stood behind her, kissing her neck. His left hand squeezed her left breast and his right hand in her panties. It all felt so real, taking her body while the people passed. Her phone sounded another ding, reminding her of the video that waited. 

Eliza turned away from the window and sat behind her desk, opening her phone to watch the video, ‘Holy fucking shit,’ she thought, ‘I can’t believe she let Charlotte video this.’

Watching the dark-skinned movie star tickle her employee’s clitoris with the tip of her tongue, she couldn’t help teasing her own through her panties again. Already damp from her earlier fantasies, they were soaking wet now. She could feel her juices running down her fingers, probably wetting the back of her floral skirt. 

So far, only Charlotte was naked in the video but that was fine. One of the reasons Eliza hired her was that she was so fucking attractive. You can shout sexism all you want, but ugly assistants didn’t sell merchandise. Her tight ass and firm little breasts didn’t hurt either. Both of them on full display along with her freshly waxed pussy were feeding Zoe as well as Eliza’s lust. The soft, wet cotton slid over her clit as she rubbed slowly but tightly over them.

The video heated up when the actress began to undress as well. Charlotte impatiently pulled Zoe’s tiny panties off, dropping them to the carpeted floor. Her pussy was bare as well, her juices glistening on her lips. Charlotte buried her tongue between her labia as deeply as she possibly could. Zoe closed her eyes and her face contorted in extreme pleasure, her head falling back, “Damn,” thought Eliza, “Charlotte also knows how to eat some pussy.”

Another knock on her door snapped her out of her trance. Realizing that she had pulled her panties to the side, she removed the two fingers that she had in her dripping sex and sat up behind her desk, “Come in.”

“Hey,” smiled Charlotte, “Zoe said she would call him. Did you watch the video?”

“Most of it,” she answered, “Isn’t she afraid that it will get out?”

“Those bitches want that stuff to get out,” Charlotte said with a raised eyebrow, “They are all sluts. She isn’t even my first celebrity.”

“You’re kidding,” Eliza responded, “Who else?”

“That English actor,” she smiled, “You know, played in those action movies. The bald karate guy.”

“No,” she scoffed, “I don’t believe it.”

Charlotte tilted her head as if she’d been challenged, took out her phone, and opened the video, “Believe It.”

Eliza’ s jaw dropped when she saw Charlotte, naked and on her knees. A long, hard dick was disappearing into her lips over and over.  The cock was thick and very hard, it's head like a purplish pink mushroom cap, filling her mouth and throat. A gasp escaped her lips when she saw the thick, white load of semen erupt over her employee's tongue. His English accent was evident even when he moaned her name through his orgasm.

“Mm, yes Jason,” Charlotte moaned.

“That was in the fitting room at Brioni’s when I was working there about a year ago,” Charlotte mused, “I can still taste his cum.”

“Did you fuck him too?” Eliza asked.

“For hours,” Charlotte replied, “He was hard even after he fucked me three times.”

“Are there others?” she asked, her pussy dripping into her already-soaked panties.

“I’ve worked on Rodeo Drive for two years,” Charlotte said, “You wouldn’t believe how many celebrities I’ve fucked. The pop star sluts are the easiest.”

“Even that girl that started off country then went pop?”

“She is the freakiest,” Charlotte answered.

“You wouldn’t think it,” Eliza said.

“She ate my ass in the ladies room,” Charlotte laughed, “On the fucking toilet. She wanted me to piss on her tongue.”

“Did you?”

“Like a gallon,” she whispered as if someone would overhear, “Like I said, she’s a freak.”

“I never would have guessed,” Eliza said, “She seems so vanilla.”

“Have you seen any of her videos?”Charlotte asked, eyebrow raised again.

“Not since her country videos. You know,” Beth quipped, “All that high school drama shit.”

“She has spiced her stuff up since crossing over,” Charlotte, “I mean, she ain’t no Madonna or Miley. Too clunky when she dances, but she tries.”

Hours passed and Eliza was planning her new window display between edging and watching the videos that her favorite employee kept sending. It had been a long day but closing time was past and it was time for her to go to work. Her body buzzed from being so near to orgasm all day, but she was counting on something tonight.

A fifties cafe’ theme was the idea that week with a soda jerk standing behind a checkered counter in a white Polo shirt and slacks. Customers were sitting at a booth dressed for a day on the town. A barstool at the counter was the last prop that she placed in the scene. She would take a page from her grandfather’s playbook that night by using a live model in the scene.

Terry did not disappoint her. He was on the sidewalk behind his canvas, already painting the scene when she returned, dressed in a full skirt and light summer blouse, to take her place in his painting. Still abuzz from bringing herself so close to orgasm throughout the day, she took a seat on the stool, leaning back on the counter and posing for her artist. Her skirt ended just above her knees so he had a great view of her long legs and her sexy heels.

Terry smiled and gave her a wave with his paintbrush and continued painting. With a smile and a quick wave of her own, Eliza settled into her fantasy. She had worked all through the day, bringing herself to the edge time and again, for this moment. Her nerves were on edge when she saw P. Campbell approaching. He was walking his beat past her store and her artist.

“Still here?” Officer P. Campbell asked, standing behind Terry, checking out his work.

“Is that a problem, sir?” Terry asked, not bothering to look up at the bored cop.

“No. It isn’t,” P. Campbell said, slowly walking away, swinging his nightstick in circles.

Terry shook his head, “Fuckers love to harass people.”

He went back to work, dabbing his brush in the pigmented oils. Looking back at his muse in the window, his eyes widened and his breath caught. He could see that she had pulled her skirt up nearly to her waist, not exposing more than her thighs but every inch of them. 

Her heart pounded in her chest, her body tingling so close to orgasm that she almost came when he saw her. It had been so long since she had felt the warmth of another, male or female. It wasn’t that she didn’t have opportunities, there were many. She had just been so involved in starting her business that carnal pleasure was just lower on her scale of priority.

Terry could feel his excitement begging to swell, tightening in the crotch of his cargo shorts. He had to make adjustments, the tip of his brush leaving a yellow mark on his knee. Still trying to replicate his beautiful red-haired muse on the canvas, he was finding it increasingly difficult. From thirty feet away, he watched her slide her palms between her creamy, white thighs, pushing them apart.

Eliza trembled, her most secret skin exposed to her artisan, truly a stranger that, although she had seen him for weeks outside her store, had only met the night before. He was at a distance, yes, but still close enough to see every detail, ‘Maybe this time he will get it right,’ she thought with a slight smile. Spreading her legs wide, she kept an eye out for P. Campbell. She didn’t need any legal entanglements.

Terry tried his best to concentrate on his painting but he found it hard. Literally hard. His cock was growing rapidly in his shorts to the point of discomfort. If he didn’t adjust, and soon, he was afraid that something would break. Scanning the streets, watching for P. Campbell, he saw that he was alone with his muse, “Just a little adjustment,” he thought, pushing his zipper down. Another scan of the area before he pulled his erect cock, with no small difficulty, through his open fly. 

Her view partially obscured by the frame of the easel, Beth could only catch glimpses of Terry’s erection. He was exactly as she had imagined. Long and thick, she could see his hand sliding up and down his length. She wondered if he was circumcised. She wondered if his balls were as huge as she imagined. Pushing three fingers deep into her soaked pussy, she pulled her skirt up to her breast, giving him a clear view. 

Terry gripped his hard shaft, slowly stroking himself, watching his muse pleasure herself. He wished that it was his cock inside her rather than her fingers, bringing her to orgasm. He could see her nervousness in his apartment the night before. He could tell that she was attracted to him but that she was afraid to show it. But she was showing him then. 

She pushed her fingers in and out of her sex, her body buzzing with anticipation and excitement. Never having done anything even close to this before, she was on the verge of exploding in orgasm. If she were honest with herself, she would admit that she wanted his giant cock inside her. She wanted to feel his throbbing shaft stretching her wet pussy to its limits. She wanted to taste him.

Terry was close now, stroking faster and squeezing harder. He would not hold back. The sooner he had release, the better. P. Campbell would soon reappear, making his dutiful rounds. Better to be painting than masturbating when he returned. He could feel the clear, viscous moisture ebbing from the head of his cock. His precum flowed freely and plentifully, wetting his shaft and lubricating his palm. It would not be long.

Eliza could see the determination on her artist’s face. She knew he was as close as she was. No reason left to hold back, she drove another finger into her opening. Once, in college, on a drunken night, she lost control with her roommate. In the dark of her dorm room, she had sex with a girl for the first time in her young life, letting, Missy introduce her to lesbian sex. She was amazing, touching her in all the right places, and at the right moments. That night she was fisted for the very first time, finding out how much pleasure and how much stretching she could take. 

She was knuckles deep with four fingers when it happened. She saw a thick white rope of cum flying in a looping arch from the head of Terry’s dick. That jetting fountain of cum shot two feet high and was followed by another and a third just as thick and white. Several minor ropes followed in dwindling succession as her artist came hard, driving her over the edge. 

Beth felt her pussy convulse, clamping tightly on her hand, nearly buried to her thumb inside. She couldn’t help but squeal and moan through the mind-blowing pleasure. She continued to watch the good-looking man that sat, his cock still hard and pulsing for her to see, just ten yards from her while she shamelessly masturbated in plain view. 

She wanted to walk to him and clean his cock with her tongue. She wanted to revive his manhood with her lips and then let him mount her. She wanted him to fuck her. She wanted to feel his cum burning deep inside her pussy. The feelings she experienced at that moment were beyond any she had experienced in her life. The sheer excitement of the moment drove her through a continuous multiple orgasm while he watched in astonishment. 

Only after she regained her composure did she notice the droplets on the window. No, it wasn’t raining. The moisture was on the inside. She had squirted. Smiling at the realization that that had never happened to her before. Beth was completely sated. There would be other nights.

P. Campbell walked by on the far sidewalk, swinging his nightstick, oblivious to the event that had transpired just minutes before.