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By (user no longer on site) OP 39 weeks ago
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I’d only managed a few hours of sleep, having left Kirsten’s at around four in the morning. My body still felt heavy with exhaustion, but needs must — so I dragged myself out of my warm, cozy bed and into the shower.
The cool water cascaded over me, waking my skin with a shiver. As it traced the curves of my body, my mind drifted back to the night before — the passion, the laughter, the way Kirsten had looked at me like I was something special.
I reached for the shower gel, squeezing a little into the pink scrunchie and working it into a lather. As I moved lower, my hand slowed, the memory of her touch making my pussy tingle. I gripped the scrunchie tighter, rubbing a little more firmly as it brushed against me.
“Oh, get a grip,” I muttered, shaking myself out of it. “It was a one-off.”
But even as I said it, I wasn’t sure I believed it.
I stepped out and dried off, glancing at the jeans from yesterday draped over the chair. I picked them up, hesitating. They still carried the scent of last night, warm, but damp in a few spots. No way could I wear those to work, even if I was sure Kirsten would approve.
Instead, I reached into the wardrobe and pulled out the other pair I’d bought — the super tight ones. I lay back on the bed, wriggling and tugging until they finally slid over my hips, hugging every inch of me.
“Let’s just hope there’s not too much bending today,” I murmured, catching my reflection in the mirror. The jeans looked good. Maybe too good.
The supermarket was already busy when I arrived, the usual clatter of crates and chatter of early afternoon shoppers filling the air. I’d barely clocked in when Luke, the manager, called me over with a nod.
“Can I grab you for a minute?” he asked, gesturing toward the office.
Luke was tall, broad-shouldered, with the kind of charm that made him seem both approachable and friendly. His dark hair was always slightly tousled, like he’d just stepped out of a chic flick. Today, he wore his usual fitted polo and black trousers — but it was his eyes that caught me. They lingered a little too long on my jeans, tracing the curve of my hips.
I followed him into the office, the door clicking shut behind us.
“I just wanted to say,” he began, leaning against the desk, arms folded, “you impressed me yesterday. You handled the stock like you’d been here for months.”
“Thanks,” I said, trying not to blush under his gaze. “I had a good teacher.”
He smiled. “Scott, our delivery driver, tweaked his shoulder this morning. I need someone to ride along and help with the heavier boxes. You up for it?”
“Sure,” I said, smiling. I hadn’t met Scott yet, but everyone else had been welcoming, and the idea of doing something different for the day sounded like a nice change of pace.
“Great,” he said, eyes flicking down again to my jeans. “Those look… snug.”
I raised an eyebrow, letting a teasing smile curl at my lips. “Let’s just hope there’s not too much bending involved,” I giggled. Then, with a touch of mischief, I turned and crouched, pretending to adjust a shoelace, knowing full well how tight the jeans were — and that Luke’s eyes were still on me.
I stepped out of the office, the air cooler in the hallway. As I reached the staff room, I suddenly remembered — I didn’t have a company-issued high-vis jacket. I turned back, retracing my steps toward the office.
Just as I reached the door, I paused. There was a sound — it was faint, but it was there. My hand hovered over the handle.
Inside, I could hear Luke’s breath, uneven and low. The creak of the chair. The soft thud of something against the desk.
I froze, heart thudding in my chest, unsure whether to knock, walk away, or pretend I hadn’t heard a thing. One thing was clear — the jeans had definitely made an impression.
Maybe Scott would like them too.
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