Lingerie Shop Fuck: My Raw First Meet with Julien

Heart pounding, I park in the massive mall lot. Phone buzzes in my pocket—Julien’s last text: ‘Back room ready, sexy. Bring that ass.’ Days of filthy chats on the app flash by: pics of my smooth legs, his thick cock teasing the elastic. No time wasted. I’m Anonyme, 56 going on slutty wild. Retired teacher, bored stiff till crossdressing woke my cock. Today, first real meet after screens. Adrenaline surges like pre-cum.

I spot the toy store, his lingerie boutique next door. Vitrine glows: mauve-white set on a mannequin, string riding high. My virgin ass clenches. Push the door. Bell jingles sharp. Empty shop, AC hums cool on my flushed skin. Julien emerges from back—blond ponytail, tight jeans hugging his bulge, feminine edge. Smirks. ‘Anonyme? Knew you’d show.’ His cologne hits: musky vanilla, discovered finally after sexts.

The Approach

No chit-chat bullshit. ‘Show me that ensemble,’ I rasp, voice husky femme. He locks front door, pulls the curtained back room door. Tiny space, mirrors everywhere, lingerie racks. Fitting stall open, no curtain. ‘Try it on. I’ll help.’ Tension crackles. Phone vibrates again—his: ‘Strip now.’ I do. Pull off shirt, jeans drop. Naked but socks. Cock twitches half-hard. He eyes it hungry. ‘Fuck, chats didn’t lie.’ Urgency burns. No dinner, no drinks. Straight to fuck.

His hands on my tee earlier in fantasy, now real. Kneels, yanks pants fully. Kiss on my swelling head—wet smack. I gasp. ‘Suck it quick, then mine.’ He grins, strokes slow. ‘Not yet, slut. Dress first.’ String slides up, lace bites my crack, rubs hole raw-good. Wonderbra next—cotton stuffs fake tits, nipples poke tulle. Stockings snap to garter. Mirror triple-view: femme me stares back, cock tenting black lace. He watches, jeans bulging. ‘Goddamn sexy.’ I twirl, ass out. ‘Your turn. Strip.’

He drops trou—pink panties strain over fat cock, head peeking purple. Smell hits: his musk, pre-cum tang. I drop too. Mouth on his tip, salty burst. Days of chat built this. Now explode.

The Explosion

Gulps his shaft, lips stretch wide. He groans low, hips buck. ‘Fuck yeah, deepthroat my dick, Anonyme.’ Tongue swirls frenulum, suction pulls veins throb. Balls slap chin, wet slurp echoes. His fingers twist my nips through bra—pain-spark jolts cock. I pop off, gasp: ‘Ram me? No, fuck my mouth.’ He grabs ponytail—mine?—thrusts brutal. Gags me, drool strings. Mirror shows slut-me: lace smeared, ass clenched.

He pulls out, spins me. Face to mirror, string yanked aside. Fingers probe hole—slick from his spit. ‘Wet for cock?’ ‘Pound it!’ No lube, raw push. Burn-sting splits me, full thick. Grunts mix: his hips slap ass, my moans filthy. ‘Take it, bitch. Tight tranny hole.’ Mirrors shake rhythm. Sweat drips, perfume mixes cum-scent. Cock rubs string, leaks on thigh. He yanks bra, pinches tits. ‘Cum for me.’ Prostate hit—fireworks. I spurt ropes on glass, legs quake.

He swells, roars: ‘Fuck!’ Floods deep, hot pulses. Pulls out, drip down legs. We pant, sticky mess. Lingette wipes quick—his face pro. ‘Buy it all.’ I dress shaky, pay cash. Kiss quick, tongue last taste. ‘Chat later?’ Door shuts. I vanish into mall crowd. Phone silent now. Back to Pierre-Georges. Secret safe. Cum leaks panties under jeans. Buzz of life reignited.