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Author’s Note: This chapter hopefully gets into the action a bit faster, but it’s still something of a slow-burner. Also, this piece works fine on its own, but it’s probably best to read the first chapter, or a lot of this won’t make much sense. Much appreciated. Cheers.
I blinked, took a deep breath, and ran a hand through my hair as I tried to give the lady across the counter my best customer service nod.
“I apologize, ma’am, could you walk me through that one more time? I don’t think I quite understand.”
After hoisting a weed wacker in a retaped box onto the counter, the lady — who, judging by her receipt was named Karen, but spelled “Cairynn” — wiped a stray strand of hair out of her face, put her hands on her hips, and stared at me like I was a few cards short of a full deck.
“Look,” Cairynn said in a slow, methodical tone. “I bought this Black and Decker weed wacker three days ago for $110.59, but then I was shopping at Walmart yesterday and I found this weed wacker — same make, same model — in their lawn and garden section for $99.87. It’s cheaper there.”
“That’s not fair,” Cairynn said as she gestured widely, apparently to indicate the whole department store I worked in — Big Jerry’s Home Improvement. “I should get the weed wacker for the same price. If Big Jerry’s is a half decent store, it’d price match it’s competitors and put that extra 10 bucks back on my credit card, so do it.”
“Ma’am,” I said, smiling tightly. I was overworked as it was, but it was also finals week and Big Jerry’s — the picture of corporate decency — was generous enough to decrease hours for student employees from a full 40 hours, to a very manageable 35. “That isn’t in our policy and, I guarantee you, they’d tell you the same thing if you went to any other Big Jerry’s, Walmart, or some other department store. The price on the tag is what you pay.”
Cairynn was quite incensed by this. Her eyes flashed and her lopsided bob cut — layered, with a spectrum of dyed highlights from dark brown to a pale blonde — looked ready to jump off her head and grapple my face like the face-huggers from Alien.
“You got a fucking awful attitude, you know that, you little shit?” Cairynn sputtered, digging into reserves of vitriol she typically reserved for Black Friday. “Where’s your manager? I need to speak with your manager.”
“Certainly, but he’s going to tell you the same thing,” I said, giving a shrug as I tensed with growing hostility. “That isn’t how it works. That isn’t how any of this works. That isn’t how the world works. Why would you think that?”
Cairynn’s eyes narrowed and she spat venom.
“I’m going to have your job for this.”
“Does it look like I give a fu—”
“Well, well, why don’t I just take another look at the receipt, ma’am, and we’ll see what we can do!” interjected my fellow sales associate, Penelope, as she walked us back from the proverbial ledge and saved my ass.
Penelope snatched the receipt from my hand and pretended to look it over as she dived into a long-winded story about her own frustrating experiences with box stores and how she sympathized with Cairynn and how, yes, it was all very confusing and Big Jerry’s was committed to treat their customer’s right and…
I watched them go and exhaled slowly, allowing the tension — and momentary stupidity — to leave my body in a rush. Knowing Penelope, not only would she have Cairynn living, laughing and loving again, but she’d probably convince Cairynn to tack on a $30 protection plan she never intended to buy when she walked into Big Jerry’s.
In the meantime, I checked my phone. No messages from Natalie — just as it had been since the fateful weekend before project week. Things had been fine when we met to present our project and I saw her again during the final exam, but there wasn’t anything discussed beyond coursework and the class. Natalie wasn’t cold, but she was definitely distant. After what happened, I didn’t blame her and decided it may be best to leave her in peace.
Later, Penelope sauntered back to the customer service counter, flashed a self-satisfied smile, and shot me a knowing look.
“Somebody owes me big time.”
“Fair enough,” I said. “Next time we’re out for some aftershift drinks, it’ll be my treat.”
She looked me up and down with that same roguish expression, though it was softened by concern. I noticed that Penelope’s cheeks were turning a nice rosy hue, blushing with color more and more each passing minute.
“Hey, Will, what’s up?” Penelope asked in a softer voice as she sidled up next to me. “We’ve been stuck in this gig together for nearly three years and I’ve never seen somebody get under your skin like that. Usually, you’re rock solid.”
Penelope was right. We’d been good friends for so long because we complemented each other well. Penelope, with her bubbly, extroverted personality, could smooth over anything and sell ice to an Eskimo, but she ataköy escort took things personally and allowed the negativity to bleed into other aspects of her life. Our conversations often revolved around us working through that together.
I, on the other hand, was a bit more reserved and laid-back, which didn’t lend itself to sales. But, at the same time, I was generally unflappable in the face of “difficult members,” as our management called them, to the point a 77-year-old woman once smacked me across the face and I, without a hitch, like clockwork, calmly asked her if she wanted a bag for that.
I looked down at Penelope and carefully considered my answer. It was one thing to chalk it up to exhaustion and stress — which were both part of the truth — but how could I explain the bizarre happenings these last few weeks?
It didn’t help that Penelope stood right by my side, with her tits nearly pressing against my arm. I had been struggling to think things through clearly before, but “the girls,” or “twins” as Penelope affectionately called them, were complicating it further.
Penelope was wearing an outfit that adhered to the same dress code all sales associates followed, with black dress pants and a pale blue, almost denim button-down that appeared both professional and a little rugged to, I imagine, appeal to middle-aged men who wanted to replace their bathroom sink or trim the hedges.
The top few buttons were undone, revealing the plunging cleavage of her breasts — cream-toned, faintly pearlescent, and smooth as a baby’s bottom, with delicate blue veins running like beautiful faultlines through white marble. They were nearly spilling out. Make no bones about it, these puppies were proportional to Penelope’s curvy frame, but their size left men snapping their necks with whiplash when she passed them in the hall.
Professional or not, Penelope flaunted her feminine assets. Judging by the crap she put up with as a successful saleswoman in a male-dominated field of home improvement, I’d say she earned it.
“Finals getting you down?” Penelope asked, bringing my attention back up to her face.
Remember, it’s like staring at the sun, my guy, I chidded myself. You can glance for a second, but you’ll get burned if you stare.
“It’s…uh, been a rough couple weeks,” I said with a heavy sigh. “I appreciate you swooping in and saving the day. That wasn’t an easy hole to dig me out of.”
“No worries,” Penelope said with a chuckle. She leaned in, wrapped her arm around my waist, and gave me a squeeze. “That being said, your ass is totally mine.”
I shot her an inquisitive glance, but she missed it as she stepped away and looked up something on the terminal’s computer.
Penelope was always the uber-friendly, touchy-feely type of girl, but I’d been noticing she’d been especially affectionate the last couple weeks. I suspected she had a crush on me and had for some time, but kept her feelings in check out of respect for my relationship with my newly-minted ex, Cameron.
Now that my relationship with Cameron was over and I was, once again, on the market, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t reading into things more than I probably should have. Penelope was an open book, but it was difficult to figure out her intentions when she was just as friendly, forthright, and engaging as always.
I glanced up and there, on the wall, the department’s clock said it was 6:56 p.m., or just over an hour until closing time.
“Come on,” Penelope said, giving me a nudge as she slid past and started for the warehouse doors in the back of the sales floor. “Let’s get a headstart on inventory while the store is dead.”
“Are you sure we should leave Kyle here all by himself?” I said, jabbing a finger over my shoulder at our high school-aged cashier, who would be the only employee on the sales floor if we stepped out.
Penelope dismissed my concerns with a wave. She popped the warehouse’s two-way doors open with her hip and shrugged.
“Kyle will be fine. If he needs anything, he can page us,” Penelope said. She chuckled at my skeptical expression and her tits bounced as she backed her way inside. “Relax. I’ll find plenty for you to do back here. This way we can talk and be productive at the same time.”
Items in the Home Improvement department can range from tiny fasteners, screws and bulbs, to patio sets, treadmills, and lawn tractors, so the warehouse was understandably huge — about three times as large as the sales floor — to accommodate all these boxes. Here, we’d store backlogged merchandise, fill online orders and process layaway payments, among other nick-nacky parts of the job.
“So what do you need me for?” I asked as we settled into a corner at the far end of the warehouse where Big Jerry’s kept the leaf blowers.
“I need your height,” Penelope explained, gesturing at the second and third tiers of storage scaffolding. Her lips, a gentle and natural shade of pinkish-lavender, formed an adorable frown. bakırköy escort “I can’t reach those with my little hobbit legs.”
I cocked my head. I looked at Penelope. Then I looked at the industrial stepladder about ten feet away; looked back at Penelope; looked back at the stepladder.
“Sure,” I said with a shrug.
We started working and started talking, with me mostly listening and Penelope doing most of the heavy lifting in the conversation. From the moment we met as job applicants at Big Jerry’s, we’d always been candid with each other. That wasn’t to say that we always belined for edgy or raunchy topics, but it wasn’t unusual for Penelope to broach anything — from fun times with her roommates at Heraclian University, to her strained relationship with her dad, to the pain of period cramps, and seemingly everything in between.
Nothing was off limits and I always appreciated that.
At the time, Penelope was talking about how hard it was to shop women’s clothes, as the various sizes and categories were a complete crapshoot. I smiled at how animated she was getting, venting about a point of frustration that had been dogging her for years.
Every few moments, she needed to brush a stray strand of hair out of her large hazel eyes — long wavy tresses of thick mouseey hair that existed ambiguously between brunette and blonde; a length and texture I always imagined would work well for Gibson Girls back in the day, if Penelope ever did her hair up.
“A size 15 for one brand might be the same as a size 12 for another or a size 20 for another,” she explained. “Hell, it might vary that much for two different tops from the same brand’s line. And God forbid it shrinks in the dryer, then you’re really screwed.”
I chuckled as I reached up and slid a boxed leaf blower perfectly into the gap between two other boxes.
“Ordering something online must be off the table then,” I observed.
“Not if you haven’t tried it on in person first. That’s the golden rule,” Penelope said. “And don’t get me started on lingerie — especially for a growing girl like me.”
I glanced over at her.
In our meandering conversations, Penelope once told me she wore a 36-F bra, though she hadn’t always been that way. The definition of a late bloomer, photos on social media documented Penelope’s journey from average-sized high school senior to the fertility goddess she was as a college junior today. Apparently, most of her college gains went to her breasts and she’d grown no less than three cup sizes in her early twenties.
She was watching me work intently. Penelope stood nearby, coming closer to me than when we started, and her chest was starting to rise and fall with deep breaths, as if she was struggling to get a lungful in the warehouse. Her cheeks flushed pink — a color, I noticed, which spread down her throat and bloomed across her cleavage in beautiful shades of rose.
Oh no, here we go again, I realized with a pang of anxiety, as well as the meaty sensation of arousal stirring for the first time. I’d felt oddly pent-up since the incident in the library with Natalie, like my cock ached with hypersensitivity and I thought I could almost feel the cum sloshing around my swollen testicles, my body locked in a state of lustful overdrive.
“I mean, look at these howitzers,” Penelope said with a laugh. She cupped her tits for emphasis, squeezing them through the fabric of her shirt, and her hands looked tiny in comparison. “Let me tell you, good lingerie can break the bank. At my size, I easily drop more than a hundred dollars on anything sexier than some generic boob buckets.”
I gulped. Things were growing hazy and while I didn’t feel short of breath, it seemed the air had a strange…heaviness to it.
“That’s the baseline. And they have to fit right and be supportive,” Penelope continued as she took a couple steps closer. Now she was standing before me, close enough for a hug. “You can’t shortchange the twins when they’re this big. Go ahead, give them a feel. Will. You’ll see.”
I blinked. Then I shook my head, trying to shake off this foggy sensation descending on my mind.
“I’m…sorry, I think I misheard you.”
“No, come on, don’t be bashful,” Penelope said, as if this was perfectly normal and I was the one being ridiculous. “There’s no security cameras in this part of the warehouse. It’s closing time. Nobody’s gonna see us. Give them a feel.”
My brow furrowed and I glanced distrustfully at Penelope — alternating between her full heaving breasts and her innocent, expectant face.
I cleared my throat, hesitated for a second, then leaned forward and poked one of her breasts with my index finger.
“Yup,” I said, nodding, feeling horribly awkward. “That’s a boob alright.”
Penelope threw back her head and laughed.
“What the hell was that?” she said, giggling. “Go on and get a proper feel for them.”
At this point, drowning in a lust-filled haze, I was starting to agree. What the hell, right? So I squared up and pressed in, bringing my hands up beneath her breasts and cupping the bountiful flesh in my palms. Breasts have this wonderful quality in how they fill your hands no matter the size, like they’re eager to embrace your touch.
I was focused on her breasts, but Penelope was staring at me, watching my face closely, as if she was trying to read my changing expressions as I enjoyed each facet of her body. Her large hazel eyes glinted in the dim light of the warehouse and her lavender lips parted as the air caught in her throat. I’d given her breasts a little squeeze and the sensation caught her by surprise.
Penelope was right: her breasts had a surprising heft to them and they overflowed my hands, much firmer than you’d expect for tits of her size and especially pert with arousal. Her hands rose up, with one holding my left wrist and the other covering my right hand, pressing it gently.
“My God, Penelope, your poor back,” I whispered at last. We both laughed quietly and she squeezed my fingers gripping her breasts. “It must be a hell of a time to find the right bra to handle these girls.”
“Right?” Penelope said, her voice a little faint and breathless. “Can you imagine how big they’ll grow if I ever get pregnant?”
Now, that was a bit odd, but not uncommon observation about boob sizes — especially in circumstances like these.
However, at the time, I couldn’t shake these strange impressions in my mind, so vivid they almost seemed real, of Penelope pregnant with my baby. I could envision her breasts — tits all the more engorged and heavy with mother’s milk, resting plump on her swollen belly — and my balls ached at the thought, while pressure mounted in the base of my cock.
I looked Penelope in the eyes.
“Do you wanna…you know…while we’re here and all?”
“I thought you’d never get around to it,” Penelope breathed as she leaned in, giggling into our kiss. She caressed my cheek with one hand, while the other drifted up her shirt, undoing more and more buttons.
Things were spiraling out of control again and I didn’t care. Inhibitions went right out the window. With a little more aggression than I intended, I pressed Penelope up against the scaffolding, kneading her breasts all the while, and reached down, furiously working to open the fly of her black dress pants.
“Easy there, Will,” Penelope chuckled as she leaned back and allowed me to press my lips into the soft hollow between her jawline and neck, kissing her throat. “Are you sure this maneuver is OSHA approved?”
I didn’t immediately have a response and I don’t think Penelope cared when my fingers slipped inside the cup of her bra, finally handling her tits with our bodies touching skin to skin. Warmth radiated from her soft titflesh and I could feel her nipple, like a firm little gumdrop, poke my palm as I messaged and kneaded her heavy breast.
We both had the same idea when my fingers slipped inside the fly of her pants and she started to unbuckle my belt.
Beneath her panties, her sex was slick with arousal and inflamed with desire as I slid my fingers through the folds of her vulva, then pushed my middle finger into the depths of her vagina and used my thumb to rub her clitoris in a circular manner. Penelope moaned through her teeth and arched her back, standing rigid on her tippy toes.
Meanwhile, my cock tumbled free from my briefs and settled into her palm, where she started to stroke it with increasing urgency, seemingly coaxing precum from the head with each squeeze. She looked down, fascinated by the involuntary contractions that pulsed along the veiny shaft and a clear tendril of fluid that hung from the head. She brushed her fingers against my ballsack, heavy and leathery and hanging low from the base of my cock.
Clothes were such a hindrance at this point. We both stepped back and started to shed our shoes, pants and undergarments.
“Will, I have a random question that just occurred to me,” Penelope whispered as she reached around her back to unclasp her bra. “Do you, like, have a nickname for your penis? I hear Channing Tatum named his dick Gilbert.”
Then Penelope’s bra fell away. Her breasts spilled free and bounced, hanging pendulous and heavy, jiggling with each movement as she bent over, reached down, and started rubbing her reddened pussy. A handful of thicker blue veins radiated out from the areolas — which were a pinkish-lavender color, matching Penelope’s lips — and erect nipples.
“I suppose I always just called it ‘Willie,'” I said, feeling oddly stupid for calling my penis a common nickname. I shrugged. “Hey, my name is Will and I guess I’m just a horribly unimaginative person, so it fits.”
Penelope chuckled. Wearing nothing but the unbuttoned dress shirt that hung loosely on her shoulders, she placed her hands on my shoulders and pushed me down until I was seated on a giant cardboard box which contained a seven-piece set of lawn gnomes.
“Well, I’m going to need a second with your friend Willie then,” she said as she widened her stance and straddled me, reaching down to line my cock up with her slit.
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