From: rdragon@ix.netcom.com(***)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: Tammy At The Theatre (FM+, fantasy?, oral)
Date: 26 Jul 1996 20:48:07 GMT

			 Tammy At The Theatre

	She saw herself sitting in an empty movie theater. She was
sitting in the last row, eating popcorn. In the dark she slouched, and
her skirt rode up her thighs. She felt the cool air of the air
conditioning tickling her pubic hair as she spread her legs. Popcorn
scattered across her skirt as her hand slid through her wiry tuft to
play with the glowing pulse she felt throbbing between her legs.

	On the screen she watched herself get up and leave the
theater. She was in a large mall, and it seemed that all the stores
were dark and empty. She walked along the upper level, window
shopping in the dark. Then she saw one bright light, one store that
was improbably open. Its a barber shop, very old style. Inside she saw
a man sweeping up, apparently one of the barbers. He was young and
handsome, slightly built with a closely trimmed beard.

	She stepped inside the store, making the bell ring. The young
barber looked up from arranging his tools. He was holding a straight
razor, and as she walked further into the shop he began to strop it
back and forth slowly on the strap that hung from his chair. She came
to a stop facing him from the other side of the big chair. Smiling,
she reached down and lifted the hem of her skirt to reveal her thigh,
almost to reveal her pussy.

	"I think I need a shave," she said.

	He nodded wordlessly and motioned her into the chair. He
jacked the chair up, tugging repeatedly on the arm that raises the
chair on its mechanism. He reclined the chair back so that she faced
the ceiling. She lifted her legs and spread them so that her skirt
fell back to show her thighs. He stood between her legs. A little
machine on the shelf under the mirror dispensed hot shaving cream. He
gathered a little into his hand and spread in a line along her leg.
Then he passed the razor up the line of hot foam, collecting it with
the cool steel blade, pressing slightly to slice the follicle just
below the skin.

	He started at her ankles, alternating legs, repeating over and
over the application of the hot cream and the stroke of the cool
blade. Up her lower legs, over her knees, down her thighs he
traveled. He motioned her to slouch forward, and when she did he
lathered the space between her pussy and thigh. With short sure
strokes he shaved her, not the hair of her pussy itself, but just
around the edge to the base of her thighs. Everywhere that the razor
has passed over her, her skin felt taut and silken smooth. The hot
foam and cool naked blade inching closer and closer to her pussy left
her damp and expectant. She smelled her musk mingled with the scent of
the foam.

	He cleaned the last pile of foam from the edge of his blade,
stropped it again a few times as he looked over her smooth skin. He
ran a soft terry towel over her legs to catch any stray particle of
foam and it was so unexpected that she gasped and arched her back in
pleasure and surprise.

	He took out a comb and began to comb the hair around her
pussy. She lifted her legs and spread them wide to give him access to
her. He took the strands of her hair and began to braid them, making a
long row across the top of her pubic region that doubled back and
forth across her mound like a snake, growing fatter as her hair
thickened near her pussy. Right at the apex of her slit the braid
split into two, which he carefully tied down each side of her pussy.

	He worked silently, his hands pulling gently at her hair,
working the plaits deftly over and under in the tight space between
her legs. The tugging on her hair was transmitted to her skin and
translated into little shifts and almost imperceptible movements of
the folds of her cunt, back and forth around her clitoris as he worked
the braid closer and closer to her clit. When he wove the complex
braid above her clit to make the connection to the two side braids,
his nimble fingers brushed back and forth right over her clit, leaving
her breathless and an inch, a breath, a motion from climax. Then he
finished the side braids and stood back to examine his work. He held
up a mirror between her legs to show her his work, and she saw that
there was now a crisp line around her pussy on one side of which was
smooth hairless skin and on the other was the intricate braid of her
uncut hair, twisting around the swollen folds of her pussy. She
traced the line of the braid with a finger, inviting him to watch her
as she watched herself in the mirror. But he seemed not to care for
watching her and returned to putting away his tools and cleaning up.

	He returned her to upright and lowered the chair, and the
folds of her skirt fell around her silken skin and concealed her
braided pussy from view. Offering no more payment than a chaste kiss
on the cheek, she turned and left the shop, the bell ringing behind
her exit.

	She rode the down escalator, and walked past the still
fountain in the center of the darkened mall. At the far end she saw
another store with the light still on. A Joan and David shoe
store. Looking through the window she could see a young clerk
straightening the displayed shoes, re-boxing items unwanted by
customers. She pushed through the door, and somewhere an electronic
buzz announced her entrance. The clerk jumped at the sound, rushing
forward to meet her. He was handsome, slightly built, with a short
beard and glasses.

	"I need some shoes. Perhaps you have what I want. Black. Open
toe. Spike heel, about four inches tall. Strap around the heel. Show
what you have." She sat in one of the customer chairs, while he pulled
over one of the stools on which shoe clerks sit. When he was
positioned in front of her she slouched forward, letting her skirt
creep up her thigh. She put her foot not on the slanted part of the
stool, but on his thigh, and rubbed it back and forth. "Fit me," she
said.

	He nervously placed her foot into the measuring stick and took
her measurements. He seemed flustered and kept rechecking the
measurement as his eyes drifted up and down her legs, from ankle to
skirt hem. Then he jumped up and almost ran for the stock room. He
returned in a few minutes with four boxes of shoes. Black, open toed,
spike heeled with a strap.

	She made him fit her in each. On the tight ones she had him
grasp her calf and push her foot down into shoe, leaving the mark of
his sweaty palm on her smooth skin. She made him buckle them with her
leg outstretched and resting on his thigh. To look at them she didn't
stand, but planted her feet on the slanting board of the stool and
twisted her legs about, sometimes deliberately opening her legs and
letting her skirt fall back to let the clerk catch a glimpse of her
pussy for a second. Finally she opted for the second pair, which was
the tightest, and made him fit her in them all over again. This time
she spread her legs wide open and crossed her legs at the ankle right
above her pussy.

	"How do I look?" she asked. She parted her ankles for a long
moment as he gulped, looking longingly at her pussy with its braid.

	"You know what they call these shoes, don't you?" He nodded
yes, then no, then yes again before giving up on answering directly.

	"I think there's something wrong with the stitching on the
buckle of this one," she said. "I think you should look at it very
closely." He knelt in front of her and leaned close to examine the
buckle, and the pussy right behind it. As he did, she looped the
other leg around him, pressing on his neck with her ankle, dragging
him closer and closer, finally sliding the other foot out of the way
of her pussy and crossing them both around his neck, pushing his head
down between her legs. With a little cry he buried his face in her
pussy.

	She had just closed her eyes, his tongue was just about to
slide across her clit when the phone rang. The clerk jumped up,
breaking the embrace of her legs and rushed to the cash register to
answer it. From his replies it seemed that the caller was the store
manager wondering what he was doing there so late and why wasn't the
register off. Had he done the price reductions on the brown pumps?

	Balanced perfectly on her new shoes, she left the clerk
stammering his explanations, looking longingly after her, as she left
with the raucous buzz of the door.

	Now the mall seemed totally dark. She passed back and forth on
both levels and saw nothing open still, until, looking down a side
branch she was sure she had checked before, she saw a light. It was
dim, and came from the few small candles of a restaurant. She went in,
and nothing announced her entrance. All the chairs were put up, except
at one little table, where a young handsome slightly built waiter was
eating by himself. When he saw her he got up and offered her his
seat. He gave her a menu and said sadly that the kitchen was almost
totally closed, but he could get her a dessert if she wanted. She
ordered a hot fudge sundae. He brought it out quickly and hovered near
her. She placed the napkin in her lap demurely. Then she scooped up a
fingerful of the hot fudge from the side of the sundae and leaned
forward to lick it up. She wasn't quick enough, and some of it fell on
her napkin. She playfully continued to lick and finally suck her
finger clean before turning to the waiter.

	"I'm afraid I've made a little mess here. Could you help with
this?" He bent to remove her napkin, because she made no motion to
lift it from her lap. As he reached for it she parted her legs, making
it fall to the ground. As he bent further, his head dropped to the
level of her legs. Before he could straighten up, she took another
dollop of the fudge and ran it along the lips of her pussy.

	He caught her finger as it ran along her pussy-lips, smearing
her folds with the warm fudge. He sucked it clean. He kissed the
inside of he thighs and with a great sigh of relief and desire she
raised and spread her legs, hooking the long heels of her shoes over
the edge of the table. He cleaned her cat-like with his tongue,
delving into her, tracing her folds and curves with his tongue tip.
Her head fell back and her eyes shut.

	She watched the image of herself on the screen, the end in
sight, arching, moaning. She was herself near the end, arching and
moaning, her fingers sticky with her juice. The long spike heels of
her shoes hooked over the row of seats in front of her as the film ran
off the end and the screen went white and the world went white like
the inside of a flashbulb as she held herself open for the tongue of
the handsome young man whose face was buried in her pussy and the
empty theater was filled with her cry.