“The Costume Shop” had been in the same location for decades. It was on Main Street, but it was far enough down that it didn’t see much traffic anymore. It had an antiques and consignment store on one side, a storefront on the other that had sat empty for years and an erstwhile car dealership across the street that now sat sad and abandoned; when the town had put its money into revitalizing Main Street, their efforts ended four blocks down at the multiplex.
The little store survived, though, offering stage makeup, high quality latex masks, wigs, costumes and the like. Mostly it served the local live theaters in the area; community, middle school, high school and college. But it also had decent business during the month of October, when those people in the know bought or rented their costumes there. They had a good selection and their costumes were much nicer and better quality that the ones to be found at the Halloween stores that popped up every October like some holiday cuckoo clock.
This particular day had been quiet. The first paying customer of the day had been a 20-something guy who bought a latex mask and a cape and said he was going to be wearing them at a party. After a few other customers, some who made purchases and some who didn’t, one of the store’s regulars came in. He ended up walking out with a half-pint bottle of white hair color, an old age stack and a pack of stipple sponges; all sporting the Ben Nye logo. He was in his 40’s but he’d be playing a 70 plus year old character in a play that would be opening in a few weeks and needed to age himself up. Most of the rest of the day had been long stretches of boredom broken only by the occasional person or small group or family wandering in to browse the costume section.
“Mom,” eleven year old Danielle said holding up a hanger that she’d pulled from the “girls” rack in the children’s section of the store. “Can I try this on?”
Her mother glanced her way and nodded before returning her attention to the rack she was digging through. “Make sure you knock first,” her mother said without looking. “And don’t run.”
Danielle hated when her mother did that. She wasn’t going to run. . . Well, OK, she was. But she would have been careful.
She walked over to the door to the changing room area and pushed it open. It swung shut behind her, flapping back and forth for a moment on it’s spring loaded hinges. In front of her stood a short hallway with a door on either side, which led to the small changing rooms, and a set of three full length mirrors at the far end in which she could see herself standing at the door, holding her costume.
To her eyes, she appeared unremarkable. Her reflection was an average height girl with wavy blond hair cut just above her shoulders; blue eyes that, to her, seemed a little too large; a small, upturned nose that she thought looked too pointy; a slim figure that she saw as too scrawny; and worst of all, and to her utter embarrassment, a decided lack of even a hint of feminine curves or breasts. Sure, her nipples had a little swelling behind them, but they certainly weren’t anything that she would call boobs yet.
She reached the dressing room doors and knocked on the left one. When no one answered, she tried the knob and cracked it open. The room was empty. Slipping inside, she took a look around. The room was small, maybe four feet by five, with a small wooden seat built into one corner. On the far wall, she spied some hooks and placed the hanger with the costume on one of them. Above her, in a recessed panel in the ceiling a light with fluorescent tubes that should have been changed a while ago flickered and sputtered and did their best to illuminate the old faux wood paneling on the walls and dingy brown carpet on the floor. She closed the door behind her, realizing to her dismay that the lock was long broken.
She debated with herself whether or not to try the other changing room to see if it had a functioning lock, but before she’d decided if it would be worth it, she heard the outer door open and someone come in and enter the other room. Resigned, she shrugged her shoulders to herself and turned back to her costume.
She grasped the hem of her t-shirt and pulled it over her head. Not wanting her clothes to come into contact with the suspicious looking floor, and not knowing what else to do, she hung the shirt from one of the other hooks. She reached for the costume top and pulled it from the hanger. It was light tan with red striping on one of the sleeves and along the bottom and had a stylized picture of a red megaphone on the front with the word “Cheer!” written in white script. She slipped it over her head and adjusted it. It was far shorter on her than it had looked like it would be when it was still on the hanger, leaving her belly button prominently displayed. She knew somewhere in the back of her mind that that should concern her, but instead, it just seemed to make her eager to go out and see how it looked.
I probably look hot.
Wait. Where had that thought come from? She’d never in her life thought she’d looked “hot”, why would she think that now? But even as her concern over the strange thought began to edge toward genuine worry, it seemed to melt away like the traces of a dream upon waking.
She looked back at the rest of the costume on the hanger and a small thrill raced inside her. She suddenly couldn’t wait to put the rest of it on.
She started on her jeans, her fingers fumbling on the button in her eagerness to get them off. She’d never really thought of it before, but she decided that her jeans were definitely too baggy.
What’s the point of wearing jeans that aren’t skin tight?
Funny. She’d never thought of her jeans as too baggy before. They’d always just been comfortable. And it’s not like she had any curves to show off. . . but she should really try to get some pants that show off her curves.
Unbuttoned and unzipped, her pants dropped to her ankles where their progress was stopped by her shoes. She giggled at herself. Silly me.
She toed her shoes off into the corner without untying them and kicked her pants into a different corner. She pulled the skirt from the two clips keeping it on the hanger and slipped it on. That’s when she spied her panties.
“Oh my gawd!” she said out loud. “Who would put these on me? They’re, like, little girl panties!”
She was glad there weren’t any built-in panties for the skirt because she could simply reach under it and pull the offending garment down. She held the horrible white and pink cotton panties up and wrinkled her nose at them. Why wasn’t she wearing a thong or some nice sexy lacy panties? Oh, well. Now she was just going commando, which was just as good.
She slipped her shoes back on and checked to make sure that her skirt was straight. Another little thrill rushed through her in the moment before turning to open the changing room door.
Stepping outside, she turned to her left to see herself in the mirrors. For a moment, she was confused at seeing the reflection of a little girl wearing her clothes but her concern was fleeting; she was still hot enough to get any guy she wanted.
She turned left and right, examining herself in the mirror critically. Her outfit looked good, clinging to her in all the right ways. She ran her hands over her exposed belly, feeling the firm slimness of it. Whipping around to see her back, she admired the way her skirt flared up to show her naked ass. She slipped her left hand around and ran it up the back of her leg and up over her ass, pulling the skirt up with it. She was pleased at how baby smooth everything felt. With her right hand, she glided down to her upper thigh and was surprised to find, not the perfect smoothness of recently waxed flesh nor even the barely-there hint of razor stubble from an hours-old shave, but instead the nearly imperceptible sensation of soft peach-fuzz of someone too young to grow actual leg hair. Her hand danced over and felt her pussy mound and around her outer lips only to find the same thing.
Turning around to face the mirror once again, she used one hand to lift the front of her skirt out of the way while the other slipped a finger into her cleft. Sliding it up to the top, she gasped at the sensation of fingertip on budding clit. She watched with her head cocked to the side a bit as that very same finger traced back down and found her entrance. She was beginning to get wet.
Farther her finger slid until it encountered unexpected resistance.
Fuck, she thought, I’m a virgin? How the fuck can I be a virgin?
The door to the other changing room opened and she slipped her finger out of herself and dropped her skirt. She was pretending to smooth her costume when she saw the answer to her problem in the mirror: he was wearing a football uniform that matched her cheer outfit.
We must go to the same school, she reasoned. And he’s a total hottie!
She turned to face him and he stopped when he saw her. For a moment, they stood there, sizing each other up. He was a couple inches taller than her, with blond hair a few shades darker than her own. His uniform was incomplete only in that he wasn’t wearing shoes but stood in his sock-covered feet. She watched his blue eyes go wide as he looked her up and down and she suppressed a giggle when he nearly dropped the helmet he had tucked under his arm.
I got it, she thought, no matter how young I look.
“Hey,” he said, obviously trying to make his voice sound deeper than it was in an effort to seem cooler. “How’s it going.”
“Oh,” she said with a little giggle. If she played her cards right, she would have him wrapped around her finger. Or more accurately, she would have herself wrapped around his cock. “Not too bad. Better now that I’m not alone.” She took a small step toward him and flashed him her brightest smile.
“Cool,” he said, nodding. His hair fell into his eyes and he flipped it back with a jerk of his head. She took the opportunity to take another small step in his direction. “You look really nice.”
She giggled again. “Thanks,” she replied. “You look pretty good yourself.” She reached out and ran her fingers from his padded shoulders down his chest. “So, football, huh?”
“Yeah,” he said proudly, thrusting his chest out in an effort to look more muscular.
“Sweet,” she said, inching ever closer to him. “What... position... do you play?” The question lacked subtlety, but then again, in her current state of mind, she probably didn’t know the meaning of the word.
“Quarterback.” The word was boastful, the way someone else might say “firefighter”, “big game hunter”, “fighter pilot” or “astronaut”. “What’s your name?”
“Amber,” she said, though there was the briefest of moments where she thought that it was actually something else.
“Mine’s Craig,” he said.
God, she was horny. And being coy was simply taking too long. She stepped up so that she was in near full body contact with him and took a handful of his jersey. She nodded at her changing room.
“How about we go in there and see if you can get into my tight end.”
It seemed to take a couple seconds for him to process what she meant, but then a cocky smile grew on his face.
“Killer,” he said and allowed her to pull him to the door and into the small room.
The moment the door closed, she was on her toes and pressing her lips to his. He kissed her back and their mouths opened and tongues began caressing each other. He let the helmet slip from under his arm; it thudded twice on the carpet and rolled up against the door. Her arms snaked up and around him, pulling him closer to her. His slipped around her, up her back and under her top. Then she felt him slide them around till he found her taught little nipples. He seized them with his fingers and rolled them back and forth.
Tune in Tokyo, she thought a bit flippantly. It was still nice to have someone’s—anyone’s—hands on her tits, however inexperienced the technique.
She broke the kiss, tilting her head back as he kissed over her chin and down her neck. He made to pull her top off but she stopped him.
“No,” she said. “Leave it on. Sexier that way.”
“Killer,” he said in reply.
He reached down and ran his hands up her thighs and under her skirt, presumably intending to remove her panties. Boy was he in for a shock.
He pulled back from nuzzling her neck on reaching the conclusion that she was naked under the skirt.
“Oh, fuck me!” he exclaimed.
“That’s the plan,” she replied. And in the moment or two that he stood stunned as he processed what she’d said, she reached around and began to untie his pants. He kneaded her ass as she loosened the laces of his pants and managed the buckle. She slipped her hand inside and found, to her surprise, that he was not wearing a jockstrap or, indeed, any underwear at all. God, this is so meant to be, she thought.
She found him mostly hard, if a bit smaller than she’d expected. She’d been hoping for a nice big cock, but she figured that he couldn’t be much more than about 5 inches. Oh, well. With her small cunt, she might not realistically be able to take much more than that. Besides, fuck it, she thought. A cock is a cock and this one is here, willing and able.
Between the two of them, they managed to get his pad-laden pants down enough to free his hardness. Seeing it for the first time, she noticed that she was right about her estimate of his length. Plus, he had only a small tuft of pubic hair sprouting just above his shaft.
She lifted herself up and kissed him again and then pulled a handful of his jersey as she lowered herself to the floor, dragging him along with her. He knelt between her spread legs and adjusted his position to line himself up with her as she took the hem of her cheer skirt and flipped it up, revealing her smooth, hairless, but nevertheless drooling, cunt to him. Holding himself up with his left hand, he took his cock in his right and aimed it at her pussy. The first couple of attempts missed, but managed to spread some of her wetness around and coat the head of his manhood.
His third try succeeded and he instinctively hunched forward driving himself in far enough to pop her cherry.
“Ahh!” she cried out a bit at the combination of the unexpected thrust, the sudden loss of her virginity and the surprising fullness she felt.
He seemed unaware or unconcerned with her cry as he simply pulled back a bit and thrust forward another inch. She bit her lower lip since she hadn’t really been ready for him to do that but as uncomfortable and strangely unfamiliar as this was, she certainly wasn’t going to stop him. She felt like she was dying for a fuck, like an addict that had gone too long without a fix.
It was strange; the sensation of a cock sliding into her was all at once new yet familiar and shocking yet comforting. She reveled in the sensations of the building climax yet some small part of her felt something that she could only think of as fear of the unknown.
Another pull back and thrust and she was surprised to find the residual pain from the loss of her virginity was gone, though the odd overstretched sensation from such a small cock remained.
She looked up into his eyes, or at least tried to as they were closed; his head tilted back in apparent ecstasy.
“Oh, god,” he said in a breathless voice. “That’s so good. You’re so tight.”
Another retreat and another thrust and she felt him bottom out in her, his pubic bone pressing delightfully on her clit. She wrapped her legs around him, trying to urge him on, and seized handfuls of his jersey, attempting to pull him closer.
It took longer that she thought it should have for them to find their rhythm but once they did, she basked in the sensations flowing—pulsing—from the contact.
Thrusting.
Panting.
Heaving.
Grunting.
The tiny room filled to overflowing with the sounds of rutting, animalistic sex.
Slapping.
Moaning.
Squishing.
Moving.
The pleasure welled up inside her, crashing against her like a tidal surge pounding on the shore. She pulled her top up and mauled her own breastlets—pinching, twisting, pulling, rubbing. She thrust up against his pounding hips, spearing herself on his cock even as it stroked and massaged her very core.
She was building up to a massive orgasm; one unlike she’d ever had before, except perhaps, her first one.
“Oh yeah,” he grunted above her. She realized that he’d probably been vocalizing the entire time to this point but she had simply been too wrapped up in her own sensations to be aware of it.
“Faster,” she cried, “faster!” Her urgency built as her release neared.
Suddenly, it was upon her. The orgasm ripped through her with the force of a stampeding offense, running the ball into her end-zone. She rippled with sensation as her climax peaked and ebbed.
Still, he thrusted, working steadily toward his own release.
Once she had gathered her senses enough, she had him flip so that he was lying on his back. She remounted him and began a nice slow fuck, rocking on her knees and using her hands on his chest for balance. He again seized her nipples and rolled them with his fingers.
She was rather disappointed that he just lay there instead of fucking her back, but, she figured, it was what it was; he was a guy, and an inexperienced one at that.
Slowly she began to pick up the pace until she was slamming down on him as fast as her legs could move her. She could feel the building of a second orgasm and she’d be damned if she couldn’t bring herself to it.
Suddenly, he grunted and twitched and she knew he was cumming inside her, but she was nearly there and kept up her assault on his cock.
“Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck!” he exclaimed as his cock grew too sensitive as his orgasm faded. “Stop!”
But she couldn’t. She was approaching her peak and nothing would deny her.
He seized her by the waist, lifted her off and tossed her to the side. Luckily for her, the suddenness of the action drove her that last little bit and she came, shoving her hand between her legs and rubbing hard as she rode out her climax, twitching on the floor like a landed fish.
As the intensity faded, leaving her with a pleasant after-fuck buzz, she looked over at her partner. He looked back with a shit-eating grin on his face.
“That was pretty good,” he said.
The cockiness with which he’d said it served only to piss her off. She’d done most of the work while he just laid there, then he’d nearly fucked up her cum.
She frowned at him.
“Get the fuck out,” she said. “I gotta change.”
He just lay there and smirked.
“You sure you don’t wanna go again?”
She replied by shoving his thigh with her foot. Then she stood up and opened the changing room door expectantly. His smile faded as he got up, picked up his helmet and strutted back out into the hallway toward his own changing room with his cock still on display.
She shook her head, and closed the door behind him. She kicked off her shoes thinking about how he’d scratched her itch and in that regard she’d fuck him again, but only if she was desperate. A girl’s gotta have standards.
She slipped off the skirt and hung it up and then pulled off the top leaving her naked except for her socks.
She hung up the top and then looked down at herself.
Why was she naked? Why had she taken off her panties? When had she taken them off? Why couldn’t she remember taking them of and where were they anyway?
She found them in the corner, under her shoes. She slipped them on only to discover another mystery. She was wet and sticky between her legs. She shrugged it off, figuring that if it got any worse, she’d ask her mom about it. She found her pants piled in another corner and she wondered why she hadn’t hung them up. She remembered taking them off... kinda. She put them back on and then slipped her t-shirt off the hook and back over her head.
After she put her shoes back on, she retrieved the costume cheerleader outfit from the hook on the wall. She stepped outside and held it up in front of her and looked at it one last time in the mirror before turning and leaving the changing room area.
“Find something you like?” asked her mother as Danielle rejoined her.
“Yeah,” she said. “This cheerleader costume is perfect.”
“What about you, Robbie?” her mother said as her annoying thirteen year old brother came up behind her.
He flipped the blond hair out of his blue eyes with a flick of his head as he held up the football player costume in his hands. “Yeah,” he said. “This one’s all right.”
“What a dork,” Danielle said under her breath, but her mother heard anyway.
“Don’t start, you two,” said her mother exasperatedly. “Honestly, I wish the two of you could just find a way to get along.”
Danielle looked at her brother as he pointedly ignored her as being beneath him.
Fat chance, she thought. What an idiot.