There’s a point in any sale where the salesman has the customer in the palm of their hands. It’s a pivotal point because for that brief moment the customer wants to give the salesman their money in exchange for whatever the salesman has to offer. At this point a good salesman will close the deal and get a signature, take a cheque or shake the customer by the hand in the knowledge that they just put food on the table, paid the electricity bill or covered the money they lost at the racetrack last weekend.
Dale was not a good salesman.
Dale was hanging on to his job by the slimmest of threads and could feel his manager’s eyes boring into the back of his skull as he talked to the customer he had miraculously engaged in conversation. That was the first hurdle that he often fell at, getting the customers to talk to him. He was unremarkable to look at, all the features on his face were pretty average, but conspired to fit together in a way that made him feel his nose was too big and that one eye appeared slightly higher than the other. In fact his eyes were at exactly equal heights, but try telling Dale that … he always felt socially inept and tongue-tied. Not the best qualifications for a salesman.
Then there were women. Dale had never had a real girlfriend. He was 23 and a virgin. The stored-up hormones from years of unrequited love and disappointment made women doubly difficult to deal with. He’d make a clumsy remark and upset them, or stare at their boobs and make them uncomfortable.
She was different, his manager had made an approving hmm sound and disappeared to the other end of the showroom, leaving Dale to deal with her alone. She seemed interested in an expansive new kitchen, enthralled by the choice of wood for the front of the new cabinets, enraptured by the appliances available.
Dale weighed her up. About forty, curvy, buxom, well-dressed, with light brown hair from a bottle, no from a salon. Her blue cross-over top dipped deep between her boobs allowing him to examine her black lacy bra and twin, playful payload for a few moments while she leant towards him across the desk to study the worktop colours available. He could imagine his hand slipping inside the cups and pulling out each breast and pinching her nipples. He licked his lips wanting to circle the areolas and such at their full nipples.
“So … ” She began, her rich voice pouring over him like molten caramel. “When can you come round to measure up?”
“I can probably get one of our designers to come round early next week.” Said Dale.
“No, I want you to come round and size things up.”
“I’ll have a world with your manager.” And with that she wiggled her way to the manager at the far end of the showroom, kitten heels clicking and light summer skirt swaying.
Moments later she returned. “I’ll see you here at two this afternoon.” She handed him her card.
Some houses have drives and some have DRIVES. Mrs Porter’s had the latter, all crunchy gravel and lion-topped gateposts. It took visitors the fifty or so metres from the main road to her front door in an elegant swinging curve that revealed the house and increased the impression of opulence as they approached.
Mrs Porter answered the door wearing a summer dress, cream, knee-length and cut low at the front, down to her waist at the back. Dale put his notebook, pens and tape measure on the table and looked around at the beautiful kitchen he was standing in. Mrs Porter read his mind.
“Yes it would be a shame to rip this kitchen out wouldn’t it. So you’ll be pleased to know that I’m not going to.”
“Erm?” replied Dale.
“It was you I was after.”
“You’re very direct.” Said Dale, finding his voice again.
“I try to be.” She stepped forward until her face was almost touching his. He felt a hand on his crotch. “I do hope that bulge means you’re please to see me.” She giggled, a schoolgirl giggle.
“Mrs Porter, what are you doing?”
“I thought that was obvious.” She already had his belt undone and was unzipping his flies. “And it’s Amanda by the way.”
She pulled out his stiff member from the flies of his boxer shorts then gentley slid his balls out too. “I could tell you were a big boy, but that is impressive.” She observed. Dale looked at her quizzically. “Your trousers are too tight and I’m good with bulges.” She smiled, not a schoolgirl smile, but the smile of someone who hadn’t been a schoolgirl for a long time.
Amanda squatted in front of him and slid back this foreskin and blew on his glans. Dale shuddered. Her tongue snaked out and sampled the precum dribbling from the tip.
“Hang on.” Said Amanda, letting go of his cock. She slipped the dress off her shoulders. Her breasts weren’t pert like the girl he had masturbated over in his porn magazine the night before, but they were warm, inviting and real. He bent forward to touch them. “Later!” scolded Amanda.
Dale’s eyes were wide. He watched her head bob as she took his cock into her mouth. He felt the unfamiliar sensation of a wet warm tongue slipping round his sensitive end and teasing his frenulum. His balls were in her hand, she rolled them slightly, almost to the point of discomfort, emphasising her possession of him.
She was taking him deep now, unable to breath properly as the tip of his cock passed her soft palette and pressed against the back of her throat. Amanda felt him thrust and knew the swelling in his cock presaged his orgasm. She pushed him back against the kitchen cabinet and worked on his glans with her tongue.
Warm, sticky fluid began to spurt into her mouth and cover her tongue. She sucked hard, making him cry out, his cock now intensely sensitive.
Amanda release his cock from her mouth and with one finger rubbed the sticky cum around his glans the feeling of her nail grazing his skin making him groan.
Dale looked down to see Amanda with an expertly discarded blob of semen on her chin and a dribble on her left boob looking back at him.
“I need to get cleaned up.” She said brightly. “Do you do bathrooms too?”