Sweet Treats

I wandered into the Post Office, a parcel notification card in my hand. I was familiar with the shop layout, so I joined the short queue in the centre aisle. Two women were ahead of me in the line, two being served at the counter. It'd take a minute or two to get attention.

To my right, in what looked like a second line, but wasn't (it was actually the way out) I saw an Indian or Pakistani girl, dark, slim, with very long hair. She was engrossed in her phone, but my movement into the shop must have caught the corner of her eye, for she looked up. She gave me a beautiful, white-toothed smile, and it must have been an automatic thing, surely she'd not seen me properly, not enough to warrant such spontaneity, anyhow.

She looked around herself, then back across to me. She smiled again, and this time it was a wider grin. She pointed at the people in front of me. I nodded, and smiled back. She'd worked out she wasn't in the right line, she wasn't in a line at all. She'd amused herself in her own phone space, her non-awareness zone space, and she moved around the aisle stacks between us to join the proper queue. I stepped back, gesturing her forward to the spot in front of me. She was here before me, so it was her rightful place in the line.

She didn't expect me to step aside, and smiled her thanks, slipping past me to stand in front. She was light and graceful, quite skinny; unlike many Indian girls. Her hair was very long, down to her ass, a little untidy, a bit greasy; not washed for a day or two, I guessed. It was brushed, though, and I pictured long loose threads being pulled from the teeth of the brush. It was a sudden flash, unexpected.

In front of me now, she was up to my shoulder if she was lucky, dressed in a shapeless top and tight blue jeans, flat shoes on her feet. She stood really close to me, not surrounding herself with the more usual space in a line. Anyone coming into the shop might have thought we were together, but she was just a girl in a line.

No, she wasn't. She began talking quietly to me. My ear wasn't tuned to her Indian accent, and she was speaking very softly. I bent down closer to hear, and she repeated what she'd said. I could have touched her hair, and there was a faint black down at her temples. Her eyes, they were almost black. Her teeth, so very white and straight, her smile was lovely. I could have taken her by the waist, but I didn't.

"I've got two SIM cards, you see. Where should I send the other one back to?" She showed me an envelope from Telstra or Vodaphone, and pointed to an address on the back. "I've been sent two sims, so I rang them. They said, send one back, but I don't know where to send it. What do you think I should do." Her annunciation was clearer now, as I tuned in to her sing song lilt.

I looked at the sender's address on the back of the envelope, and it was a PO box in North Sydney. I'd worked in North Sydney once, years ago; there were many corporate headquarters there.

"I'd send it there," I told her, pointing to the return address. "See, it's a PO box number. That's probably best."

"A PO box? Are you sure?" Perhaps she didn't know what a PO box was?

"Yes, that'll be best. It'll get where it's meant to, if you send it to that address."

"Okay. I will do that. Thank you." She tucked the envelope under her phone, and I saw that her fingers were slim and quite long. Her fingernails were long too, her fingers curving around the two things in her hand like a bird's claw.

She was standing close to me, still in my space. I liked her being there, and looked down at her body again. Her hair fell part down her front, part down her back, and she was standing sideways in the line, next to me. There was a run of short hair down her neck, in a dark vee under the collar - she had her own soft pelt. I imagined it like velvet under my fingers.

She pointed at the Customer Service sign at the head of the space we were in. "It should be on the other side," she said. "I didn't see the sign." She laughed. She was a cheerful young woman, she'd solved the problem of her two SIM cards, and now she was in the right line. "I'll get served now," she said, "because of you."

"No worries," I replied. "But look, you're next."

I watched her tight little ass in those jeans as she walked to the counter. Her hair was so long and thick, it moved in a wave around her as she walked and her ass swung. She looked over her shoulder at me, still smiling. Perhaps our short conversation was a conspiracy, I didn't know, but it made it worth standing in line, worth the short wait. I smiled back, and she grinned, before turning to the counter to do her business. Her hair stopped moving and fell straight down her skinny body. She could sit on it.

The other customer was slow, and the girl was done first. Her server finished off whatever needed to be done, as I waited to be called. There was enough time for me to watch the girl as she walked down the length of the shop, her ass in those jeans firm, nice and tight. Just before she went out the door she turned and waved at me, fluttering fingers on her right hand, with that gorgeous white-toothed grin.

The woman behind the counter called for my attention, and I moved forward to be served. She'd probably caught me eyeing the girl, but I didn't care. She'd been standing right next to me in the line, was lovely, and smiled.

A minute or two later, my parcel under my arm, I walked out of the Post Office and turned left, to go down to the Baker's Delight. The Indian girl was there in front of me, two places up in the queue. She turned around when she heard the swish of the plastic drop curtain as I walked through it. She grinned and nodded as she recognised me.

She gave up her place in line to come back and stand next to me. "Hello," she said. "Me again, you again, don't you see? We meet again, standing in lines." In this line, she still stood close. Were we friends now, from the Post Office?

We might be. "What are you buying here?" she asked, and there was her sing song voice once again, and her radiant smile. Her eyes were so very black, and her eyebrows, like the hair on her neck, they were thick too, glossy black. She stood very close to me, easily inside my space, and nearly inside my skin. It was a different light in the bakery, and I saw the faintest fuzz of dark hair on her cheek, as if she was standing in shadows. Her teeth and the whites of her eyes, they were almost exactly the same colour, but what I saw most was the shadow of hair on her skin.

It was either my thoughts, or my proximity to her, but I was suddenly aware of my nipples. They're always a first sign of arousal for me, feeling that cold ache and a tightness behind my skin. I wanted to pull them tight with my fingers, because I was aroused by the girl. She was like a little wolf, and my nostrils flared, wanting to find her scent.

"Just a sticky bun to take home, to eat with my afternoon coffee," I replied to her question, my mind returning to the world.

"That will be nice," she said. "I'm buying six rolls, you see. To make lunches, for tomorrow and other days." She spelt it all out precisely. Was it a cultural thing, or was she just very precise? I didn't know.

"Do you buy sweet things too, as a treat?" I asked, less to know, more to hear her lilting voice again, and to stay next to her lithe, wolf-like body.

"Sometimes," she replied, "but not now. It is for lunches, that I buy the rolls."

On a complete whim, with no expectation of her saying yes, I asked, "May I buy you a coffee and a sweet treat now? Before you make lunches," I added quickly, not knowing why.

She looked up at me with those black eyes. They were unreadable, but she replied, "Yes," looking at me with confidence. I didn't expect it, hearing yes. My nipples throbbed, and she must have sensed it, for she leaned in close. "We can eat our sweet treats together." She nodded and her long hair swayed. "But sir, where can we go?"

Sir? I was older, I supposed, and she was very polite. Shadows shimmered on her skin as she moved under the light. I was fascinated by her darkness, the shimmer of dark hair. I wanted to lick her, my tongue rough on her pelt.

"Is there a café nearby?" she asked. "These are not my usual shops. It was just the Post Office, you see, the reason for my visit. I don't know what is here."

"There is a little place," I said, picturing a small café with plain tables, and a curved glass counter where the cakes were. "When we're done here, I'll show you."

"That will be very good. Perhaps you shouldn't buy your sweet bun here. Shouldn't you buy it at the café if you take coffee there?"

"You're right," I replied. "I don't really need to buy anything here. I'll wait outside."

"No, no, don't disappear. You can help me buy rolls. You can carry them. Wouldn't a gentleman carry a lady's rolls?" She had a delightful view of the world, very formal, very polite, and beautifully spoken. Her English wasn't lazy Australian, she took care and was precise with her words. I was getting used to the lilt in her voice. She was quite charming, and I was more and more aroused by her darkness, by her hair. I wanted to see more of her dark hair, but how on earth could that happen? I wanted to bite her.

I imagined her belly; a thin line of dark hair up its centre, to her navel. The idea of more hair enthralled me, but that was absurd. I'd never see her naked; it was a daydream, because she stood close to me in a queue. I wanted to taste her.

"Look, we are next, you see. I will buy the rolls, and you may be a gentleman and carry them for me. That will be how it is done."

Indeed, that was how it was done, and I carried the brown paper bag with her rolls. We made our way down to the next block and entered the ancient café. The bell jangled, summoning the owner from out the back. I ordered tea for both of us, and she chose a small custard tart. We sat by the front window and the view was nothing but the car park.

"It is not very splendid, is it?" she said, and it wasn't. But we made the best of it, and drank our pots of tea and enjoyed the sweet treats. She sat opposite me and pulled up the sleeves on her arms, for the sun through the window was hot.

I stared at the darkness of hair on her forearms, then looked up to her eyes. She was watching me, a thoughtful look on her face. She must have seen the direction of my gaze, must have seen it, because she stroked her arm with two fingers, stroking across the glossy short hairs, smoothing them down. She knew what I craved for.

"I am a good girl, you see, but when I see the kind gentleman who carried my rolls look at me like that, I think to myself, would the gentleman like to see more?"

She looked at me with eyes so dark they were black, and we were both very still.

I broke the silence, using her words from before. "Where can we go?"

My cock felt heavy, and my nipples were tight. I wanted to fuck this girl, her hot, visceral centre, my fingers tangled in her hair. I stopped thinking and wanted to be led by her, taken to her den.

"My vehicle, it is near the Post Office. Walk me to it, then you can follow me in your car. My house, there is an apartment downstairs with a private entrance. I will hear Mama walking around upstairs when she returns home, then you must go. Mama mustn't know, you see."

She's done this before, I thought, and will probably want money. I didn't care, I wanted this little wolf more than anything else at that moment. I looked straight at her, and she must have seen the pupils of my eyes dilate with lust, for she licked her lips with a little red tongue. She'd bite me, I was sure of that. Bite me with sharp little teeth.

As we walked to our cars she went before me. At one point, squeezing between two cars, she reached back and found my groin, pressing her hand against my thickness. She turned, her long fingers pressed against me. "Are you big, sir? I like a big cock, you see."

"Your cunt, is it very tight? I like a firm grip."

She grinned, and kept walking. "It is good that I was in the wrong queue, isn't it?"

It occurred to me that she'd queued there before, and possibly knew this shopping centre very well. "I need to go to the bank," I said, changing course. She smiled, but didn't contradict me. I no longer cared about that. I wanted her to fuck me.

Money in my wallet, crisp notes and I would leave the negotiation till later, I stood by her car. I held the bag of her lunch-time rolls, and passed them through the window to her. She placed the bag on the passenger seat and dropped her phone beside it.

"Where is your car?" she asked. I pointed, it was parked maybe thirty metres away. "That is very good. I shall drive first, and you may follow me. I will turn into my drive, and you should pass by and park further up the road. I'll wait, you see, and we'll go into my home together."

I'd not even touched her yet, and didn't know her name, but this formality about her threshold fascinated me. We were going to fuck, fulfilling a basic human need, perverted by my increasing fetish for her hairy body, and corrupted by money that would be left on her bedside table, yet she too wanted this. 'I like a big cock, you see.' She might be performing, playing out a role, but her smile was so very gorgeous, and the promise of more hair was a drug, so none of the peripherals mattered.

I had to see her naked, her lithe animal body exposed for my eyes, my cock, my plunder. I'd howl to the moon if I had to, my humanity was disappearing so fast. I'm damned if I know how I controlled myself, but I managed to keep it together.

"Very good," I said, scarcely believing my words. "I'll follow you. I'll be right behind you."

And inside you, on top of you, lying beneath you, beside you, wherever you want me to be. I'll fuck you, suck you, smell you and taste you; tell me where, and I'll do it.

Her window rolled silently up, and she started the car and began to reverse. I went to my own car and quickly got in, turned the key.

In our tiny convoy of two vehicles we drove through nearby suburbs and into back streets, quiet streets, away from the main roads. No-one was there, there were no cars parked, no people walking, no dogs barking. It all seemed surrealistic, this journey to her place, as if I'd entered some strange covenant with this girl who was covered in fur. Would she howl in the dark, too? I didn't know.

Her car slowed, and turned across the road into the driveway of a two storey house. I drove past another thirty or forty metres, and parked my car close to the curb. Getting out, I looked around and the street was empty. The trees on the street were jacarandas, purple flowers already falling. They made a flowering canopy over the road, all very beautiful. I walked back under the dappled shade to her house.

There was a large entry door in the centre of the façade, with long windows above it. I guessed this was the entrance to the main house, with a grand sweep of stairs up to the first floor. She stood by the corner of the house closest to the driveway, and half way down that side I saw a small portico, which must have been the entrance to her downstairs apartment. Sure enough, she hurried forward, and gestured me to be quick.

"It's very private, you see, and if you're not seen entering my door, nobody knows you are here."

I didn't mind the idea of that, and, since it was early afternoon, I hoped Mama would arrive home a lot later, before moving around upstairs and I had to go. The prospect of several hours with the young woman was enticing, and I wanted to make the time last. I didn't know what she wanted, of course, so I was happy to lead or be led. Whichever way it happened, I was willing.

Once inside, she declared her rules. "I am a good girl, sir, I am not a slut. I ask that you treat me politely and not to use filthy words unless I want you to say them." She smiled, and there it was again, her radiant smile. "I sometimes get naughty, you see, and pretend I'm a very bad girl."

She took me by the hand and led me towards the small kitchen area. It was the first time our skin had touched, and her fingers were cool. "Would you like to use the toilet, sir? It is that room, there. I am quite all right for the time being, so you go first, if you want to."

I did need a piss, so I went to the bathroom and relieved myself. I looked down at the heavy cock in my hand, and smiled. You like a big cock, you naughty girl? I think you'll enjoy mine. I gave it a preparatory squeeze, and imagined her long fingers circled around it, holding me in her mouth. I resolved to tease myself slowly, to relish every dark, shadowed inch of her. I pressed my prick back into my pants, and wondered if she liked to fuck slowly.

I washed and dried my hands, and returned to the kitchen. She was sitting on the bench and had taken her top off, revealing a pale cream blouse with the outline of her bra underneath. Her thick nipples pushed hard against the cloth, erect already. She'd coiled her long hair into single thick length, falling down to her thighs.

"You may kiss me if you desire, sir." She was a straightforward girl, not at all coy. I suppose we both knew why we were here, in her rooms, on a weekday afternoon.

I moved to her, and she was just the right height on the bench to wrap her legs around my waist, pulling me into her hard little body. For a skinny girl, she was strong. We kissed, and her lips still tasted of the sweet treat from the café. Her little tongue darted fiercely into my mouth, and we thrust tongues against each other. My cock was filling, thickening, and I pressed my weight into her centre, grinding cloth against cloth, squeezing those tight little ass cheeks in my hands.

She reached around to my own ass, and pulled my wallet from my back pocket. She quickly flicked it open, seeing the money there. She took out five crisp notes and slipped them into her bra, reinforcing the transactional nature of her time, but getting the cash out of the way first.

"It's easier if you don't worry about money any more. I have bills to pay and things to buy, you see, and the money is for those things. It is not paying for me."

Putting it like that, I didn't argue, I didn't care. We could both distance ourselves, and doing so, get closer. Or we could both fool ourselves, and move further apart. I chose closer. She slipped the wallet back into my pocket, took my face in her hands, and slowed me right down.

With a strange sound from the back of her throat, almost a little growl, she carefully licked my whole face over, licking with the flat of her tongue up over my cheeks, my nose, over my closed eye lids, then down. She tilted her head, and I felt teeth along the side of my throat. She stopped moving and held her mouth in the same place, and the slight pressure of her teeth subdued me, slowed my breathing, gave me warning.

"Very good, sir, your heart beats and your blood is hot."

She sat up straight and smiled. "I'm getting horny, sir. What do you wish to do first?" A flitting creature then, and still so very polite. I smiled back. I was truly curious now, what on earth would she say when she came?

But I replied, stupidly, slowly, "Undress you." It was hardly likely that I wouldn't.

"We can undress each other. I enjoy looking too, and there's no rush." She giggled. "I've done my shopping."

"And bought six rolls to make lunches," I added.

"But no sweet treats to bring home," she said, pretending to be sad.

"I'm not sure about that," I said, as I began to undo the buttons of her blouse. I tugged the two halves of cloth up from her jeans to reveal a flat belly and the curves of her breasts in a plain cotton bra, slightly stained on the sides. My earlier vision was right, there was a dark line of hair up her belly, spreading like a delicate fan around her navel. I ran my finger down that seam of fur, and it was so soft, so incredibly soft. Her breasts, though, were fuller than I'd first thought, with a curved valley of cleavage between them. I could see her dark areola through the cloth of the brassiere. She was a skinny girl, her ribs showed when she stretched.