Confessions from a Lesbian Sex Addict

There is something inexplicably sexy about the way a Latina walks down the street. In London, you can spot them from a mile away; their hips sway from side to side with the natural rhythm of waves and sea breeze. Their trousers strain to contain the voluptuous roundness of their assets - these princesses walk as if they owned the street. And when they move they do own them, yes sir. Their heads are always held high, their chests pushed out. Their skin looks softer and sweeter than almond butter, how do they do it? I feel I could run my finger over a naked arm and then suckle from my finger their rich flavor. They exude sexuality with every step: maybe it's their cleavage or the deep dark manes that frame their lovely faces. For me it has always been the eyes that pinned me down to the spot and hardly let me breathe. Latin eyes command you to love them, to adore them.

You may call me crass, and I wouldn't hold it against you, but I had to have a Latina. It was the notch in my belt that was missing, and I felt I'd miss something unforgivable if I were to die without being held all night long by one of these women. I believe that good things don't just happen: you create your chances, and when the opportunity comes by you take it with both hands. And so I did.

I worked in a department store, and while that might not sound at all impressive to you, if I told you that it was one London's most exclusive stores and that I was in charge of the lingerie department you may at least see that there were ulterior motives for my career choice. Our customers usually belonged to one of the two groups: tourists or rich, bored ladies. The latter tended to be older, and why I don't discriminate in my sexual demographics, the former were the ones as good as gold for a romp. In the high street you can find all the shades in god's beautiful palette, from exotic Korean ladies with legs that go for miles, to curvaceous Caribbean beauties that taste of piña colada.

More than occasionally, luck would shine on me and an angel in the form of an unhappy wife or a neglected girlfriend would come my way. As a personal shopper I'd oblige to their every whim, from choosing a bra size to ushering them to the farthest changing room and locking it behind us. Sometimes, though, they would be chaperoned by intrusive friends who would be there to show them the line between slutty and seductive, and lecture them on the benefits of plain silk panties over lace thongs. I resented those chaperones - those nannies - for they took over my role, a role which I fulfilled proudly and to perfection. I was still to get a complaint from anyone. Women arrived unhappy, and they left well loved.

It was during one of those classic rainy afternoons that are so common in this corner of the world. An afternoon of drawn up collars and soggy boots trailing in mud onto our marble floors. The sky was dark and the air was gloomy; the atmosphere was dense with impatience and boredom. Afternoons like these make me particularly randy. What's there to do outside? It's better to stay in, huddled under a duvet and making sweet - or spicy - love to a woman. Afternoons like these, when the tourists have gone to seek refuge in their hotels and the old ladies have gone home to run away from their arthritis, are the perfect time for premeditation and action.

The rain tapped against the floor-to-ceiling windows while I was working the first floor making sure that our racks were well presented and our few customers were taken care of. It wasn't my job to tend to any customer. As a personal shopper, I had my hours devoted to looking after the exclusive clientele, the one who would pay triple digits for precious pieces of fabric.

As I made my way over to my favorite section - a black-themed series of lingerie that verged on a dominatrix style - I spotted two women standing in the corner engrossed in a conversation that could have only been of a private matter, judging by the hushed voices and furtive glances. Not wishing to interrupt, for a personal shopper should always be pertinent and suave, I stopped a couple of shelves away from them, folding and rearranging some of the intimate items that needed to be taken care of.

The two women were hunched over a piece of our finest, 'She-Said' series. The tall, blonde one looked too perfect, too shiny - fake, I immediately decided. Fake tits, fake tan, even fake ass by the looks of it. I wasn't interested in all that, not at least that morning and my eye eagerly turned towards the other one.

The other woman was a different story altogether. Slightly shorter than the blonde one, she was of medium height with long and wavy dark hair. Her olive skin shone under the fluorescent lights that hardly favor anyone. Her fantastic legs were curvy, full and long. Legs that could crush you, I bet, with thighs that would pin your face down while your tongue elicited the hungriest of moans from that red, full-lipped mouth. But what got me hooked the most was her ass. She was dressed in the tightest pair of jeans that inspired thoughts so impure that I had to bite my lip to prevent me from groaning. Her ass looked tight and soft, undeniably godsend and designed for my pleasure. Round and full, firm and generally so alluring that I almost reached out to grab it. That woman had to be mine.

"Chris, don't think about it too much, just buy it and you won't regret it," the blonde one urged the dark-haired one.

"But look at the price, Ronnie is going to kill me if I spend so much," the other women whispered.

"He has more money than hairs on his head, stop it. He won't complain after he sees you in it, he won't. Believe me."

"I don't know," the brunette said while hesitantly taking the hanger from its place. She dangled the skimpy - almost slutty - bra in front of her face, her brow furrowed in concentration. "It's just not me."

"Don't be modest! Come on, the least you can do is try it. It's not like we can walk out of here with this rain anyway. Do you want to ruin your shoes? I don't think so," the blonde said and taking the matters into her own hands she took the hanger with the bra and the matching, delicate-looking panties. "I'll ask if they have similar models so you can try more while you're at it," she said and walked away in search of an attendant. Anticipating this I dodged behind one of the highest shelves and waited for her to walk past me.

A moment later, seeing that the blonde nanny was far enough, I emerged from among the shelves and found my beloved brunette now bending down to reach one of the bottom racks, the stitching on the back of her jeans about to burst. God have mercy. I popped the top of my shirt buttons' open, just to make sure to even the ground. A bit.

With the chaperone now gone, I was given the chance to see 'Chris' in full view. Disregarding the world's sexiest bottom, she also had a beautiful face. Full lips, chocolate-colored eyes, strong eyebrows now scrunched up in deep focus.

"And what can I do for you today?" I said in my most helpful yet meaningful type of voice. I made sure to cast one of my signature smiles, clasping my hands together so that my arms would push my breasts up.

She was startled, it was evident that she hadn't heard me approach her, and her cheeks blushed in such a delightful shade of pink that I wanted to lick it off her. Clearly, this wasn't a woman used to shopping racy lingerie, and these unsuspecting creatures are my favorite, by far. They let me guide them by the hand, so candidly that it should be a crime.

I took another step towards Chris my face masked in neutral compassion as I said:

"I know," I said sympathetically, "it's so hard to make a choice. Such beautiful things to buy, and wardrobes do have the annoying habit of being too small."

"Yes, quite," she said with a shy smile while brushing a strand of hair from her face and tucking it behind her ear.

"Can I help you? I am a personal shopper for a reason, you know?" I said in all earnest, flashing the very best of my smiles.

She hesitated, which is almost a consent and much better than saying 'no'. I could see the internal battle between modesty and boldness. She wanted to be the type of girl who would buy lacy lingerie - to be the kind of woman who could wear lacy lingerie - but something restrained her.

"What's the occasion?" I asked trying to make things feel as casual as possible for her. I leaned against the rack, relaxing and trying the friendly approach. My smile turned almost conspiratorial.

Her cheeks turned a deeper shade of pink and still she wouldn't say anything. Instead, she coughed and turned her eyes away from me, clearly looking for the blonde woman to make a swift escape.

"Em—"

"A special anniversary, a birthday coming up?", I offered after I noticed the wedding band on her finger.

"Actually," she said finally returning her gaze to meet mine, "it is. My birthday is coming up."

"Your birthday?" I clapped my hands. "Happy birthday, love! Well, you definitely deserve a treat! But shouldn't he be the one standing here, buying something for you?"

She looked: "My husband is more traditional. He would be embarrassed."

"But, of course, he wouldn't mind seeing you in one of those? Ah, men. Spoiled brats."

"I guess you see many cases like mine?" she said her eyes glistening with slight embarrassment. She ran her fingers through her hair in a nervous gesture that I watched mesmerized. I wanted to stretch my hand and entwine my fingers in her wavy hair.

"No, I don't think I'd seen anyone like you before in my life," I said, looking deeply into her eyes. I left my words hang in the air for a moment. Taken completely by surprise, she looked at me incredulous. Before her mind could form any unfavorable thought, I broke the tension. "So, what were you looking for? We have things for every taste, but what you're holding there is definitely one of the best. Very classy."

It took her a moment to change gears. "Monica, my friend," she stuttered and gestured towards the back, "she actually went to see if we could try one of these models."

"I see," I said taking a step back looking at her from head to toe, stopping a moment longer than needed on her breasts. I took the hanger with the bra from her willing hands, lingering a second to brush her fingers with mine. I placed the sexy garment against her chest and looked at her. I could see her chest heaving. Her lips were parted, maybe in fear. Maybe in expectation.

"What are you, a C-cup?"

"B," she replied shyly.

"Really?" I looked at her chest again and cocked my head. God, I loved my job.

"Padded," she said, a playful smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. Was she being coy? Oh, naughty girl.

"I see. Then let me get you something your size," I said as I put the bra away and started browsing the shelves. I knew them by heart, so I would be able to find something suitable - suitable enough to get her naked - before the chaperone came back to rain on my parade.

"Are you looking for something more classic, or something a bit more daring?"

"Classic, I guess. I've never considered wearing something too daring before. I haven't tried anything like this before," she admitted after a short pause.

"Oh my, a virgin," I winked at her and she blushed.

"There you are!" her nanny shouted across the hall. "I thought you'd meet me by the changing room."

Great, Miss Fake Tits was back. Piss off, why don't you? But I smiled at her politely, asking: "Did you find what you were looking for?"

"Not exactly," she said curtly and turned back to Chris. "Honey, would you mind if we go next door for a second? I had completely forgotten that I need a new charger for my phone and my battery is completely dead. I can't be offline for long, you know me! You want to come, or do I meet you back here?"

Chris looked at me, "I think," she read my nametag and turned back to her friend, "perhaps Jessica here can help me."

I nodded with a perfunctory smile, my heart leaping with joy.

"Are you sure?" the blonde one inspected me with an arched eyebrow, and that was all I could do to refrain myself from shoving her out the door.

"Absolutely," said Chris. What a lady.

"Okay. I'll be right back, it won't be a moment." And turning on her high heels, the blonde left promptly with the bounciness of silicone. At last, Christina was all mine.

"Now that you know my name, it's only fair that you tell me yours," I said, turning to the beautiful brunette. She was in such trouble, yet she didn't suspect a thing, and that made her even more delectable.

She extended her hand: "Christina. Chris."

I accepted her warm and soft hand and held it between both of mine. "It's so nice to meet you, Chris. Now if you'll follow me," I felt her hand shake slightly, like a leaf in a windy day. I gave her a bedroom look, my eyes heavy on hers, my chest pushed out in a sexual display.

I dropped her hand and turned around as if nothing had happened. I picked up a couple of models, and called at her: "It's this way, come. I'll help you with everything you need."

Women, we are like homemade caramel. You have to simmer us slowly, with the right amount of sugar and wetness, on a gentle flame that simmers - never boils, never burns. So I left Chris on her own in the changing room for a little while. I heard her struggle and sigh in disappointment like all of us girls do when facing the fattening mirror and terrible light of a changing room.

"Can I give you a hand with anything?" I said patiently from the other side of the closed cabin as Chris went through what must have been the fifth bra.

"No... I don't know," she said with evident frustration in her voice.

"Do you mind," I started saying and pushed my way into the changing room that was unlocked. I knew it would be unlocked, that door hasn't worked properly for the longest time. Poor Chris was startled and scrambled to cover herself with her blouse, but I pretended not to see her panic, and acted naturally.

"I know how awful it's to try to shop on your own for the first time, and since your friend had to go, it's my job to see that you're as happy as you can be."

She looked at me flustered, and I did my best to convey that she was being silly, that 'clearly we're both adults and this is childish'.

"Do you mind if I see it?"

An uncomfortable silence was cooking, and I couldn't let that happen. Not now that I was here, so close to her, a flimsy blouse being the only thing between me and her olive-colored skin.

Silence.

"Or would you prefer to buy it without trying it on? You could come back and return it some other time. Maybe your husband can tell you how it looks on you, and if he doesn't like it, just bring it back. Nothing lost."

I smiled letting it sink in for a minute. You're a smart girl, Chris. Would you want your husband to be the one to scrunch his nose at you and tell you that your sexy lingerie doesn't suit you? Or would you rather have this complete stranger tell you now?

"Alright," she said, tense and resigned.

Slowly, as if her hands were still resisting her mind, she pulled the blouse from her body. I kept a straight face but my knees almost buckled when she revealed her chest, the sweet slopes that descended to sink into the black lace bra. Her youthful skin was warm and tout, covered in tiny, nervous goose bumps. The bra could barely contain her gorgeous roundness, and it dug into her skin. My eyes wandered to her perfectly formed shoulders, a handful of freckles adorned them like a meteor shower. They must have tasted of chocolate, of little specks of coffee powder, of cinnamon or whatever celestial spice that angels are made of. Her neck was long and elegant, mouthwatering, and her small ears were covered in adorable peach fuzz. Oh, but her face was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. Her almond eyes were encased in jet-black eyelashes and crowned with dense eyebrows that denoted character, even if she seemed timid now. There was a fire waiting to be awakened, and I would be very happy to put my lips together and blow on her juvenile flame.

"Jessica?"

She woke me up from my reverie, and with reluctance I tore my eyes away from her body to focus on what she had to say.

"Yes?"

"What do you think?" she asked nervously.

"Hm," I said and cupped my chin in my hand looking at her with a clinical expression.

"Please be honest," she said. She looked at herself in the mirror, not revealing if she liked what she saw or she didn't.

"It looks a bit tight, I think it needs a small adjustment, let me see," I went behind her and took her by the shoulders to square her in front of the mirror. I ran my finger down her shoulders and to her arms. Her eyes widened in surprise, but I pretended not to notice. I hooked a finger under the strap and pulled it down. Then I did the same thing with the other one, letting the straps hang inert against her soft, lean arms.

"What are you doing?" she whispered, shivering.

"I really don't think this one will work for you. Look at your shoulders, they're already marked. That can't be comfortable", I replied coldly, throwing her off my scent.

"Oh," she seemed disappointed. It was a gorgeous bra, mind you, but I couldn't care less for it right then. I needed it off.

"Plus I don't think you can really make a decision without trying on the panties as well," I said matter-of-factly.

"But I thought one wasn't allowed to try those on?" she asked. The inflection on her voice was so beautiful, clearly the voice of a woman who was used to ask if she can or cannot do, if she can or cannot want. Whoever was the man who had her, he was a right bastard in my book for having her under his thumb. What has he done to you, sweetheart, that you cannot see who you are? Who you can become?

"With me here, you're allowed to do everything you want," I said, and turned to leave before she could protest.

I came back a couple of minutes later carrying a new batch of models that I knew would suit her perfectly. This zesty goddess could make anything look good, I could have bet my condemned soul on that, but I wanted her to see what I saw in her.

"Chris?" I knocked on her door casually.

She opened a notch and took the clothes from my hands.

"Thanks," she said quickly before closing the door behind her.

I stood there for a moment debating with myself whether this was a lost cause or not. I knew better than to walk away, so I leaned against the wall, waiting. Waiting.

I could hear the slight rustling of fabric and the almost silent click as she closed the new bra on her.

Waiting.

"Could you come and see it?"

Gladly.

I pushed the door open and there she was, standing in front of a full mirror wearing nothing but black lacy panties and a black bra that left little to the imagination. She usually wore padded underwear, wanting to appear bigger than her unpretentious B-cup, but going against her wishes I had chosen a very thin silken bra and matching cheeky bottoms. The silk was a dear friend of mine, showing me a preview of her round nipples, perky and pushing against the bra. Could have been cold, could have been arousal.

Her body was a sculpture, handmade in some hellish workshop of temptation. Her smooth and tanned skin sank and rose in the right places. Her flat stomach had a nice tight innie, how I longed to dip my tongue in it. Her wavy hair fell down to the middle of her back. Lower down that soft slope were two dimples and then the glory of her ass. It was nothing short of magnificent, curvy and tight under the skimpy panties. Her thighs looked full and solid and in my mind I was already kneeling down and biting the inside of one of them.

"So? What do you think?" she asked

"Now this one fits really well. And it's not nearly as expensive as the other ones."