| The Salesman (Mf, cons)
Copyright 2001 Anais Ninja
George parked his coupe on the shady side of the tree-lined street
and lit a cigarette. While he puffed on his Chesterfield he counted
the houses on both sides, coming up with the number 28. If, as usual,
no one was home, he'd be back in his car and on his way home in a half
hour, plenty of time to have a couple of cocktails before going home to
He stubbed his cigarette out in the ashtray and opened the door. The
old coupe creaked on its springs as he got out. It was a decrepit pre-
war Chevrolet, nearly twenty years old. When he bought it in 1937, a
young go-getter's first new car, he never dreamed he'd still be driving
it in 1956.
George pulled his case out of the coupe's trunk. His case seemed to
get heavier each year, and not just because of the company's expanded
product line. In that first year after he was mustered out of the
service, the case held less than a dozen different items. Now he had
to lug around nearly 75 samples, along with some stock. Though most
purchases were made through the company catalog, which also got bigger
each year, the rare impulse purchase meant cash in hand at twice the
standard commission. So he had to lug around stock, ready-to-wear
undies. Fifty pounds worth.
George took a moment to straighten his tie and brush the cigarette ash
from his rumpled tan suit. He looked around the block, noting the
manicured lawns, new sidewalks, and identical houses differing only in
the color of the trim. He took a deep breath, let it out, and grabbed
his case, marching up the walkway to the nearest house and knocking on
Twenty minutes later George was lugging his case up the walkway to the
15th house on the block. Three women had slammed the door in his face,
one had taken a catalog and then slammed the door, and the rest either
saw him coming or weren't home, his repeated knocks going unanswered.
He knocked on the door and waited, counting to thirty under his breath.
He was about to knock again when he heard footsteps. The door opened
and a appeared, about eleven or twelve years old. She was a
skinny little thing, with and bangs framing her delicate
features. She wore a plain pink frock and tennis shoes, both streaked
with grass stains from playing on a freshly mowed lawn.
"Can I help you?" she asked.
"Hi, sweetheart. Is your home?" George asked.
"No, she's out shopping," she replied. "She should be home in a
"A few minutes kind of while? Or an hour or two kinda while?"
"I dunno," she shrugged.
"Well, would you mind if I came in and had a glass of water? It's
awfully hot out here," George said, figuring that he'd wait around for
a few minutes and if the didn't show up he'd work the rest of
the street and leave.
"Okay," she said, opening the door.
George looked around the living room, leaving his case there before
following the into the kitchen. The furniture was fairly new,
couch and chairs covered in clear slipcovers that protected the
upholstery. What really caught George's eye was the brand new Philco
television set that dominated one corner of the room. It had a huge
screen, easily 15" measured diagonally. That was an encouraging sign.
Less than half the homes George visited had a television, but the ones
that did tended to do the most business.
"My name is George. What's yours?" he said, accepting a glass of ice
water from the girl.
"I'm Sally," she said, opening a bottle of pop.
"Well I'm pleased to meet you, Sally. And thank you for the water."
"What do you want to talk to about?" Sally asked. She sat at
the kitchen table and sipped her pop through a straw.
"Well, I'm a salesman, dear. I go door-to-door so people don't have to
go out to shop like your is doing right now. Wouldn't you rather
have her home right now?" Sally nodded.
"What do you sell?" she asked.
"The finest in ladies' undergarments and foundations."
"You mean panties?"
"Err, yes. We carry a full line of those, too," George said.
"Gee, that's swell. Mine are all worn out," Sally said, standing up
and lifting her dress. She wore a worn pair of white cotton briefs
with a tiny rosebud pattern. The elastic was frayed, there were grass
stains on the bottom, and the crotch had a penny-sized that
revealed a pair of puffy pink lips. George nearly choked on his water.
"Are you okay?" she asked, letting the hem of her frock fall back
around her long, coltish legs.
"Yes, I'm fine. You shouldn't go around showing your to
strange men, sweetheart," he replied. Even though the house was cool
and breezy, he'd started to perspire again.
"Why? When we go to the beach I just wear my panties. says
"Err, I'm sure she does. But this is different." She pondered that
for a second.
"Oh, okay. Anyway, do you sell panties, too?"
"Not really. What we sell is for grown-ups only. I doubt I'd have
anything that would fit you."
"Mommy buys big sizes for me all the time. She says I'll grow into
them," Sally said. "Please?" She looked at him pleadingly with her
big brown eyes.
"Well, okay," George said, his resolve melting. She'd make one hell of
a saleslady some day. Besides, there were samples from the company's
line of imported French lingerie that might just fit her. The French
stuff always ran small, reflecting their domestic market.
George had a brief memory of his tour of duty, walking across France
with a rifle and a pack during the Summer and Fall of '44, and how
skinny the civilians looked after four years of war and occupation.
Probably a whole generation of Frenchwomen, malnourished when they were
Sally's age, were now walking around in size 2 undies.
As he led Sally out to the living room, he remembered the
girl he'd met outside Rouen, who traded a bottle of wine for a pair of
nylons. She didn't have a garter belt, and her legs were so skinny
that she had to knot the tops to keep them from falling off her thighs.
He remembered her gratitude after he gave her his C-rations, and the
taste of chocolate and semen on her lips when he kissed her.
George noticed the liquor cabinet was open and poured a shot of rye
into his half-empty glass of ice water. He took a gulp and added more
rye before setting the glass down on the coffee table.
"Okay, little lady. Let's see what we can do for you," he said. Sally
took a seat on the couch while he opened his sample case. He was about
to launch into his standard pitch, a reflex after all these years, but
caught himself. Sally wouldn't care about the company's "legendary
value and durability" or "built-in comfort stitching". She wanted to
see pretty things, not "demonstrate to your husband that you are a
thrifty housewife", like the standard company pitch said. George
decided to have a little fun. Maybe if he treated this charming little
girl like a potential customer, her might play along, buying
a couple of items just to be polite. Hell, it couldn't hurt.
"Okay, how about these?" George asked, unfolding a pair of peach nylon
briefs in XXXXL size. The size of a small tent, they were part of a
line he carried for his best and dearest customer, a rather obese woman
who never left the house.
"Too big!" Sally giggled. Her smile lit up the room.
"Yes, I guess they are," George said, laughing. He folded them up and
placed them back in his case, reaching for a tiny black lace g-string
that would barely fit a doll. "Too small?" he asked, holding them up.
"Lemme see!" she said, reaching for the frilly confection. She grabbed
them from George's hand, and before he could say a word, she had her
dress off, skinned off her cotton briefs, and slipped the lacy g-string
up over her skinny legs. It was too small, even on her slender body.
"You shouldn't...those are for grown-ups...Sally..." George stammered.
He reached for his drink and took another big gulp. He was sweating
"They feel all funny," Sally said, tugging at the sheer triangle that
barely covered her mound. "Am I wearing them right?" she said, walking
over to George.
"You're too for those," George said, pulling them off her hips.
"Black lace is for grown-up ladies who live in the city and drink
martinis and listen to jazz. Let's stick to pretty colors like pink
and white, okay?"
"Okay," Sally said. "How about those?" She pointed to a pair of ivory
silk French knickers, edged in delicate white lace.
"They're very expensive, Sally. That's real silk. But I might have
something in satin instead." George reached into his case again,
fishing out a pair of yellow satin knickers and a matching camisole
in size 2. "How about these?"
"Wow, they're so pretty. Can I try them on?"
"Sure, just take your tennis shoes off first so you don't get them
dirty," George said. He got up and refilled his drink, now just
a pair of melted ice cubes. Pouring a couple of fingers of rye, he
sat down and relaxed, sipping his drink slowly as he watched Sally
don the lingerie.
"It feels so soft and silky," Sally said, turning around to check
her reflection in the television's dormant tube.
"You look lovely," George said. He crossed his legs, trying to hide
"Am I wearing this right?" Sally said, walking over to him. She stood
next to his chair.
"Yes, perfect," George said, adjusting the straps of her camisole. His
hand brushed against one of her budding little breasts, a little nubbin
beneath the yellow satin. George gently straightened the waistband of
her knickers, and repeated his furtive brush, this time with a finger
between her legs. He felt her puffy lips beneath the satin, and he
felt his face burning with lust and shame. George took another sip of
his drink, hoping to put the fire out as Sally looked at her reflection
"What else do you have?" she asked, taking off the lingerie and
carefully folding and setting them aside on the couch. She
was naked again, and showing a complete lack of self-consciousness
about it. George pulled another item from the case, a pair of sheer
white lace panties, the so-called "French-cut" style, with leg openings
that extended over the hips, nearly to the waist.
"Try these," George said. Sally didn't have much in the way of hips
yet, but the see-through lace would barely conceal her fleshy
labia, something that George ached to see. It was better than nudity.
"You can see my cunny," Sally said, looking at her reflection. The
panties were a bit too big and went a couple of inches past her waist.
"Okay, try these," George said, handing her a similar pair in pink, but
in a low-cut style that hugged the hips. She handed the white pair
back, and while her back was turned as she donned the pink pair, George
pressed the white ones to his nose, trying to detect her scent. He
stuffed the into his jacket pocket just as she turned around.
"These are much better," she said. "But it's a bit scratchy. Feel."
She walked over and offered her bottom. George hesitated, and then
reached out and brushed her little fanny. Part of the picot lace leg-
band was folded under, so George smoothed it out with his finger,
getting a touch of her naked bottom in the process.
"Turn around," he said, gently straightening the waistband. His hands
wandered lower, a couple of fingers gently brushing against her labia.
"They get softer after they've been through the wash a couple of
times," George said. "You're really a lovely little girl. You're
going to grow up and make some lucky fella very happy."
"Thank you," Sally said, smiling and blushing.
"You're welcome, Madam," George said. False complements went with the
territory, but this was for real. He sipped his drink as Sally skinned
the pink lace off, folding them and placing them with the
yellow satin camisole and knickers. He'd already made up his mind to
give these samples to Sally, gratis. They were from last year's line,
slow movers to boot. He pulled another pair from the case, a special
Valentine's Day number in white satin with hearts, held up with ribbons that tied on the side. Sally had to stand in front of George
with her legs slightly spread as George helped her put it on. As she
held the ribbons, he managed to get a feel of her bare pussy, brushing
his finger in the cleft between her legs, not daring to go further.
"Beautiful," he said as she turned around and modeled the panties.
"So silky," she sighed as she felt how the soft material hugged her
bottom, turning around in front of George and repeating the process
on the other side. It took George a moment to realize that Sally was
rubbing herself through the panties.
"Let me," he said. She stepped over to him and he reached out
hesitantly, one hand cupping her silky bottom and the other probing
between her thighs, following a crease in the satin that hugged the
crease of her flesh. She closed her eyes and sighed as he touched
her, laying her little hands on his knee to hold herself steady.
"Feels good, doesn't it princess?" he said, rubbing her bottom and
labia through the panties. She nodded.
"Do you like it?" Another nod.
"Do you touch yourself down there? At night, in bed?" Another nod.
"Has anyone else ever touched you there?" She shook her head.
"Should I stop?" She shook her head again. George leaned in and
kissed her on the lips, on her chin, and on her chest before flicking
his tongue over one of her nipples. Sally gasped, the slight movement
of her hips against George's hands growing more pronounced.
"Oooh...," she sighed as George alternated between her puffy nubbins.
His fingers pressed deeper into her secret places, and she pressed
against the one that rubbed her labia, seeking her pleasure against
the salesman's fingers. He stopped suckling on her nipples to watch
her, eyes closed, rocking her pelvis between his hands. Her breathing
was heavy and a flush was spreading across her chest. She was close.
"Wha...?" she said, opening her eyes as he untied the ribbons that held
up her panties. The sides fell free, dragging the front and bottom
down, but the crotch was wedged between her labia. George gave the
panties a light tug and they fell between her slender ankles. His
hands resumed their caress, against bare skin this time. Dipping a
finger between her labia, he felt her wetness. Then he withdrew.
"One more special pair of I'd like you to model," George said,
taking another sip of his drink and fishing inside his case. "Ah, here
they are." He held them up for Sally's approval, sheer white nylon
crotchless panties, trimmed in pink lace, with a dainty rosebud
embroidered on the waistband. George held them open for Sally to step
into, slowly dragging them up her creamy thighs. He took care in
adjusting it around her hips and legs, lingering over the crotchless
slit as he smoothed out the lace trim. In doing so, his fingers probed
her labia and bottom, feeling her tighten as he lightly touched
"So good...," she cooed, closing her eyes and rocking her hips. She
steadied herself by putting her hands on his knee again, until George
guided one of her hands up his thigh to where his hardness lay.
"What's that?" Sally asked, gently grasping his cock through his
"That's my, err...thing," George replied.
"My pee-pee. Don't you have any brothers?" Sally shook her head.
"Hasn't your or daddy told you about the 'birds and the bees'?"
"The bees?" Sally asked, confused. "Mommy didn't say anything and
Daddy passed away in Korea." George got up and poured another drink,
his member still straining against his trousers. He took a sip and
unzipped his fly, fishing out his penis. He was circumcised, rare
among Episcopalians, and a shade under 6" long. He took another sip of
his drink and walked over to where she was standing. She looked like
a goddess in the scanty panties, and George began to see the
beginnings of womanhood blooming in her body, the hips starting
to widen, the thighs starting to swell, two puffy, budding breasts.
"Can I?" Sally asked, her hands poised mere inches from his member.
"Of course. But be gentle," George replied. Sally nodded and began to
explore his hardness, her little fingers gliding over his shaft and
cupping his scrotum. His cock twitched involuntarily, startling her
for a moment.
"It feels so hard inside," Sally remarked, in awe from touching the
first penis she'd ever seen, "but the head is soft and spongy. Is
there a bone in there?"
"No, not a bone. Just some muscle, I think," he replied. The actual
anatomy of the penis was beyond the scope of George's knowledge, but
not the usage.
"What's this?" Sally asked, holding his balls.
"That's my sack, my testicles. That's where a boy's seed comes from,"
"Seeds? Like sunflower seeds?"
"No, they're much smaller, like tiny tadpoles. The puts his thing
inside the girl's cunny and shoots his seeds, which fertilizes the
girl's eggs," George said, in a patient tone of voice. Sally nodded,
taking it all in, digesting the information as best as she could.
She was a bright girl, eager to learn and easy to teach, according to
her report cards. She reviewed the meager bits of sexual knowledge
she'd had at that point, consisting of some postcards she'd seen under
her best friend's brother's mattress (good for a few giggles), those
two dogs on the lawn last summer (though all that fur made it hard to
see what was going on), and the "Visible Woman" in the school's
science lab (parts of which disappeared half-way through the semester).
"Oh, now I get it," Sally said. "Okay, that makes sense now. But..."
"But what?" George asked.
"But it's so big and I'm so small down there." Sally blushed and
looked down when she said this, as if she was being excluded from
"Come here, princess," George said, sitting down in the plush chair
and lifting Sally into his lap. He gently chucked her under her
chin until she smiled for him. His marriage of 14 years was childless,
something he didn't really regret until this moment. And that was one
of his few regrets about his marriage. He'd wed Helen right before
shipping out for basic training. They'd known each other since
childhood, growing up blocks apart. It wasn't a loveless marriage, but
it was a passionless one. Helen's passion was those new paperback
romance novels. George had his job. And that was that.
"As big as a man's penis is, a newborn baby's head is much bigger,"
George explained. "And when you grow older, and your titties get
bigger and you get hair down there, you'll be able to take a grown-
up penis inside you."
"I'll bet I could take it in me now," Sally declared.
"No, not until you're older," George said, gently caressing her labia.
"But if a baby's head..." Sally scooted around in George's lap until
she was straddling his waist with her long, slender legs. Her little
pussy, framed by the lace of the crotchless and from
rubbing, pressed against the head of George's hardness. She grabbed
him, rubbing against her labia, trying to find her entrance. She
wasn't wet enough, and the drop of pre-ejaculation semen on the tip
of his cock wasn't enough lubrication.
"Sally, no," George protested. "It's not right, you're too young."
But Sally wasn't listening. She'd realized that she'd need some sort
of lubricant to get his penis inside her, and she remembered something
from one of those postcards she'd seen. Quickly, she scooted off of
his lap and knelt on the rug between his thighs. Taking his penis in
her hand, she guided it towards her lips.
"Sally, don't," George said, protesting weakly. But the excitement of
the moment got the better of him. Helen never once did this, and he
never asked, but memories of that little French girl, the one with the
knotted nylons on her spindly legs, pushing him back into the haystack
and him dry flooded back into his head. He leaned back in the
chair, making the slipcovers creak under his butt, as Sally's warm, wet
mouth engulfed his hardness.
"You taste salty," Sally said, releasing his glistening member from her
mouth, "like my fingers after gym class." She took his penis back in
her mouth, her teeth lightly scraping his skin.
"Oh, Gawd. That's so...use your tongue on the bottom, sweetie," George
groaned. Sally complied, further compounding his pleasure. He ran his
fingers through her long brown hair as her head bobbed in his lap.
Sally looked up at him and saw his ecstatic expression, feeling proud
at the power she had over this adult. Her primary concern was to get
him wet enough to slip inside her, and she redoubled her effort to
moisten his stiff penis.
"That should do it," she said, after releasing him from her mouth. His
penis twitched while she him, dancing in her mouth like a live
animal. But she was eager to feel him inside her, so she stood up and
straddled him again, aiming his glistening member at her hairless lips.
"Gawd, yes...quelle enfant," George murmured, lapsing back into the
G.I. French of his war years, as his moistened cock penetrated Sally's
bare pussy. She pressed down with her hips, the head of his cock
penetrating her labia. There was a brief sensation of pain as George's
glans parted what was left of her hymen. A tree-climbing incident when
she was nine and a spill on a boy's bicycle earlier that year had
partially torn her membrane, so the passage of George's adult penis
meant only a momentary twinge of pain.
"It feels so...yes...," Sally sighed, sinking down on George's stiff
"Oh, Gawd..." was all George could say, as he embraced Sally and slowly
eased his cock inside her with his hips. He expected the reflexive
reluctance of a virgin, like Helen had done on their wedding night,
crying in pain as she submitted to her wifely role. Eventually, she
grew used to his penetration, but only grudgingly. Throughout their
marriage, intercourse (missionary position only, of course) was a once-
a-month affair that was managed with the same efficiency as the rest of
the household tasks. Clean the bathtub, cook dinner, lay back while
your husband fucks you. Good ol' reliable Helen.
"So big," Sally moaned, lifting her hips and settling back down.
George held her slender body in his hands, guiding her as she moved
up and down on his hardness, his memory reaching back to that little
French in the hay, how her nylon-clad legs felt against his. One
of Sally's nipples was poised only inches from his mouth, and he
greedily suckled it like a newborn seeking milk.
George's hands alternately cupped Sally's little bottom and held her
slim waist as she bounced up and down in his lap, impaling herself on
his hardness. His mouth found hers, and he gave her a passionate kiss
with plenty of tongue. She was hesitant at first, but then she eagerly
submitted, letting him probe her mouth with his tongue, eventually
responding with hers. Her mouth was so soft and warm, tasting slightly
of pre-ejaculate and soda pop.
"You're a woman now, Sally," George said, breaking off the kiss. Sally
smiled, keeping up the pace of her bouncing in his lap. George looked
down to watch his hard penis disappear inside Sally's tight, pussy, a sight that he hoped would last for the rest of his life. It
was like hitting the Irish Lottery, finding a horny little vixen like
"Oh, Daddy...yes," Sally moaned, the pace of her thrusts increasing.
George had a twinge of guilt when he heard her call him "Daddy". He'd
seen all too many die during the war, and one of the things that
tugged at his soul was that some of them had kids.
"Oh baby, yes...you're doing so well...so good...my baby..." George
held her body as he impaled her with his hardness, imagining that the
little was his own daughter, taking her father's cock inside her.
She writhed and moaned in his lap, her wetness adding to the saliva
she'd left after him, leaving his rod glistening with her
moisture. Then she began to shudder and tremble.
"Yes...Daddy...yes...Daddy...," she murmured. A flush spread over her
flat chest as she began to gasp and then scream as she came. Her
little tightened around George's stiff cock as he lifted his
butt off of the slipcover, trying to bury his penis inside her.
"Baby...," George gasped, the rest of his words trailing off. He held
her tight, burying his penis to the hilt as he came. For a brief
moment he thought he'd left her unfulfilled, but then she began to
shudder around his cock, her thighs quivering and her chest heaving,
her tiny nipples stiffening as the flush spread across her chest. Her
beautiful face blushed as she came, tightening her around
George's throbbing member, milking the sticky semen that flowed through
it. Sally's orgasm lasted for a couple of tense minutes before she
fell into his waiting arms. He kissed her perspiring forehead as her
little milked him dry.
"Daddy...," she sighed as he held her in his arms. He felt his cock
begin to wane, covered in semen that leaked from her pussy.
"Baby," he began to say, cut short by the sound of keys in the front
"Sally, I'm home," the woman said. She was in her thirties, a lovely
lady with curly and wearing a pretty yellow dress. In her
arms was a brown paper sack of groceries, a stalk of celery peeking
She stopped in her tracks when she saw Sally and George on the living
room chair, leaking from her daughter's vagina. Just then, her
panties spontaneously fell around her ankles, pink satin with white
lace trim, and a rather well-worn elastic waistband. She looked down
at her fallen as if it were an everyday occurrence, stepping
out of them and kicking them towards the credenza. She put down the
bag of groceries.
"Oh, great. The salesman is here," she said, unzipping her
dress and stepping out of it. "About fucking time."
Copyright 2001 Anais Ninja