Jenny and the Big Bad Department Store

By Tara Alton


I was saving my money to buy this pair of eye-catching, baby pink strappy sandals with fabulous tiny bows, but my underwear was starting to disappear at an alarming rate and now I was going to have to replace it. I have looked for my panties everywhere, behind my drawers, under my bed and in the back of my closet. They were simply vanishing. In addition, it was the cute underwear, like my pair with the Super Girl logo on the front.

The only conclusions that I could up come up was either the washing machine in the laundry room of my building was eating them, or some neighbor with a panty fetish was stealing them between cycles when I went back to my apartment. There was no way I was going to baby-sit my laundry for a couple hours in that dank, grungy little laundry room, and I didn’t have the time to go to the Laundromat. I’ve thought about calling my landlord to complain, but he hasn’t even called me back yet about my leaky kitchen faucet.

Now, I’m down to the horrible underwear called granny panties. There was just no way that I could have a good day while wearing a huge pair of cotton panties with yellow daisies. A girl like me needed a cute thong to start the day right.

Therefore, I’ve decided to go to my favorite department store and pick out some new underwear before I have an identity crises.

I loved department stores. It was like going to a museum without paying admission, and if you were lucky, they gave you a membership card that you could charge things with and they offered you special sales that were only offered to its members.

What I really loved about this department store was the fact it hadn’t given in yet to the central check out lines and mesh bags, and the atmosphere was more about a lifestyle, harkening back to bye-gone days when saying you bought something at a certain store carried a cache.

The lingerie department was on the second floor. I headed to the panty section. Oh, they had so many darling new ones. I could just buy dozens of them, like pieces of brightly colored candy, but my credit card might not take the strain. I was trying to straighten out my finances with a budget, and I had promised myself that I would do no more impulse shopping. That was why I had to spend my shoe allowance on my panties, so I wouldn’t charge anything new.

I was seriously considering buying the cutest five pairs when a thought occurred to me. Maybe if they weren’t so cute, they might not be stolen, but I lived for cute underwear. I especially liked the mint green thong with the white polka dots. What was I supposed to do?

I was deeply lost in my dilemma and frowning off into space when I noticed an assistant store manager talking to a sales clerk. This was no ordinary talk. He was practically leering at her. What a creep! Moreover, he wasn’t bad looking either, if he could just wipe that sneer off his face. He reminded me of a frat boy, jock type who only got the job because his uncle owned the store.

I could swear he was hitting on her, and she looked so uncomfortable. Couldn’t he see that she wanted him to back off by the way she had her arms crossed over her chest?

Men, I thought, tightly gripping my five pairs of cute underwear. They were such a pain in the butt.


I’ve been hand washing my new panties so the washing machine couldn’t eat them or my thief of a neighbor couldn’t steal them. Miraculously, I still have five pairs. Go figure.

Now, I needed to buy a wacky t-shirt to wear to work. Once a year, my conservative office has a wacky day, where we get to wear fun things like slippers or crazy hats to work. This year they wanted us to wear a t-shirt with a wacky saying on the front.

So, I headed back to my favorite department store, knowing this purchase on my credit card was justified because it was work related.

I wanted something cute and spunky, but the t-shirts in the women’s department were so boring with their patriotic butterflies, birdhouses and even watering cans. What were they thinking? Yuck. I wanted something sassy like a junior might wear.

I headed to the junior department. Now this was what I was talking about with great colors, including lime greens, passionate pinks and bright yellows. Not to mention the screen-print sayings on the front like “Limbo Dance Contest” and “Hottie University.”

I was a little worried about the size though. A large in the junior department looked like a small in the woman’s department. I’m a not big girl; it’s just that I have a small frame with decent sized breasts.

The junior dressing room line was beyond crowded, but I still got in line. A moment later, I couldn’t believe it. These little snotty junior girls were giving me dirty looks, as if I was some sad old broad who was trying to dress young. I wasn’t. I had every right to be there. It wasn’t my fault that women’s clothing was made so boring.

Why do women take so long in the dressing room? These juniors were taking even longer. Not wanting to waste all of my Saturday afternoon, I decided to go the women’s department dressing room and try on my t-shirts there. Again, there was a huge line. What was the deal? Don’t these women have a life? Now I was getting dirty looks from the overweight matrons as they gazed at the tiny t-shirts I had draped over my arm.

This was ridiculous. There had to be somewhere I could try on the t-shirts in peace. I gazed around the store, my attention landing on the men’s department. It was practically deserted. There were no lines. Heck, I’ve heard of women using the men’s bathroom in a time of crises. Why not use their dressing room?

I headed over there. A sales clerk gave me a glance, but I acted as if I was looking at polo shirts for a boyfriend before I slid into an empty dressing room and peeled off my top.

In the mirror, I looked so freaking cute in these t-shirts. They were hugging my frame like a second skin.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the dressing room door. I froze and then peered outside. The assistant manager who had hit on that girl was standing there. I swallowed.

I managed a sheepish smile and stepped outside, wearing the pink t-shirt that said “Foxy Chick.” It was the smallest, and I had taken off my bra because I didn’t like the way the lines showed in the back. My breasts were right out there with every curve on display. Even my nipples were hard.

“I’m sorry I’m in here,” I said. “But the lines at the other dressing rooms were just so long and I really needed to try these on. I’m in a hurry.”

He gazed at my breasts and swallowed. Not in a dirty perverted sort of way like I thought he would stare, but more like he was looking at a piece of art sort of way, if you know what I mean. Suddenly, he looked flustered as if he didn’t know what he should do, but glancing at the tattletale sales clerk, who was standing nearby, he gained his composure.

“I’m going to have to ask to you leave the store,” he said.

“What?” I cried. “I need to buy a t-shirt here. This is the only store where I have a credit card.”

I gave him an imploring look. I had expected him to give me a reprimand and send me packing to the women’s department. Not ask me to leave the store!

“You have to leave,” he said.

In a huff, I slammed shut the dressing room door, changed back into my street clothes and threw the t-shirts at his feet as I left.

The Skirt

I was the only one at work who didn’t wear a wacky t-shirt. I had even ruined a couple of good t-shirts trying to make them wacky, but I wasn’t a creative person. I was the type of person who was destined to wear things other people made.

My manager asked me why I wasn’t getting into the spirit of things. What could I say? That I was caught trying on t-shirts in the men’s dressing room, and an immature assistant store manager evicted me from the store. I was sure this was going into my personal file that I wasn’t a team player.

I couldn’t believe how much I hated the assistant store manager for doing this to me. There was no way he was going to screw me over at work without paying for it.

I wanted to get him back where it would really hurt, so I conducted a couple spying missions at the store.

He was like the guy who thought he could hit on all the bridesmaids because he was the best man at a wedding. I didn’t know what was worse, his flirting with anything female less than forty years old, or his checking out the mannequins in the lingerie department. I even spotted him looking down the front of a teddy!

Then he did something even worse. Every afternoon on his break, he went into the food court in the mall and bought a frozen coffee drink. Then he sat in the same spot, looked in the same direction and scooted around in his seat every so often. It was weird. It reminded me of the time I went to see a midnight screening of Showgirls with a girlfriend, and every guy in the theatre was squirming around in his seat.

Once he left, I sat in the same spot and looked in the same direction. I should have known. He was in direct line of the dressing room of an upscale lingerie store, the one I couldn’t afford. The pervert!

After that, I decided I had enough ammunition to make my move.

Wearing a cute flirty short skirt and no hose, I approached his daily supervisory huddle near the time clock. I could see it in his eyes that he recognized me as the girl in the pink t-shirt. I asked him if I could have a minute of his time. What could he say in front of his sales staff? He stepped away with me.

“I need to register a complaint,” I said. “A group of teenage boys have been looking up my skirt on the stairs, and I’m not wearing any panties because my boyfriend keeps stealing them.”

He looked down at my skirt. His mouth opened.

I glanced at his crotch. Yes! Feeling triumphant, I turned on my heels and left, knowing he had to face his huddle with a great big boner.

The Shoes

Today, my boss actually gave me a verbal warning because I haven’t been paying enough attention to my work lately, and I had to make up a lame excuse on the spot to explain myself. There was no way I could tell him the real reason was because I have been preoccupied with how much the assistant store manager still bothered me, even though I did get him back in such a cool way.

I was so upset about my verbal warning that I didn’t know what to do at first, but then I realized there was only one thing in the world that would make me feel better. Screw my budget. I wanted those baby pink strappy sandals with the fabulous pink bows.

At the department store, I stood in front of the shoe display, wiping away my tears. No longer would I be a stalker shopper. I would go right back to being the impulse shopper that I was.

I asked the sales clerk for my size. My heart went pitter-patter as I took the box from him and found a seat. I had been dreaming about these shoes for so long. They had achieved an epic proportion in my brain. It was fate that we should be together because the store clerk told me this was the last pair they had in stock.

I was just about to fasten one of the straps around my ankle when the assistant store manager pulled up a stool in front of me and sat down. He looked more harried than usual, his hair tousled, his shirt rumpled over his frat boy muscles. He sneered at me.

“You have no idea the fix you left me in the other day,” he said.

“Yes. I do,” I said, confidently.

“I should bar you from the store,” he said.

“You won’t,” I said.

I fastened the other shoe and stood up. I grimaced. The shoes were actually a little tight. I strode past him. I was wearing a skirt again and I saw him glance at my legs, but I didn’t care. I was determined to buy these shoes, but every step I took only confirmed the fact that these shoes felt horrible on my feet.

I sat back down with a sigh and looked at the pink bows.

“Have you ever wanted something for so long that it became an epic quest in your head, but when you actually got it, it’s nothing like you thought,” I said.

“I think I know what you mean,” he said.

I looked back up at him. The sneer was gone.

Lifting my foot, I started to take off the shoe, but he reached out automatically and he started unfastening the strap around my ankle.

“I’m sorry,” he said, realizing what he was doing. “I started in the shoe department here and worked my way up. Old habits.”

I hesitated.

“Go ahead,” I said. “You can take them off.”

His fingers brushed my skin. I felt a chill. Then a twinge. Then there was a tickle between my legs. Oh good grief. I knew what this feeling was. I was super duper horny.

I could not be sexually attracted to the most perverted assistant store manager on the planet.

He was almost finished taking off my second shoe. Any moment, his fingers would leave my skin. What was I going to do? I didn’t want him to stop touching me, but I couldn’t offer it up to him on a giant silver platter.

“If you lick my ankles right now, I’ll do anything you want in the store room or in your office,” I said.

“What?” he asked.

“You heard me,” I said.

He looked around the store. I could tell he was actually considering it, weighing the options of being caught versus the pleasure of his tongue on my skin, plus what I might do with him in some secluded place. My foot was still in his hand.

His back stiffened. His fingers started to pull away from my skin. He wasn’t going to do it. He loved his department store too much. He was going to bar me from the store and I would never get to shop here again.

I did the only thing I could. I seductively wiggled my foot in his hand and closed my eyes. Suddenly, I felt him lifting my leg, either to bring it to his mouth or toss it aside, I wasn’t sure, but then it happened. I felt his tongue drag across the outer bone of my ankle.

I shivered. My eyes opened. I never thought in a million years that having my ankles licked in the shoe department would be the sexiest thing I had ever experienced, but my new panties felt as if they were twisting into a knot between my legs.

“Are you wearing panties?” he asked suddenly.

“Yes,” I said.

“Are they one of the pairs you bought the other day?”

I frowned. How did he know that? Unless he had been watching me.

Opening my legs, I hiked up my skirt so he could see them. He cocked his head over to the side so he could see.

Something occurred to me.

“You’re not a panty thief are you?” I asked.

“Darling, I’ve got access to hundreds of panties. Why would I steal them? I just want to take yours off.”

He righted himself and looked me in the eyes. I couldn’t believe I was about to say this, but I was at a breaking point. I knew this could get us both thrown out of the department store forever, but the image of him peeling off my panties with his teeth was too strong to resist.

“Then do it,” I said. “Take them off.”


“You heard me,” I said. “Right here. Right now.”

He glanced around the store again. Now there was panic on his face.

“Technically, I shouldn’t have even licked your ankle,” he said.

“Don’t wimp out on me pervert boy,” I said. “I know what you get up to in the mall by the lingerie shop. I’ve seen you look down the teddies on the mannequins. You’re up for this.”

I slid my now bare foot in between his legs and felt what I knew would be there with my toes. A strangled cry escaped him. Suddenly, he was getting to his feet, nearly knocking me over. Grabbing my hand, he dragged me into the storeroom behind a shelf of shoes I’d never even seen on display before. They had to be new.

Dropping to his knees, he pushed up my skirt. The air hit my thighs. I giggled. His teeth pulled down the front of my mint green polka dot thong. I thought he might drag it all the way off, but instead, he kissed me in my very special place. Whoosh! A wave of pleasure burst over me like a surprise shopping spree. No one had ever made me feel like this.

This was too amazing. He was kissing me, licking me and exploring my rump with his hands while I staring at the cutest new shoes I’d ever seen. My legs were turning to jelly. I didn’t think I was going to be able to stand up for another moment when suddenly I heard a ripping sound.

In horror, I glanced down. He had ripped my thong. I watched the torn fabric fall to the dusty floor. There was a lead pit in my stomach. This wasn’t part of the bargain. Taking my panties off with his teeth was one thing, but destroying them was another.

“You’re a size six right?” he asked. “We just got in a new shipment yesterday. You can have first pick.”

The heaviness in my stomach started to lift. Suddenly I was very happy my underwear had gone missing, because otherwise I would have never ended up here.

“What about trying on some of these new shoes?” I asked.

“Only if you turn around and hold still,” he said, standing up.

I bit my lower lip as I considered it. What was the worst possible thing that could happen if I let him have access to my backside and were those new shoes worth it? Raising myself up on my toes, I tried to peer into the upper boxes, catching glimpse of a yellow shoe with a pretty flower. It was my size! My heart went pitter-patter.

Coyly, I turned around, waiting to hear the tell tale sound of his zipper, but it didn’t come. Instead, there was silence. Gooseflesh rose up on my arms. Slowly, I felt him lift my hair from the nape of my neck and pull back my top so he could look down inside it. Then he reached over my shoulder and looked down the front at my cleavage. I wondered at first if this was some bizarre inspection before he would do anything else with me, but as I sensed his gaze lingering on the rise of my breasts, I realized this was beyond kinky. He was treating me like a manikin out in the store, but he had an all access pass.

His hand slid further over my collarbone, his fingertips just reaching the edge of my bra. My breath caught in my throat as he lifted the fabric away from my skin. I could feel his breath on my neck. It was all I could do to keep from moving under his touch. I wanted his thick hot tongue back on my own little personal shopper of pleasure.

I knew I wasn’t supposed to move, but I couldn’t help myself. I pressed myself back against him, our bodies fitting together like a movie star couple. He was built just like a spoiled, jock frat boy was supposed to be, and he had the most impressive boner I’ve ever felt.

“If you’ve got a condom, Mr. Assistant Store Manager, you’ve hit the jackpot,” I said.

Now I heard fumbling, a tear of a condom package and the distinctive metal teeth of a zipper coming down. His hands slid back under my skirt, cupping my bare ass. I was so wet that if I had been wearing panties they would have been soaked through. He probably had no idea that he had a screamer on his hands.

“And if you get down those yellow shoes with the flowers, you can pose me anyway you want,” I said.


Tara Alton's erotica has appeared in The Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica, Best Women's Erotica, Guilty Pleasures, Clean Sheets and Scarlet Letters. She lives in the Midwest, collects tattoos, worships Bettie Page and writes erotica, because that is what is in her head, and it needs to come out. Her website can be found at

Jenny and the Big Bad Department Store
© 2005 by
Tara Alton
All rights reserved.






Home | Fiction | Illustrations | Epigrams | Romans
Liaisons for Laughs | Random Frivolity | Weblog
| Hightower's Antics | Reviews
Pawtawnee Chronicles
| Poetry | Fiction Archives

| About |
| Submissions | Links

Copyright 2001-2011 Sliptongue
unless otherwise noted. / All rights reserved. Reproduction
of material, in whole or in part, from any Sliptongue pages without
written permission is strictly prohibited.