The CVS Girl Public Play & Hot Fetish

I just stopped by CVS to grab a few things—nothing major. Just another errand. But then I caught her looking.

She stood behind the register, casually scanning items, but the second I stepped up to the counter, her gaze flicked down—straight to the thick imprint stretching down my sweats.

Petite, but her proportions were something else. Huge, round tits strained against her thin tank top, the fabric barely holding them in. And those leggings… Painted onto her body, hugging every curve, gripping those thick thighs and round hips like they were made just for her.

She was an island girl, fresh off the boat—Trinidadian, with a deep, warm brown complexion that glowed under the store lights. Her dark brown eyes flicked back up to mine, slow and knowing, with a playful smile on her lips. Long black and white braids ran past her waist, moving slightly as she shifted, making sure I noticed her.

And I did.

Her nose piercing glinted as she bit her lip, subtly adjusting herself. nervously. But it was the tattoo that really got me—a detailed, twisting dragon inked right between her cleavage, rising and falling with every slow breath. The placement was dangerous, impossible to ignore.

And the best part?

That deep V between her thighs. No panty lines, just soft, thick curves pressing against her leggings, that perfect little camel toe peeking through.

She caught me staring. And when our eyes met again, she turned away—but she knew exactly what she was doing.

Her flirty eyes locked onto mine as she started ringing me up, but I saw where her focus really was. Watching her dragged her gaze over the outline of my passion pistol. It's almost as if she couldn't resist. 

She blushed, cheeks turning pink, but she didn’t back down. “Better now.”

Her fingers hesitated slightly as she bagged my stuff. She shifted her stance, squeezing her thighs together, the outline between them pressing even tighter against the fabric.

She handed me the receipt, and as our fingers brushed, her nails lightly grazed my palm—deliberate.

“Have a great night, King,” she murmured, eyes lingering.

I stepped out of line, unfolded the receipt, and there it was.

Nice package and her number was scribbled underneath.

I glanced back at the counter. She was already watching, waiting for me to see it.

I raised an eyebrow, smiled then winked, to let her know I had seen it.  Then I watched as she turned back to the next customer. I didn’t notice how hot big her ass was on that little frame. Small waist and big ass always does it for me. 

Yeah. I was definitely seeing what else she had to offer.

It started with a look, then a number on a receipt. Then came the texts. The pictures. And now, she wants more.

She wasn’t just flirty—she was dangerous. A nympho in every sense, insatiable, shameless in the best way. She had been in the U.S. for the summer, fresh from Antigua, but it was clear she wasn’t here just to work. She had a thing for guys like me—big, thick, well-hung—and she wanted to spend her time using me in every way she could before she left.

But it wasn’t just about size for her. It was about the thrill.

Public play. Risky situations. Sending upskirt pictures from the CVS parking lot, her legs spread like a butterfly, perfectly shaved, her phat, black-haired pussy glistening as she teased herself. I’d wake up to texts of her belly ring glinting under dim lights, her fingers spreading herself open, making sure I could see every detail of how wet she was - with some much detail I could tell she had just finished wiping herself.

Then she told me something that made my cock ache in a way I wasn’t ready for.

That she had a fetish - She was a cumslut and loved being bred.

Not just loved it. She craved it.

The texts started coming late at night, explicit, raw, her mind running wild with the things she wanted me to do to her.

She told me how she had begged a guy before, over and over, for him to cum deep inside her. How she whispered the filthiest things as he fucked her, moaning, pleading, commanding him to fill her up - but he couldn’t give her enough loads. 

She told me how she loved feeling afterward— the cum dripping out of her, her body used, satisfied, full—Then she asked me a question.Would I agree to it for our next meetup?

I didn’t answer right away. I knew what she was asking. Not just dirty talk. Not just raw, unprotected sex. But complete surrender to that primal instinct—to pump her full, fill her up, leave her dripping, mine.

And the worst part? The thought of it turned me on more than I wanted to admit.

We had already met up earlier that week.

A quick, filthy meet up before her shift at the dead-end street up the road from CVS. She had shown up looking too good—tight black leggings hugging her juicy thighs, no panties, nipples hard under that tiny tank top, her dragon tattoo peeking out between her heavy tits. She barely said a word before her hands were on me, stroking me through my sweats, eyes locked onto mine with that mischievous, hungry look. We agreed not to kiss because of her man.

She had dropped to her knees, taken me in both hands, and given me a handjob so good it felt like a full-body experience. Pepper shaker, twisting, stroking, her spit dripping down my shaft as she pumped me like she was trying to milk me dry.

And when I came? She didn’t just swallow—she drank it, gulping it down like a protein shake, licking her lips, looking me straight in the eye, and whispering thank you.

And now? She wanted more. She wanted me to breed her—deep, raw, no pulling out, no hesitation. And she wanted it somewhere public.

Lucky, we ran out of time. This chick moves fast. I should run, but my head’s still spinning from how incredibly well she sucked me off- she belongs to the streets. Her words, not mine.  And when I was fingering her? She was so tight, I could barely fit two fingers inside.

Before she got out of the car, the next meet-up was set.And if I went through with it? There was no turning back.She wants every last drop of me inside, and she wants me to spend a week building it up.