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Fugitive Hooters: | GeorgeTasker | 3

 

The sound of the shops doorbell snaps you out of your racy daydream. You remember that you are not the Cassanova boyfriend of Denise Richards but in fact an eighteen year old high school nerd working the late shift at the local Quickie Mart. The dream obviously got you quite excited as your jeans are uncomfortably tight around the crotch. If a customer hadn't just walked in you'd go grab one of the porno mags the convenience store sells and go relieve a little tension out in the back room.

You glance up and look across the otherwise empty shop to see who it was that disturbed your lovely dream. Standing just inside the automatic doors is a drop dead gorgeous blonde. The first thing you notice about her is her extraordinarily big tits. The massive mummeries strain against the fabric of the white blouse she wears, looking big enough to feature in Big Uns, your favourite magazine. The rest of her is pretty hot as well. She has long slim legs and a tight ass, well displayed in the skin tight black trousers she wears and her face is like a supermodels, with luscious red lips aching to be either kissed or have a cock shoved between them.

The woman looks back out of the shop as if checking there was no one around then walked purposefully up to you.

"Can I help you ma'am?" you ask, kind of nervous around the gorgeous woman. You can't help but notice that the top few buttons of her blouse are not done up and you can get a good view of the tops of her ample breasts and her deep cleavage.

"I need the gun you keep under the counter," she said.

"What?" you say in surprise, wondering how she knows about the gun the store owner keeps under the counter in case of robberies. You've been ordered not to touch it of course.

"I know you have a gun," she said and dispite the strangeness of her question you can't help but have another quick glance at her expansive bosom, "I'm a secret agent and this is an emergency, give me the gun!"

"I can't I..." you stammer, perversely unable to tear your glance from the swells of her tits visible from the open shirt front.

"Are you staring at my tits?" demanded the woman suddenly.

 

What do you reply?


          No I most certainly was not!

          You bet!

 
 
 

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