It was an old shop in a new part of town - an anachronism, a dim and musty place
of knick-knacks and old things.  I loved the place.  I liked the atmosphere, and
I loved browsing its shelves for old artifacts.  I also liked teasing and
flirting with the owner's wife.  Her husband was as old and fusty as the shop
itself; his wife was... well, unexpected.  For a start, she was from the
Continent - Dutch, judging by the accent.  He was in his sixties, if not
seventies; she was much younger, perhaps in her late forties. No matter - she
dressed in the old style, to fit in better with the tourists that the shop
'fleeced'. Oh boy, did they fleece the tourists!  This was a tourist town.  The
Castle, a part-time seat of the Monarchy, was only just up the road, and
everything about this small town was about parting the tourists, the "grockles"
in local parlance, from their money. The trouble was, for me, that they were very
good at it - extracting the money, that is.  As a local - from the next town
anyway - I had to bargain pretty hard to get the odds and ends that I wanted at a
sensible price.  It helped to speak in a local accent, to be sure, but even then
it required quite a bit of persuasion.  At Christmas time, it was even worse. I
was visiting the shop for the second time in a matter of a few days, because I
had spotted a rather nice rose-quartz Buddha and I had come back for it - that
and another chance to tease Jo. We had been on first name terms for some months,
a fact that left her husband less than pleased.  He just called me 'Mr', a term
that in this country borders on insulting.  Myself, I couldn't have cared less. 
I would have put up with a lot more than that minor insult just to chat up the
vivacious Jo. That wasn't really her name, just the opening few syllables; the
rest defeated my tongue, so "Jo" it had become.  Like everyone else, she just
called me "Sven".  I describe her as vivacious, and she was, but in an older,
more comfortable way.  Her family had all grown up and left home.  I think I had
seen a daughter in the shop once. There is a joke about inheriting a father's
looks and a mother's brains; she certainly had her father's looks.  If she had
her mother's brains, she was lucky.  Jo was sharp - by that I mean quick. 
Quick-witted, quick in business - she was the boss.  But she was clever; the old
man thought he was in charge, and she was content to let it be that way.  She was
also "comfortable" in that she didn't worry about her figure.  She was not
unattractive, just nicely in proportion - not thin but, in fact, unremarkable.
But enough of the gossip.  My purpose had been not so much to buy the Buddha,
which I had in mind to do, but rather to see if amongst the other detritus there
was a second one.  An old friend collected such items. If I could find just such
a pair, and at Christmas, I would be more than happy.  Mind you, if I did find
them, Jo would know the greater value of the pair, and she'd have a damn good go
at fleecing me. So I was enjoying myself, completely oblivious to the time, the
weather (it had been damp and drizzly, with a little fog or mist off the river
when I had come in earlier), and the gathering dark. I was at the back of the
shop, well away from the front, and, to be truthful, part of my mind was still
taken up with the sight I had been presented with about half an hour earlier.  Jo
had been behind a display case when I had asked about an item that was close to
my edge.  She had leaned over on tip-toe to get a better look, and I had been
gifted with the most wonderful close up of a chest that stretched to breakfast
time.  She was wearing a loose blouse and, as I now knew, no bra.  Nothing! 
Zilch!  As she leaned forward, the most beautiful pair of breasts were there,
exposed to my gaze, with nipples a little firm from the attention of the blouse. 
They were magnificently framed by the rather fetching tinsel Jo was wearing. She
had been decorating the shop for the Christmas festivities and had had a string
left over; she had decided it looked better on her than on the window. She
noticed that I had simply stopped speaking and was frozen still with my jaw
dropped.  I mean, flirting was one thing, but this?...  Well, hell's teeth, we
were both married, and my wife was two doors down talking to her boss, and her
husband was... well, he wasn't here!  Jo looked at me and burst out laughing.
"You men, you're all the same!  One flash of tits and your mind is a blank!"  I'm
afraid all I could do was splutter and, at the same time, go all colours at the
red end of the spectrum.  She stayed, toying with my mind for several seconds
more, and then moved back to a rather more decorous position.  I had totally lost
the plot and given up, I have to say, rather embarrassed, and had moved off to
the back of the shop.  Jo was still giggling some time later. Humming to myself,
I turned round and ended up, off-balance, in Jo's arms.  She had come up behind
me, and I had failed to hear her while my mind was still far away, mesmerised by
those gorgeous charms.  Now I was pressed against them.  Panicking, I moved
backwards, catching my heel on something low down, and fell flat on my back,
clutching at Jo as I did so.  Fortunately I failed to make contact with her and
just ended up in an untidy heap.  Any thoughts of flirting - appearing suave,
debonair, or whatever - became lost in the stars I saw as I hit my head a hell of
a whack on some unseen object behind me.  Great, really great - here I was hoping
to have a little fun, and I ended up looking a complete prat - just my luck! As
my head cleared, I became aware of Jo, very concerned, kneeling beside me in the
semi-darkness that now pervaded the back end of the shop. "Sven, are you all
right?" she said softly. "Of course I'm all right, Jo," I replied, but thinking
to myself, 'You dickhead!  What a cack-handed way to appear, just when you were
trying to impress!' I sat up and ended up nose-to-chest with the cause of my
downfall.  Jo put her arms gently round my head and quietly pulled my head to her
breast. "Easy," she said, "you've just banged your head quite hard. Don't move
for a moment." 'Jo,' I thought, 'if this place caught fire, I would happily end
my days with my nose in your cleavage.'  Out loud, I just sighed a little, my
nose about two and a half inches from the nipples that were close to heaven.  She
continued to hold me to her, even as I moved my head slightly to one side.  I
felt her nipple stiffen and grow as my cheek rubbed against it.  Turning
slightly, I put my lips against it, through the material of her blouse, and
suckled gently. She moaned lightly, and pulled my face tighter to her breast.  I
put my hand up and cupped it slightly, as she shivered gently at my touch.  She
moved a little as I moved my other hand down across her stomach, softly rubbing a
circle as I went.  Rising on her knees a little, she pushed forward against my
hand, as, through her skirt, I now rubbed her very centre. She gave another
little sigh and moved one hand from my head down across my front, brushing the
crotch of my jeans, now bearing witness to the effect the closeness to her
breasts was having to me. "Sven!" she said, with a little note of outrage in her
voice, which was quickly lost in a groan as I rubbed her breast a little more
firmly.  She let go of my head and, moving back a little from me, opened the
front of her top, and then moved my head back towards her.  I licked and teased
her nipples, first one, then the other, and marvelled as they grew hard and firm.
 She gasped in pleasure as I nibbled them gently, so gently. I moved now to a
kneeling position and kissed her full on the mouth, nibbling her bottom lip as we
kissed passionately, lost in the moment.  I felt her hands back on my jeans,
undoing my belt and then the snap and zipper, allowing her hands access to the
rigid evidence of my, by now, intense arousal.  Now it was my turn to gasp a
little as she ran her finger nails down the shaft and across my thigh. Taking her
lead, I ran my hand under her skirt and up the front of her leg.  I was totally
taken aback to run into, not panties, but a very damp mass of pubic hair covering
the open mound at the top of her legs.  My fingers slipped inside easily and she
moaned more loudly and squirmed as I found her sensitive spots.  I slipped my
fingers back out and brought them to my lips and sucked that beautiful nectar
from them. She pushed me gently back onto the floor, leaned forward, and took me
in her mouth, swirling her tongue around the head. Realising the sensation was
almost more than I could bear, she gathered her skirt and, holding it out of the
way, hunkered forward to either side of my legs.  She gently lowered herself into
place, and I nearly lost everything as her hot lips swallowed me in.  She leaned
forward and dangled a breast to my lips and I nipped at it gently.  She
contracted on my penis as I did so, and I thrust up into her.  She met me
eagerly, and we consummated our lust quickly, without finesse, both jerking to
orgasm, lost in each others passion.  She fell forward, still holding my
shoulders, and we breathed deeply, trying to regain control of our respective
heartbeats. First to recover, I said, "Jo, what if--". She stopped me with a
finger to my lips and said, "I shut the shop before I came back.  That was what I
was coming to tell you, that I was closing up." I tried to get up and help her
off, but she giggled that lovely giggle again and contracted her muscles on me. 
As she felt me move inside, she said, "Oh good - I can never get Frank to manage
more than once.  You'll have to come back again for your Christmas present." And
do you know what, my friends?  I did, and I have once or twice more since that
rainy December afternoon.