Primark Passion
"A changing room mishap leads to a steamy encounter with a fit shop assistant at the massive Primark"
Saturday afternoon Primark was a warzone. Bodies everywhere, clothes on the floor, queues that snaked through entire departments. I was only there for joggers—in and out, twenty minutes max.
Three hours later, I was lost somewhere in menswear, holding more items than I'd intended, when she found me.
"You look confused, babes."
Her name tag said "Amber" and she looked like she should be working somewhere fancier—high cheekbones, precise makeup, hair in a sleek ponytail. But the blue Primark polo fitted her slim frame perfectly, and the way she moved through the chaos suggested she owned this place.
"Fitting rooms?" I asked pathetically.
"Follow me. It's a maze in here."
She led me through departments I didn't know existed, past crowds of people having what looked like religious experiences over £3 tops, until we reached a quieter corner where fitting rooms actually had space.
"This one's free." She held open the curtain. "Give us a shout if you need different sizes, yeah?"
"Cheers."
I started trying on joggers—grey, black, navy—and was halfway into a pair that were definitely too tight when the curtain moved.
Amber slipped inside, pulling it closed behind her.
"Them aren't gonna fit," she said matter-of-factly. "Need a size up."
I stood there, joggers around my thighs, boxers on full display. "Bit forward."
"I'm efficient. It's busy out there." But she wasn't moving to leave. Her eyes were on my boxers—specifically, on what was becoming increasingly visible through them. "Though you seem to be handling the situation alright."
"Are you—is this—"
"I've been watching you wander around for an hour looking lost and fit. My break's in two minutes." She stepped closer, close enough to touch. "We can do this proper after, or we can do something about that—" she nodded downward, "—right now. Your choice."
The logical choice was clear. I made the other one.
"Right now."
Her smile was sharp. "Good answer."
She kissed me—precise, controlled, like everything about her. Her hand found me through the boxers, stroked once, twice.
"Fuck, you're big."
"That a problem?"
"That's a bonus."
She dropped to her knees—right there in the Primark fitting room—and pulled my boxers down. Took me in her mouth like it was just another task on her shift checklist, except she was very, very good at this particular task.
"Jesus—Amber—"
"Shh." She pulled off long enough to speak. "Walls are thin."
She went back to work, and I bit my fist to stay quiet. Her technique was efficient—no wasted motion, maximum impact. I was close embarrassingly fast.
"Gonna—"
She pulled off, stood up, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "Not yet. My turn."
She kicked off her shoes, dropped her work trousers in one motion. Underneath: a black thong and legs that went on forever.
"Touch me."
I dropped to my knees, pulled the thong aside. She was wet—properly wet—and when my tongue found her clit, she had to grab the fitting room rail to stay upright.
"Fuck—yeah—right there—"
I ate her fast, efficient—matching her energy. She tasted incredible, her thighs trembling either side of my head.
"Enough—need you—condom in my pocket—"
I found it, rolled it on while she braced against the wall, arse out, looking back over her shoulder.
"Quick and hard. I've got to get back."
I pushed in and we both groaned. She was tight—tighter than expected—and the angle was perfect.
"Yes—fuck—don't hold back—"
The fitting room shook. Someone in the next cubicle coughed pointedly. Neither of us cared.
"Harder—I can take it—make me come—"
I reached around, found her clit, rubbed while I fucked her. The combination worked—she came with a shudder and a muffled shriek, clamping down so hard I had no choice but to follow.
We stood there, connected, panting. Then she was all business again, pulling on her trousers, straightening her polo, checking her ponytail.
"Those joggers," she said, nodding at the pile on the bench. "Black ones, one size up. They'll fit perfectly."
"Anything else you recommend?"
She paused at the curtain, looked back with that sharp smile. "I finish at eight. There's a Costa round the corner. If you want to do this somewhere with more room."
"I'll be there."
"Don't be late." She slipped out, curtain falling closed behind her.
I bought the joggers. She was right—perfect fit.
At eight-oh-five, I was at Costa with two lattes, watching the Primark doors. She emerged at eight-fifteen, changed out of uniform into a little black dress that made her work clothes look like a disguise.
"You waited," she said, sliding into the seat opposite.
"Wasn't going anywhere."
"Good." She sipped her latte, watching me over the rim. "My flat's ten minutes away. You coming or what?"
Best Primark trip I ever had.