Sports Direct Seduction

Sports Direct at 9 PM on a Tuesday was basically a ghost town. The massive warehouse floor echoed with nothing but shit pop music and the squeak of my trainers on the polished concrete.

I was hunting for cheap gym gloves—proper ones, not the fingerless wanker kind—when I heard her.

"Can I help you find something, or you just here to waste me last hour of shift?"

She was leaning against a display of discounted footballs, arms crossed, eyebrow raised. Proper curvy bird—thick in the middle, massive tits straining against her red polo shirt, bleached blonde hair pulled back in a scrunchie.

Her name badge said "Courtney" but her expression said "Don't fucking bother me."

"Gym gloves," I said. "Can't find them anywhere in this maze."

"That's because they moved them last week. Corporate bullshit." She pushed off the display, jerked her head. "Follow me. And try to keep up."

She led me through the labyrinth of sports equipment, past clearance bins and oversized mugs with "WORLD'S BEST DAD" on them, into a back corner I didn't even know existed.

"Here." She gestured at a small rack. "Gloves. Knock yourself out."

"Cheers." I started looking through them, but I could feel her watching. "You gonna supervise?"

"Got nothing better to do. Shop's dead." She perched on a stack of boxed treadmills, legs swinging. "Besides, the view's alright from here."

I looked up. She was grinning—the kind of grin that said she knew exactly what she was doing.

"Bit forward," I said.

"Mate, I work in Sports Direct. I see blokes in cycling shorts all day. When someone fit walks in, I notice." She hopped down, walked closer. "You work out, yeah? Can tell by the arms."

"Couple times a week."

"It's working." She was right in front of me now, close enough to touch. "Got any other plans tonight?"

"Not really."

"Good." She grabbed my hand, pulled me toward a door marked "STAFF ONLY." "Because I've got an idea."

The stockroom was massive—rows of shelving packed with boxes, dim lighting, the faint smell of new trainers and cardboard. Courtney locked the door behind us.

"We've got about forty minutes before closing," she said, already pulling off her polo. "Think you can work with that?"

Her bra was leopard print, barely containing her tits. She had a belly button piercing, a tattoo of a rose on her hip.

"I can work with that."

She kissed me, all tongue and urgency, backing me up against a shelf full of football kits. Her hands were at my belt, surprisingly nimble.

"Fucking hell, you're keen," I managed.

"Been a long shift." She dropped to her knees, looking up at me through thick lashes. "Need to blow off some steam."

She wasn't subtle about it—took me in her mouth like she had something to prove. Wet, hot, her tongue doing things that made my knees weak.

"Shit—Courtney—"

She hummed around me, the vibration sending shockwaves through my whole body. I grabbed the shelf behind me for support.

"If you keep doing that—"

She pulled off with a pop, grinned up at me. "Not yet. Want you to fuck me first."

She stood, shimmied out of her work trousers, bent over a stack of shoe boxes. Her arse was magnificent—round, soft, framed by a black thong.

"Well?" She looked over her shoulder. "You waiting for an invitation?"

I wasn't.

The first thrust made her moan loud enough to echo through the stockroom. She was tight, wet, and clearly wasn't worried about being heard.

"Harder—come on—give it to me proper—"

I grabbed her hips, set a brutal pace. The shoe boxes beneath her started sliding, but neither of us cared. A stack of Nike hoodies collapsed beside us. Still didn't care.

"Fuck—right there—don't stop—"

She came with a scream that probably violated several noise ordinances, her whole body shaking. I followed seconds later, pulling out to finish on her lower back.

We cleaned up with staff discount tissues from behind the counter. Courtney was already checking her phone, fixing her hair.

"Store closes in fifteen," she said. "You should probably buy something so it doesn't look sus on the cameras."

"The gloves?"

"Sure. I'll give you my discount." She tossed me the pair I'd been holding earlier. "And my number. If you fancy a rematch."

"In the stockroom?"

She winked. "I know loads of spots in this place. We've got six floors."

I bought the gloves. And a gym bag I didn't need.

Best £12.99 I ever spent.