The Delights Of Buying Dirty Mags From Ladies free porn video
In the very early days, buying my dirty mags was not at all easy – in the specialist bookshops they had back in the 60s, it was very nearly always men that served. Even with the rare shops where ladies served, I was still too embarrassed. It was simply that I needed those mags – that was the only way I got my sex pleasure, apart from ‘lucky views’, and I had to have them.
It was only a few years later, in the 70s and then the 80s, that buying my dirty mags became one of my greatest joys, if it was a lady serving. There were lots of newsagents in London which had a good range of dirty mags and where ladies served, and I was a regular in many of these for years.
I began to carry a case around full of my current mags so the ladies could see them all when I tried to cram in the mags I’d just bought. I even pulled out heavily soiled mags to ask about ordering some more if She didn’t have them on the shelves at the moment. Once or twice I’d cum in my pants during those exciting pervy moments.
There were also a few specialist dirty bookshops where ladies served, and two of those I went to for many years, so that those ladies came to know exactly what sort of pervert wanker I was. By the 80s, I went everywhere in my ‘dirty’ mac – it was clean enough on the outside but spunk-stained on the inside. I also wore my flat cap, goggle-eye glasses and baggy wank-trousers, with holes in those pockets and my mac pocket. I looked every inch your pervert dirty old man, and I loved it.
(This was also my outfit of choice when I attended Worship Sessions, but that’s another story).
Also going everywhere with me was my case full of dirty books. These were the ones I was currently spunking my pants to, or spunking over the pages, so they were already in a state, some of them 4 or 5 times their original thickness due to the toilet paper crammed into them. They were covered in my pervy captions and cartoons and it was my dream that one day a girl, who served in a shop or who posed for pictures, would see them and the state of them.
The lady in the Private shop in Bedford was not keen to see in my case when I opened it to ask about more magazines to buy, and when I printed a swatch of ‘mag covers’ – that I’d made using my new PC, while She said “that’s Lindsey Dawn McKenzie on the cover” (indeed it was, my mag called ‘Cleavage Spunk Queens’) - She didn’t want to look through them.
It was only a couple of years before that Miss Lindsey on the cover of a mag in that very shop had made me cum in my pants before I’d even bought the mag, much to the dismay of the shop lady, but that’s another story.
Miss Debbie in Aphrodite was more accommodating, and in fact did look through the swatch of covers. She was sceptical that they were real mags, but I really enjoyed watching Her look at them, mostly mags from my ‘Spunk Queen’ range, including ‘Miniskirt Spunk Queens’, ‘Cleavage Spunk Queens’, ‘Micro-Minidress Spunk Queens’, ‘Big Tits in Tight Tops’, ‘Knicker-Show Spunk Queens’, ‘Raised Skirt Spunk Queens’, ‘Spunkstress!’, ‘Girlie-Goddess’, ‘Fully-Dressed Spunk Queens’, and many more with equally pervy names (I should have gone into business....)
I showed Miss Debbie many of my mags, pulled out of my case – not the ones with tissue in – to show Her ads for other mags in the magazine. These were genuine, mail order ads, but I always showed Her the ads next to a pic of a bare girl with my pervy captions on – ‘oh Spunkstress, this is where She MADE me spunk in my pants!’ Miss Debbie noted down the names of the mags in the ads and said She would order them for me, but none of them ever materialised, so maybe She was just humouring me, knowing I was getting pleasure from showing Her what I wrote in my mags without any intention that She should order them.
I loved my visits to that shop, always wearing my perv gear and leaving my mac open so that Miss Debbie would see the spunk-stained front of my wank-trousers, and see that I had holes in my mac pockets. Once She saw my wet patch after I spunked my pants in the shop, having picked a whole stack of dirty mags off Her shelves and then realising that She was sitting on a stool behind Her counter in a miniskirt.
She was on the phone and I don’t know if She saw me go into a trance, my eyes locked on Her and then shuddering as I filled my underpants with cum – difficult not to notice I would have thought. After that I always made a point of asking Her if She had any miniskirt mags – She did occasionally have Spick & Spans which I always bought even if I already had them. In fact I often bought duplicates because I had so many mags I couldn’t be certain if I had a particular mag or not, and I couldn’t take the risk of not buying it in case I didn’t have it in my collection.
I remember being off sick for a week or so and getting withdrawal symptoms about not going into shops to buy my mags. My first visit was to a shop in London where a bosomy Asian lady served, and seeing a row of big-tit mags on Her top shelf. The desperation with which I cleared that shelf and staggered to Her counter, to see Her bulging in a tight white top, caused several pints of spunk to transfer from my balls into my underpants as I stood at the counter. Lovely.
In the golden age of dirty mags, specially the late 80s and early 90s, there were many lovely big tit girls, like Miss Danica, Miss Debbie, Miss Judy, Miss Lindsey, Miss Lorna, Miss Louise, Miss Michelle, Miss Pauline, Miss Maria, Miss Caroline, Miss Debbie-Ann, Miss Stacey, Miss Tracey and Miss Lisa, who made me cum in my pants a lot looking at their photos. After seeing them for the first time, and spunking my pants parked up near the shop where I’d just bought the mag, then pants-spunking again and again on that first mag, I’d go a bit nutty going into the shop, maybe next week, and finding a mag with Her on the cover.
ALL of those girls I had that same experience with, being totally crazy about them after seeing them for the first time, making a mess of my pants again and again then going back in the shop days later and seeing a mag with Her photo on the cover, picking it off the shelf and doing it in my pants there and then, before I’d even bought the mag. That’s girl-worship. That’s a real perv.
That happened to me several times in the shop in Bedford, a few times in Aphrodite I think, in several of the newsagents in London, as well as newsagents in other towns and cities around the country. I could only do it if the situation was right – the shop needed to be empty, or nearly empty – but no problem if girls were in there. It had to be a lady serving – there’s no way I could have done it if a bloke was going to see me.
There was one exception to that, which was partly because of the girl on the cover of the mag, Miss Caroline Mooney, all but topless on the cover. It was an adult shop in Luton, and there was a lady serving but also a couple in there, who it turns out were business people talking to the lady about selling stuff or whatever. Seeing there was a lady in the shop – very unusual of course but as I say She was there on business, I had to take the opportunity to be as pervy as I could.
The shop lady had seen me before obviously, but I knew the other lady had noticed me when I came through the door in my pervert’s outfit – I’m guessing Her business wasn’t exclusive to dirty bookshops and so She didn’t visit them often, if at all, so it would have been Her surprise at seeing me – yes, it’s true then! You do get real perverts in these shops! There are such things as dirty old men who get all their sex pleasure ogling their magazines, rubbing themselves into pervert ecstasy! No doubt they’re always peeping at girls and soiling their underpants! Disgusting pathetic wankers the lot of them!
I do hope She was having all those thoughts, but anyway, bloke or no bloke, I was going to put on a show and started ogling very pervily at the mags on the shelves, picking up one after the other with a disgusting expression of sheer pervy delight as I gawped at the girls on the cover. I was having a lovely time, and I could see out the corner of my eye the business lady constantly flicking gazes across at me in horrified fascination.
Then unfortunately it all went wrong. I’m always excited in my dirty bookshops, seeing all the lovely girls on the covers and knowing the perv sex pleasure and wets pants they have in store for me, but putting on my show meant my erection was straining even more than usual. So when I picked up the mag with Miss Caroline on the cover, well...I mean this Goddess had done some incredible poses in various mags with Her lovely big tits and for me She was an absolutely guaranteed pants-spunk when I got Her mags back to my van.
So my little pervy act suddenly became real and I had a tunnel vision moment, becoming oblivious of anything and everything around me, and instantly started to fill my underpants with perv cum. I’m not sure if I’d ever pants-spunked in that shop before, and my mind is a blank when it comes to the act of pants-spunking on that occasion – did I crumple/shudder/convulse/contort /knees give way/head nod violently? Did I moan/whimper/groan/bleat/cry out/chant – “oh Miss Caroline, oh Miss Spunk Queen, oh Miss Big Tits”? I’ve no recollection as to whether my mac was open, except that in the right bookshops – where ladies served that is – I always did leave it open so they could see my spunk-stains and bulge, even wet patch if I’d cum in my pans looking at the covers of the mags before I’d got to the counter.
Worst case scenario – or looking back on it in safety, best case – was that my mac was open, my bulge was visibly bobbing up and down as a wet patch spread from its tip, my knees were buckling and I was shuddering as I moaned and moaned in pervert ecstasy. Meanwhile the shop lady explains that “it’s ok, he’s one of our regulars, and sometimes he can’t wait even till he’s bought the mag before he does it in his pants. He’s a very big wanker but quite harmless”.
The business lady is watching this pervert in the throes of perv ecstasy, aghast, horrified and fascinated at the same time – a real education in the ways of the most depraved and pathetic wankers. It’s a lovely dream – I wish I knew what had actually happened. You see, ladies who run dirty bookshops will soon learn about the pervy types they get in there, but certainly back then other ladies wouldn’t visit that type of shop – it was only because that lady was there on business.
So I’m guessing that’s the first time She’s seen a genuine pervert wanker, one of the ‘dirty raincoat brigade’ – a perv who only looks, has a huge collection of dirty mags and videos (and in my case, cuttings from newspapers, lingerie catalogues and holiday brochures, clips recorded off TV whenever a girl is on screen, videos of me spurting over my mags, peeping through my fence and wanking or on the street in my mac, or at Worship Sessions, cumming in my pants seeing my Goddess show, etc, etc).
She can see it’s true, what they say – the way a perv looks, wearing stuff designed to make public mac-wanking as easy as possible, the way he looks at the bare girls on mag covers, that entranced expression, popping eyes then glazed eyes, mouth hanging open, then mouthing pervy words and chants as he sees his favourite girls who’ve made him spunk his pants many, many times.
Was She expecting though, to see this particular perv actually cumming in his pants, looking at the cover of a magazine? I’ve no recollection what happened to me but....likely a bit horrified but maybe a bit fascinated too, that a perv can just look at a photo and the girl makes him go into ecstasy, She can see his helplessness as the spunk rises all by itself, just at the sight of Her, making him quiver all over, making him whimper as She’s got him on the verge of perv ecstasy, then the big jolt that goes through him as he pumps the first big gob of spunk into his underpants and wank-trousers, then his convulsions as the girl makes him ejaculate again and again and again, his subdued cries of perv ecstasy pathetic to hear but again fascinating to Her.
God, She thinks, I didn’t know that pervs like this really existed, I thought it was all fiction. I expect She resists the natural curiosity that might lead Her thoughts along to wonder what sort of life he leads, is it normal apart from this fetish (no, in my case) or is it a life dedicated to his worship of girls, his need to see girlie-bareness whenever and in whatever way he can, a compulsive need to look until he’s overcum with perv ecstasy (YES, in my case, and btw bareness = cleavage, knickers and bikinis, no more required please).
Does She imagine him with his pervy collection in his home, despite Herself, him seeing a girl out his window and his expression overwhelmed with joy at seeing a lovely sexy-dressed girl go by, after he’s waited hours, and knowing She will give him the perv ecstasy that’s all he needs, just seeing Her walk along, his contorted expression as She makes him ejaculate just at the sight of Her. Probably not. Nice thought though. All the Goddesses I’ve worshipped in person though know all that about me, well, maybe not the fine detail, but big picture certainly.
However obvious it was that I’d just cum in my pants, or not as the case may be, I still had to ‘run the gauntlet’ of the two business people’s eyes to get to the counter and pay for my mags. I guess I probably pulled my mac closed as much as I could – difficult to zip it up with my arms full of dirty mags – but then the shop lady will have picked each mag up in turn to tap it into the till.
Because I was in view of a non-bookshop lady, I obviously picked even more mags than normal, whether or not I’d already got them, to give Her the most pervy impression I could. She was standing just a few feet away, at the counter waiting to resume their business discussion, so She could see each cover as the shop lady picked it up, then glancing up at my pervy expression as the mag was handed back to me and I could ogle the girl on the cover some more.
When She got to the mag with Miss Caroline on the cover, who was responsible for the wet patch on the front of my trousers which was now beginning to smell strongly of cum, I pulled a particularly pervy and awe-struck expression – after all, Miss Caroline was such a Goddess and capable of making me ejaculate into my underwear in less than 30 seconds of seeing Her. The business lady looked away momentarily as my pervert grin slightly sickened Her I guess, and I do hope She was thinking ‘what a disgusting wanker, urgh!’
I don’t remember but I doubt I opened my case at the counter, probably bottled it I expect – a bridge too far. So out I went with the brown paper bags under my arm, hoping to be seen by girls.
Because I was driving around the country, different parts each day, I found I was visiting the same shop on the same day of the week. I went in hoping to find a mag I hadn’t got, and often bought newspapers for the Page 3 girl. So I asked the lady to save the Sport and the Sun every day and I’d pick them up on the day I was in town. That way She knew I only wanted the papers for the pics of the girls – I even asked that they keep them flat not folded so there “wasn’t a fold in the photo of the girl on Page 3”, which She agreed to do.
At the time I was visiting that shop every week I’d got a bigger case, more like a suitcase than a briefcase, so I could get more mags in and give a better idea to the ladies in my shops how big my collection of dirty mags was. In the shop saving my page 3 newspapers for me, I’d heave the case onto Her counter to put my new mags in when I’d paid for them, as well as lay the week’s newspapers flat on top, so She had a good look at all the mags I had in there and the state they were in. Unfortunately that case just wasn’t up to the job of holding all those mags, specially as I insisted on cramming as many in there as I could, and one day it just fell apart – unfortunately not in the middle of the street with girls walking by, gasping at this horrid perv in his dirty mac on a hot day with all his dirty mags spilling out of his case. That would have been instant pants-spunk if it had happened.
So I had to go back to my sturdy briefcase, which was always too full because I couldn’t bring myself to remove a mag from it, even if I’d been through it several times and it was spunk-stained from front to back – I needed to have it with me in case there was any chance of showing it to a girl – or shop-lady more like. Miss Debbie certainly saw inside my case many times, so I always agonised over which mag should be on top for when I opened it in front of Her.
Then I buried the mag I was going to show Her – with the ad in for other mags which I would ask if She could order them – several mags down so I would have to heave several mags out to find it, occasionally dropping one ‘by accident’ so it might even open at a spunk-stained, captioned and cartooned page. I always thought it would be too OTT to pull out one with a load of toilet paper in it, but She could certainly see there were crammed mags in there.
This also meant there was no way I could get all my new purchases in and actually close the lid, so, although She went to wrap the new mags in plain brown paper bags when I’d bought them, I’d usually say “no it’s alright, I’ll put them in my case with all my other mags”, and then when that proved impossible, I’d shove the new ones under my arm and head out, hoping to be seen by girls emerging from a dirty bookshop with my pervy purchases. Sometimes I’d wait in the doorway as long as I dared, hoping for girls to come along and see me.
In the early days it was very intimidating trying to get into my dirty bookshops without too many people seeing me. By the 90s I wanted EVERYONE to know I was a pervert going into a dirty bookshop to add to his already massive collection. I wanted girls to know I was a pervert mac-wanker who only looked at girls, and would spunk his pants under his mac seeing fully-dressed girls walking along, specially going clubbing when they wore such skimpy things. But at least if they saw me in my perv outfit going into a dirty bookshop they might guess the rest.
So I hung around for a few minutes not far from the shop, waiting for girls to come along so I could make a big thing about heading for the shop, all excited, mouth drooling etc, desperate to buy dirty books. As I say, then when I’d got a load, instead of cramming them in my case I’d have them under my arm and pause in the doorway of the shop, hoping for girls to walk along so I could emerge, ogling the covers of my mags with such a pervy expression, maybe even accidentally drop them on the pavement so they could see how many I’d got and what was on the covers.
There are two other special experiences when it comes to me buying my dirty mags. After Spick & Span mags ceased publication, they continued to sell back numbers, which was a godsend as over the years there had been a lot I didn’t have – largely because in the 60s I didn’t have the money. So I would send an order and the money for as many from their list as I could afford at the time, and then go along to collect them, as that was easy for me, being on the road all the time, and the mail order person was a lady, so I would have the joy of Her seeing this perv in his dirty mac rolling up to collect his mags and photos (they always sold picture sets too) with pervy delight.
At the first visit I discovered that there was an office full of girls, and sometimes when the mail order lady wasn’t there, my order would be left with one of the office girls. She would pull the pictures out of the envelope to read the list of girls whose photos I’d ordered to check it was the right order – “Linda Bailey?....” showing the photo of Miss Linda posing in a short skirt over a large tree trunk or something, so I could reply “ohh yes, Miss Linda, ohhh yes, ohhh what a lovely photo..” as my penis began to rise with pervert pleasure.
Unfortunately the conversation wouldn’t last more than a minute or so and the girl did not pull any more pictures out, otherwise there’s no doubt I would have spunked my pants – a girl seeing this pervert buying his miniskirt pics and getting into a state seeing Miss Linda’s bare knix photo? No doubt about it.
After a few visits that all finished, but I did discover somewhere else I could find the back numbers I didn’t have, as well as more Spick & Span photos. They had a mail order operation too – it was just a dirty bookshop up north – and that was run by a girl. I ended up sending Her a list of all the mags I didn’t have – so She could see just how many I had already, and the fact I desperately needed to have them ALL. She would let me know as soon as more came in and as often as I could, I’d go up and collect them, though it was off the beaten track for me.
Unfortunately, She usually left them at the shop counter and there were always one or other male staff serving, but on one occasion, She came out to tell me about a magazine that someone had soiled, and was that ok? YES, definitely!! On another it was to hand my order to me, and when She came out, I was ogling through a load of mags on the stands, and picking up a real big wad to buy, as well as a lot of photos from their boxes of miniskirt girls pics – because I couldn’t get there that often, I had to make sure I had enough cash to buy everything I wanted there.
It was lovely when She saw me doing that, as well as knowing all about my need to have every Spick, Span, Spick & Span and Beautiful Britons mag and picture set published since 1960. She knew I was a pervert wanker in my dirty mac alright. I could tell from the way She looked at me, that’s for sure.
All this began to change towards the end of the 90s when mags got more and more explicit, so much so I could only look at the cover and not anything at all inside, making it a total waste of money. The Internet was soon to take over, and while not visiting shops any more was something I missed an awful lot, it meant that rather than girls seeing me going into dirty bookshops, I began to exchange emails with girls online who posed for pics, usually on their own sites.
It hadn’t been since Miss Melanie that any girls had called me a wanker, and I’d been able to tell Her every detail of my perviness. Now I could tell girls online all about me, what I did with their photos and what they made me do just looking at them, and have the joy of being called a wanker again, by girls who posed bare and knew they caused wanking.
So I’m over shops now, and worship online all the time, which led to being able to worship in person again, after all those years. My Worship Sessions are the subject of others of my stories.
It was only a few years later, in the 70s and then the 80s, that buying my dirty mags became one of my greatest joys, if it was a lady serving. There were lots of newsagents in London which had a good range of dirty mags and where ladies served, and I was a regular in many of these for years.
I began to carry a case around full of my current mags so the ladies could see them all when I tried to cram in the mags I’d just bought. I even pulled out heavily soiled mags to ask about ordering some more if She didn’t have them on the shelves at the moment. Once or twice I’d cum in my pants during those exciting pervy moments.
There were also a few specialist dirty bookshops where ladies served, and two of those I went to for many years, so that those ladies came to know exactly what sort of pervert wanker I was. By the 80s, I went everywhere in my ‘dirty’ mac – it was clean enough on the outside but spunk-stained on the inside. I also wore my flat cap, goggle-eye glasses and baggy wank-trousers, with holes in those pockets and my mac pocket. I looked every inch your pervert dirty old man, and I loved it.
(This was also my outfit of choice when I attended Worship Sessions, but that’s another story).
Also going everywhere with me was my case full of dirty books. These were the ones I was currently spunking my pants to, or spunking over the pages, so they were already in a state, some of them 4 or 5 times their original thickness due to the toilet paper crammed into them. They were covered in my pervy captions and cartoons and it was my dream that one day a girl, who served in a shop or who posed for pictures, would see them and the state of them.
The lady in the Private shop in Bedford was not keen to see in my case when I opened it to ask about more magazines to buy, and when I printed a swatch of ‘mag covers’ – that I’d made using my new PC, while She said “that’s Lindsey Dawn McKenzie on the cover” (indeed it was, my mag called ‘Cleavage Spunk Queens’) - She didn’t want to look through them.
It was only a couple of years before that Miss Lindsey on the cover of a mag in that very shop had made me cum in my pants before I’d even bought the mag, much to the dismay of the shop lady, but that’s another story.
Miss Debbie in Aphrodite was more accommodating, and in fact did look through the swatch of covers. She was sceptical that they were real mags, but I really enjoyed watching Her look at them, mostly mags from my ‘Spunk Queen’ range, including ‘Miniskirt Spunk Queens’, ‘Cleavage Spunk Queens’, ‘Micro-Minidress Spunk Queens’, ‘Big Tits in Tight Tops’, ‘Knicker-Show Spunk Queens’, ‘Raised Skirt Spunk Queens’, ‘Spunkstress!’, ‘Girlie-Goddess’, ‘Fully-Dressed Spunk Queens’, and many more with equally pervy names (I should have gone into business....)
I showed Miss Debbie many of my mags, pulled out of my case – not the ones with tissue in – to show Her ads for other mags in the magazine. These were genuine, mail order ads, but I always showed Her the ads next to a pic of a bare girl with my pervy captions on – ‘oh Spunkstress, this is where She MADE me spunk in my pants!’ Miss Debbie noted down the names of the mags in the ads and said She would order them for me, but none of them ever materialised, so maybe She was just humouring me, knowing I was getting pleasure from showing Her what I wrote in my mags without any intention that She should order them.
I loved my visits to that shop, always wearing my perv gear and leaving my mac open so that Miss Debbie would see the spunk-stained front of my wank-trousers, and see that I had holes in my mac pockets. Once She saw my wet patch after I spunked my pants in the shop, having picked a whole stack of dirty mags off Her shelves and then realising that She was sitting on a stool behind Her counter in a miniskirt.
She was on the phone and I don’t know if She saw me go into a trance, my eyes locked on Her and then shuddering as I filled my underpants with cum – difficult not to notice I would have thought. After that I always made a point of asking Her if She had any miniskirt mags – She did occasionally have Spick & Spans which I always bought even if I already had them. In fact I often bought duplicates because I had so many mags I couldn’t be certain if I had a particular mag or not, and I couldn’t take the risk of not buying it in case I didn’t have it in my collection.
I remember being off sick for a week or so and getting withdrawal symptoms about not going into shops to buy my mags. My first visit was to a shop in London where a bosomy Asian lady served, and seeing a row of big-tit mags on Her top shelf. The desperation with which I cleared that shelf and staggered to Her counter, to see Her bulging in a tight white top, caused several pints of spunk to transfer from my balls into my underpants as I stood at the counter. Lovely.
In the golden age of dirty mags, specially the late 80s and early 90s, there were many lovely big tit girls, like Miss Danica, Miss Debbie, Miss Judy, Miss Lindsey, Miss Lorna, Miss Louise, Miss Michelle, Miss Pauline, Miss Maria, Miss Caroline, Miss Debbie-Ann, Miss Stacey, Miss Tracey and Miss Lisa, who made me cum in my pants a lot looking at their photos. After seeing them for the first time, and spunking my pants parked up near the shop where I’d just bought the mag, then pants-spunking again and again on that first mag, I’d go a bit nutty going into the shop, maybe next week, and finding a mag with Her on the cover.
ALL of those girls I had that same experience with, being totally crazy about them after seeing them for the first time, making a mess of my pants again and again then going back in the shop days later and seeing a mag with Her photo on the cover, picking it off the shelf and doing it in my pants there and then, before I’d even bought the mag. That’s girl-worship. That’s a real perv.
That happened to me several times in the shop in Bedford, a few times in Aphrodite I think, in several of the newsagents in London, as well as newsagents in other towns and cities around the country. I could only do it if the situation was right – the shop needed to be empty, or nearly empty – but no problem if girls were in there. It had to be a lady serving – there’s no way I could have done it if a bloke was going to see me.
There was one exception to that, which was partly because of the girl on the cover of the mag, Miss Caroline Mooney, all but topless on the cover. It was an adult shop in Luton, and there was a lady serving but also a couple in there, who it turns out were business people talking to the lady about selling stuff or whatever. Seeing there was a lady in the shop – very unusual of course but as I say She was there on business, I had to take the opportunity to be as pervy as I could.
The shop lady had seen me before obviously, but I knew the other lady had noticed me when I came through the door in my pervert’s outfit – I’m guessing Her business wasn’t exclusive to dirty bookshops and so She didn’t visit them often, if at all, so it would have been Her surprise at seeing me – yes, it’s true then! You do get real perverts in these shops! There are such things as dirty old men who get all their sex pleasure ogling their magazines, rubbing themselves into pervert ecstasy! No doubt they’re always peeping at girls and soiling their underpants! Disgusting pathetic wankers the lot of them!
I do hope She was having all those thoughts, but anyway, bloke or no bloke, I was going to put on a show and started ogling very pervily at the mags on the shelves, picking up one after the other with a disgusting expression of sheer pervy delight as I gawped at the girls on the cover. I was having a lovely time, and I could see out the corner of my eye the business lady constantly flicking gazes across at me in horrified fascination.
Then unfortunately it all went wrong. I’m always excited in my dirty bookshops, seeing all the lovely girls on the covers and knowing the perv sex pleasure and wets pants they have in store for me, but putting on my show meant my erection was straining even more than usual. So when I picked up the mag with Miss Caroline on the cover, well...I mean this Goddess had done some incredible poses in various mags with Her lovely big tits and for me She was an absolutely guaranteed pants-spunk when I got Her mags back to my van.
So my little pervy act suddenly became real and I had a tunnel vision moment, becoming oblivious of anything and everything around me, and instantly started to fill my underpants with perv cum. I’m not sure if I’d ever pants-spunked in that shop before, and my mind is a blank when it comes to the act of pants-spunking on that occasion – did I crumple/shudder/convulse/contort /knees give way/head nod violently? Did I moan/whimper/groan/bleat/cry out/chant – “oh Miss Caroline, oh Miss Spunk Queen, oh Miss Big Tits”? I’ve no recollection as to whether my mac was open, except that in the right bookshops – where ladies served that is – I always did leave it open so they could see my spunk-stains and bulge, even wet patch if I’d cum in my pans looking at the covers of the mags before I’d got to the counter.
Worst case scenario – or looking back on it in safety, best case – was that my mac was open, my bulge was visibly bobbing up and down as a wet patch spread from its tip, my knees were buckling and I was shuddering as I moaned and moaned in pervert ecstasy. Meanwhile the shop lady explains that “it’s ok, he’s one of our regulars, and sometimes he can’t wait even till he’s bought the mag before he does it in his pants. He’s a very big wanker but quite harmless”.
The business lady is watching this pervert in the throes of perv ecstasy, aghast, horrified and fascinated at the same time – a real education in the ways of the most depraved and pathetic wankers. It’s a lovely dream – I wish I knew what had actually happened. You see, ladies who run dirty bookshops will soon learn about the pervy types they get in there, but certainly back then other ladies wouldn’t visit that type of shop – it was only because that lady was there on business.
So I’m guessing that’s the first time She’s seen a genuine pervert wanker, one of the ‘dirty raincoat brigade’ – a perv who only looks, has a huge collection of dirty mags and videos (and in my case, cuttings from newspapers, lingerie catalogues and holiday brochures, clips recorded off TV whenever a girl is on screen, videos of me spurting over my mags, peeping through my fence and wanking or on the street in my mac, or at Worship Sessions, cumming in my pants seeing my Goddess show, etc, etc).
She can see it’s true, what they say – the way a perv looks, wearing stuff designed to make public mac-wanking as easy as possible, the way he looks at the bare girls on mag covers, that entranced expression, popping eyes then glazed eyes, mouth hanging open, then mouthing pervy words and chants as he sees his favourite girls who’ve made him spunk his pants many, many times.
Was She expecting though, to see this particular perv actually cumming in his pants, looking at the cover of a magazine? I’ve no recollection what happened to me but....likely a bit horrified but maybe a bit fascinated too, that a perv can just look at a photo and the girl makes him go into ecstasy, She can see his helplessness as the spunk rises all by itself, just at the sight of Her, making him quiver all over, making him whimper as She’s got him on the verge of perv ecstasy, then the big jolt that goes through him as he pumps the first big gob of spunk into his underpants and wank-trousers, then his convulsions as the girl makes him ejaculate again and again and again, his subdued cries of perv ecstasy pathetic to hear but again fascinating to Her.
God, She thinks, I didn’t know that pervs like this really existed, I thought it was all fiction. I expect She resists the natural curiosity that might lead Her thoughts along to wonder what sort of life he leads, is it normal apart from this fetish (no, in my case) or is it a life dedicated to his worship of girls, his need to see girlie-bareness whenever and in whatever way he can, a compulsive need to look until he’s overcum with perv ecstasy (YES, in my case, and btw bareness = cleavage, knickers and bikinis, no more required please).
Does She imagine him with his pervy collection in his home, despite Herself, him seeing a girl out his window and his expression overwhelmed with joy at seeing a lovely sexy-dressed girl go by, after he’s waited hours, and knowing She will give him the perv ecstasy that’s all he needs, just seeing Her walk along, his contorted expression as She makes him ejaculate just at the sight of Her. Probably not. Nice thought though. All the Goddesses I’ve worshipped in person though know all that about me, well, maybe not the fine detail, but big picture certainly.
However obvious it was that I’d just cum in my pants, or not as the case may be, I still had to ‘run the gauntlet’ of the two business people’s eyes to get to the counter and pay for my mags. I guess I probably pulled my mac closed as much as I could – difficult to zip it up with my arms full of dirty mags – but then the shop lady will have picked each mag up in turn to tap it into the till.
Because I was in view of a non-bookshop lady, I obviously picked even more mags than normal, whether or not I’d already got them, to give Her the most pervy impression I could. She was standing just a few feet away, at the counter waiting to resume their business discussion, so She could see each cover as the shop lady picked it up, then glancing up at my pervy expression as the mag was handed back to me and I could ogle the girl on the cover some more.
When She got to the mag with Miss Caroline on the cover, who was responsible for the wet patch on the front of my trousers which was now beginning to smell strongly of cum, I pulled a particularly pervy and awe-struck expression – after all, Miss Caroline was such a Goddess and capable of making me ejaculate into my underwear in less than 30 seconds of seeing Her. The business lady looked away momentarily as my pervert grin slightly sickened Her I guess, and I do hope She was thinking ‘what a disgusting wanker, urgh!’
I don’t remember but I doubt I opened my case at the counter, probably bottled it I expect – a bridge too far. So out I went with the brown paper bags under my arm, hoping to be seen by girls.
Because I was driving around the country, different parts each day, I found I was visiting the same shop on the same day of the week. I went in hoping to find a mag I hadn’t got, and often bought newspapers for the Page 3 girl. So I asked the lady to save the Sport and the Sun every day and I’d pick them up on the day I was in town. That way She knew I only wanted the papers for the pics of the girls – I even asked that they keep them flat not folded so there “wasn’t a fold in the photo of the girl on Page 3”, which She agreed to do.
At the time I was visiting that shop every week I’d got a bigger case, more like a suitcase than a briefcase, so I could get more mags in and give a better idea to the ladies in my shops how big my collection of dirty mags was. In the shop saving my page 3 newspapers for me, I’d heave the case onto Her counter to put my new mags in when I’d paid for them, as well as lay the week’s newspapers flat on top, so She had a good look at all the mags I had in there and the state they were in. Unfortunately that case just wasn’t up to the job of holding all those mags, specially as I insisted on cramming as many in there as I could, and one day it just fell apart – unfortunately not in the middle of the street with girls walking by, gasping at this horrid perv in his dirty mac on a hot day with all his dirty mags spilling out of his case. That would have been instant pants-spunk if it had happened.
So I had to go back to my sturdy briefcase, which was always too full because I couldn’t bring myself to remove a mag from it, even if I’d been through it several times and it was spunk-stained from front to back – I needed to have it with me in case there was any chance of showing it to a girl – or shop-lady more like. Miss Debbie certainly saw inside my case many times, so I always agonised over which mag should be on top for when I opened it in front of Her.
Then I buried the mag I was going to show Her – with the ad in for other mags which I would ask if She could order them – several mags down so I would have to heave several mags out to find it, occasionally dropping one ‘by accident’ so it might even open at a spunk-stained, captioned and cartooned page. I always thought it would be too OTT to pull out one with a load of toilet paper in it, but She could certainly see there were crammed mags in there.
This also meant there was no way I could get all my new purchases in and actually close the lid, so, although She went to wrap the new mags in plain brown paper bags when I’d bought them, I’d usually say “no it’s alright, I’ll put them in my case with all my other mags”, and then when that proved impossible, I’d shove the new ones under my arm and head out, hoping to be seen by girls emerging from a dirty bookshop with my pervy purchases. Sometimes I’d wait in the doorway as long as I dared, hoping for girls to come along and see me.
In the early days it was very intimidating trying to get into my dirty bookshops without too many people seeing me. By the 90s I wanted EVERYONE to know I was a pervert going into a dirty bookshop to add to his already massive collection. I wanted girls to know I was a pervert mac-wanker who only looked at girls, and would spunk his pants under his mac seeing fully-dressed girls walking along, specially going clubbing when they wore such skimpy things. But at least if they saw me in my perv outfit going into a dirty bookshop they might guess the rest.
So I hung around for a few minutes not far from the shop, waiting for girls to come along so I could make a big thing about heading for the shop, all excited, mouth drooling etc, desperate to buy dirty books. As I say, then when I’d got a load, instead of cramming them in my case I’d have them under my arm and pause in the doorway of the shop, hoping for girls to walk along so I could emerge, ogling the covers of my mags with such a pervy expression, maybe even accidentally drop them on the pavement so they could see how many I’d got and what was on the covers.
There are two other special experiences when it comes to me buying my dirty mags. After Spick & Span mags ceased publication, they continued to sell back numbers, which was a godsend as over the years there had been a lot I didn’t have – largely because in the 60s I didn’t have the money. So I would send an order and the money for as many from their list as I could afford at the time, and then go along to collect them, as that was easy for me, being on the road all the time, and the mail order person was a lady, so I would have the joy of Her seeing this perv in his dirty mac rolling up to collect his mags and photos (they always sold picture sets too) with pervy delight.
At the first visit I discovered that there was an office full of girls, and sometimes when the mail order lady wasn’t there, my order would be left with one of the office girls. She would pull the pictures out of the envelope to read the list of girls whose photos I’d ordered to check it was the right order – “Linda Bailey?....” showing the photo of Miss Linda posing in a short skirt over a large tree trunk or something, so I could reply “ohh yes, Miss Linda, ohhh yes, ohhh what a lovely photo..” as my penis began to rise with pervert pleasure.
Unfortunately the conversation wouldn’t last more than a minute or so and the girl did not pull any more pictures out, otherwise there’s no doubt I would have spunked my pants – a girl seeing this pervert buying his miniskirt pics and getting into a state seeing Miss Linda’s bare knix photo? No doubt about it.
After a few visits that all finished, but I did discover somewhere else I could find the back numbers I didn’t have, as well as more Spick & Span photos. They had a mail order operation too – it was just a dirty bookshop up north – and that was run by a girl. I ended up sending Her a list of all the mags I didn’t have – so She could see just how many I had already, and the fact I desperately needed to have them ALL. She would let me know as soon as more came in and as often as I could, I’d go up and collect them, though it was off the beaten track for me.
Unfortunately, She usually left them at the shop counter and there were always one or other male staff serving, but on one occasion, She came out to tell me about a magazine that someone had soiled, and was that ok? YES, definitely!! On another it was to hand my order to me, and when She came out, I was ogling through a load of mags on the stands, and picking up a real big wad to buy, as well as a lot of photos from their boxes of miniskirt girls pics – because I couldn’t get there that often, I had to make sure I had enough cash to buy everything I wanted there.
It was lovely when She saw me doing that, as well as knowing all about my need to have every Spick, Span, Spick & Span and Beautiful Britons mag and picture set published since 1960. She knew I was a pervert wanker in my dirty mac alright. I could tell from the way She looked at me, that’s for sure.
All this began to change towards the end of the 90s when mags got more and more explicit, so much so I could only look at the cover and not anything at all inside, making it a total waste of money. The Internet was soon to take over, and while not visiting shops any more was something I missed an awful lot, it meant that rather than girls seeing me going into dirty bookshops, I began to exchange emails with girls online who posed for pics, usually on their own sites.
It hadn’t been since Miss Melanie that any girls had called me a wanker, and I’d been able to tell Her every detail of my perviness. Now I could tell girls online all about me, what I did with their photos and what they made me do just looking at them, and have the joy of being called a wanker again, by girls who posed bare and knew they caused wanking.
So I’m over shops now, and worship online all the time, which led to being able to worship in person again, after all those years. My Worship Sessions are the subject of others of my stories.
Libbie
- 21.12.2020
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