[quote]Finally! I get to share this story! So my girlfriend and I were in the early stages of our relationship, you know, where we spend roughly 75% of our time looking for somewhat discreet places to just -blam!- each other like sex-crazed animals. Whether it be under the stairs, behind the pool in the back yard, in the car, or up in the attic, we were always on the lookout for the next place. So we are at the mall one day and we both are feeling pretty frisky. We duck into the nearest clothing store (Hollister) and we figure that the combination of the loud music, dim lighting, and overpoweing aroma of stank-ass cologne would cover up our little sexacapade. After a few minutes of browsing, she grabbed an item and wandered into the changing room. I continued to browse, getting all giddy and excited about what was about to go down, and when the coast was clear, I popped over into the changing room. I pulled back the curtain and was presented with the sight of my girlfriends nude backside, bent over and visibly wet and primed for -blam!-ing. Before I could even unzip my pants, she said, in the sexiest voice I have ever heard in my life, "Why the -blam!- aren't you inside me yet?" Needless to say, I plowed her backside like Johnny Appleseed plowed the Midwest. We usually used condoms, but I was going bare this time, so I wasn't lasting as long as I had hoped. As I got closer to blowing my load, I realized that the music had stopped. The store was almost entirely silent other than the noise of the checkout scanner, the sound of footfalls on the fake wood flooring, and the wet slapping of my cock smacking in and out of my girlfriends soaked puss. Being the horndog/idiotic male I am, I continue thrusting while my brain tries to process this relative silence, and before I could slow down, my girlfriend begins having one of the loudest and most -blam!-ing over the top orgasms she'd ever had. I'm talking screaming. I'm talking moaning. I'm talking downright filthy dirty talk. There is no way that Joe Security on his segway over by Auntie Anne's Pretzles didn't hear this climax. I couldn't help myself, I pulled out and shot my wad all over her back, which still had a shirt on it, and of course it was a black one. As the post-sex rationality settled over us, we realized that it was time to high-tail it out of there. So cum on back, sex hair in place, we gathered our shit and prepared to escape. As we pull back the curtain, we see a store employee mindlessly gathering up some shirts in the next changing stall. She was an older woman, probably my mother's age. I don't know what came over me, but I looked her in the eye, and tried to play it cool with a, "I totally didn't just try to make a baby in your changing room," and she meets me with an icy stare. I nod my head in that way that says "Hello," that fellas do, and the lady responds with powerful sniff. She looks like a -blam!-ing rabbit with her nose shredding the air. I looked over at my girlfriend, and her face wore the shame of a thousand post-coital teenagers. Despite the cum dripping off of her back, her out of place hair and crooked top, the female Sherlock Holmes screamed, "SEX SMELL! SEX SMELL!" As we ran through the mall, desperately ducking the mall cops as they buzzed after us on their segways, all we could hear were the gasps of mall patrons as the yelled about the reeking of our sex smell. We were so scared. What did I do, you ask? I whistled for a cab, and when it came near, the license plate said “fresh” and there were dice in the mirror. If anything I could say that this cab was rare, but I thought “naw forget it, yo home to bel-air!” I pulled up to the house about seven or eight and I yelled to the cabbie “yo homes smell ya later!” Looked at my kingdom, I was finally there. To settle my throne as the prince of bel-air.