"Miss, Are You Lost?"

The antique shop was my haven, a cluttered sanctuary of polished wood and faded maps in a sleepy mountain town. That crisp October evening, as I was locking up, I noticed a redhead lingering outside, her fiery hair glowing under the streetlamp. Her curvy figure was wrapped in a wool coat, her giant tits subtly pressing against the fabric as she peered at a crumpled map, her brow furrowed.

“Miss, are you lost?” I called, my voice carrying through the chilly air, a mix of curiosity and concern.

She looked up, emerald eyes catching the light, a shy smile breaking through. “Maybe a little,” she admitted, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m Harper. Meant to find the inn, but these streets are a maze.”

“Owen,” I said, stepping closer, my hands in my pockets to keep warm. “Easy to get turned around here. Want a guide?”

She laughed, a warm sound that cut through the dusk. “If you’re offering, I won’t say no.”

We strolled through the cobblestone streets, the town quiet except for the rustle of leaves. Harper was a travel writer, chasing stories of hidden gems, her enthusiasm for quirky details matching my love for the history in every clock I fixed. She teased me about my “old soul” vibe, and I ribbed her for her city-girl boots, impractical for mountain paths. By the time we reached the inn, we’d swapped stories of her road trips and my late nights sanding oak, and I wasn’t ready to say goodnight.

“Fancy a drink?” I asked, nodding at the tavern across the street. “Inn’s not going anywhere.”

Her eyes sparkled. “Sure, one drink sounds good.”

One drink became two, then three, in a cozy booth by a crackling fire. Her coat came off, revealing a fitted sweater that hugged her curvy hips and giant tits, and I caught myself staring, her laugh pulling me back. “Caught you,” she teased, leaning closer, her knee brushing mine under the table.

“Guilty,” I said, my voice low, the whiskey loosening my restraint. “You’re hard to look away from.”

Her smile turned playful, her fingers grazing my hand. “Good. I like being noticed.” The air shifted, charged with unspoken want, and when she suggested we check out my shop—“to see your clocks,” she said with a wink—I didn’t hesitate.

Back in the shop, the air smelled of cedar and polish, the only light from a single lamp casting soft shadows. I showed her a 19th-century mantel clock, her fingers brushing mine as we traced its carvings. “You’ve got magic hands,” she said, her voice husky, stepping so close I could feel her warmth.

“Want to see what else they can do?” I asked, half-teasing, half-serious. Her answer was a kiss, slow and deep, her lips tasting of whiskey and desire. My hands found her curvy hips, pulling her against me, her giant tits pressing into my chest. She moaned softly, her fingers tugging at my flannel, buttons popping as she exposed my skin.

“Fuck, Harper,” I murmured, breaking the kiss, my voice rough. “You’re driving me crazy.”

She grinned, peeling off her sweater, revealing a lacy bra barely containing her breasts. “Good. Let’s see how much crazier this gets.” I unhooked her bra, her boobs spilling free, full and soft, nipples hard and begging for attention. I cupped them, squeezing, my thumbs circling until she gasped, arching into me.

“God, Owen, that feels so good,” she said, her hands fumbling with my belt. She freed my big dick, her eyes widening, a wicked smile spreading. “Fuck, you’re packing,” she whispered, stroking me slowly, her grip firm, sending heat through me.

I growled, kissing her neck, nipping her skin as I tugged her jeans down, revealing panties damp with arousal. “You’re so wet,” I said, my fingers brushing her folds, making her shiver. I backed her against a polished oak table, its edge smooth under her hips, and knelt, spreading her thighs. My tongue lapped at her pussy, her sweet taste intoxicating, her moans filling the shop.

“Oh, yes, keep going,” she gasped, her hands tangling in my hair, hips rocking. I sucked her clit, flicking it with my tongue, my hands gripping her curvy thighs to keep her steady. Her moans grew sharper, echoing off the walls, as I worked her, my tongue dipping inside before circling back, relentless.

“Fuck, Owen, I’m gonna finish,” she panted, her body trembling. I pushed harder, and she shattered, her orgasm flooding my mouth, her cries raw and unrestrained. I stood, wiping my lips, my cock throbbing as she pulled me close, kissing me fiercely, tasting herself.

“My turn,” she said, pushing me into a cushioned chair, its velvet worn but soft. She straddled me, her pussy hovering over my dick, teasing. “You want this?”

“Hell, yes,” I growled, grabbing her hips. She sank onto me, her tight pussy gripping my big dick, and I groaned, the heat of her overwhelming. “Goddamn, Harper, you’re perfect.”

She rode me hard, her giant tits bouncing, her moans mixing with the creak of the chair. “Fuck me with that big dick,” she begged, her nails raking my chest. I thrust up, matching her rhythm, rough and hungry, the table nearby rattling with forgotten tools.

“You love this, don’t you?” I said, spanking her ass, the slap making her clench tighter. “So fucking hot.”

“Yes, harder,” she gasped, her curvy body trembling. I squeezed her tits, thrusting deeper, her pussy pulsing around me. “Fill me up, Owen,” she moaned, her eyes locked on mine, wild and desperate. I grabbed her hair, pulling gently, and pounded harder, the chair rocking under us.

I couldn’t hold back. Her pussy squeezed me tight, and with a final thrust, I came, my sperm spilling deep inside her, hot and thick. She cried out, her own orgasm hitting, her body shaking as we rode the wave together, the shop a cocoon of our heat.

We collapsed, breathless, her red hair tangled, her curvy body glistening. “Well, restorer,” she said, kissing me softly, her lips curling into a smile, “you’ve got a new project.”

I laughed, brushing her hair back. “And you’re my favorite masterpiece.”

She grinned, sliding off me, adjusting her sweater. “Keep the shop open tomorrow. I might need another tour.”