Storm was restless. Three days of sun, sea, sand and sex in Cyprus had left her hungry for more of the same, but it looked like Roger, her partner, was beginning to wilt.

They had just had lunch in a charming little seaside village café, with a very good bottle of sparkling wine, and Storm, tired of her shapeless white t-shirt and baggy shorts, had made up her to buy one - or two - of the gorgeous short sun-dresses she had seen in the small boutique at the edge of the market square.

She certainly had the figure, and the legs, for one and, although she knew Roger liked her to dress conservatively, she wanted to look good off the beach, as well as on it. And, if that meant that the passing men "stripped her with their eyes", as Roger grumblingly put it, well, Storm could live with that!

But she could tell Roger wasn't on top form as she practically dragged him into the shop, and began to rummage around on the rails. The shop was empty, apart from them, and the owner, a quite handsome olive-skinned Greek with dark eyes and a black moustache, who spoke no English.

Storm, having selected four lovely little numbers to try on, looked questioningly at the owner, who nodded his head at a small curtained area in the back corner of the shop.

"I'm just going to try these on," she said to Roger, who nodded moodily and slumped on to a chair beside the front door, through which a welcome breeze wafted. Storm sighed and pulled the curtain open and entered the surprisingly spacious changing-room.

There was a chair in the corner, with a rack of hooks above it, and the whole of the back wall was taken up with a full-length mirror, bisected by a shelf running along it, at about waist-height.

The only disadvantage was that, at the back of the shop, with no window, the room was stiflingly hot. Storm could feel the sheen of perspiration forming on her skin already and she began to worry about possibly staining the material of the dresses she was about to try on.

Pulling the curtain closed behind her, she laid the dresses carefully over the chair, then peeled her t-shirt over her head and dropped it on the floor. Involuntarily, she glanced at her reflection in the mirror, and admired her full, firm breasts with their long, rose-red nipples. Cupping them gently in her hands, she twisted left and right, to examine them in profile.

They were really sexy, even if she said it herself! She made up her mind to buy a dress with a low neckline, or a deep V at the front. She didn't mind if she raised a few bulges in shorts other than Roger's! Absently, she allowed her fingers to stray over her nipples, and was surprised at the instant response, as they hardened appreciably, and the backwash spread down to her groin, releasing tantalising warmth between her thighs.

She felt herself blush and watched, fascinated, as a pinkish tinge suffused her face and her upper body.

It was then that she looked into the mirror and realised that the curtain was half-open - and that she could see the face of the owner, staring at her reflection. Instinctively, she moved across, out of his line of vision, and pulled the curtain across again. It was fixed to the rail by half a dozen shower curtain hooks and, as Storm watched it, she realised that the pole was on a slant, and the hooks inevitably slid down it, slowly, revealing the inside to whoever was standing behind the counter.

For some reason, instead of being offended, Storm realised that she was beginning to find this exciting. As a young girl, she had been very reluctant to let boys see her breasts, although she loved having them felt and fondled, and the thought of displaying them to a stranger was very arousing, and something she seldom had the courage to do.

Without really thinking about it, she eased her beach shorts down her hips and stepped out of them. Underneath, she wore only a silver G-string, and she was not surprised to see, in the mirror, that the sliver of material covering her vagina was darkened with the leakage of juices caused by her arousal.

The G-string was a little uncomfortable and, as Storm eased it away from her moistening slit with both hands, she looked up at the mirror again. The curtain had parted a little, although not as much as before, but, once again, the Greek proprietor was taking advantage and leering at her practically naked body.

This time, Storm suppressed the instinct to hide herself and, to her amazement, met the man's eyes, and smiled at him. His expression did not change, but he didn't drop his eyes and his hand came up and caressed the ends of his moustache.

Then, suddenly, Roger's head appeared round the curtain. Storm started and covered herself, with a nervous laugh.

"Haven't you picked one yet?" he said, and she shook her head.

"Well, I'm going back to the hotel for a drink," he went on. "I'll meet you at the pool. OK?"

"Yes, OK," answered Storm, loudly enough for the shop owner to hear - then remembered he didn't speak English. Roger pulled the curtain closed and, seconds later, Storm heard the shop door close.

Picking up the dress on top of the pile, she slid it over her head. If this one fits, she told herself, I'll take it. It was one thing having a bit of fun with Roger in the shop, but...

The dress was tight and, because of the perspiration on her skin, she was still trying to get her arms through it when she felt the hands take hold of her naked breasts. He was behind her and, as he closed in, she felt the hardness of his erection against her hips.

With another shock, she realised that his penis was not pressing against her through the rough material of his jeans. Its uncovered hard heat was laid along one of the soft cheeks of her buttocks. She gasped as he shifted his body and his cock slid effortlessly between the junction of her thighs.

He moved his hands from her breasts and pulled the trapped dress over her head. As it came off, Storm saw her open-mouthed reflection in the glass and watched as his hands closed on her breasts again and caressed the aching, blood-engorged nipples.

Storm reached down between her legs and slid her fingers round his thrusting cock, pushing it up against her thong-covered vagina. She couldn't wait for him to make the running. She pulled her G-string aside and hungrily fed his thick dark cock inside her, moaning with satisfaction as it thrust up her warm wet channel.

Grasping the shelf in front of the mirror with her hands, she bent forward at the waist and, spreading her legs as wide as she could, she thrust her hips backwards at him, impaling herself on his prick, willing him to thrust it further and further inside her.

The Greek released her swollen tits and, standing up, took hold of Storm's hipbones and pistoned his cock in and out of her, grunting with every thrust, his grunts growing more and more frantic until, with a shock of despair, Storm realised that he was on the point of orgasm.

Too late, she tried to pull away, to delay his ejaculation until she had time to reach her clitoris and join him. With a grunt that turned into a mighty roar, he rammed his cock up her one last time and held it in, tight, while his body went rigid, then began to shake uncontrollably as he spurted copiously inside her.

Storm tried to resist the feeling of frustration at missing her own orgasm as she felt his detumescing penis slither out of her and he slowly moved away from behind her. Straightening up, she turned and let out a small scream as she met two more pairs of eyes.

The Greek had gone, but the two boys framed in the door were younger replicas - one around twenty-one, tall and powerful; the other obviously younger - maybe around twelve or thirteen - small and slight

"Oh, no," protested Storm, her hands moving to cover her naked body, but she was already too late. The older boy grabbed her wrists and held them apart as his confident eyes slid over her breasts and belly, down to the neatly trimmed pubic bush and shapely thighs. Storm was powerless as he gently pushed her back against the wall, then closed in on her and placed his full-lipped mouth on hers.

Helplessly, she felt herself responding to his kiss, her mouth opening to admit his probing tongue, her arms stretching up to tangle her fingers in the dark curls at the back of his neck. She felt his hand creep up and caress her breast and she moaned as her nipple reacted, once again, to manual stimulation.

His other hand was busy at the front of his jeans and Storm hoped his cock was as big as his father's. She had abandoned reason - she wanted this boy's cock to fill the gap his father had left. Her thighs were already spreading, in anticipation, her vaginal channel soaking. A series of low moans sounded deep in her throat.

The boy thrust his narrow hips back as he manoeuvred his long, hard penis out of the front of his tattered jeans, then Storm felt his strong hands grip the backs of her taut thighs as he lifted her, bodily, off the ground.

Realising what was happening, Storm wound her arms round his neck, burying her face in the hollow of his neck, the wall supporting her back. At the same time, she raised her feet and, with an effort, linked them together behind the boy's buttocks, to assist him.

He grunted in satisfaction, then gently lowered Storm, inch by inch, until she felt, with a gasping shudder, the head of his throbbing cock between the slippery lips of her gaping channel. She closed her eyes and held her breath as it slid, agonisingly slowly, inwards and upwards.

It seemed to go on for ever until, at last, she felt the pressure of his pubic bone against her protruding, quivering clitoris. It was then that she started to feel the slow build-up of the volcanic orgasm inside her.

The boy's cock was not as thick as his father's, but it was at least as long, and, as far as Storm was concerned, much more efficiently deployed. He began to ride her with long slow strokes, his mouth teasing her heaving breasts as she writhed in his arms, her climax becoming ever more imminent.