Step into the grimy glow of a Birmingham corner shop where Nadia Patel, a 29-year-old temptress with E-cup tits and a filthy mouth, reigns supreme. It’s past closing time, and when Tom Hargreaves, a rough-edged 45-year-old delivery driver, bangs on the shutter, the night takes a depraved turn. What starts as cheeky banter explodes into a 5,000-word orgy of sweat, spit, and cum—captured on Nadia’s phone and the shop’s CCTV for her private pleasure. From tit-sucking to arse-licking, she takes control, riding him into oblivion in a chaotic, crisp-strewn fuckfest that’ll leave you breathless. Ready to get dirty? Dive in.
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The corner shop on Ladypool Road was a flickering beacon in Birmingham’s muggy night, its neon “Open” sign buzzing faintly even though the clock had ticked past 11:30 p.m. Nadia Patel, 29, stood behind the counter, her long jet-black hair scraped into a messy bun, strands sticking to her sweaty neck. Her almond eyes glinted under the harsh fluorescent strip lights, and her olive skin shone with a sheen from hours of restocking. Her E-cup tits strained against a cheap white blouse, two buttons undone to let her breathe, the fabric clinging to her curves. A tight pencil skirt hugged her wide hips and plump arse, riding up slightly as she bent to shove cans of lager into the fridge. She was the queen of this grimy kingdom—sharp-tongued, untouchable, and secretly buzzing from the power she held over every late-night punter who stumbled in.
The shop was quiet now, the till cashed out, the shutter half-down. The air stank of stale fags, spilled energy drinks, and the cheap pine air freshener dangling from a shelf. Nadia wiped her brow, muttering, “Fucking heat,” as she adjusted her blouse, her nipples stiffening against the damp fabric. She loved these late shifts—alone with her thoughts, the hum of the fridge, and the blinking red eye of the CCTV camera in the corner. She’d watched the footage before, alone in her flat above the shop, fingers slipping into her knickers as she replayed the day’s flirtations. Tonight felt different, though. The air crackled with something unspoken.
A loud bang rattled the shutter, jolting her upright. “Oi, Nadia, let us in, yeah?” came a gravelly voice, muffled but familiar. She smirked, knowing exactly who it was—Tom Hargreaves, the 45-year-old delivery driver who’d been dropping off crates of pop and fags for months. He was late, as usual, his lorry parked crooked outside, engine still ticking over. “Need a pack of Marlboros and a bloody break,” he called, banging again.
She sauntered to the shutter, hips swaying, and lifted it just enough for him to duck under. “You’ve got fags in that cab, you lying git,” she said, locking it behind him with a clang that echoed in the empty shop. Tom stepped in, a stocky figure in a hi-vis jacket slung over one shoulder, his shaved head gleaming with sweat. His blue eyes crinkled with a tired, cheeky grin, stubble flecked with grey, and his jeans hugged a bulge that wasn’t subtle. He smelled of diesel and cheap aftershave, his thick arms flexing as he tossed the jacket onto a stack of crisp boxes.
“Fuck me, you’re a sight after a long shift,” he said, leaning on the counter, eyes dropping to her cleavage like a moth to a flame. Nadia tossed him the Marlboros, but she didn’t step back. She cocked a hip, letting her skirt ride higher, and met his gaze. “Keep staring, Tom, and I’ll charge you for the view,” she teased, voice low and daring.
He chuckled, cracking open the pack, but his eyes didn’t leave her. “Worth every penny, love. Been a shit day—traffic, arsehole bosses. You’re the only thing keeping me sane.” His fingers brushed hers as he took the fags, lingering a beat too long. Nadia felt a jolt, her cunt twitching under the skirt. She knew he wanked over her—saw it in the way he adjusted himself when she bent over, the way he lingered after deliveries. Tonight, with the shop empty and the shutter down, that knowledge lit a fire.
“Long day, eh?” she said, stepping closer, the counter between them. “What you gonna do about it?” She unbuttoned another button, her tits spilling forward, dark nipples peeking through the thin fabric. Tom’s jaw tightened, his trousers shifting as his cock stirred. “Fucking hell, Nadia, you trying to kill me?” he rasped, voice thick.
She smirked, leaning forward, elbows on the counter, tits practically in his face. “Maybe. You gonna just stand there gawping, or you got the bollocks to do something?” The CCTV blinked, recording every second, and she knew it. Tom glanced at it, then back at her, a slow grin spreading. “You’re a right tease, ain’t ya?” he said, stepping around the counter, closing the gap. The air was electric, the shop a pressure cooker ready to blow.
Tom rounded the counter, his boots scuffing the lino, and stopped inches from Nadia. His breath was hot, reeking of fags and desperation. “Been wanking over you for weeks,” he confessed, voice a low growl, hands hovering over her hips. “Every time you bend over them crates, them fat tits bouncing—fucking torture.”
Nadia laughed, a sharp, filthy sound, and grabbed his wrists, slamming his hands onto her arse. “Should’ve said something sooner, you dirty bastard. Feel it then—go on.” He groaned, squeezing hard, fingers digging into her plump cheeks through the skirt. She arched into him, tits brushing his chest, nipples like bullets against the blouse. “Fuck, you’re a handful,” he muttered, kneading her arse like dough.
“More than you can handle,” she shot back, shoving him back a step, then spinning to face the counter. She bent forward, elbows down, arse out, skirt riding up to flash black knickers. “Bet you’d look better bent over that counter,” he said, stepping up behind her, his bulge pressing against her. She grinned over her shoulder. “Only if you’ve got the bollocks to make me.”
He didn’t hesitate, grabbing her hips and shoving her harder against the counter, the edge biting into her thighs. His hands roamed up, ripping her blouse open—buttons popping, fabric tearing—her massive E-cup tits spilling free, dark nipples stiff and begging. “Fucking hell, these are unreal,” he growled, cupping them, squeezing until she gasped. He pinched her nipples, rolling them between rough fingers, and she moaned, head tipping back. “Suck ‘em, you cunt,” she demanded, voice husky.
Tom bent, mouth latching onto one tit, sucking hard, teeth grazing the sensitive peak. “Taste so fucking good,” he mumbled, tongue flicking wildly, spit dripping down her chest. She tangled her fingers in his stubble, shoving him deeper, grinding her cunt against his thigh. “Harder, you prick—make it hurt,” she hissed, loving the sting. He bit down, switching to the other tit, leaving red marks, her skin slick with sweat and saliva.
Her hands slid to his jeans, palming his cock—thick, throbbing, straining. “Gonna let me play with this, yeah?” she purred, unzipping him, pulling it free. It sprang out, veiny and dripping pre-cum, a solid eight inches of pent-up need. She spat on it, stroking slow, watching his face twist. “Fuck, Nadia, you’re a slag,” he groaned, bucking into her grip.
She dropped to her knees, the lino cold and sticky, and smirked up at him. “Not teasing now,” she said, taking him in her mouth, lips stretching wide. She sucked hard, tongue swirling, gagging as he hit her throat. Drool spilled down her chin, coating her tits as she bobbed, eyes locked on his. “Suck it, you filthy slut,” he ordered, grabbing her bun, guiding her deeper. She moaned around him, the vibration making him shudder.
After a minute, she pulled off, panting, and grabbed her phone from the counter. “Lick me, you filthy cunt,” she said, hitting record, propping it against a stack of fag packets. “My mates need to see this.” Tom raised an eyebrow but dropped to his knees, yanking her skirt up, knickers down to her ankles. Her pussy was a sweaty, unshaved mess, lips swollen and dripping. “Fucking soaked for me,” he muttered, burying his face in it, tongue lapping at her clit, slurping loud enough to echo.
“Eat it, you bastard!” she cried, grabbing his head, grinding against his mouth. The phone caught it all—his stubble scraping her thighs, her tits swaying, juices dripping onto the floor. He sucked her clit hard, fingers spreading her wide, tongue thrusting inside. “Tastes like a dirty little shop slut,” he growled, nipping her lips. She laughed, legs trembling, then tilted her hips. “Now my arse—tongue my fucking arse hole.”
He hesitated, then spread her cheeks, licking a slow, wet stripe up her crack. “You’re a nasty bitch,” he mumbled, probing her tight arsehole, swirling and thrusting. She squealed, shoving his face deeper, the phone capturing her debauched grin. “Rim me, nice and slow!” she demanded, his nose pressed into her sweaty skin. He groaned, tongue fucking her arse, hands gripping her thighs, her juices soaking his chin.
She came hard, screaming, “Fuck, yes!”—a gush of wet heat coating his face, dripping down her legs. He pulled back, panting, cock dripping pre-cum onto the lino. Nadia grinned, wiping her phone lens, still recording. “Not bad, Tom. Now let’s see if you can fuck as good as you lick.”
Tom stood, wiping his mouth, cock bobbing as he grabbed Nadia’s hips. “Bend over” he barked, kicking her legs apart. She braced against the counter, arse out, skirt bunched around her waist, knickers tangled at her ankles. Her cunt and arsehole glistened, slick from his tongue. She grabbed her phone, holding it for a close-up as he rubbed his cockhead against her slit. “Gonna fuck me stupid?” she taunted, zooming in on her dripping pussy. “Tell ‘em how bad you want this.”
“Gonna ruin this tight little cunt,” he snarled, slamming into her, balls-deep in one thrust. She screamed, “Fuck, yes!”—the counter rattling, crisp packets sliding off. He pounded her, relentless, the slap of flesh echoing, her tits swinging wildly. The phone shook in her hand, catching her cunt stretching around him, juices dripping. “Harder, you prick!” she yelled, loving the brutal rhythm.
He reached around, pinching her nipples, twisting until she whimpered. “Take it, you filthy slag,” he grunted, slamming deeper, balls slapping her clit. She clawed the counter, moaning like a whore, the CCTV blinking above. “More, please more—wreck me!” she demanded, pushing back. He slapped her arse hard, the crack ringing out, leaving a red handprint. “Fucking soaked,” he rasped, pace quickening.
Nadia shoved him off, spinning around. “My turn” she said, pushing him onto the floor, the lino cold against his back. She straddled him, phone still rolling, sinking onto his cock, her pussy swallowing him whole. “Look at that, you pervs,” she panted into the lens, bouncing hard, tits slapping together. “Fucking him like the slut I am.” He groaned, hands gripping her hips, but she slapped them away. “I’m in charge now,” she hissed, grinding slow, then fast, her juices soaking his lap.
She switched the phone to selfie mode, zooming in on her cunt as she rode him, dirty talking the whole time. “See how wet I am, you wankers? This cock’s mine.” Tom bucked up, desperate, but she pinned his wrists, riding him harder, her arse slapping his thighs. “Stay down, you bastard—take it,” she ordered, her orgasm building. She came again, squirting over his cock, screaming, “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”—the phone catching every shudder.
He flipped her onto her back, dragging her to the edge of the counter, legs spread wide. She set the phone up on a shelf, angled to catch it all. He thrust back in, brutal and deep, her tits bouncing with each slam. “Harder, you cunt!” she yelled, clawing his arms. He pounded her, the counter creaking, her juices pooling beneath her. “Gonna fill this pussy,” he warned, pace frantic. She clenched around him, cumming again, a wet mess dripping onto the floor. “Do it, you fucker!” she screamed, legs shaking.
He groaned, pulling out at the last second, wanking himself over her. “Take it, you greedy slut,” he rasped, thick ropes of cum splattering her tits, stomach, and thighs. She laughed, smearing it with her fingers, the phone and CCTV capturing the filthy finale.
They slumped against the counter, panting, the shop a wreck—crisp packets scattered, a can of Coke rolling on the floor, cum and sweat staining the lino. Nadia grinned, wiping cum from her tits, licking it off her fingers. “Fucking hell, Tom, that’s a late fee and a half,” she said, voice hoarse. She grabbed her phone, stopping the recording, and checked the footage—grainy, raw, perfect for her private stash.
Tom pulled his jeans up, smirking, chest heaving. “You’re a fucking animal, Nadia. Didn’t know you had that in ya.” His face was still slick with her juices, stubble glistening. She winked, tugging her blouse closed, though it hung in tatters. “Always do, mate. You just never asked.”
She stood, cum trickling down her thighs, and adjusted her skirt, knickers still around one ankle. “Gonna watch this later and have a proper wank,” she said, waving the phone. “CCTV’s got it too—might keep that for the next time you’re late.” Tom laughed, lighting a fag, the smoke curling in the stale air. “Next delivery’s tomorrow, love. Reckon I’ll be late again.”
“Count on it, you filthy cunt,” she shot back, unlocking the shutter. He ducked out, tossing her a grin as he climbed into his lorry. Nadia watched him go, then shut the shop, the red eye of the CCTV still blinking. She’d clean up later—right now, she needed a shower and a replay of that footage, her cunt already twitching at the thought.