Expect More, Pay Less: 🎯Target🎯 Continues to Spice Up My Sex Life [MF]

Many many months ago I shared with you all the invaluable role that Target had played in enhancing my love life. The response was overwhelming. I was blown away to learn how many other kindred spirits on Reddit regularly become wet or hard purely due to trips to our favorite establishment. And the amount of Target nudes you all sent to my inbox was both staggering and much-appreciated. So, I figured it was about time to report back with some updates on how my love life has continued to expect more and pay less.

If you remember from my [first experience](https://www.reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/oyhtpf/i_canceled_my_apps_and_stopped_going_to_bars_now/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=ios_app&utm_name=iossmf) you’ll know exactly how hot and steamy things got that day when an unnamed fellow shopper and I came together beneath the portrait of a bull terrier while being serenaded by Jason Mraz in Target dressing room #4. And as expected, the passion of that day carried us through the next few weeks. But then, to my confusion, something started to feel different. The flame became dimmer. The excitement waned. And to see that passion and lust fading, to feel sex starting to become bland and desaturated…for the first time in my life I think I understood what it must feel like to be a Costco shopper.

You see…all Target-based relationships naturally bring a much greater level of happiness and sexual satisfaction, especially when compared to their Costco counterparts; but they are not immune to the challenges faced by any other relationships. Things can become routine. You get comfortable. You settle for doing wonderfully convenient curbside pickup. You stop dressing to impress. Sheryl Crow plays less frequently in your head. You give into complacency and forget about cultivating the eroticism you once felt in the throes of a bygone retail rendezvous.

So this is a story about the importance of making a deliberate effort to keep things fresh…not unlike the tireless work from Target team members keeping daily watch over the produce and refrigerated sections of your local store.

Please enjoy.

When that new relationship passion first started to cool off a bit, we tried to get creative. Perhaps, we reasoned, a little in-home Target roleplay could help. And it did scratch the itch, but only briefly. I’ll never forget the day I came home from work to find her already naked in my bed, on her hands and knees, ass propped up in the air, a red bullseye drawn on it with the center dot encircling her tight little hole. How she had drawn this perfectly symmetrical logo on her ass, I do not know, nor did I ask. But with the same confidence that I usually feel when walking through those automatic doors, I lined myself up, approached, and struck the mark with ease. She stifled a gasp, called me Daddy for the first time in weeks, and held a hand across her mouth. We fucked hard that afternoon, harder than we had in months. But still, something was missing.

Later we tried some ASMR play, spending hours giving each other auditory climaxes by crumpling Target shopping bags and receipts next to each others’ ears. It was new and hot, and the sensation of a 16-inch receipt lightly tracing your neck is indescribable. We shared a combined 7 orgasms that night, but again the rush was fleeting and soon lost its effect.

We also experimented more with dressing room play by converting the junk closet into a mirror-covered “fitting room.” Bluetooth speaker playing the best family-friendly top 40 hits from the overhead shelf, she’d pull some clothes off a hanger and gesture for me to follow her in. We’d watch our infinite tunnel of reflections fuck each other’s brains out just like the day we first met. But even after countless homebrews of our clothing try-on trysts, we realized we were trying to catch lightning in a bottle. There is simply some kind of intangible magic that exists within those 4 Target walls, and we acknowledged a truth that I think everyone reading can relate to: you just can’t recreate the newness and excitement you felt the first time you fucked a stranger at Target.

So we did what any reasonable people would do. We scheduled a day about 2 weeks out. Really let the suspense build, ya know. Then we intentionally let our pantries and fridges become frightfully low-stocked. Something we’ve since begun referring to as “Target edging.” Then, when the day arrived, we arranged to not talk and not see each other in the morning. Took separate cars, randomly split the shopping list, and headed out for the day. To keep it spontaneous we just said “around 3:00ish.”

I think she arrived first and immediately set about her typical routine. Like myself she’s a “right-to-lefter,” always parking and entering near the home section and moving leftward across the store, ending with groceries.

I arrived sometime later, noticing her car in the wonderfully maintained lot, where not a single rogue cart could be spotted outside its pen. As I entered the store, I was presented with a finely-tuned cart—truly the Bentley of wheeled baskets—and glided in buttery smooth fashion to the front of the store to begin browsing the impeccably stylish non-prescription frames in the optometry section.

Once I had selected the perfect stranger’s spectacled disguise to complement my uncharacteristically smooth-shaven face, I set out about my usual store route, shopping list in hand.

My casual stroll brought me to the center of the store, grabbing some much-needed lightbulbs, then some hand towels, then two 3-packs of HVAC filters (buy one get one 50% off!). I was enjoying my in-store experience so much and was not necessarily looking for her, but I was on edge. As I said, it had been weeks since I last Targeted, and I felt the effects of that edging buzzing inside me, a heaviness within my Goodfellow brand boxer briefs, and I was anxiously awaiting a moment of serendipity.

As I rounded the corner leading back to the main rear aisle of the store, something caught my eye in the distance. It was that same seductive hip sway that had captured my attention many moths ago. Her loose red dress hit about mid-thigh, teasing her lightly tanned legs. With each step, the thin fabric would crash into one side of that tight ass, rhythmically swishing from side to side, then clinging and revealing its perfect shape to any of a number of wandering eyes…mine included. While I could not see her face, I knew exactly what coy little confident smirk was facing away from me.

It occurred to me that before this moment, I had never had the chance to fully observe her in her solo Target element, able to appreciate this incredible view from afar. So I kept my distance behind her, casually feigning interest in an assortment of incredible deals as we both meandered through the store.

I’d been so fixated on that hypnotic movement below her waist that I’d only subconsciously noticed her hair. She must have made a detour through the spooktacularly well-stocked Halloween section and found a little something to enhance today’s novelty, because her normal black hair was now blonde and about 5 inches longer. God bless you, Target Halloween wig section. Our “strangers in Target” game was afoot.

As we both neared the carefully curated dairy section of the store, her pace began to slow and, to my surprise, she approached a tall, handsome man who was trying to decide between two flavors of excellently priced Chobani.

Although we were still at least 30 feet apart, she must have sensed my presence. I know this because she slowly turned, looked me dead in the eyes, flashed a wicked grin, and then pushed her cart alongside his. Reaching up to inspect a single Greek yogurt marked 5 for $7, she spoke without looking at him.

“I like the extra creamy ones,” she said nonchalantly.

He did a double-take before realizing she was talking to him. She bit her lip and looked him up and down.

“Do you shop here often?” she continued, her fingers playfully circling the lid of the container, creasing the edges of the foil seal.

“Umm, yes, actually. Just picking up a few things, he replied.

“Mmmmhmmm. Me too,” she purred and winked as she placed her soft hand on his firm cart handle.

He seemed confused and glanced around to see if there were signs of hidden camera crews.

“There you are!” A voice called from behind him. “Honey I found it,” said the apparent girlfriend walking to his side with a container of highly-coveted, but never out-of-stock Country Crock olive oil butter.

She kissed his cheek and the two strolled away, the man stealing two final glances over his shoulder, intrigued and confused by his new mysterious yogurt companion.

The exchange now over, I slowly approached but did not make direct eye contact. I grabbed a couple yogurts myself and offered her a friendly “hi” before continuing on my way. This would be a slow burn. No need to rush things.

We headed in opposite directions, and as I reached the end of the first refrigerated aisle, I peeked over my shoulder to see that she too was turning the corner at the opposite end. I hooked around the end and entered the next aisle, and there she was maybe 100 feet away, now headed slowly in my direction.

The brisk, precisely controlled air coming off the ice cream coolers sent a shiver up my spine and as she approached and began to open a door to retrieve box of Dark Almond Chocolate Sea Salt Frozen Kind Bars. Much like the woman approaching me, they are a dessert to die for, and I highly recommend. I could see that the frigid air had caused her nipples to harden. She leaned out of the freezer and dropped the box in her cart just as I was passing; and for the slightest moment, our shoulders brushed against each other. The warmth of my blood rushing to my skin juxtaposed with the chill of the freezers felt incredible. She tucked a strand of hail behind her ear and continued past me. My Target edge grew stronger, as did my cock.

We exited that aisle, and with almost complete synchronicity, hooked our carts around to the next one. This time she looked directly at me from the opposite end. But while I kept moving, she came to a stop. I watched as she walked around her cart, her hand trailing along its smooth red edges, and she turned her back to me and slowly bent at the hips, lowering her hands to the lowest shelf.

Due to supply shortages, Fresca is notoriously difficult to find in most inferior stores. But Target…they keep it flowing every 👏single 👏time. Her fingers glided across the well-stocked different flavor options before coming to rest on a case of citrus. The fabric continued to inch higher and higher up the back of her toned legs, holding my eyes hostage with the promise of a the slightest peek. And then I realized it.

“Holy fuck,” I mouthed to myself. “Good girl.”

She was not wearing panties. Like the frost that was slowly dripping down the afore-mentioned box of frozen Kind bars, her pussy glistened and begged me to taste. She glanced over her shoulder and gave me that same naughty smirk. Then she stood as if nothing had happened, placed the delicious soda into her cart and passed me once again.

And so our dance of pre-coital consumerism continued. Like an endlessly-escalating edging session, a symphony of figure-8s, each asile would build the tension just slightly higher than the last, exiting opposite sides. What was only a fleeting glance on aisle 16, become a shared gaze next to lightly salted cashews on 13, only to become intentional touch on aisle 9.

We were hungry for the next turn, hungry for the next potential touch, and even hungrier for the many delicious Good & Gather products lining our lustful shopping liaison.

As I turned down aisle 4, something felt different. The air between us was heavy. She had already come to a stop beside the pasta shelves and had a slightly perplexed look on her face. Her index finger lightly rested between her lips as she coyly bit into it.

When I approached, she stood on the tips of her toes, knowing full well what was happening to the edge of her dress and the skin that was being revealed.

“Excuse me, sir. I can’t seem to—“

Her perfect tits strained against the fabric and she accentuated the arch in her back. She held me captive.

“Sir?”

I snapped out of it.

“Oh yes. Sorry. Yes. Let me help you!”

“The Good & Gather organic Farfalle please!” she giggled.

With both hands, I firmly gripped the cart and slowly brought it to her side. Her eyes trailed down my chest and fixated once again on my hands, as she bit her lips, batted her eyes and pointed at the item just out of her reach. I matched her gaze then looked upward and confidently reached overhead, her eyes now following my firm grip as I brought the box of pasta down to her.

“Thank you, sir,” she said, content dripping off her lips…both pairs of them, no doubt.

“You are so welcome,” I smiled and headed out my end of the aisle.

When all remaining rows had been criss-crossed, I made a final turn into the produce section. I added some Good & Gather brand hummus — far superior to Sabra’s — to my cart whilst eyeing her from a distance.

She had already paused in front of the vividly-colored fresh vegetables and seemed to have a focused, almost mesmerized gaze as she looked up and down the shelves of cucumbers. I watched as she slowly began to handle one of them. Both of her hands expertly inspected the fresh green member. She clearly knew what she was doing and exactly what she was looking for.

I approached from behind and I think I may have caught her off guard when I spoke.

“Did you find one you like?” I asked.

Her demeanor changed and her teeth aggressively pinched her bottom lip again. Then she looked down at the slight bulge in the front of my pants.

“I sure did,” she said without looking back up.

She wrapped her top hand around the cucumber and did two slow strokes up and down before placing it in her cart. Then she traced a fingernail up the side of my arm before pushing her cart away and heading toward the checkout line. Needless to say, I followed.

I cannot adequately describe to you the eroticism that unfolded before me in the self-checkout line. A sensual symphony of scanner beeps and rustling of plastic bags flooded my ears, and I watched her slip into a rhythmic dance of bending at the hips, reaching for an item in her cat, gliding her hands across the scanner, and then gently placing each item into a bag.

Bend. Beep. Bag. Bend. Beep. Bag.

And every few reps, she’d peek over her shoulder, the hem of her dress drifting just a little too high up that thigh, and give me a little wink. I had to fight every urge inside me not to grab that hand scanner, bend her over, and scan every last one of her goods right there in the middle of the checkout line.

No doubt I was holding up the line behind me and the attendant certainly became frustrated by my slow pace, offering twice to help me. But I’m a Target purist. When I self-checkout. I do it solo. So I persisted, forcing myself to focus.

I had momentarily taken my attention away from the seduction behind me so that I could wrap things up. And it seemed that in that short time, my little teaser had finished paying for her items and had stepped seductively close to my side.

She handed her phone to me, still giving me that familiar lip bite.

“Don’t forget to enter your phone number to join my rewards program,” she said, as her hand traced a line from behind her ear down her neck.

Our eyes were locked for what felt like minutes. And judging by the throat clearing sounds coming from the attendant and the glares from the customers behind us, it might have actually been that long.

I typed in my number and handed the phone back to her.

“I’ll text you sometime,” she said as she peeled away to one exit.

Confused by how abruptly she headed away, I fumbled to find my card but then remembered that Target conveniently has the Apple Pay readers. So I did a quick tap and finished up. By the time my receipt had printed and I had finished carefully placing my triple-bagged Tyson chicken cutlets (on sale for $6.50/lb) in my cart, she was out of sight.

A little dejected that the past hour of tension now seemed to have been deflated in an instant, I slogged to the car with more than a little disappointment. But as I placed the groceries in the trunk, I felt my phone buzz.

The message just had the words “Cum claim your reward. Family bathroom” with a mirror selfie of her with her dress hiked above her ass and a cucumber pressed against her lips.

After conscientiously depositing my cart into the cart return, I sprinted toward the store, almost being struck by multiple cars in the ensuing 30 seconds. Although Target’s automatic doors are second to none, I was still traveling too fast for them to be fully opened when I reached the glass. I deftly rotated body sideways and shimmied through the partially open, spotless glass doors.

If you’ve never been inside the family bathroom at Target, let me pause here for a moment to initiate you. Couches. Not couch. Couches. The unmistakably warm scent of Cozy Chamomile Cinnamon seemingly piped in through the vents. Touchless everything. Even the little foot attachment at the base of the door. Inferior stores like Costco have paper towel dispensers. Walmart has the air dryers. But Target. Omg. The same walnut-colored wicker basket available on aisle J12 was conveniently placed beside the sinks, filled with the extra plush hand towels like you find at the nice restaurants.

“Did you find everything you needed today?” she asked softly as her hand trailed down my forearm and her finger hooked the belt loop of my impossibly low-priced Goodfellow chinos.

I reached between her legs and finally felt how wet she was. Clearly Target had the desired effect on her too. And fuck she was smoothly shaven. Literally the last time I had felt something that smooth was 5 minutes earlier when my cart was effortlessly gliding across the store’s pristine white floors.

Both my hands roughly gripped her hips. I spun her around to face the mirror, and she flashed a wicked grin before my hand pushed her head down onto the counter. One hard thrust, and my cock was completely buried in her pussy. There is zero chance that her gasp and my groan were not heard by at least one person outside that locked door. Without moving, we locked eyes in the mirror. In that instant, we both felt the elusive thing we’d been chasing. The raw unbridled lust that cannot exist outside these Target walls.

Weeks of Target edging and months of roleplay guaranteed that I would not last long, and I began to fuck her with a passion and a desperation I had not felt in weeks. Her eyes glazed over, and I could tell she was lost in this indescribable haze with me.

“Harder Daddy. Faster, please. Use your little Target slut,” was all she said as she pushed her ass back into me and spiraled into an unintelligible string of slurred words and moans.

She raised one of her knees up to the counter, causing me to go even deeper, and I could feel myself getting so close to cumming. Almost as if she sensed I was at the edge, she reached for her cucumber and began to slide her moth just over the tip. The image was seared into my brain.

But as that girthy green phallus slid deeper into her throat, I lost it. And so did she. We both let out the deepest groans as the Taylor Swift song transitioned to another Taylor Swift song from overhead. My cock continued to pump in and out, and she took every last drop of cum that had been building up.

We were both absolutely spent, basking for a moment in our post-Target glow. Then we quietly gathered ourselves and exited the bathroom, heading once again in separate directions.

Our passion had been rediscovered and we now knew the key that would unlock it, should it ever fade again.

So I’d like to encourage you all. If you’ve experienced a small drop in your sexual satisfaction, or if you just need to insert some novelty into your love life, do it. Visit a Target…where they’re stockin’ pantries and droppin’ panties at great low prices every day.

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/xznm57/expect_more_pay_less_target_continues_to_spice_up