Touched by Her Long Silver Nails

Gail worked as a clerk at the discount store. Go there and you'd see Gail at her cash register, Gail with her long copper hair, pretty face, cute upturned nose, swelling bosom, shapely legs. Gail, a pretty girl in her early twenties.

Go to that store and you'd see Gail working there. Gail had noticed there was one young fellow, about her age, who came to the store several times a week. He was always looking at Gail, rubbernecking as he passed by her register. Looking at Gail, and especially, looking at her hands.

This young guy was always looking at Gail's pretty hands every chance he got. Gail had nice hands, big large hands, soft smooth hands. The large back of Gail's hands was just as smooth as chamois, and her fingers were long and smooth. And her nails! Gail kept the nails on her right hand trimmed to a moderate length; have to use that cash register, you know. But the nails on her left hand, Gail let all five of the nails on her left hand grow out unusually long, usually about three-quarters of an inch. And Gail wore silver nail polish on her fingernails.

That fellow especially liked to look at Gail's hands, and at her left hand with its three-quarter inch long fingernails. He would turn his head, not even subtle about it, and stare at Gail's large smooth hands and at the unusually long fingernails on her left hand.

It slightly creeped Gail out, but she'd learned to have fun with it. The fellow always insisted on checking out at Gail's register. If Gail's line was full and other registers were open, he would stand there scrutinizing merchandise near the checkout for five or ten minutes, waiting until Gail's register was available, and then suddenly he would come over to have Gail ring him up. As Gail rang up his purchase, of course he would be looking at her, staring at her hands, staring at her long silver fingernails.

Then he would pay for his purchase. And when Gail handed him his change... well, here's where she would have a little fun with the guy. Even though Gail was right handed, she would hand his change to him with her talon-nailed left hand. And often she would accidentally on purpose brush the ends of her long silver nails against the palm of his hand. Carelessly, just carelessly enough to seem accidental. Gail would touch him with her long fingernails, and she could sense it coursing through him like an electric shock, a subtle but frantic shift in his body language.

It amused Gail to have such power over this fellow, the power to set off his jangling alarm system merely by brushing her long nails momentarily against the palm of his hand.

Once in a while Gail would withhold her nails' magic touch, and then the fellow would always appear in the store again soon, sometimes within a few hours. He seemed addicted to Gail, addicted to Gail and her large smooth beautiful hands, addicted to Gail and her three-quarter inch long fingernails.

One day Gail had special fun with this guy. When she handed him his change, she let her long silver claws brush against the palm of his hand, and then again almost immediately she let her long talons brush against the sensitive, delicate skin on the inside of his wrist. And she let her nails rest there for a full two seconds before she gently raked her nails across the inside of his wrist.

Gail purposely did this inexplicable thing to the fellow, and she could sense him almost short-circuiting, flustered, discombobulated. Gail didn't dare look him in the eye, though as she looked down she noticed -- it was unmistakable -- that the front of his pants was bulging out.

After that Gail didn't see the guy in the store again for over a week. She figured it must have been too much for him. And Gail smiled to herself every time she thought of it. Gail was a mischievous girl!