Asian Seamstress
by Esperanza
Copyright© 2025 by Esperanza
Erotica Sex Story: A man, while getting pants tailored, becomes aroused by the atmosphere and the seamstress and so the erotica begins...
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Consensual Interracial Oriental Female Cream Pie Exhibitionism Masturbation Oral Sex Petting Big Breasts .
My cock just erupted, blast after exciting blast of warm, horny male cum into the air and onto the floor as the lady next to me looked on. The expression on her face was stunned and then awkwardness – all in one. But not horrified or angry – that sent a signal to my brain and cock. All was not lost. This sort of humiliating experience might not turn into a disaster.
It started when my wife dragged me downtown to an indoor flea market area to buy cheap clothes, pants, shirts, and jackets, which could then be tailored, again cheaply, to look expensive. Since we were in an Asian and Latino section of the city, the store had a large staff of seamstresses who basically worked cheaply and did a great job.
This clothing store had the flair of a family-style restaurant. You know, the old type of place where the customers sit at large tables of 12 or more people, and where you do not know the person sitting next to you. But you do it because the food is so good you put up with the lack of style and comfort. Well, this clothing store had racks and racks of clothing and changing stalls which were not well concealed from the shoppers so that you could basically see the person in the dressing stall taking off her dress or putting on a bra. I got many naked shots, and this had gotten my cock rock hard in the first place.
Most of the clientele were Asians or poor, older white ladies. And none of them seemed to mind that they were on display in the changing stalls. But it wasn’t the changing stall that had me pop my nuts; it was in the seamstress area where a Chinese lady, maybe 20, maybe 30, maybe 40 years of age, had me take off my pants.
My 37-year-old wife had chosen five pairs of pants and two sport jackets for me to get tailored, and then she left me in the tailoring area so that she could go shopping for herself. The tailor area had 10 Asian women bent over working at sewing machines and with several changing areas which had a curtain made of a bed sheet.
The seamstress area had two large fans blowing air to cool off the desperately hot, humid air, and the women working at the sewing machines all had their dresses or skirts raised above their knees to keep cool. I had a very nice view of legs and even one or two crotch shots. It was hard to tell their age since their faces seemed so clean and soft and wrinkle-free. They could be 20 or 30 or even 50 years old. As far as I could tell, all the Asian women looked alike. Yet my hard-on did not go down while I waited my turn.
When it came for my turn, an Asian lady, with her hair tied on top of her head, motioned for me to follow her. The first thing that I noticed was that her breasts were large, round, not small and puny like many Asian women. I was led a 100 or more feet to the back of the large room away from the sewing area and where there were no fans and very little air circulating.
She took me behind a curtain, but first had to move several boxes containing mounds of clothing. She said in a deadpan voice, “You take off your jacket and pants, leave on your shirt and underpants. I measure you from head to toe, then we try on each pair of pants and measure. Then your jacket, and maybe you want shirts, too. They’re cheap. Ok. No take much time. Many people wait.” She did not say “ please” and she never left the makeshift changing room. I waited, not sure what was going on. But I was realizing that privacy was not going to be part of the picture.
As a few seconds ticked off without me taking off any clothes, she said, “What are you? German?”
I was taken aback by her offhand remark [no pun intended] and replied, “No, but close. My mom and dad spoke German, but they came from Belgium. I was born here in California.”
She said, “Your hair is a different color. Not brown or black. Interesting, no? I like it different.” She waited and probably was thinking it was perfectly normal to watch a guy change his clothes in a department store changing room. Well, maybe in China.
Then she said again nonchalantly, “Why don’t you take off your clothes? You’re not a little boy.”
I removed my jacket and realized I had to drop my pants and that my hard-on would be very obvious; sure it would be covered by my boxer shorts, but my cock was definitely sticking out. It would be hard to miss since I had a very decent-size dick, not bad, I might add, for a guy just over 45 years of age with a very active dick. Just ask my wife!
And then this Asian lady is sitting on her haunches, like in a squat, and I can see down her blouse, which is loose, and her bra is not really tight to her tits, so I can catch glances of her tits and almost her nipples.
I take off my pants and turn to the side, which only makes it obvious that I am trying to hide the erection that is pushing out my underwear. As the dead air hardly breezes on my now bare legs, my cock nevertheless is twitching inside my boxer shorts. But she stands behind me and measures my arms and back and has me stretch out my arms, and then she puts the tape around my neck. And writes the numbers down, and now is sting on her haunches again. And I see her notice my bulge. But she says nothing.
Instead, she takes the tape and comes closer to me to measure my waist. Once I feel her hands contact my skin, I am on fire. Now at my side, she puts the tape at my waist, then brings it down to my knees, and my cocks is now twitching a real lot. She says again in a deadpan voice, “You should be dishonored. If you, young boy, I give you spanking.”
But it was her tone of voice; there was no malice, no real anger, just a simple fact of a mother talking to her 10-year-old son. But she was younger than my wife; I took her age to be about 34, give or take. Her skin was gorgeous, and her face, while not really pretty, was cute in a sweet way. And she did not run away. She sat quietly. She was keyed on my bulging cock, watching it twitch inside my undies.
“It won’t go down.” I looked at her imploringly, but that had no effect on her.
“Maybe a spanking would help.” I said this without thinking but knew it was the right move, since she had not hollered or screamed or gotten up and left. She had some interest. I went with the flow.
She had not left, had not moved a muscle, and sat coolly quiet, taking in this stranger with a hard-on in her sewing room. Most revealing, there was not a trace of anger or fear on her face. I was keenly aware that no one was real close to our cubicle. That no one could hear us speaking unless we talked loudly. We had a dash of privacy. So I went for the gold.
I said, “Look!” and pulled my short over my hard-on and halfway down my legs to my knees and stood tall. Her eyes now widened and she was about to speak so I quickly took hold of my cock and when my hands came in contact with my throbbing man meat, I lost it. I shot a glob of cum across the room and the more squirts and more until I had emptied my balls.
She never said a word. Her eyes were focused on my twitching cock and my shooting cum and she seemed frozen and mesmerized. I figured I was in trouble and began to apologize.
She then sprang into action. Quickly she stood up, told me to be quiet and left the room and in seconds returned with a no-label box of tissues and began to wipe the cum off the floor. She handed me a wad of tissue and I cleaned off my cock. I handed it to her, and she did not seem to mind that the tissue paper was wet with my cum. This left an impression, but no words were spoken.
I said, “Maybe you should give me that spanking.” I had no idea why I said that since I never played those types of sex games yet even though I had just shot the largest load of cum in many a year I was still sexually excited and was trying to come on to her. Like give me a break, I had just exposed my cock to her, a hard cock, and then I proceeded to shoot cum on her floor and we never had a proper introduction.
“You not good man. I think you are homosexual. I feel shamed. Cover yourself and I finish measurement.”
I, of course, felt shame.
But that feeling quickly faded since her tone again registered that something was not being said. There was not any anger, not any rapprochement as a person gets from a disappointed adult. The words were damaging yet her tone was forgiving. However, I put my cock inside my undies, just to be safe.
She worked quickly. After I had tried on the second pair of pants, and she took the measurement, she stunned me by asking again in a nonchalant tone, “Why your parents didn’t cut your penis? What do they call that? Cir ... something. It’s not clean for a man not to have it cut.”
She was not really asking but more like inquiring. So I said, “In Europe, especially northern Europe, most baby boys aren’t circumcised. All you have to do is pull back the skin and wash it yourself. No big deal. And you want to know something? They say that it leaves the cock, you know, the penis, more sensitive, not cutting off the skin.”
She understood that word, sensitive. She replied with a question, “You maybe too sensitive? Maybe homosexual, I think.”
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