Five-Finger Discount

"Five-Finger Discount"

Nobody saw her. That was what Taylor kept telling herself as she walked through the store, occasionally picking up an item and glancing speculatively at it before putting it down with a practiced shrug of disdain. She knew that there wasn't a salesperson anywhere within twenty feet of her when she slipped the blouse into her purse, and she couldn't see a camera anywhere. Nobody knew she did it. She was going to get away with it.

She made her way gradually toward the front of the store, wending her way through the clothing racks with a gradual motion that (she hoped) didn't betray her eagerness to get the hell out. She already had the plan in her head. Go out the front (no security scanners, but she'd already removed the tag just in case) and walk smoothly but swiftly to the escalator, then down two floors and around the corner to the south exit. From there she could be on the bus and back home in an hour, with plenty of time to stash the shirt before her parents got home. She'd have to change in the bathroom at school if she wanted to wear it-between not giving her an allowance and not letting her get a job until graduation even though she was technically a grown-up and didn't have to get their permission (as Taylor reminded them practically every week...) Taylor's parents had a pretty good idea of everything she bought.

Still, it would be worth it. The blouse would perfectly complement the eye shadow she'd tucked away into her bra a couple of weeks ago, and it would go amazingly well with the skirt she'd 'tried on' in the dressing room yesterday and wore out underneath her regular clothes. Taylor admitted that technically, she was probably bending a few moral codes by shoplifting an entire wardrobe, but really it was Mom and Dad's fault for trying to keep her under their thumb all the time. 'Don't go out late!' 'Don't skip class!' 'You already have a job, it's school!' 'Gotta keep those grades up if you want to get into a good college!' If the only way she had to express herself was through stealing, then didn't that just make this her art form?

Taylor neared the front of the store, trying hard not to let any of her contempt for the store's security systems show on her face. No scanners, no gates, checkout counters in each department instead of at the exit...she had no idea how this place stayed in business. She would have to come back for more stuff at this rate; it was a bit of a haul to come out here instead of her usual mall trip, but she'd never seen a place that was this easy to boost from. She could-

Taylor stopped dead at the front. She turned around, swiveling so precisely that it looked like a military maneuver. Then she walked straight back into the store, marching at a quick walk through one department after another until she found herself at the very back. She took a quick turn into an area marked 'Employees Only', then walked past the break room with a purposeful stare on her face that belied her complete and utter confusion about what the hell she had just decided to do.

It all seemed to happen so quickly. One second she was inches away from the wide open front exit, and the next she suddenly knew that nothing could possibly be more important than turning around and going back the way she came. She didn't know where she was going or why, but she felt an irresistible, unquestionable, somehow perfectly logical compulsion to make her way to the rear of the building and go into an area she didn't even know was there. It all made such perfect sense to her...on a level that had nothing to do with actually understanding anything. She was doing what she needed to do, and she was going to keep doing what she needed to do. Taylor stopped at a door marked 'Security Office' and gave it three quick, respectful taps.

After a moment, she heard a woman's voice on the other side say, "Come in." Taylor opened the door to reveal a small office lit by buzzing fluorescent lights, with a large desk dominating the room. A woman in her forties with strawberry blonde hair that was shellacked into place with hairspray, and a little too much cherry-red lipstick on her lips sat behind it, chewing gum and reading a weightlifting magazine. She had her feet up next to a nameplate that read, 'Miranda Wyrzykowski - Head of Security'. She gave Taylor a slightly quizzical look and gestured to a chair on the other side of the desk.

Taylor closed the door behind her, set her purse on the desk and sat down in the chair. "I tried to steal a blouse, ma'am," she said, blurting out the words before she could stop herself. She couldn't understand why she said it any more than she could understand any of her other actions, but they all seemed so perfectly natural that she couldn't imagine doing anything else. Of course she needed to go and report her attempted theft to Security. Of course she needed to sit politely and wait for Ms. Wyrzykowski to take her feet off the desk and rifle through Taylor's belongings. It all made sense, in a way that didn't bear any resemblance to any of the ways that anything had ever made sense to her before in her life.

Ms. Wyrzykowski pulled out the blouse and gave it a quick glance. Then she gave a much longer, more appraising look at Taylor. "You seem like a sweet kid," she said, in a voice that suggested more than a few cigarette breaks in her employment history. "What are you, seventeen, eighteen?"

"Eighteen, ma'am," Taylor said respectfully, keeping her eyes slightly lowered. She felt inexplicably like it would be rude to do anything as challenging as stare Ms. Wyrzykowski right in the face, and somehow that reconciled itself perfectly with her history of shouting, glaring, slamming doors and other means of communicating with the rest of the authority figures in her life.

Ms. Wyrzykowski sighed. "Jeez," she said, fishing her gum out of her mouth and sticking it in an ashtray that already held more than a few such discards. "Only eighteen and you're already screwing up your life, kid. This blouse is twenty bucks. Twenty, you can earn that picking up cans out of the garbage." She spoke in a thick Bronx accent, turning 'your' into 'yer' and 'twenty' into 'twenny' and 'out of' into 'oudda'.

"And for twenty bucks, you're going to what, get a five hundred dollar fine? A disorderly conviction on your record? Probably give your parents a damn heart attack, too." Taylor's heart lurched into her throat at the thought of her mom and dad finding out she'd been shoplifting. She didn't know if it was possible to get grounded and kicked out of the house at the same time, but her dad might give it a try.

"So tell me, kid," Ms. Wyrzykowski said, balling up the blouse and tossing it in a clothing bin, "why did you do it?" On any other day, Taylor might have found something funny about the way that Ms. Wyrzykowski's accent made 'whydjadoit' out of 'why did you do it', but nothing seemed funny right now. And even if it did, she could no more imagine laughing at Ms. Wyrzykowski than she could imagine flying. Or getting up without permission.

"I wanted the blouse, ma'am," Taylor replied, quietly astonished at the meekness in her voice. "And I thought I could get away with it." She waited to hear if she had anything else to offer-a plea of hardship, a confession of wanting to shock and horrify her domineering parents, any of the dozens of other justifications she wove for herself after one of her little 'free shopping trips'...but there was nothing. It seemed that once she was compelled to tell the truth, it really did come down to just that. She wanted it and she thought she could get away with taking it. Taylor squirmed uncomfortably in the privacy of her head.

Ms. Wyrzykowski shot her a smug, preening grin of triumph. "Yeah, that's what a lot of people say," she chuckled, with a badly-applied tone of false modesty. "You kids, you're all the same, looking for store detectives and hidden cameras and those whatchamadingies, RFID tags. I'm too lazy for all that crap, though. I just cast a mens rea spell on the whole damn building, now I can sit in the office all day farting around doing nothing if I want."

"I'm sorry, ma'am," Taylor interrupted. The uncharacteristically submissive part of her feeling terrible about it, but her curiosity was absolutely uncontrollable by now, and whatever was keeping her politely tucked into her seat didn't seem to prevent her from asking as long as it wasn't argumentative. And at this point, Taylor didn't see much point in arguing whether or not magic was real anymore. "Mens rea? What's that? I mean, I know it's Latin for 'guilty mind', but..."

Ms. Wyrzykowski raised an eyebrow in grudging admiration. "Learning Latin, huh? Smart kid. The smart ones are always the dumbest, ain't you? Mens rea is a spell of protection, it turns malicious intent back on the offender threefold. Anyone who tries to do you harm-not just physical harm, but any kind of injury, emotional or financial or whatever-their conscience kind of twists up around inside itself until all they want is to do right by you. Like now, kid. You want to make me good and happy because you know deep down that it's the only way to make up for being such a bad girl. That ain't what you want anymore, is it?"

"No, ma'am!" Taylor said eagerly, sitting bolt upright in her chair and looking up as much as she dared. "I want to be a very good girl for you, Ms. Wyrzykowski!" Somehow, she even managed to pronounce the name perfectly the first time.

Ms. Wyrzykowski smiled. It was kind of an intense smile, and Taylor found herself shivering a little at the way the other woman was looking at her. "Please, kiddo," she said, her voice husky with more than just years of smoking. "Call me Miranda."

Taylor felt her mind adjust automatically, accepting the minor intimacy with inescapable ease. "Y-yes, Miranda," she stammered softly, unable to raise her voice beyond a respectful murmur. Something about the way Miranda looked at her made Taylor feel oddly warm, as if there was something her body already understood that her mind couldn't consciously grasp. Something that would please Miranda, something that would make her happy. Taylor couldn't help wanting that. She couldn't help understanding exactly what that thing would be, the magic impelling her body into motion even before her thoughts caught up with her actions.

She was still trying to figure it out when she found herself standing up, walking around the desk, and raising her skirt to display her panty-covered crotch to Miranda's stare. "Does my c-cunt please you, Miranda?" she asked, the tiny hitch in her voice the only outward sign of utter gobsmacked amazement at her words. She didn't consider herself sexually inexperienced-her last "seven minutes in heaven" had lasted somewhere in the neighborhood of an hour and a half-but she had never talked dirty to someone so openly before.

But it turned her on so much. Taylor could feel moisture soaking through the fabric of her panties, the act of displaying herself lewdly to Miranda's gaze making her pussy wet beyond her wildest imagination. She hadn't gotten this soaked when Chad diddled her through her clothes at the movies, or when she fantasized about a threesome with Chris Evans and Sebastian Stan, or when she got her first vibrator (okay, it was an electric toothbrush, but her parents had no idea what she used it for). It was like her cunt was drooling with anticipation for something Taylor wasn't yet aware of on a conscious level.

But Miranda looked like she knew. She said, "Damn straight it does, honey," and peeled Taylor's panties away from her skin, pulling them down to her ankles as a thin strand of sticky fluid trailed from her pussy lips. She teased Taylor's wet opening with her index finger, staring with a look of absent concentration at the way Taylor's labia gently parted to accept the welcoming intruder. Taylor shook with arousal, barely able to stand as waves of pure euphoric bliss washed over and through her.

"It's okay, sweetheart," Miranda said, sliding her finger all the way up to the knuckle, then back out again. It moved as smoothly as pushing through warm butter, and Taylor couldn't help feeling like that was an absolutely perfect analogy. Because she felt like she was melting. "You just relax yourself. Your body knows just what to do. Look at my hand, feel how good it's making you feel, and you're going to open right up for me."

"Yuh...yes, Miranda," Taylor drawled out as the other woman added a second finger to the first. With every thrust, Taylor could feel the impact of Miranda's knuckles against her clit, and it was driving her quietly insane with lust. She shuddered violently, her pussy stretching to accommodate the probing digits as though hungry for more. "Please...please fu-fuh-fuck me harder," she whimpered, her mind stuttering under the intensity of the pleasure she felt.

"You want to get fucked harder?" Miranda said, a devilish gleam in her eye. She began to thrust faster, pushing the fingers up inside Taylor's cunt in a pounding rhythm that made Taylor's clit throb like a second heartbeat. "Like that?" she asked, pulling them out slowly before accelerating to ram them all the way in as fast as she could.

Taylor's eyes rolled back in her head as she felt Miranda add a third finger. "Ungh, yes ma'am!" she squealed, feeling her pussy gush out more slippery lube to help Miranda sink into her. "Yes, please, yes, please..." She could hear herself chanting in time to each powerful thrust, her legs shaking with the effort of holding herself upright under the sensory onslaught. Dimly, distantly, she noticed Miranda unbuttoning her shirt and yanking the bra off of Taylor's small, pert breasts to suckle on Taylor's tight, stiff nipples.

"That's a good girl," Miranda said between kisses, pounding Taylor's cunt with an intensity Taylor had never even imagined feeling. "You think you learned your lesson, honey? You want to be a good little slut and open up that pussy for me?"

"Y-yes ma'am," Taylor gasped, her whole body swaying with every thrust. Miranda wrapped her other arm around Taylor's waist, helping to support her, and Taylor leaned gratefully onto the other woman's body as the pleasure overwhelmed her. Her eyes were open barely a sliver now, and her pussy was so wet that she could feel her arousal literally dripping onto Miranda's hand. She understood that this was part of the magic, her body acting of its own will to make her cunt slick and open to Miranda's fingers, but that only made her feel even better. She wanted to be open. She wanted to please Miranda. She wanted to be fucked like this because that was the only thing she could imagine wanting right now.

Miranda slid the fourth finger in, slowing the pace of her thrusts as she pushed her whole hand up inside Taylor's cunt until the bridge between her thumb and forefinger nudged rhythmically against Taylor's clit. Taylor could feel the open palm sliding up into her, and she grunted with mindless ecstasy as her pussy clenched in orgasm around Miranda's hand. Her eyes slid shut, the world descending into warm, red bliss with every smooth, sensuous motion.

"That's it, kid," Miranda said, sliding her body forward so that she could grind against Taylor's leg. "All the way now for me. You're such a good girl. You can't stop. You don't want to stop." Taylor couldn't disagree. She literally couldn't. Her mind was opening up just like her body, letting in a sudden new-felt bisexual desire just like her pussy opened up to let Miranda's thumb join the rest of her hand inside Miranda's cunt. She could feel Miranda pushing inside her, all the way up to the wrist, and it sent Taylor into a second orgasm before she'd even finished the first. She'd never been so full. She'd never imagined she could be.

"unh, fuh, mmmaaaa," Taylor moaned, each and every word broken and shattered against the rocks of pure mindless euphoria before it could even fully form. Her body was quaking now, her mind empty of anything but the feeling of Miranda's hand gently and smoothly fucking her goddamn brains out. She tried to tell Miranda how good it felt, how much she loved being obedient and submissive, how much she wanted to please the other woman now and forever and serve her with her cunt and her tits and her whole body, but it just came out as, "guh, fuh, puh...puhh..."

From the way that Miranda's pussy rubbed against her leg with uncontrollable urgency, though, Taylor felt sure that the other woman understood.

She lost track of the number of times she came; it was easily four by the time Miranda began to slowly reverse the process, gently removing her fingers one by one as she carefully slid back out of Taylor's pussy. It was probably six by the time the last digit slid out, brushing Taylor's sensitive clit hard enough to send an aftershock of pleasure quaking through her body that made her collapse into Miranda's lap with a whimpering mewl of bliss. She couldn't think about it. She couldn't think about anything. She just wanted to be Miranda's good girl a while longer, and Miranda obliged her with a tender embrace that sent Taylor into a hazy half-sleep for a little while.

Once she had recovered, Miranda stood her up and helped her clean herself up a bit with a towel she had stashed in the drawer ("I was planning to go to the gym," she said, "but I think I got enough exercise for today.") Then she pulled Taylor's panties up, buttoned up her blouse, smoothed out her skirt and said, "Now, I'm going to let this one slide, kiddo, but am I seeing you back in this office again?"

Taylor knew exactly what to say. "Yes, ma'am," she said. "I'll come back and try to shoplift again next week so you can punish me some more like this." She paused, blinking in confusion. She was pretty sure that wasn't it. But it did feel so right on her lips...

"Good girl," Miranda replied. She picked up the blouse from where it lay on the desk and handed it to Taylor. "Here you go. Just tell them to take it out of my pay, okay? Sweet kid like you deserves a little something nice every now and again. But don't you tell anyone I'm a softy like this, alright? I got better things to do than deal with a line of brats coming in here and thinking they can pull one over on me."

"No, ma'am," Taylor said, feeling the compulsion lock in. She knew she would keep all of this a secret. She also knew she wouldn't be able to stop thinking about it every time she masturbated from now on. "May-may I go?" she asked, checking her watch. She couldn't think of doing anything as disrespectful as complaining about how long Miranda had spent fucking her, but at the same time most of her margin for getting home ahead of her parents was gone.

"Yeah, go on, beat it, kid," Miranda said, returning to her magazine. Taylor nodded gratefully and turned to leave. As she opened the door, though, she found a woman with her arm lifted, hand raised in the act of knocking. Taylor didn't recognize her, but the look on her face of bewildered submission was intimately familiar.

Taylor stepped out of the way and let the next shoplifter get on with their punishment.

THE END