Seasonal Job Security

I could see the way forward: a few more shifts to establish an offhand cup of coffee as a normal thing he and I would do, then maybe a little extra hesitation at closing one day, with the mall deserted and cold, waiting in line for Abigail or Linda to search all the employees, a knowing glance; within a week, I was thinking, I'd be trading eye-rolls with him.

Then? The offer.

Criterium paid shit. Like, even shittier than Secret Whispers. The only people who took the job did it because they liked walking around carrying a gun. So we'd cut him in at a percentage, like Jenn had done last year with that guard Zach. She'd tried to fuck him, but he'd turned out not to be into girls. Thinking quickly, she'd put her bra back on, smiled, and offered him 5% of our take, and he'd jumped at it.

I knew Dave would need more. Hopefully not as much as 15%, but that would still leave a pretty decent payday for the rest of us, even after Evie took her cut. Probably only a little under a thousand for the season for me, a little more for Jenn, a little less for Steph. Not too bad, considering. If Katja wasn't late with her share of the rent, that should put me just that little bit further ahead with my tuition.

Easy-peasy.

I was whistling as I walked into Ahab's. Lita Ford, "Kiss Me Deadly." Before my time, but it's a great song. And she looks so sexy in that video; the part in the middle, where she's fucking that guitar. I wondered whether I should make Dave a mixtape. Old-school.

He'd love it. I sighed, stepping up to place my coffee order, and realized I had no idea how to make a mixtape. Or where to get cassettes.

* * *

It turned out he did like sugar in his coffee, "though," as he put it gruffly the second day I offered to spring for Ahab's, "none of that Splendor shit."

I blinked. "What?"

"The fake stuff." He blushed a bit, as if he was ashamed he'd let out a secret. "Make sure it's sugar."

I smiled. Splenda. "Please," I reminded him, and then he smiled a little ruefully. I was keenly aware that Jenn was watching me like an owl as she sold five pair of thigh-highs.

"Please," he added after a pause, as if to show that he wasn't obeying me, so I smirked and reached up under my top (cream-colored, with an ivory chemise beneath, over pinstriped slacks meticulously pressed) to catch the magnet as I ripped off my nametag. It had become a ritual: I left my tag with Dave, and he pretended not to look at my bare belly as my top rode up. I held his gaze as the magnet whispered down over my boob, then into my waiting hand; he swallowed as he took it. "I'll be back before you know it, David."

"I'm counting on it, Chelsea." And then, with a wink and a grin, I was off on my usual little adventure, taking care of him. Looking after him.

Becoming fond of him.

It had happened with alarming speed, Dave turning out to be sort of a mush under the sterile exterior. It wasn't hard to tell he was mortified to be guarding panties, that he felt he should be doing something a bit... well, manlier. "Retired cop?" I'd prodded gently when I'd brought his coffee that first day.

"Huh?"

"Did you use to be a cop?" I'd smiled gently. "Pardon me for noticing, but you're not the usual Criterium spring chicken."

He'd looked furiously down into his coffee, which Ahab's served in narrow paper cups printed to look like a peg leg. "No," he'd said stiffly, but by the third sip I'd gotten some of the story: he'd gotten out of the army and become an electrician, years ago, but was out of that job on disability. I'd thought of asking why a man too damaged to run electrical wire thought he should be a security guy, but decided that would be offensive.

And now? The next day? I smiled as I handed him his cup. "Just a little sweet," I murmured, coming close to take my nametag back, "like some people I know."

"Nobody's sweet." He nodded his thanks, though, and blew on the steam rising from the lid. "It's always an act."

"Always?"

"Always." He sighed, his shoulders slouching. "People almost always disappoint you."

"Says the man who knows all about people." I took my nametag back, but I was still on break. So I put it in my pocket and leaned casually against the wall beside the Secret Whispers door, not far from the guard our neighbors had employed. He was a young guy, a little bit sexy, but terribly shy. Different company, too. "Do you Criterium guys have any, you know, rivalries with the guys from Vanguard?"

He squinted at his counterpart, who was carefully avoiding our glances. If Dave felt embarrassed to be guarding lingerie, the Vanguard kid had it worse: our neighbor was Petey McGhee's. They sold children's clothing. "This is only my second month on this job," he admitted at last, sipping carefully at his coffee. I must have shown my surprise, because his scowl came zipping right back into place. "What?"

"Nothing," I shrugged. "I guess I just assume everyone's been working places as long as I have." Seven years already, I reflected; I'd started as a part-time bra whisperer when I was just a junior in high school. I glanced sideways at him, mindful that I had a job to do here. A lucrative, petty-theft job. "Eric left suddenly," I put in.

He blinked. "Who?"

"Eric? Tall, built, young?" Nothing. "Your predecessor? The guy who was standing where you are last week?"

"Oh." He gave one of those dismissive head-jerks people do when they want to shrug but decide it's just not worth it. "I don't know him. I was just told your manager was looking for a new guard."

Sophia! "Really." I had my most pleasant face on, safely neutral. "I don't really follow all that security stuff," I lied. I most certainly did, not that Sophia needed to know that.

"She said you guys had been getting some things stolen." He glanced back across the entrance, looking apprehensive as always, so he didn't see the chill come over my face. Fuck. "Bras." Ah. Fucking Cerise and Megan M, the Lead Bra Whisperers. Trust them to be such incompetent thieves that they'd draw the heat down on them. "I think she thought Eric was in on it." But, of course, I'd already made that connection myself; that smart little asshole Eric! He'd probably been fucking Cerise for weeks. She was one of those women who is sexy but not beautiful. She had a good body, but I'd slept with her once on a whim and she looked best in clothes.

"Yes," I managed, "they can be expensive." I drained off my white hot chocolate, the mall clock across the way reminding me I had to get back to work. "Well, thanks for the convo, David." I waited until he looked over at me, then cocked my head. "I figure you'll probably relax at some point, you know," I teased, grinning to let him know I meant it gently.

He opened his mouth to say something, but paused and turned it into another sip instead. I waited, and eventually he looked away. "I just don't want my daughter's friends to come shopping here, is all."

I nearly squealed with delight. What was this? Was that a revelation? Were we bonding? "Ouch," I nodded. "I can see how that'd be embarrassing." Perfect. If I could make him be my friend, this would all be much easier when it came time for Eve to sneak those Premium French Cuts out. I could see my expected 20% dropping before my eyes, though, but it was better than 0%. "I'm off, David. Same time tomorrow." It wasn't a question, and the back of his head nodded just a tad. When he was looking back in my direction, I casually reached back inside my top to put my tag back on.

He was careful not to look, my skin on casual display, but I decided to tease him. "Is my nametag straight, David?" I asked, arching my back just a little, daring him to avoid looking at my tits. "It's kind of tricky to do it myself."

He flickered his eyes over to my chest, then I saw his throat bob as he swallowed. "Fine," he grunted. "Thanks for the coffee, Chelsea."

"You're very welcome, David." I gave him another smile as I passed back into the store for a couple more hours among the overpriced lace and satin of my panty department.

* * *

Steph swiped another pair of Premiums before, exasperated, Jenn put a stop to it. "What the fuck?" Steph was not pleased. "This is easy pickings. I could get like five a day, and Abigail would never find out."

"Yeah," Jenn explained patiently, the three of us bundled up out by the smoking area on a windy mid-December night. She took a drag on the blunt and then passed it back to Steph. "But we can't move anything right now." She glanced at me.

"Jesus, ladies," I sighed, exasperated. "You see Dave every time you come in. How easy do you think it fucking is to butter him up, a gruff old asshole like him?"

"Relax," Steph advised, offering me the blunt. "Here. This'll get you down off the ledge." She was the only worker in the place that always, always wore a dress, usually a smartly tapering number with a neckline that never failed to just barely kiss the top of her bra cups. The tightness of the dresses made her carry herself with a serene, gracefully poised set to her back and shoulders that made me think of a classy waitress at an expensive restaurant, the kind where you run a tab and always buy a dessert. Her belly never, ever bunched no matter what kind of fabric her dress was made of, her firm breasts rising sleekly above. I wanted to be able to do that.

"I see what you're saying, though," Jenn nodded. "He's not the usual security guard." She eyed me cautiously. "I think you're doing as well as you can, Chels, with the coffee breaks. He seems to like you. It's not your fault time is a factor, but it goddamn well is."

"Dude." Steph burped. "Just fuck him already."

"These panties lose like half their value after Christmas." Jenn needed the money. She was saving for a house, her husband was only tangentially employed, and daycare was a killer. She sighed. "I don't think you can fuck him, and I'm not sure it would work if you did."

"I wonder what he's like in bed," Steph reflected, blowing out sweetly acrid smoke, and for a moment all of us stood there and contemplated that.

He wasn't unattractive, not really. He was dour and maybe a little mean, but his body was okay. Better than okay, considering his age; I'd gotten him to admit he was turning 48 soon, a week before Christmas. That might be why he was so pissy, I reflected; a lot of people don't like it when they have late-December birthdays. "He told me he's got a daughter," I pointed out quietly, "so he must know which hole it goes into."

"Eww," Jenn grimaced. Steph just laughed.

"It goes into all the holes, prude," she snickered. "Hell, he's probably amazing. The quiet ones are sometimes the freakiest."

"Fuck." Jenn sighed. "Maybe Steph's right. Maybe she should take over and just nail him." She glanced over at our subordinate. "You up for it, Stephy? A little slumming with an old man's dick?"

Steph extended an important finger, and I shook my head. "I'm telling you, he needs a more subtle approach." He was starting to like me, I could tell, the daily coffee breaks now bringing on a slight, weathered smile. He'd told me about his birthday almost by accident, then he'd been visibly embarrassed that he'd let it slip. "Just a little more time. He doesn't hate me, at least. Each day that passes probably means a percent less we'll need to pay him; think about that."

"Well, that's true."

"Trust me," I winked. "Eventually, I'll have him eating out of my hand." Not tonight, though. Tonight, I had a date.

* * *

Charles seemed a little offended when I left, like he really wanted me to stay at his hotel and spend the night with him, but I just couldn't. My roommate tended to get pissy when I slept out with men, given that she couldn't ever seem to get any quality dick. "I just don't want to deal with her shit," I shrugged, giving my face one more wipe. The place stank like a locker room.

"A roommate," Charles mused from the bed, where I'd just sucked down his second load of the evening. It lay thick in my belly on top of the rich dinner he'd fed me, curdling there. I felt like burping. "Is she hot?" he cackled, and I looked carefully away. I enjoyed fucking Charles when he passed through town, but once more I resolved that he would never, ever have my Fathia.

I scowled at him. "She's German, or something. Dutch? Whatever." I blinked into the mirror. I'd done my best: nothing left now but a bit of crustiness in my eyebrows. That would have to wait until I could get a shower; I wanted out of here. I'd already called the rideshare. "She's pretty. She doesn't seem all that into sex though, Charles."

"Poor bitch." He rolled over on the filthy bed, like a pig wallowing in his own filth. "Sure you don't want me to give you a ride, baby?"

"You already did, you fucking stud," I giggled. The soreness was already starting, spreading from my stretched pussy lips up toward my belly button, where he'd sawed his cock deep into my body. I always enjoyed fucking him. "Thanks for dinner, too. It was delicious."

"And dessert," he nodded, smiling, and I blushed.

"And dessert." I walked over to his bed, smoothing my dress over my tits, and tossed my underwear to him underhand. "For your collection, sexy man. You can cum in it later, in an airport bathroom or something. Careful with it, though."

"Why?" He fingered the silk, smiling lazily when he felt my juices soaking the crotch.

"It's prerelease." I nodded at the panties. "French cut. Burnt orchid, our seasonal color; people are going to be beating down the door for it in a week." I shrugged. "Get it dry-cleaned and give it to Mrs Charles for Christmas. She'll be fucking amazed you even knew about it." I smiled inwardly, thinking about his wife wearing the panties I'd had on when her husband made me cum the first time. In the back of the taxi from the restaurant.

"Cool." He sniffed at it experimentally. "You, uh, busy tomorrow night? I'm in town still."

"I've got a date, baby." I sat on the bed and stroked his slack cock, still with a remnant of hardness to it. He could fuck me again, I knew, but then I'd stay all night and Katja would be all pissy in the morning. "The next night?" I asked hopefully.

"Sorry." He toyed with my thong, twirling it on his finger. "Back home. A nice, pleasant Christmas with the family, unless something drastic comes up."

"Good for you." I jiggled his balls again. "Say hi to your wife for me, babe."

"I always do," he laughed.

"I'll bet." I leaned in for one more kiss, a slow wet one, already wondering when Charles would come back through town.

* * *

I was running slightly late for work, which to me meant that I was only going to be about ten minutes early instead of fifteen. The weather was cold enough now to push me away from the beach and onto the freeway, but of course it had done the same to everyone else. So I gritted my teeth and dodged the Rav4 in among all the texting drones I was sharing the road with, trying hard to avoid the seductive call of the left lane: it seemed like a faster option, but all it took was one slow-ass shithead to clog up the whole road.

Abigail was supposed to open but, big shocker, she'd called in sick. Sick. My ass, she was sick. I mean, I was dragging myself in today, sore, despite the reaming Charles had laid on me, and it was probably going to be a couple hours before Sophia or Linda could get in. I hadn't even had time to iron my skirt, which pissed me off. I listened to Sophia telling me all this shit with mounting disbelief as I squeezed into yet another disgusting parking space. "So, like, you're in charge this morning."

"What?" I'm a fucking assistant lead. Jenn would be in later. "What about Cerise?" Bras. "Or Leah?" Cosmetics. "Or Gabriella?" Lingerie.

"Cerise has the afternoon today. I can't count on Leah. And Gabi?" The silence stretched on my phone. The rumor was that Gabi had been a shift supervisor once, over at the Carnegie location, but had gotten demoted and transferred either for coming in wasted, or fucking her manager's husband. "Look. It's not ideal. I'm coming in as soon as I can, but with traffic I'm at least an hour away."

Fuck. I hate responsibility. Assistant Lead Panty Whisperer is about where I belong. Maybe lead, sometimes, but not during the Holiday Blowout Sale. "Where are the keys, Sophia?"

"The guard has a set." She sounded relieved. "Thanks, Chelsea. I'll find a way to make it up to you. Alarm code is 215667."

Fuck. Like I know how to mess with an alarm. I scrambled for a scrap of paper (a wadded receipt) and the Pepsi-coated pen I'd left propped in my cupholder. "Say that shit again?"

So I was not exactly in perfect form as I arrived at Secret Whispers, dodging the old couples that showed up before the stores opened and strolled the mall for distance, hand in hand. It was an inspiring glimpse of true love and elderly perseverance, but I had zero fucks to give for any of that crap right now. From the entrance to The Gallery, I saw a few shapes outside the store; as I got closer, they resolved themselves into Caitlin, staring furiously at her phone; Liz, one of the anonymous lingerie whisperers; and, well off to one side as if he was one of the strollers instead of a temporary member of the Secret Whispers family, a scowling Dave diPerro.

I looked around, noting with great disgust that Secret Whispers was the only store with its lights still off. Everybody was supposed to open in twelve minutes. I sighed. "Hi, people." I already felt like I'd been working for hours. This was going to be a long day. I ignored my sore pussy and strode straight up to the security guard. "Good morning, David," I said quickly. "I'm told you have keys?"

He stared evenly back at me. "I'm not an employee, Chelsea. I can't open the store."

"No, but I can." I set my pocketbook down. "If you let me borrow your key."

He arched a bushy eyebrow. "You in charge or something?"

"Temporarily." I hoped I didn't look too stressed. "Come on. Pretty please?"

"I'm only supposed to use it in an emergency," he hedged.

I cocked my head and felt a smile come, a crafty one, reckless and entirely unexpected to both of us. "I'll make it worth your while."

And then? A miracle! His smile matched mine, mostly because it was so unexpected. I hadn't thought his face had the muscles to produce one, but it was actually quite nice: it made him look kind. And fatherly. And handsome, sort of. I felt my face catch fire as I blushed. "How?"

"Never you mind," I snapped, angered by my blush and, even more, by the urgent rattle of the security grille at Petey McGhee's. Motherfucker! I would not open late. "I'll tell you later. Look, David, I'm authorized! Sophia even gave me the alarm code!"

He glanced without any warmth at the crumpled receipt with Sophia's numbers written in quavery penstrokes; I'd been going over a speed bump when I wrote them. "What's that supposed to be, a golden ticket?" He sighed heavily, but at last he burrowed around in one of the leather pouches on his police belt.

I gave him no time for second thoughts; when I turned around, Meghan M had arrived to handle bras. I liked Meghan. She had a really amazing ability to assemble her body, with a sharp understanding of how to use the bra to make herself look gorgeous. As I always did, I looked first at her chest when she walked in. She had a difficult body to fit, especially with the tight tank she was wearing today. But she'd managed it: her tits swelled big and high and yet not overwhelming, with neither strap nor cup showing out the sides, her cleavage deep and tempting with its rich shadow. Everyone who saw her wanted to fuck her, and she knew it, and she took care to let the world know she knew it. She looked a question at me as I stalked over. "You're in charge, Chels?"