Seasonal Job Security

Charles texted as I hung my coat back up. Fucker was back in town, just for one night, and wanting my body. I felt my pussy tingle as I sent him back a selfie.

I'd be working late, but is it ever really too late for dick?

* * *

Dave looked a little surprised when I rolled one of the panty displays right near him, and then manned it. But that good old fashioned Dave diPerro indifference soon settled back over him, leaving me to exchange saccharine gushings with the customers. Hi! I love your dress! Honey, I've got just the panty for that ass (knowing chuckle). Gift-wrap? Sure! Aimee can handle that. Yes, that's included in our Holiday Sale-a-thon. Of course, you can get a matching bra!

A surly-looking chick who eyed me like she was bi and her cute straight friend were pawing through my display as I sashayed over. "What's up, ladies?" I'd seen Caitlin angling toward us for the sale, but she could go fuck herself. This was my sale. I ignored the bi chick; the other one had a more expensive purse. "I'm Chelsea. In the mood for some new undies to spice up your bod?"

"When's the Christmas Special going to be available?" the cutie burbled, tossing back her blonde bob. It was an outdated haircut, but it looked good with her face. "I get a pair every year."

"Mm? You're talking about the Whispers Premium French-Cuts?" I giggled at her like a courtesan. "It's very popular. I'd say it's flying off the shelves, only it's not on the shelves yet." I winked. "I'm taking pre-orders today, and I can't wait to sign you up, honey." I laid a hand on her arm. "You'll look so sexy in them," I murmured, leaning closer. "Your coloring... We're doing Burnt Orchid this year."

"How much?" blurted Bi Chick, who I was certain was wearing cotton. I glanced over at her coolly.

"You're saving ten percent if you pre-order," I pointed out, briskly to the friend, and then Cutie had all my attention back. "It's really an amazing color this year. Remember Autumn Fade, the ombre from last year?" She was bobbing her head like it was on a string. "This one's better."

"Fuck!" she laughed. "I was fighting off my boyfriend last year. I'm not sure I can take more of that this time around."

"Aww, well, you know what they say!" She was peering at me, her head empty, and I briefly wondered whether this year's boyfriend was the same as the last. I leaned in further and whispered. "When you're tired of dick, just try a chick!" I laughed loudly so that she'd join in, and she did. Perfect. "These French Cuts? Babe, anyone who sees you in these?" I gave a low whistle. The corner of my eyes showed Dave, watching, a hint of curiosity as he watched me sell. "They say, 'I'm sexy, but I know when to throttle it back. Can you?' It's a very subtle color."

"Burnt what?" Bi Chick was disturbing my display, dammit, and with no intention of buying. I forced the smile, though, nodding.

"Orchid. It was selected exclusively for us by Massimo Gasoli." I nodded knowingly. "From Italy." Cutie's eyebrows were still rising as I straightened. "My bra's in Burnt Orchid. Wanna see?" Bi Chick swiveled her head to my chest immediately; yup. Diagnosis confirmed.

"Oooh!" Cutie was a squealer. She had sleek little thighs; yeah, I'd make her squeal. I thought of Charles, of his text, my pussy still prickly, and winked.

"Check it out." I made a big show of looking both ways, then carefully I dragged my top up off my waistline, the skirt perfectly fitted and meticulously ironed, to give them a brief flash of my tit, sheathed securely in a brand-new Whispers Intimates Lacy Balconette, broken out of the bag just that morning with the new shipment of French Cuts. From which I'd seen Jenn instinctively swipe two pair. "See? Nice, huh?"

I was only showing myself for five seconds, maybe six, while Cutie and Bi Chick made appropriate cooing noises, but it was enough; suddenly, my serenely turning head caught Dave, staring at me, his eyes riveted to my bare belly and the hint of sideboob I was showing.

Fuck. I'd never seen a man so attentive.

I told myself, later, that it was still Charles that had me so damp. But it wasn't, or at least not entirely. I'd discovered that I enjoyed Dave diPerro's attention. Plus, of course, I made the sale.

* * *

Late that night, reshelving, I pondered the situation. We most certainly needed to get Dave into the picture, and now: our purloined panties were losing value by the day, and of course delays were now eating into my cut. He sat there on the bench outside the store, carefully at arms' length from the Vanguard kid who guarded Petey McGhee's, the two probably on similar orders: stay until closing, then time and a half if you stay through inventory. He flipped casually through a National Geographic, the fucking dinosaur, while my hands folded panties with smooth unconscious efficiency.

He was not cute. He was not sexy. He was okay-looking, in that rugged sort of old-guy-dad way, and for some reason he had a look about him that made me want him spooning me. I had that reaction to a lot of guys. My mouth frowning, I pondered what I should do; Jenn's words were burning in my mind, my percentage in jeopardy, and with little further thought I made my decision.

"Hey!" I twisted back into the store, the holler bringing the two guards' heads snapping up. "Who all's back there?"

A rustling noise from back by the dumpster door, and then the voice of one of the Lingerie Whisperers, cautious. "Huh?"

"Liz?" I didn't wait for her to reply. The corner of my eye showed Dave relaxing slowly, going back to his article about... China? Hunger? Who the fuck knew? "Come on up, honey. Anyone else back there?"

"Kyleigh, from bras." Liz was a stunner. Sophia generally assigned new hires to the different departments because she thought they looked like they could wear the product well, and she'd hit Liz out of the park: if I ever saw that chick modeling lingerie I'd probably start creaming my panties then and there. She maneuvered around the cashier station with smooth, swivel-hipped grace. "She's taking the last load out to the dumpster."

Kyleigh was a noted slut. I felt sure this wasn't really the last load she'd take tonight, and if so she'd be happy with what I had to say. I was the girl with the silver nametag tonight, so I could decide when to send the junior bitches home. "Head out. I'll finish up. If you're going out the back, tell Ky she can leave too."

Liz blinked; booting people early was not normally what I did when Abigail or Linda left me in charge of closing, but she was smart enough not to argue. "Okay. Thanks, Chels. See you tomorrow!" She was fleeing before I could change my mind, and I brooded over her retreating ass. I'm not in the habit of getting pensive, but this conversation with Dave... well, it might not go well. He was such a hard read!

"Me too," I called softly after her, listening to the various noises as Liz scraped her shit out of her locker and flitted out to find Kyleigh. I knew my message had been received when I heard the little Bra Whisperer give a muted whoop from outside, and then the locker sounds were repeating themselves.

And all the while, my hands never stopped folding the ranked underwear. Even when a door slammed loudly back by the employee bathrooms. "Night, Chelsea!"

"Ky." I tucked the last of the panties into place, my display flawless, a model of retail perfection. "Have a good one." The faint noises of the kids in Petey McGhee's intruded, folding overalls or booties or whatever; our Lingerie Whisperers liked to joke that a woman would shop with us one day, then head next door to do more shopping about nine months later. I was resting my hands lightly on my display, staring thoughtfully at Dave, and finally I sighed. "David? Can I have a word?"

He glanced sharply up, the Vanguard guy stirring stupidly. He was almost asleep. Dave blinked at me. "I'm right here, Chelsea."

"And I'm right here," I replied quietly, jerking my head to the cashier station. "Come on. You'll want to hear this." I didn't wait to see if he'd follow, just heading back with my skirt swishing, back to where a gaudily-lit wall blocked the registers off from the mall entrance. Once behind there I leaned extravagantly against the counter, my eyes on my open-toed pumps, thinking about how this was going to pan out. I leaned over to check that I hadn't turned the cameras on yet.

Twelve percent. Fifteen, if necessary. Nothing more. Or? Maybe me, fired tomorrow or transferred to the warehouse when Dave went stalking to Sophia to report me. Well, it was too late now; he was shuffling into the store now, past the bras. "Am I shutting the grate?" his voice came hopefully.

"Oh." I took a breath. "Sure." He went about it, the rattly thing unspooling, while I leaned back to hit the front lights. Sophia liked to keep the floodlights on, and for the life of me I had no clue why; maybe so the mall's night guards, bored, could think about the underwear on the mannekins in the windows. Pervs. "Thank you, David." It wasn't part of his job.

He came around the wall out of the dimness from the front of the store, his eyes darting warily around. "The bras aren't done," he pointed out bluntly.

"Yes. Well. Cerise or Megan always come in early, so it'll get done in the morning." Fuck the bras. Kyleigh was one of the worst employees in the store; it's not like she would have gotten them done tonight, anyway, not to spec. Ky would get into trouble, but not too much. They expected nothing from Christmas-season temps. "It's not so bad. Just that one display." I smiled at him, gently, my voice still low. "I didn't want to talk to you about the bra displays, David."

"No?" He crossed his arms, the nylon jacket with its embroidered badge rustling. "Good. What's on your mind?"

I raised my head slowly and stopped smiling. I felt he'd respond better if I was just totally direct. "Actually," I corrected myself, my head cocked to one side, "I was wrong, David. This sort of does have to do with bras."

He arched an eyebrow. "I don't wear 'em."

"No shit." I reached back between the silent registers, tensed, and hiked myself up onto the counter, my legs swinging free. "No. You know you're here because fucking Cerise steals bras, right?"

He narrowed his eyes to slits, glancing around, wondering where the cameras were and whether they were on. "What's this about, Chelsea?"

"You know." I bit my lower lip a second, then nodded. "You know she steals. Well, stole. I don't know if she still does." I was watching him carefully. "She paid off the other guard. Fenced the bras, then gave him a cut of the proceeds." I waited; he gave away absolutely nothing. "He made quite a bit, for doing nothing. A lot more than you guys get paid, that's for sure," I chuckled.

Dave watched me just as carefully as I watched him.

"Eric. That was your predecessor." My legs swung. He was watching them, I noticed suddenly. "And then Phil, before him." Phil, with the average cock and the below-average ability to make sex last. Three times I'd done him, and he'd never once made me cum. "Phil didn't just take a percentage of the bras, David."

I waited until he answered. From out in the mall came the sound of Petey McGhee's gate rattling down, the muted voices of the closing crew there. The silence stretched after that, and then Dave stirred. "No?"

"No." I cleared my throat. "He took a percentage of the panties too, David."

His eyes glittered now as they came open just a tad, his voice gravel. "Did he."

"He did. Because Jenn and I cut him in at ten percent." I was holding my breath, I knew, and I wondered whether he noticed. Fuck. Of course he noticed. I let it out soundlessly, my chest falling slowly inside my sheer silk blouse. "Ten percent, David. Guess how much we made?"

His eyes were all the way open now. "I don't have the first clue what you're talking about, Chelsea." His voice was flat, controlled, like a jury foreman's. "I think I should probably be getting home, though." He lurched away from the wall he'd been leaning against, and I spoke quickly.

Fuck. "Two thousand, two hundred, forty-five dollars," I grated, watching the words hit. He'd been leaning, but now he straightened slightly. "That's how much Jenn, Steph and I made last Christmas. Phil got ten percent." He was doing the math, I could see, and I relaxed a tad. "For doing nothing at all. Free money." I waited. At least he'd stopped moving. "You have any idea how much more we can make over the next two weeks? With the burnt orchid?" I leaned back, forcing myself to relax, forcing my feet to swing again. "Maybe even twenty percent more."

"I should definitely be getting home." He moved again, but slowly, hesitating.

"That's almost three thousand." I was staring. "Look, all you need to do is look the other way. We'll do everything. You?" I smiled, not even a fake one. "Just be yourself. Stand there. Mope." I took a deep breath. "For twelve percent."

He frowned. "I don't mope."

"Fuck, David," I sighed, shaking my head, "nobody mopes like you." I studied him. "Twelve percent."

He looked at his boots, and when he met my eyes I noticed how his dragged a bit as they passed up my legs, over my chest. I felt myself blush. "This is not a good way to keep your job, Chelsea," he growled. He was stepping closer to me so that he could talk quieter. "Or mine, if you're not pulling my leg."

"I'm not pulling anything," I insisted, my voice dropping to match his. He was close enough now for me to smell the coffee on his breath, the coffee I'd bought him earlier that day. And that aftershave. I felt a shudder ripple through me. Christ, why? "It's... we need this," I told him, and then I looked away. "I need this."

"Need what?"

"The money." I sighed. Fuck this. I was suddenly very pissed that I had to go through this charade. "Look. Whatever. Twelve percent. Take it or leave it." When I looked back, he was still riveted to my eyes, his face looking blank, thoughtful, like a man trying to solve a puzzle. I raised my eyes to brush my hair from my face.

He was nodding, slow small nods. "To look the other way." He paused. "And what, exactly, did you say these things were?"

"The panties?" I blinked. Was it possible... "Whispers Premium French Cut. Satin. WhisperLace front. Custom Poniatowski crystals. Premium chamois gusset. Designed exclusively by Massimo Gasoli." I frowned at his incomprehension. "Are you sure you've got a wife and a daughter? Everyone wants these." I smiled again, a little nervously. "We're preselling them at $53.99, and they're flying off the shelves."

"Fifty-five bucks?" He gaped. "For fucking panties?"

"That's the preorder. They're sixty off the shelf." He was impressed, at least. I felt a little surer of myself. "They're only available for a week before Christmas, then never again. Burnt Orchid." I winked. "Color of the season!"

"Yes," he snapped. "I saw your bra earlier."

"I'll bet you did." I was starting to breathe a bit easier. I leaned up and laid a hand on his upper arm, speaking urgently. "My fence can sell these for seventy-five, probably. Possibly even a hundred, on the first day. They'll be gone in five, six hours, then we can load her up again, probably twice a day. Jenn thinks we can get fifty pair out, easy."

"If I look the other way."

I nodded, a choppy head-bob, my fingers tight on his jacket. "Clock's ticking, though. Our other locations are probably doing the same exact thing. Concordia. Southgate Mall." I paused. "Thirteen percent?" Fuck. It would come out of my cut, I was sure.

He blinked. "I have no idea," he said slowly, "why anyone would pay fucking seventy-five dollars for a pair of underwear. What do they look like?"

I swallowed. His face was very close, and mine was bright red. I was on the verge of shaking now. Fuck. I wanted badly for him to spoon me. Nothing else, just spoon me. Distantly I thought of Charles and his text; he'd be lying in some hotel bed right now. He'd spoon me. But I didn't want him to. I wanted Dave to.

Why?

"It's in the catalog." I was speaking low, slow, even husky. "Print or online." I took a deep breath once more. "Or? I'm wearing a pair."

He shook his head a little, frowning. "Wait. Now?"

"Yup." My throat had gone dry. I was fingering the hem of my skirt. Suddenly, I very much wanted to show Dave my underwear.

"You said they hadn't been released yet."

"One of the few perks of working here." I shrugged. It was getting harder to speak, with the phlegm and my own breathing. "We've got almost thirty pair hidden in the break room. We could grab another five, maybe ten without anyone noticing. Another shipment comes in Monday." I'd pulled up my skirt, just slightly, but he hadn't looked down there yet. "So, yes. I'm wearing a pair. Right now." Already I was inching my skirt up my thigh, the coldness of the cashier-station countertop shocking the smooth flesh leading to my asscheeks. I hesitated when, at last, his eyes flickered down. I was almost whispering when I spoke. "Here. Take a peek."

He didn't need me to tell him, by then. His eyes glinted as, almost robotically, I eased my skirt higher, rocking sideways on the counter so that it could clear my butt, the linen bunching under my fingers. The air was chilly, the heat long turned off, but I felt hot and breathy like I'd just run three miles. I knew I was bright red. Dave's mouth opened, then shut, his eyes glued to my thighs, and when at last I had my skirt up around my waist, feeling a slow and skeletal grin spread slowly across my face, I spread my legs just a bit wider.

"Get a nice, long look." I didn't even sound like myself. "I'm curious to hear what you think."

He was staring down between my legs with a real effort at his usual uncaring detachment, but I knew better. He was close enough now that I could feel his breath wisping past my face, see his chest rise and fall in his nylon jacket. I knew, even without pulling my skirt tight back to look down, that I was soaked, the panties plastered to my shaven snatch like wet Kleenex. I wondered whether he could see how inflamed my lips were. I watched, amazed at my own sense of abandon, as his tongue emerged briefly to wet his broad lips. "Well?" I prompted, softly.

"Well what?" He had to take two tries at it, the sound eventually croaking out through a dry throat.

"What do you think?" I almost couldn't hear myself. Dimly I was aware of the whine of the floor buffer up on the second floor and across on the other side of The Gallery; it would start here, then do the rest of the mall, then come back here to finish around dawn, the floors here in The Gallery a mirrored marble model of heel-clicking perfection.

He swallowed. "Looks nice," he nodded slowly, a hand coming unwillingly up to rub at his bristly cheeks. Without realizing it I'd arched my back, deeply, my breasts shelving out toward him; he'd be able to see the lace of my bra through the thin, shiny material. I shivered. "I'm not, uh, sure it's seventy-five bucks nice, though."

I felt my lips curving high into a Joker grin, reckless and without any guile. He knew by now, anyway; there was no point in being coy. I had my skirt hiked up and my thighs spread wide for him, just about forcing him to stare at how wet he was making me. I was way past the point where I was thinking much about this. My body was aflame. "Well, see," I explained slowly, the words squeezing out of me; I couldn't seem to get a full breath. "See, that's because you've never felt our patented WhisperLace front panel." He could certainly see it, though, framing my streaming cunt. "Go ahead, David," I nearly whispered. "See what it feels like."

"Really?" But he was already reaching, staring fixated at my puffy labia behind the sheer panties, his big hand creeping toward my pussy. I tried to raise my eyes against what felt like lead weights, dragging them downward to watch his finger tremble between my converging legs, my shivering uncontrollable now. He took another breath, as if to say something, but then I was feeling the pressure as his fingertip prodded at the top of my slit.