South Tower - The Security Guard's Tale Pt. 03

South Tower -- The Security Guard's Tale Pt. 03

Lance stood in front of the phone for a long time, just thinking. Thinking, as a trait, had never been associated too strongly with Lance, but a couple of years in supervisory positions had instilled some basic thought patterns in his mind when it came to human behaviors.

One was that people didn't ask for a "quick catch-up" unless it was far more serious. He wouldn't ask a subordinate for one anyway. If he knew when the individual was working, he'd just show up when they were on-shift. Tom could've done the same, but he didn't. He wanted Lance's full attention. Or he wanted Lance somewhere not visible to the public.

Maybe fucking all those girls on this balcony caught up to me. Or maybe the new manager Cait hates my fucking guts. Or maybe Ashley's upset I haven't been fucking her after every shift. Who knows?

He checked the bedside clock -- 2:50 P.M. He'd been asleep out there for some time. He looked at his arms to expecting to see sunburn, but none was evident. Whether by chance or by some other job "perk" he did not know. His thoughts went back to the women from earlier this morning.

That one just went haywire overnight. That's how quick it happens. I never saw it firsthand before. Well, guess I didn't see shit, but I doubt the woman who took it up her ass this morning was the same one who seemed disappointed in Mallory last night.

Mallory. Something about her. Those fucking eyes, that body, the fear...I just want to -- what? What do I want to do? I want to be able to ignore this shit, is what I want. Let her sit in there drinking shots with her friend or whatever and forget they exist.

Shots. There was one in the garbage. I heard the tall one unscrew one or two nightcaps last night. Is that the fucking trick? The shots? What if someone doesn't drink? Doesn't matter, I have to keep myself out of this and go meet Tom. Speaking of someone who couldn't stay out of anything, fucking Tom.

Shaking off this line of thought was proving more difficult than expected for Lance. He sat idly at the edge of the bed, watching the clock tick off minutes, contemplating what the rest of the day was about to look like. Finally, he picked up the phone and dialed room-to-room, 3512. He quickly hung-up, realizing he'd called 3512 of his tower. He went through the automated system this time to be put up to 3512 of the correct part of the building.

"Uh.....hi! Lance? Is it you please say it's you because something --"

She sounded panicked. "Yes, it's me. Listen I have to be at work in about an hour, maybe less, but do you want to come up to my apartment or suite or whatever before I leave? I'd um...like to see you." What am I doing? This is stupid.

"What's the room number. I'll be there as soon as I can -- something's like...way wrong with Kayla...that's my coworker, sorry. Kayla. She had some guy in her bed when I came back, which is totally not like her. I mean I had you, and that's...well, she can barely think, she's just giggling and calling me silly for worrying and saying all this...this crazy shit and --"

"Don't worry about it, if you need to get away for a bit come up here. I know you said you didn't feel okay, maybe you're both coming down with something." Yeah, crazy sex-something. You think she's an idiot? Well, she will be soon based on her friend. Coworker. Whatever. I kinda feel bad about fucking her. No I don't. "I'm in 2401 -- South Tower. Just tap the door and I'll let you in." He tried to muffle a sigh. She didn't hear it.

"Thank you -- I just...I don't know. I'll talk to you when I get up there. I barely know you I know I just...feel better with you. I don't know why. I'll...sorry...I'll be right there." She hung up.

Nice job. Now the rest of the plan is what, exactly? Fuck her until she isn't scared anymore? Hell, maybe that's possible. I'm obviously starting to get messed up in the head too. Maybe that's why Tom wants to meet with me, I've been missing shit or something. Hell maybe I missed a whole day somewhere, and I'm being asked why I wasn't at work yesterday.

A quick tap at the door broke him out of his reverie. It seemed like she hung up the phone seconds ago, yet a quick glance at the clock (3:10PM) confirmed some time had passed. He had precisely 50 minutes to be in the club, in his office, talking with Tom about whatever had irritated him.

He opened the door and saw the same cute, perky thing he had picked up at the bar about twelve hours ago. The huge almond-shaped eyes were still the first thing that he noticed, contrary to his usual tastes. She didn't have that vacant look just yet, which was good. On the other hand, Lance was pretty sure the tits on the girl he'd railed last night were a full cup size smaller. So that was not good for Mallory.

But maybe good for me. Don't be a dick, Lance, this girl trusts you. You've done wrong by everyone else since you took this job, maybe be good just once.

Looking at her, he wasn't sure how that was going to happen. She was just as irresistible to him as she was yesterday, save for now she had an even better rack. That type of deal wasn't one he passed on often.

He stepped aside to let her in, resisting the immediate urge to throw her on the bed and just do as he pleased. She still seemed mostly together. That, the hanging blade of a meeting with Tom, and her misguided trust in him as a person were just enough to keep himself restrained, for now.

"Listen I'm really really sorry." She looked sincere and maybe on the verge of tears. "It's just -- I think Kayla's doing something. Like real wrong. I need to get away from her. She's drinking at like 11AM, encouraging me to join her, going downstairs to find random guys...she's not normally like this. I think she's having some sort of breakdown or something and I don't want to be near her. I'm sorry-"

He cut in. "Stop. No apologies, really. If you need to do some work while you're here and don't trust staying with your coworker or whatever, you can use this room until you're set. I'm security after all, so you're safe. I can check in on your friend from time to time too, if you'd prefer." Because if I'm not going to take advantage of you, you better believe I'm going to get release somewhere.

"Thank you -- really." She stepped up close and put her hand on his chest. She was more than a foot shorter than he was, and at this distance he could see more or less straight down her top. Those huge eyes were looking up at him again. "I know you need to go to work, but I won't touch anything here I promise. Just rest -- and I'll find a way to thank you later." A little giggle at the end, which raised an alarm for Lance. "And yes, I feel much better not staying with Kayla but if you could like...just check on her at some point....I'd appreciate it."

With great mental effort, he removed her arm from his chest. "Okay, I'll see what I can do. And don't worry about using anything in the room -- I barely keep track of it myself since -- I barely keep track of it." He smiled what he hoped was a convincing, care-in-the-world smile. "Stay comfy, enjoy the balcony, watch TV, whatever. If you need to get work done and leave the room, there's a spare key underneath the ice bucket on the counter over there. Take it with you. I have to go, but we'll talk when I get back and after I check on your friend, OK?"

She smiled back, and most of the fear was gone. Maybe she wasn't too far gone after all, he thought. She blew him a kiss as he walked out of the room. He was grinning ear-to-ear.

Until he arrived at the club. The host, Jean, was standing outside. Not many knew it, but in addition to seating people at tables, Jean was also a pit boss and an excellent cheat. He served as financial security to Lance's physical security. Jean had been hired not long after Lance and they'd chatted about his 20 years on both sides of the casino business. For a former card counter, hustler, and all-around black-market type of guy, he seemed pretty square and strait-laced to Lance, but if the Director OK'd him he must've have credentials.

He nodded quickly to Jean and stepped into the club itself. Only three stages were occupied out of the minimum four, even for earlier in the evening. But that was a management problem, not a Lance problem. He walked right on by his own office -- he knew well enough to know they'd be in the managerial office rather than his own for a meeting with Tom.

He opened the door to what used to be storage space, but was now a fairly decent imitation of a real office. Couches, banks of security cameras, a proper wooden desk with Ms. McDermott's belongings and laptop on it. A photo of a group of people gambling illicitly sometime in the 1920s hung on the wall behind the desk. Typical Atlantic City nonsense. Except his manager, Cait McDermott, also fucked wealthy men for money on the side. And she was probably doing so at this very moment, because the only person in the office was Tom.

Tom was relaxed back in Cait's chair watching the banks of security images. Two drunks practically falling off their chairs at the blackjack table, a guy running his hand between his wife/girlfriend's legs beneath the bar in the center of the lounge, the usual. Oh, and Ashley, one of their "dancers", down on her knees in Lance's office sucking off a gentleman while fingering herself. Again, the usual.

"Have a seat, Lance. This is going to be quick man, nothing major." Tom lit a Black & Mild. Like all of Tom's mannerisms and habits, Lance found this one irritating. Full cigars, fine. Cigarettes, fine. A Black & Mild? Annoying. Odds were he'd be fine with anyone else smoking one, but he didn't know anyone else who smoked them.

"Sure, Tom, but just for the record I don't believe that." He fumbled through his pocket for cigarettes. Not finding his pack, he reached up to Cait's desk and took a pack of Virginia Slims off the table and lit one, dragged it once, and exhaled. "So am I in trouble with you or with the Director himself? Never easy to tell with you two."

"Hah -- no worries Lance, nothing big at all...yet." Tom shifted some papers around, as if looking for something. "Just want to go over what exactly you've been doing these last twenty-four hours, that's all." He looked up politely.

So they know I'm housing Mallory. That's it. But wait -- he can't know that because his call was before I invited her in, right? So what's this about? He's not here on behalf of the Director I don't think, or else he wouldn't have this fake vibe about him. That's all Tom.

Where Tom ended and the Director begun was a common topic among staff. They'd worked together previously, supposedly at a Marriott of all places, both in management. Tom was hired alongside the Director himself, to be the second set of eyes for the top manager, as far as Lance could tell. He'd held various job titles, but was always essentially watching and lecturing staff.

It did not help, not for Lance anyway, that the man was mostly pleasant and conventionally good-looking. Six feet tall, reasonably athletic, blonde hair, blue eyes, strong jaw. Just the type of person that gave the air of having the world handed to them, and Lance hated that air.

He took his time dragging on his cigarette and exhaling before responding. "What the fuck do you mean what I've been doing? Are you tracking me? Is there a chip in my arm or some movie bullshit? Is that what we're doing now?" He sighed. Lance hadn't intended to be direct at any point with Tom, but he was exasperated with what he perceived as a far too large quantity of bullshit at the hotel.

Tom, for his part, merely laughed another aren't-we-all-friends-here laugh. "No, we're not watching you. But we are watching room 3512, which made us accidentally happen upon watching you." He smiled satisfactorily. "Which brings me to my primary question, which is: What are you doing with Kayla Stewart and are you helping her or us?"

Who the fuck is Kayla Stew- oh, shit, the friend. Coworker. Whatever. Okay, so Mallory's safe. Why am I more worried about her than me? Shit he's looking at me weird.

"I didn't even know her name, man, so you can just calm the fuck down." Lance took a breath. "She's obviously going through uh...some changes that you may be familiar with. She was practically begging for it so I gave it to her. Afterwards she couldn't hold a thought together and I left her in that room, that's it." He figured that was innocent enough, and primarily true.

"Well, that prompts more questions, but I'm glad to hear you don't know her and I'm inclined to believe you. So Ms. Stewart is, or more accurately, was an independent accountant hired by the City to audit our property, among others." Tom looked expectantly at Lance. Seeing nothing, and realizing Lance was not inclined to speak, he continued. "We don't have to show our financial records as a whole to anyone -- we're privately held. But we do have to show our gambling revenues to Atlantic City. Apparently we don't have those books squared up yet so we're giving Kayla up there the special treatment to buy us time. Then we saw you, and I just wanted to double check you weren't working for the other team, that's all." He threw up his hands in mock surrender.

"Well, I ain't. I didn't even know there were 'teams'. Don't want to know, either. Just want to run my club, fill my contract, take my pay. One day at a time man, that's it. But since we're on the subject, she's got a coworker here with her. Got to be honest with you Tom, she seems like a nice girl. Does she have to go through this shit too?" Lance knew that might've been a step too far, but seeing as he couldn't believe Tom's friendliness one way or the other, decided to give it a go.

"I don't know Lance. The whole room's been hit with stuff -- which brings me to one of those questions. You didn't use anything in there, did you?" Tom's face looked like an approximation of concern done up on a wax figurine. "Odds are it'll hit both of them. Different reactions maybe, but similar. Can't have one returning home normal and telling the cops the other one lost her mind. Better to hit them both, though we only knew of Ms. Stewart arriving until the Director checked them in together."

Great. So I have to keep Mallory out of that room. "No, I didn't use anything. I breathed the air. The sheets touched me. What do we have in there, Agent fucking Orange?"

"No, no, nothing like that. Tell you what though, I'll fill the Director in and let him know everything's fine. In the meantime, since you took a liking to the one, why don't you go up there and screw both of them?" He smiled, a genuine one, and it disgusted Lance. "The whole reaction is hormonal and chemical; sex speeds it up somehow based on the chemical interactions I guess. You'd be doing us a favor. You have my blessing." He put his hands together in mock prayer. Lance turned and walked out, taking his place next to Jean at the security station in front of the club.

Eventually, the end of his shift arrived. Easy day. He fucked Ashley on lunch break, but it did not cure his rage. He was worried about knocking her up; he had no idea what the policy for that. Knowing his luck, he'd be the lucky winner out of the god knows how many people who'd been down that road.

He'd called his room twice and Mallory had answered both times. He told her he'd be back around 4 A.M. She sounded a little frightened still, but mostly like a normal human. That was reassuring.

In the meantime, he had bought himself and hour, and he knew where he was going to spend most of it. Do you guys a favor, huh? Well, she's a goner anyway, and this place is going to find Mallory sooner or later. I'm going to be a prime suspect. So I'm going to literally fuck this accountant's brains out. Maybe that'll spare me later. Hah.

He didn't bother to tap at the door. Didn't bother to announce himself. He took out a master key labeled "Managerial & Higher Access Only -- DO NOT SHARE" and let himself in to 3512.

He heard moaning as he entered. Kayla was sitting on the bed, panting and flushed. One hand was relentlessly thrusting into her pussy, the other fondling her breasts without rhyme or reason. The breasts themselves were DD-size now, resting on a smooth, flat stomach. Her waist was flared out a little more than he remembered, and he guessed if he could see her from the other side, that athlete's smallish-but-firm ass was a little more heart-shaped.

Her eyes were closed, her head back. Her hair was damp in patches from what Lance presumed was sweat. He saw a used condom on the floor. Finally, he cleared his throat.

Her eyes sprung open but seemed pretty vacant. She did appear to recognize him by the smile, however. She momentarily stopped fingering herself, but left her hand where it was. "Ohhhh hii there! Mr. Cute -- how'd you know just what I like, needed right now?" She giggled, then smiled again. She looked confused for a moment, then looked right back at him and a glassy look returned. "Sorry, what was I saying? Oh my gosh you're like, totally cute! Don't I know you from -- oh! This morning! Duh!" Another giggle. "You're here to like, help me out!"

Lance decided right then and there that he was going to see what this place really could do. This woman, like it or not, was done for. And whether she knew it or not, she'd brought down a load of problems with her. He was ready to take this out on something or somebody, and here she was. "Sure, just a second, gotta tease you a little first." He winked, a gesture that likely meant nothing to Kayla. He took off his V-neck and walked to the counter across from the bed.

"Oooooh so many muscles...like, the last guy, not you, the other guy didn't...what was I saying? You look soooo good with your shirt off." She giggled, thrust her hand back into her snatch, and started moaning again.

Lance took two lowball glasses from the counter and opened the minifridge. Everything in there was a black, heart-shaped shot glass. Doesn't this look weird as fuck even to someone who doesn't know what's going on here? He poured two of them into one glass. It smelled like candy mixed with rubbing alcohol. He went to fill his from the tap.

Wait. Don't drink anything in here. Wow, that was almost a fucking trip to god knows where. This girl ain't gonna notice that mine's empty anyway.

"Just something to get you started." He pulled her free arm towards him and put the glass in it. He placed his empty one on the end table next to the bed.

"Wow -- you're so nice Mr. Cute! I like, totally love those things, and they keep bringing me more! I just....fuck..can't like, get off!" She threw the whole glass back without effort. She hiccupped, then the sound made her giggle. "Ohhhh man that feels so warm. I want to feel warm all the time. Can you warm me up Mr. Cute? Please? I know you're so big and I'm so horny right now."

That was enough. With whatever he just gave her working it's way through her, he figured this would be the best lay of his life. He walked up to the bed, took the glass out of her hand, and set it down on the table. He stepped out of his work pants, his boxers. With some, but not much, effort he lifted her up. She quickly got the point and wrapped her legs around his back and her arms around his neck.

He carried her to the far wall, overlooking the ocean and part of the city. He slammed her against the floor to ceiling glass and entered her with his full length on the first thrust. She was dripping wet down there, and her pussy was even tighter than he recalled from the morning.