The Road to Mercedes Ch. 01

At least Turd Fingers didn't get nicked on another drunk-'n-diss─by the pigs, that is─but he did get rent-a-tagged for trying to roll some fancy redhead he'd followed for a while in the mall. After she bought some burgundy panties at the local Saks he stalked her out of the store. Sure enough, she tossed a nude-colored satin, lace-trimmed cheekini in the trash, pink bow and tiny round bell right over where her pussy would have been when she'd worn them.

He slyly pocketed the used intimates and was checking her out—trim thing, she was, early twenties, he guessed, done up to show it in designer jeans with glittering sequins across the pockets and brunette 'do gathered up in a tight bun to make a shiny silver hairpin glitter.

Rich Bitch. He memorized her savory tush so he could picture it later as he sniffed her underbritches for her smell and frisked off in them.

Lost in his horny delirium, when the mall security guard got him by the arm, it came from nowhere.

"Sir, did you just pilfer from that trash can?"

"Who, me? No, I—"

The security guard starting going through Turd Fingers's pockets. Was that even legal? Didn't he have to read him his rights or some shit? Of course he found the panties right away and wagged them in Turd Fingers's face.

"Are these what you took?" The guard scanned the concourse, spied the upper-crust kitten right away, and called out to her. "Miss?" She didn't turn at first. "Miss? Are these yours?"

She leaned and peered at him over the rims of outsized shades. Hips swaying, she clacked to them on high heels.

"I'm sorry?" she said. "Is there a problem?"

"Is this your underwear, miss?"

She cleared her throat and peered at the crumpled underpants in the security guard's greasy fist, though she seemed like she didn't want to look. "Yes, those are my old undies." She visibly blushed. "I threw them away just now."

"I caught this individual in question stealing them. I think he may have been following you. If you could look at his face, please, Miss, and tell me whether you this individual in question seems familiar to you. Have you seen him at all today, at the mall or anywhere else?"

The woman cleared her throat again. She looked right at Turd Fingers for a long time, her green eyes wet with apprehension, then narrow with accusation. He looked back and licked himself. "Yes." She nodded. "Yes, I think I do remember this man. I caught a glance at him when I was at the counter at Saks." She narrowed her stare at Turd Fingers. "You mean you were stalking me?" She addressed this last at Turd Fingers and shuddered, but all he did was chuckle.

When she hugged herself, it put a nice jiggle in her tits through her silky blouse and Turd Fingers gave her yams a long stare, too hot for her not to notice. Then he looked right at her face.

"Do you want to file an incident report?" asked the security guard.

"No, that's okay." The woman held out her hand. The security guard gave the panties not to her but back to Turd Fingers.

"Wha? You just gave him my underpants."

The security guard ignored her. He didn't look up.

"I still need to fill out a form. Can I see your ID?"

The woman harrumphed. She unsnapped her purse and gave her driver's license over.

"Mercedes Sweet," the guard read aloud. "Twenty-two years of age, 145 Center Court, Apartment 12—"

"Officer!" the girl protested. "You're letting him know my name and address?" She pointed at the license incredulously. "Weren't you just saying you'd caught him stalking me?"

The guard did a double take, seeming not to have thought of this.

"Glad to meet you, Miss Small," Turd Fingers said, to be polite, as he pocketed the panties. He put out his other hand to shake hers, but she just sneered at him.

When the guard took Turd Fingers back to the office, a pair of petite girls, a blonde and a brunette, were already there. They sat back-to-back on the office sofa, sawing their arms together behind their respective backs.

The guard separated them.

"Hey, now, no trying to cut off the handcuffs when I'm not here."

"Mr. Security Guy," said the brunette. "You can't just leave us here like this. Don't we get a phone call?"

The guard stood. "That's Deidra and Phoebe," he explained to Turd Fingers, thumbing them. "Shoplifters." Then, to the girls: "Isn't that right?"

"Just because I put shorts in my purse doesn't mean you can leave us in here like this," the blonde mewled.

"Don't say that, Pheeb," the brunette—Deidra, apparently—whispered. "It makes us sound guilty." She thought she was being quiet, but Turd Fingers could clearly hear her.

The girls settled in their chairs and turned on their bottoms and he saw that their wrists had been zipped behind their backs with flexicuffs.

"Deidra, Phoebe, this is . . ." The guard clapped Turd Fingers's shoulder. "What'd you say your name was again?"

"I didn't."

The guard gave his shoulder another clap. "This is Mr. I Didn't. Caught him panty-sniffing. Isn't that right?"

Turd Fingers shrugged. "This mall's always packed full of hot chicks like these two. I get worked up."

"Oh, gross," Deidra sneered. Phoebe shifted.

"Whatever. I should call the cops on all three of you."

"But we didn't do anything!" protested Phoebe. "I told you, I already paid for these shorts a couple days ago! I was taking them back. They're too tight."

"Yeah," added Deidra. "I bought these jeans but then it took me like hours to squeeze into them this morning. I'm small but I guess I'm not a size one."

"Honest!" Phoebe pleaded. She seemed a little scared. "Just look through my purse. My receipt for these shorts is in there."

"Or untie us. Untie us and we'll show you. We're innocent."

The security guard sized Phoebe up. "Those shorts are awful tight. You can see where they pinch your legs. So that part of your story checks out, I guess." Turd Fingers could see it too. Phoebe's lean thighs were smooth all the way from her prudishly mated knees to the hem of her shorts' negligible leggings, where they bunched fleshily. The denim stretched across her silky pelvis and it looked like it would be impossible to wriggle even a fingertip into one of their tiny front pockets.

"See?" Deidra implored. "We're telling the truth."

"Please let us go," Phoebe added. "I've been sitting here so long my butt's totally gone to sleep."

"You're on Celibex," Deidra muttered. "Your butt's always asleep."

The security guard's walkie-talkie squawked on his utility belt. He unhooked it and put it to his ear.

"Krone." An inaudible voice droned from the walkie-talkie. Krone nodded and put the radio back. "Gotta go, situation in the food court. We'll talk about this when I get back."

Turd Fingers, still leering at Phoebe's snug shorts, couldn't help letting a nasty chuckle.

"Wait. You're not gonna let us go?" Phoebe pined.

"You can't leave us in here with that guy," Deidra demanded at the same time. "Didn't you say he was some kind of stalker weirdo?"

The trapped girls picked themselves up from the couch, wombling without use of their tied hands, to make some kind of escape. But it was no use. Krone evacuated briskly, and slammed the door behind him.

The hand-tied girls backed off the wind from the door. Turd Fingers heard the lock turn from the other side.

"You said he was an undie-sniffer," Phoebe recalled, meanwhile.