Store Dick

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The security guy has a conflict of interests.
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Hubee
Hubee
367 Followers

I am slouching near the front of the store when the radio earphone crackles into life, making me jump. I hear the store manager's voice announce,

'It's "them"!'. Then the radio clicks off

I shake my head, as if to get her voice out of my head. After 3 years working with her I still find myself amazed at how much that woman winds me up, how much I dislike her. By now even her voice can annoy me, grating on my nerves. Not as much as she does in person but at the moment, thank the Lord for small mercies, she is up in the office. Obviously watching the security camera screens - and not down on the shop floor with me.

But I've got to earn a wage, which means doing what the boss says and putting up with 'Hitler in a Skirt' as most of the staff call her - behind her back, obviously. It isn't her moustache that earns her the nickname – what she has on her upper lips is more 'walrus' than 'toothbrush'. It is her tyrannical micro-management style that gets everyone's backs up.

'I'm on it Boss', I mutter to myself wearily as I straighten up and head for the front of the store.

Today I've been ordered to 'blend in', so I am wearing 'plain clothes' instead of my usual cheap, blue, scratchy, nylon uniform. (I remember my employers trying to tell me at the interview that the free uniform was a job benefit. I almost believed them - until I put it on for the first time.)

So today I am in jeans and a polo shirt. The couple we are after have made their two previous visits on a Friday and we had been hoping they'd come back this Friday - hence my 'disguise'. I don't normally work Fridays, so I had missed them before. Now it looks like our planning is going to pay off.

As I walk I consciously try to change my pace, attempting to look like I am shopping, trying not to look like a store detective.

Then I spot them over a rack of sale merchandise. My heart bumps and my pulse rate shoots up. They are not hard to recognise, considering how long I'd spent pouring over the tapes from the security cameras. Especially considering what the tapes had shown them doing in the store on their previous visits.

I stop to examine some clothing on a table, fingering the price tag, pretending I am interested. If someone had asked me afterwards I doubt I could have told them what I looked at, not even if it was clothing for men or women. All I am focused on is 'them'. OK, if you pressed me, I would confess that all I am really interested in is her. I look up and see they are walking straight towards me.

Watching the tapes I had been struck by several things about these two. Now, in person as it were, I notice again many of the big 'give-aways' that tell me they aren't really here for the sale.

For a start the couple are much better dressed than our average customers. I give the woman a quick glance up and down as she walks towards me. Experience has given me the ability to take the measure of a suspect in a second - from just a glance

I take in the black shoes, obviously good quality. Shiny, flesh coloured tights or stockings - on great legs. (I am pretty sure that they aren't tights, based on the evidence from the tapes, but I play my guessing game through to the end, the way I usually do) The denim skirt is not too short – a couple of inches above the knees; but a can tell it is a designer brand. A black silk scarf is draped over her shoulders, covering a shimmery black blouse. In summary they look like 'class', which I am unaccustomed to in this store

They are also slimmer, taller – generally just much better looking than our normal clientele - if I am honest. This store is a 'pile it high and sell it cheap' sort of place and these two look out of place. Everything about them makes them stand out amongst our target demographic, good skin, good clothes. So why are they here if they aren't shopping? I know why - and I have been ordered to stop them.

The two of them draw closer to me, walking up the aisle I am in. I am still staring, taking in all the details. She must have noticed me looking, perhaps misinterpreting my interest. (or perhaps she doesn't misinterpret it?) Whatever the case, she smiles directly at me. I feel dazzled, but make a note to myself to add 'good teeth' to my mental list of 'differences'.

Then, as she holds my gaze, casually, acting as if it is accidental, she twitches aside the scarf. This reveals a prefect view of a perfect, braless breast, topped by a hard nipple - poking through the flimsy material of her blouse. Then she drops her gaze and no doubt notices that I have noticed. The tent in my trousers is a bit of a give - help by a tent pole of cock.

She brushes past me, followed by her husband. I inhale and catch a hint of a luscious perfume. After a moment - which seems like 15 minutes - I exhale. I try to get my mind back on the job, but I can't help turning to get a rear view. Her arse is wiggling deliciously, as if she expects me (everyone?) to be looking. There is deep slit in the back of her skirt and as she walks I catch a flash of lacy stocking top. It is now going to take longer than I thought to regain my composure and focus on the job in hand.

I wait till my erection becomes a little less noticeable and continue towards the front doors. Then I double back, not wanting to look as if I am following them. I want to take up my position by the dressing rooms. The evidence of the security camera tapes showed that this was where the action would take place. As far as the store manager was concerned this is where the 'crime' would occur.

I approach the dressing rooms and can't stop the professional part of my mind reviewing the arrangements. This shop has a seemingly cheap arrangement - in keeping with its stock (and its customers) Cubicles with curtains on rings and rails line the back of the store. A junior member of staff sits at a table and checks how many items the customers takes into the 'dressing room', writes down the number and issues a tag. When they come out, the girl makes sure the same number of items comes out with them. We don't want anyone wearing our stock home without paying for it.

Changing areas are the worst areas for stock loss and this system is meant to cut it down. It might look like a simple system to a shop-lifter, but we have a couple of surprises for those who are after 'five finger discounts'. Each cubicle has a well hidden camera and shoppers can be watched on screens in the upstairs office – something the store manager seems to spend way too much time doing.

Outside the dressing rooms is the area I call 'Sad City', because it is where the husbands and boyfriends wait whilst their partners try on the clothes. I've read that some up-market stores have couches, magazines and even coffee machines in these areas - but not this place. Just a couple of hard plastic chairs that are quickly occupied, leaving the other men to wander around with hang-dog, faintly embarrassed expressions – waiting for the wife to come out and say, 'what do you think? How do I look?'

I don't know why they ask. Every man answers as enthusiastically as if Keira Knightley was asking him how she looks in stockings and a basque - when in fact all he wants to do is get out of this female created Hell as soon as possible. But outside the changing rooms is also a great place to get an overall view of the store. I take up my usual position - beside the entrance to the stockroom - and try to look like a husband waiting for his wife - but watching the 'targets' at the same time.

I see them wander into the shoe section and start studying the stock. I watch her brush off the attentions of one female member of staff, before smiling at Danny. I know that Danny is about 18, working in the store during the summer before going off to study medicine and that he is quite shy. Shy, despite being a good looking lad who gets the Saturday girls all in a lather with his tall, broad-shouldered frame and fashionable floppy haircut. She points out several shoes she wants to try on. Something tells me Danny Boy is about to get a head start on his gynaecological studies.

From where I am standing I see her sit down, with her back to me. The husband is hovering in front of her when Danny returns, laden with shoeboxes. I watch him kneel and take the lid off the first box, offering the shoe to his 'customer'. I can't see her lift her leg but I know exactly when she does - because Danny's jaw drops and his mouth opens into a perfect 'O' of astonishment. Even though I have been expecting it I can barely stop myself from laughing. His mouth is so wide open I am fairly confident I could lob a tennis ball in without difficulty, even from 20 feet away. Danny looks as if he is frozen, so she takes the shoe from his unresponsive hand and slips it on. She shakes her head and passes it back, pointing at another box. Danny finally manages to regain some degree of control, shaking his head as if he has been stunned by a blow. He even gets his mouth half-way closed before she extends a long leg for the next shoe - and gets pole-axed all over again. Then he suddenly stands up, grabs some of the shoes and starts shuffling towards the stock room, clutching one of the boxes in front of his groin. From behind I can see the woman's shoulders shaking with laughter

An unhappily familiar voice in my ear makes me jump.

'I have seen what they are up to!'

It is the store manager. She must have been watching the video screens upstairs.

Before I can answer Danny tries to get past me into the stockroom - still holding one of the shoe boxes in front of him. I grab his arm to ask him a question, but it causes him to drop the box. The store manager looks down at the boy's stained trouser front and pulls a face of disgust. I hate her even more now than I did before. It's not like the lad had much control over his response. He sees her expression and it makes him even more agitated. Barely able to draw breath he starts to babble.

'She...., she isn't...she show....I saw...........'

I cut him off with a gentle hand on his shoulder.

'I know son, I know all about it. Don't worry about it. You take an early lunch and clean yourself up.'

Looking grateful he shoulders open the stockroom door and disappears. The manager is in my face again

'That is disgusting,' she says, but I am not sure if she is referring to the state of Danny's trousers - or what caused them to get like that.

'And another thing' she huffs, 'you don't have the authority to give the staff early lunches.'

I bite my tongue and say nothing.

'All I want you to concentrate on is stopping THEM. If you don't - I will!' Then she turns on her heel and disappears. (What a bitch.)

Seething with anger I turn to look for the couple and notice they aren't in the shoe department any more. I see that they are wandering through the lingerie department, picking only the flimsiest and sexiest items. Then some blouses and a couple of mini-skirts. I watch them take their choices to the desk outside the changing room. The girl stationed there makes a note of the number of items and gives them a tag.

Then begins a display that the guys in 'Sad City' will remember for the rest of their lives. The woman is trying on the blouses and skirts, making only a token attempt to close the curtain. Every guy is watching with his tongue hanging out as she sashays out to look in the big mirror outside the cubicles. She doesn't bother to fully button up the blouses she is trying on, revealing that lovely set of boobs at every opportunity. Back in the cubicle, the curtain still open, she bends to get something from her handbag on the floor. At that point I swear I can hear an audible groan from those men who are getting the full benefit of the view.

I do nothing, partially because I am enjoying the show myself and because I am still not sure exactly what I would say to them to make them stop. They could argue that they aren't really doing anything wrong. The cubicles aren't really designed with total privacy in mind and a lot of our younger, female clients aren't shy. Getting the occasional flash of tit or arse are (is?) one of the perks of my job. But this couple are a lot more flagrant – and maybe is what has got so far up the manager's nose. Although secretly I am suspicious it is because the manageress is so damn ugly and this woman is so damn sexy ...............

My reverie is interrupted when I start to notice a couple of things. First, the wives in the dressing room areas have caught on to what is going on and discovered that their husbands have actually started to enjoy their shopping trips. 'This has to stop!' they seem to agree simultaneously.

One by one they turn up their noses, drop the clothes they have been trying on at the desk, and head for the door - husbands firmly in tow. And heaven help them if they risk a look back over their shoulders. Maybe now I can see why the manager is pissed off - this is hurting trade.

The other thing I notice is that, as if my thoughts about her have summoned her like a demon from the underworld; the manager is hulking towards the dressing rooms. With her are the two other store guards, in uniform - Barry and Gari. 'Bazza' and 'Gazza' as they apparently like to be called. Or Tweddledum and Tweddledummer as I think of them. Barry is a tall, thin, middle aged man with thinning hair – which is why he always keeps his guard's hat on. Gari's name is actually something difficult to pronounce in Nigerian. He is a huge slab of man. The result of the hours he spends on the weight machines at the gym are easy to see. His uniform, the largest standard size available, strains across his muscles so much that I swear I hear it creaking sometimes. If we have any trouble in the store then the sight of Gari is always enough to make it go away.

These two are not employed for their brains. They know only enough to do exactly what they are told - especially when they told by the manageress.

Without even glancing at me the lady in question pushes aside our still half-naked 'target', leans into her cubicle and begins to rummage in her large handbag. Then she stands up and triumphantly brandishes a velour track-suit top.

'What is this?' she hisses at the woman. ('A fit up', I think to myself, but keep quiet.) The woman seems shocked into immobility. In the background I see her husband is in much the same state. The manager shouts at the girl on the desk, 'How many items have you got them down for?' She responds to the question by holding up 4 fingers.

Finally the manager turns her baleful gaze on me. 'Come here...Bell.' There is nothing I can do but comply. Outside the cubicle she asks me with a sneer, 'how many items are there in this dressing room?'

I glance around slowly, and then say what she wants to hear. 'Five. If you count..............that,' nodding at the top the manager is holding.

I never saw the woman pick it up and know that she would never even try on something so ugly, let alone buy it. So it doesn't make any sense that she would steal it.

'That's right, five.' she says with glee. 'I believe these two are shoplifters and I want you to take them away, question them, and then call the police.'

She thrusts a video tape into my hand. 'This is all the evidence they will need to convict them of....of.....public indecency.' She flourishes the track-suit top. 'This, along with the testimony of three store detectives, will prove they are shop-lifters as well.' I look of twisted pleasure is spread across her ugly face.

I see that Barry and Gari have the unresisting husband by the elbows and will follow her orders. So I shrug, pick up the woman's handbag and gently take her by the arm and lead her towards the stock-room, with my two colleagues and her husband following.

As the door of the stock-room clanks shut and I turn the lock, it seems to break the spell of silence. The guy starts to try explaining.

'This isn't right. We didn't take......' I put my finger to my lips and he falls silent.

Voice raised, enforcing my authority, I tell him. 'Right or wrong I'm in charge here. If you don't speak unless I ask you a question this will go quicker.'

The woman puts her hand up, 'I need to go to....go to the toi...........the bathroom.'

'You can wait.' I tell her, like she is some sort of schoolgirl.

Then I look at their pale, shocked faces and feel a surge of pity. 'I will also try and make this as painless as possible - under the circumstances.'

I see them glance around the stock room and the full enormity of the 'circumstances' seem to fall open them. The stock-room is hardly an appropriate name. It is a multi-purpose space. It is used for staff training so it has a TV and video player, as well as a flip chart (with a wonky leg, propped up on a telephone book.) The floor is vinyl and, because the room is also used to store the cleaner's gear, it has a vinyl floor, with a drain in the middle.

It is also used on occasions like this – to hold suspected shop-lifters till the police arrive.

Boxes of clothes are stacked around the walls and Barry and Gari stack themselves either side of the door. The only furniture is a metal table with a telephone on it and a few rickety chairs. I gesture at them and the pair almost gratefully collapse into the chairs on the side of the table facing the door, heads down.

I turn on the TV and pop the tape in. Straight away we are seeing the antics of the couple in the changing room from the hidden camera. They stare at the screen, unable to tear their eyes away. I eject the tape and switch off the machine without saying a word. Sometimes silence is more menacing than words. And I really want them to feel well and truly menaced.

I drop the tape on the table and I take the chair opposite them. Putting the woman's handbag on the table I open it.

'Let's start with the easy ones - names?' I ask them as I empty the contents of the bag on the table.

I hear the guy mumble, 'G' and after a long pause the woman whispers 'DJ'. I find the woman's drivers licence and make a note of the address.

'You live together?' I ask. I look up and stare until G nods.

Then the woman starts to protest.

'You understand that we weren't doing anything illegal and we certainly weren't steal..........'

I hold up her ID card from work and she falls silent, looking even paler, if that were possible.

'I might understand DJ, but will your employers?' I ask. 'If this went to court, even if you won, do you think you could still go back to work? They are bit old fashioned in the medical profession, or so I understand.' They both sink lower in their chairs. They look even more shamed when I find a fat vibrator in the bag and wave it at them, again without saying a word.

I continue to search the woman's bag and find a digital camera – a model similar to the one I own. I turn it on to check what is on the memory card. After seeing the first picture I smile – and glance up at the couple across the table. The look of shock on their faces is so total that it is almost comical. The first picture shows the woman I now know as DJ, apparently on a train, spreading her legs and showing her shaven and very wet pussy to the camera. I click the dial to check the other pictures, glancing up at the two of them between each shot – enjoying equally the pictures and the look of consternation on their faces.

The camera is full of pictures of the woman in front of me flashing in the shopping precinct outside the store. In these shots she is wearing the clothes she has on now, so I assume they were taken today. Then, as I dial through the pics, the date stamp shows that I am looking at some older pictures. There are more pictures of the woman exposing herself in public. I feel my cock start to harden as I trawl through this lovely catalogue of perversion. A few pictures of her wearing stockings that are splattered with sperm catch my attention. Moving on, I enjoy some others showing the woman squatting and pissing outdoors. Then some real attention grabbers! Taken indoors they appear to show G pissing on DJ's pussy whilst she holds a vibrator hard against her clit.

Hubee
Hubee
367 Followers