Slamming the door behind her, a store security guard ushers me further into the room. I’m making my mouth go Professing my innocence, insisting that she can’t touch me and that she can’t prove anything. All I get in response is a quiet laugh and a ‘yeah-yeah’ or two. She knows I’m fucked just as surely as I do.
Still, she’s going to have to wait until the coppers get here, cos I’m not turning over a thing. I’m telling her nothing, I’m…
I stumble past the chair I was aiming for, propelled by a sharp shove, and my ill-gotten booty slips from inside my jumper to tumble to the floor. Hand on a cluttered desk to steady myself, I give her my most poisonous glare.
She just looks from me to the pile of goods on the floor, eyebrow-raising as she meets my eyes again. I close them, finally feeling shame as one more pilfered item escaped the hem of my jumper. With any luck, she won’t know what it is. Does she know? Of course, she knows. Everybody knows what lube is.
I’m so embarrassed I can’t even open my eyes when I feel her getting closer to me. The toe of her boot taps the side of the bottle, I hear it rolling. She’s moved it so she can read the label. Jesus Christ, why didn’t I just grab the plain one? Why, today of all days, did I have to go for a warming, super-slick sensation lube?
“Huh,” she said, backing off a bit.
Opening just one eye, I consider her. She has the bottle in her hand. Her lips are pursed. Something about her has softened but I can’t tell what it is. She still looks like she wants to eat me alive, though, so I’m not letting my guard down just yet.
“I always have a bottle of this exact stuff on my nightstand,” she informs me. “You ever used it before?”
Leaning against the table, doing my best to keep the office phone out of her line of sight, I shake my head. Her interest has suddenly shifted from the fact that I was shoplifting to what I was shoplifting and I’m thinking that this could be an opportunity in disguise. Maybe if I appeal to the side of her that likes tingly lube I can talk my way out of this.
“No, I’ve only ever tried basic water-based stuff. Is it any good? You just use it like regular lube, right?”
“That’s right. You just put a bit on the tips of your fingers and rub it in.”
Uh…wow, okay. She tries to hold my eyes as she unbuckles her belt, but I can’t do it. My cheeks are on fire, my palms are sweating, if I dare try to clear this lump in my throat, I’m going to hack my heart out onto the floor. What the fuck weirdness is this?
I’m looking at her feet when I hear the sound of her zipper lowering. She does it quickly, efficiently, as though she does it in here all the time. I’m not going to look. I want to, but I won’t. I can’t. It’s not right, she’s the law and I’m…lawless.
No, I can’t look. I shouldn’t. But when I hear the crinkly plastic tearing, when I hear the pop of a bottle cap, I can’t help myself. My eyes are on her, watching her squeeze a few clear beads of gel onto her fingers. She’s wearing white cotton knickers and my eyes are watching her fingers disappear behind them.
Her hand makes a little mound inside of her pants. It moves around and so does she. Shifting her leg a little. Slightly bending one knee. I know when she’s made contact because she gasps, and that makes me gasp. My gaze is riveted to her crotch, I can’t look away. I stare at the little mound, at a knuckle pushing at cotton here, a finger appearing to untuck a bit of fabric there.
I’m not going to tell her, but my knickers are soaked. With every little shift of my weight, I can feel my labia slipping against the sides of my clit. I can feel my wetness spreading between the cheeks of my arse. Would she notice if I squeezed my thighs together a bit? I check her face and it would seem that her gaze hasn’t moved below my neck. I’m guessing that she doesn’t care one bit about my arousal, she just wants to watch me watching her.
So I do. I lower my gaze again and keep on staring at the back of her hand, all the while tensing and releasing my thigh muscles to make my lips stroke my clit. Flexing my pelvic floor in time with her wrist movements. I know I start blushing harder when I realise that I’m starting to visualise what her fingers look like rubbing her cunt, but it doesn’t matter.
She’s coming, holding her moans behind her teeth, rolling her hips to ride it out for as long as she can. In just a few quick steps she’s in front of me, stroking my bottom lip with a softly wrinkled, damp finger.
Fuck! The minty lube mixed with her musky cunt juices is delicious.
Handing me the bottle, she nods, pink-cheeked, at the door. “If I catch you again, I won’t be so friendly. Got it?”
It wasn’t a lie. I really do understand what she said. So, of course, I’m going to come grafting here again, because if this is her being friendly, her nasty side is definitely worth getting to know.