I'm always fascinated by women who take crazy risks just for the hell of it. Like Nicole. She's a professional woman who gets her kicks shoplifting things she doesn't really need from exclusive department stores. This is the story of the day she took one risk too many-and found herself in a situation far beyond her control. Enjoy. I love beautiful things: clothes, makeup, jewelry. Sometimes, I even pay for them. But my favorite trinkets-the ones I treasure most of all-are the ones I get by stealth, not wealth. I'm an expert shoplifter. I've been doing it for years. I can outsmart the security systems in most major department stores. It's not just about getting something for nothing; I'm addicted to the risk. I live for the thrill I get when I march out of those doors, past those big burly security guards with a thirty-dollar lipstick tucked in my sleeve. The more guards or the more cameras that are trained on me, the bigger the buzz when I get away with it. And when I walk out into the street, the release of tension and the blood pounding in my ears, it's the nearest thing you can get to an orgasm. I'm a danger junkie. I'm crazy, I know, but I'm good at it. I've only been caught once.
Oh, yes, the time I got caught I was in my favorite haunt, an old department store in the middle of town. It's an impressive building, with an interior dominated by a gilded spiral staircase. The luxurious beauty counter stocks face creams that cost a day's pay for some people, often more.
I browsed the store for a while, looking for something to take my fancy. In the end, I chose a sleek designer lipstick. I even tried it out in the mirror before I committed myself to stealing it. It was a lovely color, rose pink with a soft sheen. Even under the shop counter's harsh lighting, I could tell that it turned my average pair of lips into a pair of petals, plump and velvety. And so the second the salesgirl turned around to talk to another customer, I slid it up the top of my sleeve with a sleight of hand that would put most TV magicians to shame.
As I made my way to the huge double doors my heart was pounding, the way it does when you're about to kiss someone for the first time. The metallic casing of the lipstick was clinically cold against the hot, fast pulse that raced on the inside of my wrist. I raised my hand to push the heavy door open.
And that's when I felt it: the hand on my shoulder. My blood ran cold. It sounds crazy, but I had never prepared myself for this eventuality. I didn't believe I'd ever actually get caught. I froze. I couldn't see the hand but I felt a presence, a huge bulk of a man towering behind me. A man this big would be strong, too. No point in trying to run. It would only make things worse for me.
I turned around slowly, got ready to flutter my eyelashes at the security guard, hoping that I could flirt my way out of it. I found myself eye-level with his chest, a great solid wall of upper body. A blue shirt strained to contain a vast torso, short sleeves displayed strong, wide arms dusted with thick, dark hair. And above the collar, a stern, unsmiling face that didn't look like it was about to be melted by my little-girl-lost act.
"Madame, would you like to come with me?" he said in a rough, gravelly voice. He phrased it as a question but there was no doubt that it was an order. He placed his hand lightly on my arm, not quite restraining me. His thick fingers could probably crush my arm if he wanted. I had no choice but to follow as he led me through a side door (Why had I never noticed it before? Usually too focused on a successful getaway, I guess.) and up a narrow steel staircase.
"Where are we going?" I said, and then, to cover myself, "I don't know what I'm supposed to have done."
He stayed silent, conserving his breath as we mounted the steep flight of stairs. I had to catch my breath but my gasps were barely audible above the pounding of my heart in my ears. I felt scared and guilty and angry with myself but the adrenaline junkie in me was also rather excited. Finally, I was experiencing something even more thrilling and shocking than the act of stealing itself.
The guard maintained his silence as he unlocked a wooden door and led me into a tiny room. He locked the door behind him, putting the key in his pocket, effectively making me his prisoner. I looked around the cell-sized room. There was a desk, a chair and about thirty TV screens, each showing a different part of the store. There was also a tiny window at about eye level from which you could see the entire shop floor. I was astonished. With CCTV this good, I was surprised they hadn't caught me months ago. I was so surprised that I forgot to be frightened.
"Oh, look!" I said brightly. "You can see the makeup counter from here!"
I turned around, but he wasn't smiling. The room was so small that there wasn't much space between us. Close up, I could detect a clean, soapy smell that masked an undertone of something more dark, feral and masculine. I noticed that he hadn't shaved for a few days, and that there was a small scar on his chin which made a bare patch in the stubble. I've always found men with scars irresistible. They make a man look tough and powerful-which, by contrast, makes me feel vulnerable and ultra-feminine. In other circumstances, I'd have found this guy extremely attractive.
"I've got something else to show you," he said, hazel eyes stern beneath a furrowed brow, and he slid a tape into a VCR machine. At first, it was nothing special-just a series of shots of the shop interior. Then I saw someone I recognized: dark hair and a black leather jacket, suspiciously large red handbag-oh, God, it was me!
I watched in horror as the camera captured me sliding a blue g-string and matching bra into my bag. Then the video cut to another film, another day-hotter, because I wore no jacket, but I had the same oversized bag. This time I watched myself casually drop a sixty-five-dollar bottle of shampoo into my bag before leaving via the main doors. After that I was shown another film of me stealing a clingy white dress and then another showing me taking some expensive perfume. And another. And another. All the little crimes I thought I'd gotten away with had been taped. He had enough evidence here to put me in prison. This wasn't going to be just a little slap on the wrist. My job-my apartment-my life-suddenly I realized exactly how much I'd put in jeopardy to feed my habit for cheap thrills.
"I don't understand," I said, and this time when I looked at him the tears brimming in my eyes were real. "Why have you been holding on to all this? What are you going to do with it? Why arrest me today?"
"Today was different," he said, matter-of-factly. "I like the way your tits look in that top, so I thought, today will be the day that I fuck her."
"What?" I stammered. I stood there for a second, unsure I'd heard right (but knew I had).
"I've been watching you for months," he said, moving closer to me. I took a step back, but there was nowhere to go. My back was against the door as he continued speaking. "The first time I saw you, I thought, she's an impudent little bitch, that one, and arrogant. Thinks she'll never get caught. But then you bent down to look at something, and I got a look at your ass in your tight jeans, and I thought, I'd rather fuck her than arrest her. I knew you'd be back. I've come across your type before. Posh girls like you, stealing for kicks always think you can get away with it. So I waited. And I recorded you. Every time I see you coming in I get hard, thinking about how one day I'm going to take you up here and what I'm going to do to you."
I stood mute, my body trembling.
"Now," he said, waving the tape under my nose, "I've got enough evidence here to send you to prison for a few months at least. I reckon you've stolen at least five grand's worth of stuff from this shop in the last year." He smiled a humorless smile revealing white teeth, and pointed to a sign on the wall that read: WE ALWAYS PROSECUTE THIEVES. "So I've got a deal for you: You drop your stolen panties for me here, and I'll destroy the tape in front of you."
"And if I don't?" I asked.
"And if you don't, then you're going to wish you'd never set foot in this shop, princess, because your nice little life will be ruined."
My mind raced. All the things I had to lose flashed before me. I wished I'd never shoplifted in the first place, but it was too late for pointless regrets like that now. And then I conjured another series of mental images, including one of me on the desk being screwed by this evil giant fucker of a security guard. It didn't turn me on, but it didn't repulse me, either. I swallowed and decided to take the cock. The only problem, I thought, looking at his broad chest and thick fingers again, was the size of him. I'd always had slim, athletic lovers in the past. If this guy's dick was in proportion to the rest of him, how would I get wet enough to accommodate him?
"Whatever you want," I said, looking at the floor.
"Good girl," said the guard, smiling again. "Right," he said. "We haven't got long. I'm back on duty in ten minutes. So to keep this quick and efficient, and to keep your end of the bargain, I'll be in charge here. You'll do exactly what I say."
I nodded meekly, just wanting it to be over now that I'd agreed to do it.
"Take your clothes off then," he said. With trembling hands, I began to undo my button-up dress, taking as long as possible to delay the inevitable until I realized that he might think I was indulging him in a striptease. It was anything but! I hung the dress on the back of the door and bent down to undo the straps of my shoes. Now I was before him in only my underwear: the blue bra and panties set that I had just watched myself steal on video. His hand slid to his crotch where he started stroking himself, but he stayed fully clothed.
"Keep going," he said, with a leer. Slowly, I removed my panties, hooking my thumbs under the waistband before sliding them down my legs. I took my bra off, baring my pert tits and erect nipples, which were hard in the chill of the air-conditioned room.
"Lie back on the desk," he commanded. I did so, the hard surface freezing cold under my skin. I yelped in discomfort.
"Spread your legs," he said. He put his face between my legs, his warm breath caressing my pussy lips. To my surprise, I felt pleasant stirrings at the stimulation. He examined me for a second or two and then placed a thumb on my pussy.
"You're not wet enough to take me yet," he said, disapprovingly. "Do something about that."
"What?" I said.
"Get yourself ready for me." He stood back, arms folded, and waited. I had no choice but to bring my hand down between my legs. With one finger on either side of my clitoris, I began rubbing myself the way I always do when I want to get off. It was a tried and true masturbation technique that had never failed me before. But then, I'd never had to do it against my will; I'd always been horny before I started playing with myself.
Doing it now, under this man's instructions, was weird. I was dry down there, which made the friction uncomfortable, so I slid my finger into my pussy to use some of my own juices as a natural lubricant. I closed my eyes, tried to lose myself in fantasy, but then the guard barked, "Keep your eyes open, you little bitch. I want you to look at me, think about what you've done."
I locked eyes with him, and we were staring at each other as my body started to respond. I felt the first warm drops of moisture start to flow into my pussy as the whole area began to grow warm and tingle. Relief mingled with pleasure flooded my body. I wasn't exactly going to come, but I would be wet enough to take his cock.
He put his face down there again and examined me. Despite my predicament, I was starting to get really horny. I craved his tongue against my clit, wanted the rough stubble on his cheeks to scrape the skin of my thighs.
"Okay, you're ready," he said, as though I were a joint of meat and he was considering whether it was time to carve and serve me. "You're ready for cock. Now you need to get me ready. Get off the desk and onto your knees. Now! And don't you fucking dare close your eyes again. Hear me?"
I nodded, then clambered awkwardly down from the desk and sank to my knees. I heard the wet noise of him licking his lips in anticipation and then the unmistakable sounds of a belt buckle and then a zipper being unfastened. I looked up at him as instructed and found myself in front of the biggest dick I had ever seen in my life. It was the size of a baby's arm and getting bigger by the second. My eyes bulged in disbelief and fear as it grew more upright, thicker, and harder. Veins pulsed along the side of it.
"I've been getting hard for you for months now," he said, a note of cruelty in his voice, "but I could do with being a little bit harder. What do you think?"
Before I could reply he thrust the tip of his cock between my lips, forcing them wide open. As the first few inches of his dick penetrated my mouth, I knew it was going to be too much. He probed harder into me. I tried to scream, but the noise was muffled. I gagged as he rammed my face, trying to stuff a huge dick into a space not big enough to accommodate it.
"You never thought this would be the consequence of your actions, did you?" he snarled as he fucked my throat, harder and harder. "You never thought you'd end up on your knees in here, did you? Never thought about this?" Just when I thought I couldn't take any more he pulled out and used his dick to slap first one cheek, then the other. I fell on all fours, gasping for breath. He yanked up my hair so that I was level with him again, and before I could say no, he was there, in my mouth again. And, to my surprise, this time around, I found that my pussy was throbbing and my body yielding to an animal desire that had suddenly overtaken me. I wish he was fucking me in my pussy and not my face, I thought. As soon as I had considered those words, I felt a rush of heat to my cunt. I was ready to take him inside me. I needed to take him inside me.
"Okay," he said and pulled me to my feet again. By now I was so turned on that my whole body had become liquid and my legs could barely support my weight. I was eye level with his chest, his huge dick banging against the skin of my navel.
"Back on the desk," he growled. Somehow, I managed to climb back up there, lay on my back, and spread my legs to expose my quivering, waiting, hungry hole.
"Okay, you're gonna get it," he said hovering over me. He took a deep breath and thrust. The tip of his dick was soft and round against the wet lips of my pussy. Moments later, I felt a searing pain as he drove his huge rod into me. It felt like I would split in half. Pain turned to pleasure within a second. The harder he pumped my pussy, the wetter it got, and soon he was sliding that great big truncheon in and out of me so fast and I couldn't have enough of it. He lightly slapped my tits and I whimpered with pleasure.
"Oooh," he said, and now it was his voice that was unsteady. "She's getting into it now. She's enjoying her punishment. She wants it harder," and with that he speared me really viciously. I had to grab on to the sides of the desk to prevent his violent thrusts from propelling me off the edge. His face grew darker, and as it suffused with blood, that scar on his chin, that sexy, bad-boy scar, grew more pronounced.
"She wants more," he said, and I wasn't even sure that he was talking to me any longer or to himself. "She can take a little more." And with that he brought his hand down in a hard slap on my clitoris. The sudden, intense stimulation made me yell out with pleasure.
"She deserves everything she gets," he said, raining down tiny slaps on my clit. I felt myself begin to lose control. As he fucked my pussy and spanked my clit relentlessly my whole body went limp for a few seconds before I came, violent spasms and a trickle of my fluids grabbing his hard-on in a warm, wet caress.
"Oh, yeah," he murmured, whipping his dick out of my convulsing pussy and at the last moment forcing it between my lips. He shot his load into my mouth. I swallowed, aware of a sliver of hot, salty liquid that was spilling from between my lips and rolling down my neck.
Immediately after he'd come, he wiped himself with a tissue, put his dick back in his trousers, and looked at the clock. When I swiveled my body around and sat up on the desk, my pounded pussy was so sore I couldn't put my legs together. He noticed and let out a cruel, bitter laugh.
"You won't be able to walk properly again for days," he said. "It will be a constant reminder of your punishment. And I let you off lightly for what you did, you spoiled little bitch." Wordlessly, he handed me the tape, allowed me a few seconds to clothe myself. I didn't even have time to wipe myself clean of the trickle of semen that was beginning to dry on my neck. He led me out of the tiny little room and down a side staircase before pushing me out of a fire door and into the sunny street, where I stood blinking in disbelief for a few seconds, still coming down from the high of my orgasm.
I hopped on the bus, eager to get home so I could fantasize about the whole experience again. By the time I got back to my apartment, I was planning what I would shoplift next time. It would have to be something daring and outrageous, something that would guarantee a repeat performance. Like I said, I'm a danger junkie.