Author: Jack
Keywords: .
Summary: Big John makes an honest attempt to clean up his act - but is confounded by a familiar-looking blonde..
"I’m sorry, John, but that’s just the way things are." Byron Lord, manager of Lord’s Department Store, didn’t look very sorry to John. But, he thought bitterly, when you’re the rich son of the owner of the entire Lord’s chain of stores, and you’re reading the riot act to a hard-working blue-collar security guard, real sorrow wasn’t required.
"Mr. Lord," John said carefully, trying to keep from showing just how worried he was, "the Union cleared me of all the charges . . ."
"Ah, yes, the Union," Lord said, shaking his head slowly. "Your partner, the Union Rep . . . what did everyone call him? Deviant? Well, I’m sorry to have to be the one to let you know that your friend Deviant has been transferred to the Orlando store, John. You’ll have a new partner, and a new Union Representative, from here on out."
John leaned forward, alarmed. "But I thought those charges . . ."
"Oh, we can’t do anything about matters that have already been adjudicated, John," the manager said.
"Huh?" John narrowed his eyes. He hated it when people used big words.
"What’s past is past. Your job is safe . . . for now." Lord paused. "But we can’t afford any more trouble, John. Ever since that 20/20 story broke, there’s been a lot of attention focused on us, by the community and by the media. So we can’t have any more women filing sexual harassment charges here. Not one. From here on, you’re on probation, John. No more strip searching pretty young women. No more threatening teens into putting on sex shows for you in exchange for not calling the police to check out shoplifting charges. And no more hidden cameras in the women’s changing rooms, either. None of that is going to work around here any more, you understand?"
"Hey, wait a minute, now, boss," John protested. He was sure he was on firm ground with at least one of the manager’s accusations. "You know shoplifters use changing rooms to hide the stuff they’ve stolen. How’re we supposed to spot them without the cameras, huh?"
"You haven’t been doing all that well WITH the cameras, have you, John? Remember the Blansky case last month?" When John frowned and shook his head, the manager went on. "We found out that this Blansky battle-ax and her daughter had been ripping us off for hundreds of dollars worth of merchandise every week. They’d both go into the dressing rooms at the same time. Somehow nobody ever seemed to notice that the mother was coming out carrying enough merchandise on her to open a branch of the store somewhere."
"Uh . . ." John groped for something to say. The case sounded vaguely familiar, but he really hadn’t been paying that much attention to details.
"Now why is it that Mrs. Blansky could get away with that week after week, John? Could it be the fact that her daughter looks like Alicia Silverstone’s prettier sister? While Mrs. Blansky has the face of Janet Reno and the body of Roseanne Arnold?"
"Er . . . ah . . . yeah. Now I remember . . ." John tried not to smile at the memory of watching the daughter’s bare tits as she tried on one bikini after another in the dressing rooms . . . He had a whole shelf of security camera videotapes of that babe next to his VCR at home.
"Listen to me, John. Listen well. We aren’t going to tolerate any more incidents where one of our security guards abuses his power for some cheap thrill. Zero tolerance, John. All it takes is one complaint from a customer, one report from the staff of finding you in a compromising position, one mistake of any kind, and you’re out. Understand? Out."
"The Union ain’t gonna like it," John blustered.
"Oh, we’ll listen to what the Union has to say, John. As a matter of fact, anything your new Union Rep passes on, we’ll accept." He smiled broadly and touched a button on his intercom. "You’ll want to congratulate your new Rep, John. And your new partner, too, I might add."
John started to relax a little. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad after all. Even if good old Deviant was gone, he could probably get in good with whoever had replaced him. Most of the guys would cover for each other when Management started to get nosy.
Unless, of course, it was . . . No. no way SHE could have been picked!
The office door opened, and John looked up to see . . .
"You DO know Miss Fox, don’t you, John?" Lord said.
All John’s hopes sunk in an instant as he stared up at the attractive, dark-haired woman in the security guard’s uniform who stood framed in the door. Fox had been a thorn in his side ever since she’d joined security, with her no-nonsense attitude and her female-equality opinions. It didn’t help that she was an ex-Marine who knew a lot of unarmed combat moves - as John had discovered early on, that time he’d given her a slap on the ass and an invitation to spend the night at his trailer. His elbow throbbed a little at the memory . . . .
SHE was the Union Rep whose word would determine if he stayed or went? Might as well just turn in the old badge now, John thought. She’d just be waiting for a chance to nail his hide to the wall.
"Having Miss Fox as your partner on the day shift should be very useful, John," Lord went on smugly. "It will give her a chance to see first-hand how you conduct yourself, in case any questionable situations should arise." He paused long enough to let that sink in. "Not that there will be any questionable incidents, will there, John?"
"Er . . . no, sir," he answered hesitantly.
"Good! Now get out there and get to work, John. And TRY to stay out of trouble, okay?"
Feeling helpless and unemployed already, Big John stood slowly and walked to the door. Fox smiled sweetly at him. "I’m sure we’ll make a great team, John," she said.
John leaned back in his swivel chair and glanced across the bank of security monitors with a bored eye. Three of the screens were blank, and John’s mouth curled in a little sneer as he thought of what he might be missing in the women’s changing rooms, thanks to the store’s new policies.
And it was turning out even worse than he’d thought. The very first thing Fox had done, as soon as they reached Security, had been to supervise the removal of every scrap of pin-up art from the locker room, the guards’ lounge, and the Detention Area. Damn, that had been hard! Some of those posters and centerfolds had been real collectors’ items, but Fox had made him run all of them through the shredder. "This garbage makes this a hostile work environment for women, John," she had told him. "And we can’t have that, can we?"
She had even known exactly where he and Deviant had kept their cache of porn mags and those two videotapes they’d run on the monitors when nothing worthwhile was available in the store. Now they were gone, too, dumped in the trash compactor. Even with Fox out doing rounds outside the building there wasn’t anything much he could do except sit and remember the good old days, when he and Deviant would nab some hot young babe for shoplifting and give her a choice between a strip-search at the store or a police record. And they’d almost always chosen to strip on the spot. Sometimes they’d even do more . . . .
Something caught John’s attention on one of the monitors, and he focused on it with a frown. Whoa! he thought as the image registered fully. Now THAT was a babe!
She looked like a typical tourist searching the sporting goods racks for all the stuff she’s forgotten to pack for her trip . . . except that there weren’t many tourists who passed through Lord’s Department Store with hooters like hers! The black-and-white security camera really couldn’t do her justice, but John couldn’t help licking his lips anyway as he drank in the image of her. Her hair was light - blonde or a very light brown, probably - and pulled back in a pony tail. And her lightweight sundress hugged her curves much the way John wished he could. She couldn’t have been much older than twenty-five, he thought; gravity hadn’t started to take its’ toll on that magnificent chest yet. A long-time connoisseur of female breasts, John sized her up at 38DD, easily.
God DAMN but he wished he could watch her try on a bikini or two. Or, better yet, that she’d try to steal something so he could haul her down to Detention and get a real look at her . . . .
Not that he could do either one, of course. DAMN! What a waste!
He almost missed it for watching the delightful way her tits shifted under her dress as she leaned forward to compare prices on sun block, but John saw a strange movement in the upper part of the screen and forced his eyes away from the girl. He shifted the security camera slightly to get a better look . . .
There it was again. Just a quick flash of movement, too fast to really see. He zoomed in . . .
And finally figured out what he was seeing. There were a pair of young teenagers half-hidden by the shelves behind the babe, both of them dressed in Boy Scout uniforms. And one of them had a fishing pole in his hands. As John watched, the kid made an awkward cast . . . .
Perhaps it was because it was something he would have done himself, under the circumstances, but in an instant John knew exactly what the two Scouts were doing. And as he realized the implications of what was going on, he surged out of his chair and was running for the sales floor as fast as his chubby body and out-of-shape legs could carry him.
His job could be on the line if those kids were doing what he thought they were doing!
He was too late, of course.
As he trotted through Hardware and made the turn into Sporting Goods John heard a loud tearing noise, followed by a woman’s high-pitched screech. A moment later he turned another corner in time to see the two Scouts laughing and pointing. One still clutched the fishing pole; the tattered remains of the babe’s sundress dangled from the end of the line, hooked by a well-placed cast and jerked clean off the woman’s body.
The woman herself, clad now in matching pink bra and panties, screamed again and tried to cover herself up with her hands. She turned and started to run, but tripped over the corner of a low shelf and sprawled headlong across the aisle that separated Sporting Goods from Menswear. John gaped in mingled horror and admiration at the sight as she managed to right herself and scramble back to her feet. In the process, though, she left something behind . . . her brassiere had been quite unable to cope with the sudden, violent motion of those fantastic boobs. She was every bit as spectacular as he’d dreamed she’d be . . . .
"Miss!" he shouted. "Hold on, Miss! I’m with store security! I’m here to help you!"
She turned at the sound of his voice and looked straight at him, but a moment later seemed to become aware of the fact that her breasts were fully exposed now. A blush spread down from her cheeks almost as far as her large, crinkled aureole. Then she crossed her arms across her chest and started backing away from him. He could hear, in the sudden silence, her muttered mantra of confusion and embarrassment: "Ohmigod, ohmigod, ohmigod . . . not again . . . ohmigod . . ."
"Watch out, Miss!" John called, but his warning came too late.
Somehow the woman had managed to back up straight into one of the Menswear mannequins, a dapper-looking dummy wearing a suit, a bowler hat, and carrying a rolled-up umbrella in one hand. The umbrella fell as her leg brushed against it, leaving the hand open and empty.
And just about at the level of her crotch. Naturally she backed straight into it.
A look of horror spasmed across her features at the touch of those "fingers" against her pink panties, and the half-naked woman whirled around to deliver a mighty slap to her tormentor. It sent the mannequin’s head flying all the way to the Shoe Department, bowler and all, and the force of the blow caused the woman and the dummy to go down in a tangle. She struggled back to her feet to the accompaniment of a ripping noise, and blushed again as she realized that her panties had become entangled around the mannequin’s offending hand and had torn free of her. Now naked except for shoes and knee-high stockings, the girl gave another little scream and sprinted down the aisle in the direction of the Ladies’ Department.
It had all happened in a matter of seconds, not even enough time for a decent-sized crowd to form. John was torn for a moment between dealing with the two Scouts who had started the mess or following the woman. That decision became much easier when Mr. Shelby, the head of the Sporting Goods department, put in an appearance. "Don’t let those two kids out of your sight!" John snapped, pointing at the Scouts. Then he started jogging after the woman, pausing only long enough to scoop up her purse from the floor where she had no doubt dropped it as she felt her dress ripping away.
Mrs. Green, the Ladies’ Department manager, met him near the changing rooms. "She’s in Number Two, John," she said, pointing to the middle booth. "Ran past me stark naked and slammed the door so hard I thought all three booths were going to collapse!"
John nodded, distracted. There was no way this mess was going to go away quietly, he thought. All he could do now was make sure everyone knew that HIS role had been a positive one throughout. "For God’s sake get her something to wear," he growled. "I’ll try to calm her down."
He was aware of the odd look Mrs. Green gave him before she nodded and bustled away. Big John, the Strip Search king, actually asking for something to cover a hot naked babe up? He was glad, perversely, that Deviant wasn’t hear to see his downfall into respectability.
Then again, if Deviant had still been around things might have developed a WHOLE LOT differently . . . .
He shook the thought away and approached the dressing rooms, pausing to set the woman’s purse on a counter and fish out her wallet. He found her driver’s license.
"Ms. Hamilton?" he said, not loud, but firmly. "Jenny? Everything’s okay, ma’am. I’m with Store Security. I’ve got somebody finding you something to wear, and we’ll make sure those two kids who did this to you will be punished."
"Go away!" she said, sounding close to tears. He heard a thump . . . and another . . . and another, as the woman pounded her fists on the sides of the dressing room. "Just go away! Why does this ALWAYS happen to ME?" And she pounded again, harder . . .
And the door to the dressing room, none to solid on the best of days, fell of its’ hinges and hit the floor with a crash. It startled John, making him jump back. Then he froze as he caught sight of the Hamilton woman again in all her naked glory.
She screamed one more time and came barreling out of the dressing room . . . .
Where she ran straight into John. They both went down to the ground together in a tangle of limbs. For a long, sweet moment Jenny was on top of him, her legs straddling his hips, her large breasts brushing against his chest . . . .
"Ahem! Just what is going on here?" an all-too-familiar contralto voice demanded.
Jenny Hamilton scrambled to her feet, giving John a few more pleasant images he knew he would retain in his memory for a long time to come. Then she was gone, running naked through the store as fast as her long, beautifully-tanned legs could carry her.
Leaving John to look up at his new partner, Fox.
"You’ve got some explaining to do, John," she said softly. And smiled.
"So you really want me to back you up on this whole ‘accident’ story of yours, huh, John?" Fox demanded, pacing back and forth in front of him in the Detention room.
"It’s the truth, Fox. Really. Ask anyone who was out there!" John couldn’t suppress the note of pleading that had crept into his voice. Damn it all, this wasn’t FAIR. He really had been trying to do the right thing! And now Fox would turn in a bad report, and that would be the end of it all. Fired . . . probably blacklisted, too, so he couldn’t get another security job in the whole state of Florida! And all because some bimbo hadn’t been able to keep her clothes on . . . on his watch.
Fox stopped pacing and regarded him with a quirky smile. "Well . . . I don’t know. Most everybody I talked to does agree with your story . . . but I know what I saw, John. Don’t tell me you weren’t enjoying that poor woman’s humiliation when she landed on top of you. Or did you pull her down so you could cop a feel?"
"That wasn’t the way it was! Damn it, Fox, have a heart!"
She didn’t answer right away, just stood there looking at him with that maddening smile and her knowing look. It didn’t help that she also looked sexy as hell . . . or that John was still having trouble shaking the mental image of that gorgeous naked blonde.
"Tell you what, John. Maybe I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt this time . . ."
Relief flooded through him. "Thanks, Fox. Thanks. You won’t regret -"
"IF . . ." she paused a moment. "If you do a little something for me, this weekend."
"Anything, Fox. Anything. Just let me keep my job . . ."
Her smile broadened. "Well, why don’t you come by my apartment building Saturday around noon? I really need to have my car washed, and you look just like the big macho man who can do it."
"Wash your car . . ."
"Right. You’ll have plenty of room to work, in the parking lot." She picked up the bag she had brought in with her when she had come back from interviewing the witnesses to the incident on the sales floor. She pulled out a sponge, a rag, and some car wax. "This should be everything you need, John . . . Oh, wait. One more thing." She reached in the bag again and pulled something else out, and tossed it on the table in front of John.
He picked it up uncertainly. "What’s this?" he asked, though he could see that it was a pair of woman’s thong underwear, a one-size-fits-most variety in the same shade of hot pink that the blonde had been wearing.
"Why, that’s what the well-dressed car wash attendant is wearing these days . . . at least at MY car wash," Fox told him with another of those smiles.