Security Blanet

"This shouldn’t take long, ma’am," I say as I open the door to the campus security office.

"I don’t understand what the problem is, though. You’ve seen me work late in my classroom plenty of times," she says.

I shrug casually and give her a somewhat embarrassed look. "Well, you know how Admin is. Always tossing new regulations at us." I lean closer to her and whisper conspiratorially, "Frankly, I’m not sure that Admin has a clue why they make most of the rules that they do."

I usher her into the crappy plastic visitor’s seat and ease myself into the battered office chair behind the desk. The computer is already on; I just have to log in and make it look like I’m doing something.

"Ok," I say, smiling. "I’m going to need a piece of photo I.D., and I also need your course name and program. Oh, and do you have the official course code number? Actually, that would be easiest."

She sighs and plops down her bookbag. It’s a huge cloth black bag, stuffed to the brim with textbooks, course notes, binders, and overheads. She rifles through the contents for a few seconds, and pulls out a battered course register.

"I think everything you’ve asked for is on the header information here," she says.

"Thanks, that’s perfect!" I say, smiling again. I start entering the information into the computer while she sits watching me, waiting expectantly.

Without looking up from the screen, I remind her, "Don’t forget, I still need some photo I.D."

"Oh, right. Just a sec," she says, as she pushes her hand back into the bookbag, digging around for her purse, stuck somewhere in her own personal jungle. She finds the purse, flips it open, and pulls out her drivers’ license. She tosses it towards me and it lands on the desk, skidding towards me.

"Great, thanks," I say, as I continue to enter the information from her course register into my computer. I type nearly 100 words a minute, but I’m deliberately poking the keyboard one finger at a time, hesitating between each as if I’m searching for the correct letter. If my guess is right, it really won’t matter to her how long this actually takes us to complete. Other than the annoyance factor, of course.

As the silence grows, I decide to draw her out a bit. "You’re right," I say, as if continuing our earlier conversation. "I have seen you working here late plenty of times. I take it you can’t get much marking done at home, then?"

"Well, not really," she says. "It’s just that I don’t like having to take homework home, if you know what I mean."

"Don’t you carry your stuff with you all the time in your bag?" I ask.

"Well, sure. They don’t give night-school instructors any office or storage space, so I have to bring along everything I need. But usually I just toss it in the back of my car until my next class. I don’t really want to schlep that bag into my place. Bad enough I have to schlep it to each of my classes," she says, grinning wryly.

"You live in an apartment then?" I ask casually. "Someplace with a lot of stairs?"

"Hey, good guess. Right on the money," she answers, chuckling.

I pretend to straighten my non-existent necktie. "Well, ma’am, it’s that kind of astute observation that goes with the job. Us security minions can never be too observant."

At this, she laughs. I figure now is a good time to make my move.

I look at her intently and say quietly, "And I’ve observed you doing a lot more here than just marking," I say.

She looks suddenly uncomfortable, shifting slightly in her plastic seat. "More than marking?" she repeats, quietly.

"Well, maybe it’s not fair to call it an observation. More like an inference," I say, playing coy with her.

She looks at me expectantly. She’s nervous now, but doing a pretty good job of hiding it.

"For instance," I say, grabbing the wall calendar and flipping back a page. I hum for a moment as I trace my finger along the days. "For instance," I repeat, "last month, on this particular Monday evening, I heard some very strange noises in the vicinity of the staff washroom."

She’s no longer hiding her nervousness. She’s starting to fidget and I can see the tension working through her body as she clenches her hands and her jaw.

"Yes, those were very strange noises. The type of noise that definitely gets the attention of a security minion. I watched the door for a few minutes, and then the noises stopped. Do you know what I observed next?" I ask innocently.

"No," she whispers. Her jaw is still clenched tight and the word comes out almost as a hiss. Whether it’s a hiss of anger or fear, I can’t tell. Maybe it’s both.

"Next, I observed a female instructor leaving the staff washroom," I said calmly, with no more emotion than someone might recite their grocery list.

"Oh my god," she sighed, her breath coming out ragged and clearly strangling a sob.

I look at her with sudden sympathy and my concern is genuine. "What’s wrong?" I ask.

"Look, I—I’m sorry," she stammers. "It won’t happen again. It was a stupid thing to do. Please don’t inform Admin."

"Why on earth would I inform Admin?" I ask innocently.

She’s sobbing quietly now and nearly misses what I say. Finally she says, "You’re not going to inform Admin?"

"Well, I wasn’t planning to. What I really wanted to know is what a hot woman such as you was doing all by yourself in that washroom," I said evenly.

She’s still too stressed to be hearing me clearly. I decide to continue.

"I mean, a woman such as yourself shouldn’t need to be playing solo," I say.

She snorts slightly. "Very funny, buddy. A woman such as myself is lucky if I get a dirty phonecall, never mind a flesh-and-blood date."

I can’t stand it anymore. I get up from my chair and move around the desk. The office is cramped. It really wasn’t made for more than one person. I crouch down beside her, my body squeezed into the small space between the visitor’s chair and the office door. I look into her eyes and take her hands.

"Ma’am, you are one of the most gorgeous creatures I’ve ever seen," I say. I’m not exaggerating. She’s about average height, with medium-length hair and extra-long fingernails. She’s lusciously curved with generous thighs.

"Again, very funny, buddy," she spits out. She’s starting to get angry now. "Look, I don’t know what you want with me. You caught me doing something I should’ve saved for home. You say you don’t plan to tell Admin, and then you’re blowing smoke up my ass about how gorgeous I am. Do you think I’m so desperate that you can blackmail me?"

"Blackmail?" I ask, innocently. "I suppose you could call it that."

"Well listen, buddy," she says. Her voice is now absolutely angry, but her tone is controlled, her words even and clipped. "A word of advice for you. If you head over to the administrative assistant’s school area, you’ll find a lot of pretty young things you can blackmail to your heart’s content. You don’t need to be hassling an old woman like me."

At this I actually laugh. "Old, are you?" I say. "According to your drivers’ license you’re almost fifteen years older than I am. Not exactly time to be heading off into retirement, you know."

"Besides, I’ve seen the girls over in the admin assistant’s school. You’re right. There’re lots of so-called pretty young things there. That’s the problem. They’re young. They’re practically kids. They wear so much makeup I’m surprised they can even crack a smile without the stuff breaking off their faces in huge chunks. And," I say significantly, "they’re so damn scrawny I don’t think they’ll ever be true women."

At this, she looks at me narrowly. "What are you talking about, buddy?" she says. "A guy who looks like you do must have the pick of the crop."

Annoyed, I lunge upwards and kiss her on her mouth, hard. She’s hesitant for a moment, then gives into my advance. She tastes spicy, no doubt a lingering reminder of her takeout sub she had earlier for her solitary dinner. I break the kiss and return to looking her in the eye. Now I’m about 10 inches from her face, and my hands are gripping either side of her shoulders.

"Listen," I say. "You’re right. I work out and I enjoy having a trim body. But I do not," I emphasise the word not, "let me repeat, do not particularly enjoy skinny little girls who look like they haven’t eaten in a month. You think I’m blowing smoke up your ass? Not on your life, lady! You’ve got the greatest ass I’ve seen in a long time, and I want a piece of it."

She still looks suspicious, and I guess that’s fair enough. Our whole damn world seems to promote the idea that a woman has to be 20 pounds underweight to be even remotely attractive. Stupid.

I decide to cut all the chatter and kiss her again. This time, I immediately get a warm response. I gently guide her from the plastic chair and perch her on edge of my desk.

I’m starting to get hot, sweaty hot in addition to sexually hot; I’ve still got my security jacket on. I start to shrug it off, only to find her helping me. She starts unbuttoning my shirt. She sees my chest and her breath escapes in a rush of excitement. Hands stroke my chest, my shoulders, and my abdomen. I lean forward into her embrace and we kiss again, somehow deeper than the last time.

Now I’m working at her clothes. As always, she’s dressed impeccably, professionally. Thanks to my intervention earlier in the evening, she hadn’t yet bothered to put on her wool overcoat, but she’s still got a suit jacket, blouse, and dress slacks. Between the two of us we get the suit jacket off, and I find myself sliding my hands along her bare skin under her shirt.

She’s a dreamland of softness. Everywhere I touch is yielding. I stroke and knead at her tummy, her breasts. I remove her blouse, kissing her softly after each button is undone.

She moans quietly. I step back slightly to see her better. The movement causes her to open her eyes and look at me warily, as if expecting me to tell her this whole thing is a joke.

"You’re even more gorgeous than I’d imagined," I say, and I reach for her body, drawing myself back to her. My touches and caresses are easily matched by her own. Soft licks and kisses over each of our bodies, caresses and strokes in the moments in between.

I can’t wait any longer. I snake my hand into her slacks and work my way into her panties. The folds of her cunt feel like silk; slippery and soft wetness envelops my fingertips. Now she’s breathing even faster, and yet another soft moan escapes her lips. I stroke my fingers through her folds, feeling her body soften yet more against my intrusion, feeling her jump slightly when I brush against her clit. With a swift, sudden movement, I plunge two fingers into her sopping cunt. I twist them inside her, draw them in and out. She shudders with pleasure.

"Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop," she begs me.

Instead of answering, I kiss her again on her mouth, again hard. She’s hunching against me now, her ample hips thrusting against my hand. With my free hand I undo the top of her slacks, giving me enough room to reach around her ass and squeeze hard against her flesh.

My own breath is getting ragged, and when I speak into her ear, my voice sounds rough. "I want to fuck you ... ma’am. I want to fuck you hard."

"Here?" she whispers.

"Right here," I confirm. "Right now."

It takes me moments to extract my hands and pull her slacks down and off her legs. She reaches forward and undoes my uniform pants, pulling my briefs aside so she can grab my rock-hard cock. I grab both her hand and my cock, stroking our hands up and down my shaft. I put the tip of my cock at her cunt, then pause.

"I’m going to fuck you now. I’m going to fuck you hard," I say quietly. She responds by thrusting her hips forward, eagerly meeting my first thrust. Immediately, I find myself all the way inside, buried up to my balls. I start fucking her. As promised, I’m fucking her hard. I grip her thighs, fingers digging deep into her flesh as I pound into her cunt. I can hear her moaning, making little whimpers and squeaks of pleasure. I can smell her now; her scent is permeating the little security office. Her smell, her sound, the feel of her flesh in my hands is driving me into a frenzy. I move swifter and swifter, hearing my balls slap against her with every thrust. Pressure mounting, I cry out as I come inside her. Continuing to thrust deep within her, she rewards me by the feel of her cunt pulsing from her orgasm.

As long as possible, we stay joined together; cock and cunt and come. Our breathing softens and our heartbeats slow. I can see she’s heavily flushed; from the feel of my skin, I’m sure that I am, too.

Gently, I straighten her blouse and refasten her buttons. I close up my uniform slacks, then pick up her dress slacks and help her ease them on. Soon, we’re both respectable again, though she’s still perched on the edge of my desk. The silence becomes awkward; I can tell she doesn’t know what to expect and that worries her.

Again, I stand close to her, my hips nestled within hers. I move my face to her ear and whisper, "That was an incredible fuck, ma’am. Now, it’s time for me to take you home and make love."