Welcome, dear readers, firstly I want to apologize to all my followers for the long delay in between my first story and the present one.
Anyways, this is the first part of '
NILOFAR',
another long lesbian romance and I hope you find it interesting enough to read till the end.
Thanks, as always, to '
Old naked dad'
for his skillful (and phenomenally speedy!) editing
.
As always I enjoy reading the feedback and I'm always open to constructive criticism. So leave the comments and drop me a message if you want.
*****
CHAPTER 1
ANOTHER DAY AT WORK
It's one of the brighter afternoons of early January and I'm on my way back to my respective counter, after having my lunch at the cheap fast food center nearby, when I hear my Manager calling me.
"Jess, would you come over here, for a minute, please?"
I immediately look at my watch, to see if I'm late returning from my break, before walking towards the storage room, nearby. Since I've been working here for more than three years, I know Mike, the middle-aged Manager, isn't a person to be afraid of. In fact, he's quite friendly, humble and caring towards his employees, but right now, he looks angry for some reason.
"Hey, Mike! What can I do for you?"
He doesn't speak a word, only turns his head to the left and following his gaze, I see a teenage girl sitting on the bench by the storage room and everything becomes crystal clear to me.
Shoplifting isn't new. During my years of work, I have come across several incidents of shoplifting or, should I say, failed attempts of shoplifting. I wonder from where they finds such courage to try to steal something, knowing the shop is under the surveillance of CC (closed circuit) cameras.
Every technology has its limitations though, so it's not possible to cover every single inch of the shop. Some of the shoplifters get away with stealing, but there's always a threat of getting caught red-handed and there's strict rules against shoplifting, which includes fines as well as imprisonment.
"She has a few costly cosmetics on her and Jason, from the housing department, has already confirmed she's been to the shop, more than a couple of times, within the last few weeks. Make sure she pays for those items, or we'll have to call the Police," he says.
I know we can call the Police on every shoplifter, if we want to, but Mike isn't that kind of person. In fact, he's a little soft hearted for his position as Manager. He lets the accused go if they pay for the stolen items. Sometimes, they don't have sufficient cash so in those cases, and if the products can be resold, he lets them get away with only warnings, after the product is returned.
There are, also, some rare cases where the accused doesn't have sufficient money and the product cannot be resold. In situations like those, we make them sign a warning form and take photographs, threatening to hand them over to the Police and, if they plead enough, we generally let them go, telling them their details will be sent to all of the stores belonging to this chain as well as to the Police and, if they're found guilty, again, they will go directly to jail.
The forms and photographs go nowhere beyond the next day's trash bags, but it works. At least, we hope it does. So, when he mentions the Police, it takes me by surprise, but as the Manager, he's the one who must answer for every single product stolen and, I guess, this girl stealing, continuously, has pulled the trigger.
Nodding my acceptance, I turn and sigh in frustration, knowing it's now my responsibility to search this girl, find the stolen product and pressure her into paying for it. The only thing I can hope for is this girl has sufficient money in her purse because, though I know she's a thief and what she has done is a crime, I don't want to be the one to send her to jail.
"Follow me," I say.
I keep my head straight, without bothering to look at the girl, as she gets up and follows me inside of the small (what we call) storage room, but is practically empty. Once inside, I lock the door before turning towards the girl and the first thing that strikes me is her naval piercing. I know it's something very common, nowadays, as piercing and tattoos have become one of the trends among the teenagers, but for some reason, I always find it fascinating...especially on girls.
I've had thoughts about getting one myself, but chickened out every time, thinking about the pain it causes afterwards. The simple, stainless steel Barbell she's wearing at the tip of her naval is certainly not one of the most extravagant I've seen, but she has the figure to go with it. Her abs and stomach are toned to perfection and her low-waist jeans and crop top leave her midriff exposed only enough to show it off. Certainly, good enough to hold my gaze long enough to make her speak first.
"You can touch it if you like! It's not one of the fake ones and definitely, not stolen from your shop!"
Her sudden speaking nearly makes me jump out of my skin and I blush, embarrassed for my behavior as I know the piercing is real and I shouldn't have gawked at it. Now, I need to apologize for my behavior.
"I'm..." I start, but as soon as I look up to the owner of the voice, my words die.
I didn't have a proper look at her, previously, as I was too busy listening to Mike and trying to process the situation. Added to the fact she was sitting on the bench also failed me from realizing she's so tall. She towers over me, by almost a foot and half in her hunter boots, as I stand an inch short to five feet in the flats we're required to wear during our shift.
She's lean. Her hair is black and she has it pulled back into a ponytail. Her Zed black eyes are looking down at me, as if piercing my body to look into my soul. Not the cutest face I've ever seen, but definitely striking, in her own rugged way.
"You were saying?" she says, smiling.
I can't look away. My face is heating and I'm also sure my chest will soon be red, too, but I continue ogling her.
"If you keep staring at me like this, you'll never get your job done," she says, with her smile turning into an evil grin, confirming she's enjoying the situation very much.
