Security Slut

Hi, my name is Julie, I work as a security officer, and I drive men wild. Women too, if you want to get technical about it. There's just something about an athletic woman holding a night stick that gets people's blood running hot.

I saw her the first time when she went into the building looking rushed, blond curls flying and business suit a little too wrinkled. She was after a lawyer. No one runs like that into a law office if they don't have some serious shit to get out of. I held the door open and I confess I stared just a little too long - long enough that the guy behind the check-in desk raised an eyebrow at me. I was just there for an interview and already I was getting those "I wonder what you like in bed" looks. I didn't care. It's what got me my last job, after all...

I don't know why I remembered her so well, but it was over a cup of coffee that I saw her being carried out of the courtroom in handcuffs on the channel 9 news five months later. I guess that lawyer hadn't been enough for her, but she carried it well. Her nails were still perfectly manicured, her blond curls just so around her face, makeup immaculate. Orange would be a bad color on her, but then again, who looked good in a jumpsuit?

I was working at the local prison. Turns out the boss of the law office didn't like my gender. But it didn't matter, the prison job was great. I don't know, there was just something I liked about being in control of all those girls with their dead husbands and stockbroker insider information. Let's just put it this way: I was never in need for sex...or cigarettes...

They brought her in and shoved her into B block with a beautiful black girl named Shonda that I'd had an interesting night in solitary with a few months ago. She winked a big brown come-hither eye at me as I came along on my walk that night, clanging my club against the bars as I went and swaggering like I'd walked out of some old Alcatraz movie and had a chip on my shoulder. "Hey, sugah." She said, her accented voice thick with Georgia history. "New blood up in here tonight." She gestured over a muscular shoulder at the blond beauty that was sitting on that thin prison cot like she was waiting for a table in some fine four star restaurant.

"So I heard." I said and I leaned in against the bars, keys jangling at my hip. I smiled at both of the women and that was when the first interested look crossed the blonde's face. I pressed my breasts in between those bars and smiled through my pink lips. I knew I was sexy. I knew that I'd made more than one "straight" woman want to take a walk on the other side of the fence after looking at my curvy hips shoved into that guard uniform. After all, things could get really lonely in prison and I was a free ticket for a midnight ride.

"What you in for, doll?" I crooned into that metal cage, lowering heavy black lashes over my oh-so-true blue eyes. The fluorescent lighting made me all blue peaches and cream.

Lean long fingers produced a cigarette from the front pocket of her suit. "Got a light, chief?" She asked without answering my question. She came up to the bars and stuck her cigarette through them, perched between those full lips, jauntily held just inches from my own mouth. I produced a match and did the lady justice.

"Rumor has it she found her man in bed with the real estate bitch from down the street." Shonda said, as always up for a good story that involved the death of some two-timer. Lord knows that's how she ended up in the joint herself. Only it'd been her sister in bed with someone. Apparently Shonda liked to keep her relations in the family...at least for the most part.

"Really, now." I said and leaned more casually against the bars. This was already getting interesting. There was a flush to that pretty blond girl's cheeks, a strange light to her eyes. "Sounds tragic."

"Very." The blond responded and there was sarcasm thick in that New York, high class voice.

"What's your name?" I asked her as I took in those platinum curls and that made-up face. Someone had snuck her in some eye shadow and lipstick. Not that I was complaining. It was one of the prettiest faces I think I'd ever seen.

"Donna." The girl responded. "What's yours?"

"Julie." I told her and the keys at my side jingled again, tempting me to use them and let that little piece of heaven out of its cage.

"Nice to meet you, Julie." She dragged out my name and turned it into something vaguely obscene. Oh, goody. This could be fun.

"How long you in for?" I asked her, running my fingers up and down the length of a blue-painted bar, fighting the urge to lick my lips in anticipation of her answer.

"Fifteen if I'm lucky." Came the response, but the woman didn't seem upset about it in the least. "Too much hard evidence." She took another drag off her dwindling cigarette and I found myself watching how her lips held the butt of it in her mouth. Grace - the type that's been formed by generations of old money. And it made my breath catch in my throat. Did I mention I have a fetish for girls gone bad? There's just something about a girl behind bars that brings out the best in me.

~*~

It was three weeks later I got it in my head that I was going to break her out.

Maybe I'd really lost my mind. Maybe I'd been working in the joint too long, but I knew that I was going to get that angel named Donna out of that place and I was going to make her mine. I didn't care if she liked men or women, by damn I was going to make her like me as much as I liked her.

~*~

Shit. The alarms went off much quicker than I would have liked them too. Maybe Shonda squealed because I didn't take her out too. I mean, who said I hadn't intended to bring this blond piece of candy wrapped up in orange back afterwards? Bitch.

"What the fuck are you doing?" She hissed in that old money voice next to my ear as I dragged her down the slick, blue painted hall. It was painted with red flickering light right now, and it seemed like we'd just entered into the middle of a horror movie gone bad. "I'm going to get the chair for this!"

"Don't worry, doll." I told her. I was glad I'd been working out at the gym. This run was hell, but finally using my keys I got her out of there and we ran out to the parking lot with the lights blazing and searching for us. They'd peg my car. It wouldn't be an hour before there was an APB with my name on it. But, damn she looked good with her cheeks flushed and her eyes wide. Maybe I could keep her like that. I'd try my best.

I did 90 for as far as I could, until we were submerged deep in the desert where only the sand told the background of our story, where the wind erased the tracks. Poetry in its beginning, danger at its peak. And we were suicidal. There was no going back. There was no redemption. Hell's angels unleashed where all the stars could be seen in a cloudless sky, where the moon was an owl's eye waiting to drag us down. She brought out the poet in me. She brought out the fire.

"I can't fucking believe we did that!" Her voice was elated as she turned in a wide circle just outside the open passenger side door of my blue Cadillac. "Un-fucking-believable!" And even then she was filled with grace, like money should be oozing out of every pore.

I grabbed one of her smokes from the dashboard and lit it up. "I like your dance, sweetheart." I said as I took in the sight of that supple lean body writhe around on the sand.

She turned to me with a flurry of blond curls and eyes that shone with a dark light. "I like your style too, baby." She said and she walked up to me like an orange flare that landed straight between my legs.

"What're we gonna do about it?" I asked her, leaning back in the leather seat and taking another drag. "We're dead women now."

"Fuck it." And she gave me a pretty smile. Something had made her reckless. Maybe it was me. Hell knew that she's what made me do it. It wasn't love. It was lust, and it wanted to be fulfilled.

If she read it in my eyes, she took her sweet time in showing it. But when she did, it was to spread my denim-clad thighs apart and breathe hot against the core of me. I moaned and my fingers buried themselves in those golden curls. "Damn, girl." I told her.

She was on top of me, and I could see that being above thrilled her. Maybe her husband had always wanted to be on top. Missionary position and all that. Maybe I was giving her the thrill of the lifetime simply because I was on bottom and was a girl all at the same time.

She acted like she'd done it before as she unbuttoned my shirt until my chest was bared, trapped inside that little bit of blue lace I called a bra. She stopped to look at me and I knew she liked what she saw. She saw a thin toned woman with a tiny waist and decent breasts. Pale skin framed by all that dark navy uniform, my hair, with my eyes shining out of my face, shining like the headlights we'd been driving without.

I felt her fingers shudder as she drew them down my chest and I couldn't help but smile. When she pinched a nipple hard all I could do was gasp. "Julie." She said and she smiled too. "Gotta remember that name when we're in Hell."

"I'll save you a seat." I promised as her hands went to the belt of my pants, undoing them like she'd done it a million times before until her lean manicured fingers could slip inside and find the heart of all my desires, making me cry out.

She was good.

She moved against me until my flesh was slick and made her movements fluid and easy. I writhed underneath her and she hugged her knees against my hips, keeping me as still as she could. Apparently I hadn't been the only one with a gym membership and she squeezed till it hurt, and I liked it.

She plunged those fingers inside of me and I reached up, tugging her by her orange jumpsuit down to me so that I could cover those full, beckoning lips with mine, my hips thrusting against her fingers, goading her on. I tightened my fingers in her hair until I felt her gasp inside my mouth as my tongue writhed around hers as though I sought to suck her in whole, have her inside of me until there was nothing left to have.

When she slapped my face I cried out. She knew what I liked, and didn't have a problem showing it right away. Her mouth ate at mine again, and her teeth bruised my lips, my chin, bit at my tongue and drew blood. It was heaven on earth as she drove her fingers into me so hard I thought I would tear under her attentions and I reached the edge of that desert's universe quick and hard, screaming out so loud that if any cops had been around for miles they would have known just right where we were.

I tore at the jumpsuit. She, unlike me, had on no bra and I was given a perfect view of her breasts and I could tell that she wanted me, and it made me shudder and writhe around her perfect fingers. I reached my mouth up and before I could reach her chest she tangled her hand in my hair and wrenched hard. She controlled where my mouth landed and how long it stayed there. It drove moans from my throat and sent my fingers to clawing – looking for anything, everything I could touch of her. But she managed to stay me. I – the womanizer, the control freak – was being controlled and Jesus H. was it a great ride. I was the one being abused, I was the one being manhandled, treated like a puppet of pleasure, and I screamed out, begging for more....

Donna didn't make it over the border.

My blond desert queen got shot down like a dog only a few miles away from Mexico, where plane tickets waited us to take us to France, where they couldn't touch us...ever. But, I made it. I made it, and I've learned the language, and I fit in rather nicely even if I do say so myself.

I just put a personal in the paper yesterday. I figure it's time I moved on, even if she does haunt my nightmares. Here's what it says:

"Hi, my name is Julie, I work as a security officer, and I drive men wild. Women too, if you want to get technical about it. Athletic and carries a night stick."