Greta's making it too easy

Greta is the only one not actually ready to help me, but she's also the one with money out and in reach. I hurry up to her counter, ignoring the other two tellers asking if they can help, and I grab the tube right out of her hand.

"Customers are _not_ supposed to handle drive-up cannisters!" It startles me, but I see she's not talking to me. She's just declaring it. Maybe she's even chastising herself. "Shit" she says under her breath and fumbles the container back out of my hands as I pocket the cash and receipt she'd put in it.

She looks right at my pocket. "Sir, is there...do you know if..." she doesn't know how to ask it though. "Did someone put my customer's cash in your pocket?"

"No ma'am, Greta. I just came here to make some withdrawals."

"Sorry sir, could you check with another teller here? I'm attending to drive-up customer at the moment."

"No ma'am, I'll wait for you." I reach out and grab one of her breasts, feeling the implant against my palm through her sweater, button-up, and bra.

_"Excuse me! bzzzt I thought you sent the money, but I didn't get anything over here." _The drive-thru customer is getting antsy.

"Sorry ma'am, I'm still getting your withdrawal together." She's reopening her drawer to get more cash._ _She thumbs through the bills, counting them as she pulls them out, and I take the moment to grab a few fistfuls. I probably have over a thousand bucks now, and her drawer is significantly short.

She's looking for a receipt, so I hand her the one in my pocket, "looking for this?"

"Yes, sir, thank you." When I help out, it's still attributable, because nobody minds it. What she doesn't do is ask why I had it in the first place. I keep squeezing her soft clothes and hard tit and she starts to roll her shoulders back and readjust herself.

As she's sealing up the cannister, I grab it, dump out the contents, and stuff the cash down my pants before replacing the receipt in it.

Greta just watches the whole thing and takes back the emptied cannister when I hand it to her. "Sir, do you... do you have cash in your pants?"

"Um. Are you propositioning me?"

"Miss, what is taking so long? bzzbt talk with a manager please? zztzz"

And as if summoned by the customer magically, Todd the manager walks up. "Greta, everything okay?"

"Todd, I'm not feeling well." She describes her dilemma to her boss, how she's supposed to send $350 thru the tube to Mrs Gelmeier in the mini-van, but she's getting a headache or something. He takes the cannister, checks the receipt in it, and counts out 350, running it through the counting machine to be sure. He puts it in the tube and sends it out to the customer, and I squeeze her tits as hard as I can, which gets a good yelp out of her.

"Greta, you should go home. Bring me your drawer for counting and we'll get you a cab, okay?"

I answer for her. "She seems disoriented. Maybe I can help." With that little pretext, I climb over the counter and stand beside her, wrapping her arm around my shoulder to steady her. They are both clearly upset that I'm back here, but can't find anyone to blame for it, and have bigger things on their minds, so Todd grabs her drawer and I escort Greta to the back office with him, slapping Camille's flat ass as I pass behind her on the way.

I sit the distraught teller down in front of Todd's desk, and he sits in his own chair. He immediately begins counting the drawer, by hand, and then placing the bills in a counting machine as well. "Don't worry Greta, we'll figure out what happened here."

On Todd's desk is a cup of pens and other office implements. Most importantly, scissors. I reach over and take them, and immediately begin destroying the heavy, knit sweater vest Greta's wearing, then slowly popping buttons off her shirt.

When Todd finishes counting, it's clear from his expression that he was expecting a larger number. "Greta, you're eleven hundred short."

"No! How could this happen?"

"Greta, is...everything okay?" Todd is sincerely worried for Greta, not just professionally. At this point, her sweater is in tatters and I yank her unbuttoned shirt right off. Her perky fake titties are now covered only by her bra, which is a little too small for them. Todd stares briefly at her permanently pushed-up tits and then holds his hands up in front of him and looks away. "Greta, that's really unacceptable behaviour, I...we could get... fired."

"Sir, I don't know what's happening. I really think I need to go home for the day." She looks around for her shirt, but when she finds it on the floor where I discarded it, she also finds it cut in half, with no buttons left.

"I don't know what's happening either, Greta, but before you go anywhere, I need to know how eleven hundred dollars went missing, and I need you to put my scissors back in the pencil cup."

I slide one blade of the scissors under her bra strap and snip. She grabs at it, and I snip the other strap. Her fake tits don't even move, and the bra stays in place like a tube top, so finally, I cut the back of it too, and it falls to her lap.

Greta looks around helplessly for some kind of clue or explanation, but finds only her shredded clothes. I reach both arms around her and clamp my hands down on her hard, round titties, squeezing and kneading them so hard she moans uncomfortably and tries to shake me off. Todd just sits there waiting for her little episode to end.

I could fuck Greta right there in Todd's office. I could destroy the rest of her stupid uniform. I could do any number of things to this poor half-naked victim without repercussion, but I could also leave her to her fate with Todd, and go back to the lobby for Camille or Diana.