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Chapter 8 by Sarckle Sarckle

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Security

I sat down with my own serving of Taste of Bangkok, Riley’s smelled too good to pass up. Between bites I texted Pete. [Hey, this is Clair <3]

No response, but that wasn’t surprising when I glanced over at SubSpace and saw the line. So instead I ate, the heat building. Sweat started beading along my forehead. My mind slowly drifted off to other places. To images of Jesús roughly taking me in the shed. Carl cumming at my slightest touch. To what Pete might do to me tonight.

But the thoughts didn’t stop there. I remembered all the times Mom had been horrible to someone. A parent teacher conference where she yelled at Mr. Khan after I failed my calculus test. If I had let him bend me over his desk, slamming into me until his seed leaked from my used hole.

Or the unhoused people Mom regularly berated while walking down the street. I imagined myself kneeling in an alley on the handwritten sign, “Will Work for Food,” using my mouth to pleasure them.

That woman she cut off on I-70, I imagined us pulling over so I could switch cars. Knelt in her passenger seat, my lips on her neck, my fingers in her pants.

Goddess blessed, was I horny. After Carl’s premature launch, and Pete putting me off till later, I still hadn’t gotten off myself. I was feeling flushed either from the spicy food or perhaps getting myself worked up with my imagination. I took a final bite of my food before dumping my tray in a nearby trashcan. I would just need to take care of myself.

I was halfway to the restroom when my phone dinged. [Clair? Hmm, I don’t know a Clair.] Pete responded.

[Cute. Blonde. Bitch of a mom. Ring any bells?]

[Hmm, there was this huge bitch in my line earlier. And I think I remember her daughter coming through. Pics?]

I smiled, taking a selfie to send to Pete. [Hmm, slightly familiar. I think I know what the problem is. I was staring at her boobs the whole time.]

I lowered the lens of the camera, taking a second selfie of just my chest. [Hmm, sorry it’s just… my vivid imagination. I was definitely imaging less clothes.]

I considered pulling my shirt up right there, but there were way too many people around. Luckily I was on my way to the restroom. That was until I heard Mom’s voice, “This is ridiculous.” I stood behind a map kiosk, close enough to eavesdrop, but hopefully go unnoticed.

“Sorry ma’am, it’s standard protocol. Random bag searches, if you could just provide receipts you’d be on your way,” the fat, gray-haired security guard huffed.

“This is ridiculous. I can’t believe you would think I was stealing!”

“Ma’am, I don’t think you’re stealing. Like I said, it’s standard protocol.”

“I’ll be talking to management about this,” Mom said digging through her purse. The guard looked exhausted by the interaction, which thrummed a pang of need through my already horny pussy. “I don’t know why you would single me out, what about them?” Mom’s underlying racism reared its head as she pointed at a Black couple leaving the mall.

In that moment, I knew I wasn’t going to make it to the restroom. “Like I said, it’s random ma’am. You were randomly selected.” I scrolled through my phone, not wanting to leave Pete hanging, I scrolled through my camera roll until I found a topless photo I had taken a couple weeks ago.

[Oh, Clair! Now I remember you. Break’s over, see you after work.]

The security guard slowly looked over Mom’s receipts, peaking through her bags. Meanwhile she never stopped complaining, threatening to get him fired. “Everything looks good, sorry for the inconvenience.” He handed the receipts back.

“Honestly, unbelievable,” Mom said turning away with a furious swing of her bags.

The security guard adjusted his belt as he turned to walk away. As he passed me I heard him mumble, “Fucking bitch.” He gasped when he saw me as he rounded the kiosk, “Oh, sorry miss.”

“No, you’re right, she’s a bitch,” I said with a smile.

He chuckled, “That’s for sure. They can’t all be sweet like you.”

“Well, about that. She’s my mom.”

He looked around, “Who’s your mom? Are you lost sweetie?”

“The bitch. She’s my mom.”

His eyes went wide at the realization, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean anything by—“

“Please don’t, you’re right she’s an absolute capital b, Bitch. And I’ve been apologizing on her behalf,” I cut in. “If there is any way I could make it up to you,” I paused biting my lip, squeezing my arms together to accentuate my chest as best I can.

He stared, mesmerized by the thought of a cute teen girl seemingly propositioning him. “I, what?” His face turned a bright red, and he adjusted his belt again, probably a growing situation that needed extra room.

“I’m saying if there is anything I can do to make you feel better about how my mother treated you,” I let my words hang between us.

The way he froze up I was afraid I’d given the older man a heart attack. He coughed, looking around maybe checking for coworkers, or cameras. “How old are you?”

And with that question, I knew I had him, I smiled sweetly, “18.”

He swallowed hard, “My office is right this way,” and he led the way to an ‘Employees Only’ door.

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