Tight Security

Author Note: This story is of an adult nature,
containing some sexually explicit scenes. I do not
intend either for me or the reader to break the law in
any country where they may be read, and so if for any
reason the law of your country forbids you from reading
adult literature, do not read any further.


He glanced up from his newspaper as she came in, and
then briefly at the monitor screens before returning to
his paper. Thus he missed the brief smile she gave him.
He was vaguely aware of the rustle of plastic as she
emptied his waste bin into her black sack, before
leaving him in peace. It was after all, just routine.

A few minutes later she was back, trailing her vacuum
cleaner behind her like some exotic pet. Again he
looked up at her as she plugged it in and switched it
on. This time he did see her smile, a little apologetic
at disturbing him, and he smiled weakly back before
returning to his paper and resuming the article that
ran alongside the picture of the leggy blonde.

The insistent noise of the vacuum cleaner irritated and
distracted him. He kept looking up to see if she had
nearly finished. Well, that would have been his story
if anyone had challenged him. In fact he found himself
watching her as she bent and stretched pushing the
nozzle of her machine into obscure and inaccessible
nooks and crannies. She noticed his glazed lascivious
looks, and smiled at him artlessly but seeing that he
had caught her eye, he simply resumed reading his
newspaper with an embarrassed cough.

“You here all night, luv?” she asked absently as she
unplugged the machine and started looping the cable.

“Yep,” he didn’t look up from his paper.

“Can’t be much fun. When do you knock off?”

“Seven.” He still didn’t look up.

“Must get a bit lonely,” she said thoughtfully. She had
collected all her bits and was ready to go.

He said nothing, just shrugged.

“Listen, I’m parched. I’m going to grab a cup of coffee
before I go.
D’you want one?”

He looked up at last. She had long curly chestnut hair
tied at the back. As she stood before him, he had to
admit that she looked attractive. In her cleaners
overall and with no make-up, though, she was certainly
no film-star. For him such people only existed in
pictures next to articles he pretended to read in cheap
newspapers, and although she had the advantage that she
was real and standing there in front of him, he
preferred the safety of the printed image.


She smiled and disappeared into the corridor outside
before returning with the coffees.

“Ta, very much,” he said.

She sat down on his visitors chair sipping her coffee
while he continued reading the paper, wondering vaguely
how long it would take her to drink her coffee and go.

“You like this job, then?” she asked breaking the

“S’Okay, I s’pose.”

“What’s the pay like?”


More silence. He glanced up at the monitor panel, then
carried on reading.

Of course he knew nothing about her. He didn’t know why
she was there drinking coffee with him and indeed the
question never even occurred to him. He wasn’t to know
that home for her was just a lonely bed-sit and that
after she finished that night all she had to look
forward to was a bus-ride home and yet another night
watching the television until she felt tired enough to
go to bed.

She simply made him feel slightly awkward. He didn’t
see the hungry desperation in her face because he was
too absorbed in his newspaper, and even if he had
looked at her, he would probably not have registered
anything. He had no idea just what was going through
her mind as her longing eyes ignored his pot-belly and
armpit stains and saw only his sex.

As far as he was concerned, she couldn’t possibly be
attracted to him. Only Julia Roberts or Demi Moore had
ever expressed any desire for him, and then only when
his eyes were shut. They had taste and saw him for the
real man he was. The ordinary woman was not so
perceptive. How could she be?

More silence.

By chance, as much as anything else, he looked up at
her as he turned the page. She sat facing him and was
now staring absently at his monitor, her hand resting
on her thigh. From where he was, he could see a little
white triangle between her legs.

Her eyes met his, and this time she did not smile. He
nearly missed it and would have moved on to the sports
section oblivious, but the movement was there and
unmistakable. As he glanced down, he saw that her legs
parting slightly, and her hand moving unambiguously
upwards. His eyes widened reflexively and he looked
questioningly at her face again. The lack of expression
gave him no answers, but as she slowly raised her left
foot to the seat, giving him a full view of her sex,
barely trapped beneath lace panties, his newspaper
slipped to the floor.

He fumbled with his belt, with his fly, and she took a
deep breath as his fleshy member sprang from its
confines. She slipped her hand inside the top of her
overall and under her bra, to pinch at her hardening
nipple, biting her lip. Her heart skipped a beat in
anticipation as he arose from his chair and advanced
towards her, his prick swinging towards her face.

She leaned forward, and pulled him towards her to take
his swelling head into her mouth where she flicked it
with her tongue. He groaned, pulling himself clear
suddenly. She flinched slightly and gasped as she felt
his hot fluid spatter across her cheek. Withdrawing her
hand from her breast, she collected his semen with her
fingers and, with eyes closed, proceeded to rub it into
her breast.

She cried out loud, thrusting her hips forward as she
slid her other hand inside her panties. She was all but
oblivious of him as he re-zipped his fly and walked
uncertainly back to his chair. Her fingers desperately
manipulated her engorged clitoris and spread her
delicate moist folds for him, but he simply retrieved
his newspaper. Her hips bucked convulsively with her
approaching orgasm as he started to read with
disappointment how the Arsenal had lost to Wimbledon.

When she had finished herself off, she sat there for a
moment, her soaked panties now a source of discomfort
and embarrassment. As the warm sensations of passion
wore off, she began to feel dirty and humiliated.
Slowly she marshalled her thoughts and feelings, to
direct them at what now became the object of her
loathing. She looked at him venomously, seeing now the
pot-belly and armpit stains, as he concentrated
ferociously on why his favourite team had lost so


“Well,” and she cleared her throat, trying to keep her
voice even, “I’ll be going now, then.”

There seemed to be no more for her to say or do. He
could only bring himself to nod.

She rose from the damp visitors chair and left his
office walking slowly down the empty corridors to the
building’s entrance to sign out and leave. She seemed
unaware of the whirring of the motors on the monitor
cameras which followed her. Her bowed figure moved from
screen to screen on his monitor station as he watched
her go. Something stirred within him, but he wasn’t
sure what it was and as she faded from view there was
less and less he could do about it anyway.

He returned to his newspaper.