1 comments/ 78000 views/ 10 favorites Big-Store, All She Wanted Was Candy By: SuperHeroRalph This is a Halloween contest story. Too many readers don't vote. Please vote. I need the support of your vote. * A woman with no money makes a bad decision and a desperate choice at Big-Store by stealing a candy bar. I never go to Big-Store. I hate the store. Everyone there is overweight and ugly and that's just the employees. The customers, wearing what they slept in or what they pulled out of the closet without the aid of a light, a mirror, or even a shower, look even worse. Call me a snob or an elitist, but it's depressing to walk through the store rubbing elbows with the lower echelon of humanity and to see what I'd look like, when I no longer give a care what I look like anymore. Unfortunately, I have to go there. I work there. A step above store greeter, a notch above cashier, and a bit higher than stock clerk, I have a better job than those that greet and pass out the shopping carts to customers, those that ring up the customer sales, and those that stock the shelves. I work undercover in store security. It's just a temporary job that pays a tad better than minimum wage, but at least it has a few benefits, mainly I get to sit and watch monitors all day, that is, when I'm not walking the store to interact with some lowlife suspected of stealing from, of all places, Big-Store. Facing the same criminal charges, you'd think, if someone was going to the trouble of stealing merchandise that they'd steal from a better store. Sometimes, when bored, and I'm embarrassed by even writing this, but I zoom in on those women wearing low cut blouses. When they lean forward to look at merchandise, I zoom in the camera lens to stare down their blouses at their bras and tits. I guess the job isn't all bad. Yet, I hate it when I see my friends from college or my old co-workers from other and better jobs where I once worked, especially those jobs that I left in a flair of self-important style. Now, climbing down the ladder, instead of climbing up the ladder, I feel so foolish giving up a much better job for this. "Hi Bob. How are you? Where are you working now? What do you do?" Too embarrassed to tell them that I work at Big-Store, I lie. I make up stuff and tell them that I work elsewhere doing something else. I tell that I make more money now than I was earning before and surely make many more times than what I'm earning now. If only they knew I worked at Big-Store, I'd be so embarrassed. Unfortunately, I'm stuck here, until the economy improves and spits me up a real job that's compatible with my education and working experience. Lucky to even have this job, when so many others are still unemployed, I need to suck it up and get on with my life. Still, it's wrong that someone with my education and experience had to take such a lowly job, a job that pays a fraction of what I earned before. No matter with what all the politicians say, no matter what the unemployment statistics report, there still are no jobs. Someone is lying about just how many are unemployed and about job growth. There is no job growth. Yet, what else should I expect, my government has a history of lying to its citizens. Moreover, more concerned about cultivating a global workforce, they don't care about their own citizens, someone like me or like you. Just needing a camel for atmosphere and a big tent for the ambience, cue in the Moroccan music for effect. Much like walking through a bazaar in India or a street fair in Morocco, Big-Store has become America's market for the new middleclass poor. In the way that the Statue of Liberty quotes from a Emma Lazarus sonnet, "Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free," Big-Store beckons, "Give me your depressed, your mentally ill, and your disenfranchised people needing discounted merchandise." Only one promises freedom and the other is driven by pure profit for the billionaire Bigner family. Unfortunately with the Chinese Yuan quickly and finally closing the gap between the declining dollar, even the prices at Big-Store will be going up soon. What do you know, such a strange coincidence that the prices at Big-Store will increase by 20-30%, just in time for Christmas. Here we all go again with a few powerful players, a mere handful of old, rich Caucasian men, billionaires that control the Asian and American markets, playing one against the other. Here we go again with more Wall Street scams. Here we go again with the rich getting richer and the middleclass getting poorer. When is our government going to arrest these people, hold them accountable, and put them in jail for causing all of us so much emotional grief and financial misery? If a black man stole a loaf of bread to feed his family, they'd give him the death penalty. Yet, under the guise of just doing business, billionaires are allowed to go through our pockets and pocketbooks to steal our jobs, our savings, our 401Ks, our homes, our security, and our hope. Even though I work at Big-Store and receive an employee store discount, unless I'm there for a specific reason and happen to be in the area, is the only time you'll catch me shopping at Big-Store. I truly hate the place. Walking through the store, instead of shopping at the little, exclusive boutiques, where I used to shop, makes me feel so ordinary. I feel like one of them, as if I'm one of the customers who shop there. I feel ugly, dirty, and poor. I can't believe my life has fallen so low that I had to take a job at Big-Store, one of America's largest employers of minimum wage help, if not the largest employer of minimum wage help. Wishing they had an employees' entrance, I always hope no one will see me walking in the store. Most times, embarrassed that I work there, as if a celebrity hiding from the Paparazzi, I walk in the store with my head down, while wearing dark glasses and a baseball cap. Then, one day, noticing her, as if seeing her for the first time, I saw her. I've seen her shopping the store lots of times before or waiting at the bus stop, as I'm trying to merge out in traffic from my street. As if Cupid just shot me in the ass with an arrow, I never noticed her in the way that I noticed her now. As if she was lit up and glowing, as if she was the only woman in the store, she looked different than how I remembered seeing her before. "Damn, she's good looking," I said to myself, while watching her through the surveillance monitors. "After seeing her so many times before, how did I not notice that she was so beautiful?" Knowing now that we're neighbors and no doubt going in the same direction, I felt guilty for not offering her a ride, especially when she's with her kids and especially, in the past when it was raining, sleeting, snowing, and cold. She lives at the women's shelter and has lived there for the better part of a year. Fearing the anticipated increase in crime with the elements who'd live there, sadly I was one of the more vocal residents that didn't want a women's shelter in my neighborhood. "Helter skelter, we don't want a homeless shelter! Helter skelter, we don't want a homeless shelter!" Other than being attributed to Charles Manson and the Tate, LaBianca murders, I had no idea what helter skelter even meant, other than it rhymed with shelter. Now I get it. The residents figured a homeless shelter in our neighborhood would attract unsavory characters who would murder us in our sleep. Only thinking of ourselves and our neighborhood, we figured we'd have beggars in the street asking us for pocket change on our way to work. We figured we'd have to step over drunken, sleeping bodies to get to our cars. The residents didn't give a crap about homelessness and just wanted the shelter on the other side of town. A valid concern, we figured that abusive husbands would return to terrorize their wives, demand the return of their children, and take out their frustration with violence on the law abiding neighbors and upset an otherwise peaceful community, when they didn't get their way. We figured the shelter would bring down property values. Instead, with the shelter housed in a dilapidated house that was bought at auction was so nicely refurbished that it blended in with the other homes. You'd never even know there was a women's homeless shelter on the street. Yet, times have changed and even though shelters are everywhere, even in some of the better neighborhoods, there's still not enough of them to house all those who are homeless, especially now after all the housing foreclosures and with so many people out of jobs and unable to even afford rent. Typically and unfortunately, many of those living in shelters now, are citizens just like me, down on their luck, unemployed or underemployed. Yet, before I cast the first stone and write something I'll regret about the plight and the suffering of the homeless and about homeless shelters as a whole, there go I before God. After what I've been through looking for a job, I'm lucky to have one and to still have a roof over my head. Who am I to begrudge another human being a helping hand in the form of a warm house and a regular meal? I remember a friend or her sister, don't know which, as they all look alike to me, middle-age women saddled with children, calling her Kathy from half a block away. "Kathy! Kathy! Wait up!" Kathy is a chubby woman but not obese in the way of many of the other poor women who eat an improper diet filled with fat and carbohydrates are. Better nutrition and healthier meals cost money. Filled with fast food restaurants and convenience stores at every corner, you'll seldom find a fruit and vegetable store in the ghetto. A balanced diet that includes lots of produce costs much more than a meal at Burger King, Taco Bell, and/or Kentucky Fried Chicken. Always with her three small kids in tow, one white, one black, and one Hispanic. Accustomed to seeing minority women playing the role as nanny to spoiled, rich, white kids, especially in my neighborhood, she didn't look like a nanny to me. Sadly, I figured those were her three kids, no doubt, from three different men. After looking at her more closely, figuring she was ten years younger and slimmer than I thought she was, how can someone so young have a life turn to shit so fast? Only, different from the other women who look like her and who are in the same plight as she is, she's dissimilar in appearance. She's pretty and she'd be even prettier, if she lost a few pounds, had her hair done, and wore clothes that more flattered her figure, other than jeans and a sweatshirt. Unlike so many of the other women I've seen like her, still taking the time, the trouble, and the expense to take care of herself, she's never without makeup, her hair neatly styled, and her clothes color coordinated. Nonetheless her clothes, although always clean have, no doubt, seen better days. Still, every time I saw her, I never noticed her, that is, until today. With a look of despondent depression and dire desperation, she always had that same empty eyed, tired sadness that comes with not having any money and, no doubt, living her life in a shelter. Now, whenever I spot her in the store, I can't help myself from watching her from afar. I didn't know what it was or why I was so taken by her, but there was just something about her that attracted me to her. The more I watched her, the bigger my attraction was to her and I started noticing things about her. I only wished she didn't have those three kids. Still, in the way that she confidently carried herself and didn't avoid eye contact with other shoppers, she didn't look like those other women who routinely shopped at Big-Store. Nonetheless her confident comportment, I'd watched her shop the store through the security surveillance cameras and, not much more than a resting place for her pocketbook, every time she shopped there, except for just a few odds and ends, her cart was always nearly empty. Such a sad correlation to her life, I assumed, someone going through life pushing an empty shopping cart can't be much fun. The underside of a dark cloud that doesn't possess the hopefulness of a silver lining, whether they have them or don't have them, too many feel that life is about material things, when there is so much more to life than mere possessions. Unfortunately, too often, those other things that are more to life than mere material things cost money, too. Her cart, no doubt, was a reflection of what she had or didn't have in her wallet to pay for what she needed and her kids so wanted to buy. The store had just decorated for Halloween and her kids were all over the store bringing her candy, decorations, and costumes that they wanted her to buy. When there's so much more that they need, Halloween, as is Christmas, instead of being a happy time, is a worst nightmare to those who cannot afford to celebrate the holidays. "Can you buy us this? What about that? Oh, look, there's a Transformer costume!" As if they were in their own private toy and candy store, I watched her three kids run around the store, picking up this and holding up that, while hoping, no doubt, that she'd buy them all that they wanted. Obviously, with her having to return the merchandise where her kids found it, they were things she, no doubt, couldn't afford to buy. Busy watching other customers on the camera, along with paperwork that I had to complete, I lost track of her in the huge store. Then, it occurred to me. Sadly, here's a woman, obviously born in this country who can't even afford some made in China Halloween candy, decorations, and costumes for Halloween for her and her poor, homeless children. Such a sad state of affairs. What has happened to so many people in our country? Why are they all so poor? When did all the classes merge, morph, and combine to leave just two, the huge struggling middleclass and the tiny affluent one percent who have it all? I never received the memo that America is now just another third world country. If this continues, they'll be a revolt and another revolution with the middleclass marching on Washington to demand our fair share, in the way we revolted against the British during the American Revolution. Sadly, it may take a middleclass revolt for Congress to hear us over the lobbyists who routinely have their ears and their purse strings. Yet, this is what this country is about, protests, boycotts, and demonstrations, and it's about time our government gave its citizens the attention we need, require, and demand, before helping others in cities and in countries we never heard of and can't even pronounce. It's our turn to feed at the trough. The last assault came, when her kids surrounded her with candy, decorations, and costumes. "Can we buy this? Can we buy that? Please? Pretty please? What about this? Is this too much money?" I saw her inadvertently slip a candy bar in her coat pocket, while collecting all they brought her and after returning the items to where they found them, that is, except for the candy bar. Then, being that I was store security, I wondered if she purposely stole the candy. I played back the video to double check and I couldn't tell if she took the candy bar on purpose or by accident, but I could clearly see that she pocketed the candy bar. "Nah, she wouldn't do that for just a candy bar." After watching her on the cameras, I'm not sure why, but there was something about her that excited me. I liked her. I wondered how old she was. If it wasn't for her three bastard kids, I'd consider asking her out on a date. Only, too much of a burden that would interfere in developing a relationship, I didn't want to take on that kind of baggage. Yet, just in the way she doted on her children and had inexhaustible patience with them, she appeared, as if she was a good mother and a quality person. Maybe with her hands full of decorations and costumes, she forgot she had mindlessly slipped the candy bar in her coat pocket. Yeah, that's probably it. Or, maybe knowing she was going to buy that, with her hands full with everything else, she just put it there, so that she wouldn't drop it. I'll just wait until she goes through the register and to see if she'll pay for the candy, before confronting her. As procedure dictates, if she didn't pay for the candy bar, I'd have to bring her back in the store to interview her and give her a chance to pay for the merchandise, before letting her go with a stern warning, along with the threat that if she's caught stealing again, she'll be banned from the store. In this neighborhood, being banned from Big-Store is a fate nearly as bad as being arrested. Big-store for those, who have nothing else, is not just a store, it's a social gathering place. People come here to walk the store and/or to sit out front on the benches to socialize. I certainly didn't want to make an errant candy bar a police issue. She appeared to have her hands full already caring for those kids. Besides, I always felt bad when the cops handcuffed a mother in front of her children and put the children in protective custody, until a relative came for them. In this bad economy, everyone is desperate enough to make a mistake and everyone deserves a second chance, before throwing them in jail and giving them a police record, just for stealing a candy bar. People have a hard enough time finding a job without an arrest record for petty theft haunting them. With some too proud to ask family members for help, somehow, they're able to justify that's it's okay to steal, especially from Big-Store and the billionaire Bigner family. Then, I watched my pain-in-the-ass boss, Dave, a regular Deputy Barney Fife, stop her at the front entrance door and confront her, just as she was leaving the store. "Oh, shit!" When she refused to return to the store with him, he grabbed her by the arm and reached in her coat pocket and pulled out the candy bar. A violation of protocol, he's not supposed to do that, physically assault her and search her. She has rights and he's not allowed to do go through her pockets. He's only supposed to detain her for the police. Only the police can search her person. Besides, it was just a lousy candy bar. Certainly the candy company and Big-Store can afford to give her a lousy candy bar. For a lousy candy bar, I was willing to let her leave with it. For a lousy candy bar, I was willing to go downstairs and pay for it myself. For a lousy candy bar, I watched my boss parade her and her three kids down the main aisle and up to the security office, while berating her. Customers, along the way, turned to stare at her. They all knew what was happening. Red faced embarrassed with her head down, looking as if she was being escorted to prison and was about to cry, she looked so humiliated. You'd think she had robbed a bank in the way my boss was treating her already as a convicted criminal, instead of someone alleged to have stolen a candy bar. Dave brought her up to where I was sitting watching the surveillance cameras. He ushered the kids in a playroom that we have and that's monitored with an employee. He closed the door to the tiny security room. "Have a seat, please," he said officiously, as if he was a prison warden. A little power with Dave, just as it did with Deputy Barney Fife, goes a long way. In the way that he acts, you'd think he owns the store. You'd think customers were stealing from him. Admittedly though, with the economy so very bad, stealing has escalated. People who would never think of stealing anything before, are stealing whatever they can now, even a mere candy bar. I watched the woman sit in the chair that was positioned beside Dave's small desk. Still red face and looking down at her feet, she looked so embarrassed. Seeing her up close, she was so very pretty. "Listen, I can't stay," she said. "I have to get back to the shelter with the kids. Let me just pay for--" Big-Store, All She Wanted Was Candy "Shelter? What shelter?" "I work for the women's homeless shelter. I care for the children, while mothers work or go out to interview for jobs." Damn, she works for the shelter? I thought she was one of the homeless women that lived in the shelter. Maybe those aren't her kids. Maybe she's single. Be still my heart. "I see," said Dave. "So you have a job and the ability to pay for the merchandise you stole, but decided it was better to steal it than to pay for it." "I didn't steal the candy, Mister." "What's your name?" "Kathy." "Do you have ID, Kathy?" Trained to engage her, by asking her name. Finally, Dave was treating her like the customer she was, instead of the criminal she wasn't but that he thought she was. She reached in her purse and pulled out her driver's license. "You stole a candy bar, Kathy Richards," he said reading her name from her ID. "I didn't steal it. I was going to put it back but--" "Sure, sure, that's what they all say. They were going to put it back. They forget they had a TV in their hands. They were going to pay for it. Then, they forgot to pay and are out in the parking lot and driving away. They all were going to return it, that is, until they were caught red handed with the stolen merchandise." "I'm not a thief. I didn't steal a candy bar. I can pay for the candy now. How much is it, fifty cents?" She reached for her pocketbook. "Oh, no, you don't," said Dave grabbing her pocketbook, opening it up, and dumping it out on his desk. "You may have a weapon." Another violation of protocol. He's supposed to ask her to do that. He didn't. He's supposed to ask her permission to go through her personal things. He didn't do that either. He's supposed to call the cops and he didn't call the police. What the Hell is he doing? "C'mon, Mister, don't be unreasonable. It's just a lousy candy bar. I must have slipped the candy in my pocket, when my kids brought me costumes, candy, and decorations that they wanted me to buy." "So, you decided to return those things and to steal this." "No." "Was that your ploy all along, knowing that security was watching, you figured they'd see you return everything else, but the candy bar?" "No, of course not. I had no ploy to deceive you or anyone," said Kathy, finally looking up to make eye contact with Dave. Now, instead of looking embarrassed, she looked angry. "It's just a candy bar. No one would miss it," said Dave. "Yet, what if everyone just walked in this store and took whatever they wanted without paying for it. How long do you think we'd be in business?" "With all the money the heirs of Big-Store have, the Bigner's, they'd never miss a candy bar," she said with attitude. "You're a sassy one, aren't you?" Looking as if he was going to slap her across her face, Dave flipped her blonde hair with his finger. I couldn't believe he actually touched her. Then, in the way that he was looking at her, staring at her, actually, he appeared that he wanted to kiss her. "Figuring with all that you returned to the shelves, we wouldn't notice you stealing the candy. Is that it?" "No, that's not it at all," she said fluffing her hair back in place. "Thinking more about attending to my children, I just wasn't thinking." "Stand up and remove your coat." "My coat? Why?" "Remove your coat, I said." "And why, I said?" "I need to search you." Gees, Dave was stepping neck deep in it now. He's not supposed to touch her. Only the police can search her. Illegal search and seizure, he knows that whatever he finds on her person, cannot be entered as evidence in court. I watched Kathy remove her coat and was surprised to see that she wasn't overweight at all. Her coat was just oversized. Actually, she had a nice figure and a big rack. She was hot. Then, I watched Dave pat her down. Oh, my God. He's such a pervert. As if he was a TSA agent, he groped her in places where no TSA male agent should ever touch a female passenger. Watching him touching her in that way, watching him feel her, he was making me aroused, that is, before he started making me angry. "Careful buddy," she said swiping Dave's hand away from the side of her breast and again from her ass. "Lift up your sweatshirt." I couldn't believe she obeyed, when she lifted up her sweatshirt to expose her toned, flat belly. "Higher," he said. "Listen, Mister, I'm not going to show you my bra." "Higher," he said lifting up her sweatshirt and exposing the bottom of her bra. Kathy lifted her sweatshirt up past her bra. I couldn't believe her cleavage and her bra clad tits were so exposed. "Take it off." "Take off what? My sweatshirt?" "Your sweatshirt. Take it off." "I'm not going to remove my sweatshirt in front of you and him," she said looking at me and, with a look of recognition, she recognized me from the neighborhood. "Hi, I'm Bob," I said. "Hi. Kathy," she said. I stood and we shook hands. "Hey, enough with the social greetings. Focus," said Dave to Kathy. "Either you remove your sweatshirt to prove that you have no other stolen merchandise or I'll call the cops and they can strip search you down at the station, after they book you." I couldn't believe it, when she removed her sweatshirt and was standing there in her bra and jeans. Damn, she had a nice set of knockers. When Dave walked around her, she folded her arms across her bra clad breasts with an embarrassed look, but then she turned to me and smiled. Did she just give me the eye? I think she just gave me the eye? I hope she gave me the eye because in the way she looks standing there in her bra, I'd love to give her more than just my eye. "Take off your sneakers." Immediately, Kathy obeyed. "Now the jeans." "Pardon?" "Your jeans. Take them off." "Listen, Mister, I'm not removing any more of my clothes, just because you think that I stole a fifty cent candy bar." "Show her the tape, Robert, where she steals the candy bar." "That doesn't prove anything," she said leaning over me and resting one of her bra clad boobs on my shoulder to look at herself captured on tape. "With my arms full of other stuff, while watching my kids, I just forgot that I had it," she said as her defense. "Hey, I don't care where you remove your jeans, here or at the police station," said Dave picking up the phone. "It's your call." "Okay, okay," said Kathy, unbuttoning, unzipping, and wiggling out of her jeans. "I admit I stole the candy bar. Okay? I'm sorry. All I wanted was some candy and the store was so crowded and the lines so long, that I didn't want to wait any longer with the three kids aggravating me and wanting this and that. My blood sugar was crashing and I needed something quick." "Yeah, yeah," said Dave. "Just take off your jeans." I couldn't believe when she unbuttoned, unzipped, and wiggled out of her jeans to expose her bright white panties to the both of us. Shocked and excited, I couldn't believe she removed her jeans in front of us. Dave shot me a sick little smile over her shoulder, while Kathy looked at me watching her removing her jeans. Admittedly, if it wasn't so hot watching this woman stripping down to her bra and panty, I would have been appalled. Even though this was a sexual fantasy come true, this could have been one of my female relatives being asked to strip. To be honest, even though I was excited watching her stripping out of her clothes, I felt bad for her. I didn't like that Dave was sexually molesting her, by abusing his authority. She handed Dave her jeans and he went through them, as if he was a guard in a prison. "Now the bra?" "Pardon?" "Your bra. Take off your bra, please. I need to make sure you didn't stuff anything down in your bra." "My bra? No fucking way. Fuck you. I'm not removing my bra, you sick fuck." "That's fine by me," said Dave picking up the phone. "What if I just unhook it and hold it in place with my hands." "Yeah, that will be okay, so long as you pull the cups forward and shake them." "Can I turn my back to you, when I do that." "Of course," said Dave acting like the gentleman he's not. As if I was standing in her bedroom watching her undress for bed, as if we were getting ready to have sex, I watched Kathy unhook her bra, turn her back to Dave and face me, and then pull her bra cups forward to shake them. Oh, my God, that was so hot to see her unhook her bra. Then, when she pulled her bra cups forward, I got a quick glimpse of the underside of her breasts. Wow! Wondering what she looked like topless, after getting a partial glimpse of her breasts, I couldn't help but wonder what her tits looked like. Then, in one quick, hard swipe, Dave reached over and around her and grabbed her bra from her. With her back to Dave and her facing me, she was standing there topless, albeit for a brief few seconds. I couldn't believe my eyes. For a split few seconds, before she covered her breasts, her big tits and erect nipples were right there before my shocked, horny, and excited eyes. Then, when she covered her breasts with her hands and cringed away from Dave, he squatted down behind her and pulled down her panties. Oh, my God. With Kathy covering her tits with her hands, her neatly trimmed patch of blonde, pubic hair was totally exposed to me. She was naked. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. I couldn't believe this woman that I saw nearly every day in her jeans, sweatshirt, and oversize coat was standing before me naked. Suddenly filled with raw emotions of an aroused animal, I wanted to bend her forward and fuck her doggie style, while feeling her big tits. Seeing her standing there naked, after watching Dave coerce her to strip down to her panty and bra was such an erotic fantasy. Yet, once I regained control of my emotions, my lust for her was replaced with anger. I was angry that Dave stripped a woman naked, a woman that I was attracted to, interested in, and was hoping to have a relationship with. It was surreal seeing her naked, before even asking her out on a date and before getting a good night kiss. An involuntary reaction, when Kathy turned and squatted down to reach for her panties, she exposed her breasts to Dave and I in the process. Attempting to save her modesty, she was too late. We both already saw what she was so desperately trying not to show. With her panties already down around her ankles and her trimmed, blonde pussy and ass totally exposed, along with her C cup breasts, she was naked. Dave had managed coerce her to strip down to her panty and bra, before he stripped her naked. Shocked, I still couldn't believe what I was seeing. I couldn't believe this poor woman was naked, all because of a bad decision to steal a lousy candy bar. "You fucking asshole," said Kathy pulling up her panties, while still topless. "I'm going to sue you and this store," she said no longer making any attempt to cover her big breasts. "Oh, yeah? Go ahead. I have you on video tape. It's my word against the word of a thief." "They'll fire your ass for what you did to me," she said full of defiance, but in a voice that was filled with shame and quaking with embarrassment. "Well, if you want to leave here, if you don't want to be arrested, and if you don't want your kids in protective custody, you'll suck my cock," said Dave unzipping his pants, pulling out his cock, and exposing his erect prick to her. "Now, get down on your knees and blow me," he said forcefully pushing down on her shoulder and forcing her to the floor. "Go fuck yourself. I'm not blowing you," she said turning her head away, when he tried to stick his cock in her mouth. Then, with a quick pull of her blonde hair and, when she screamed, with another forceful hand to the back of her head, he impaled her mouth with his cock. Stuffing his stiff cock in her mouth, he was forcing her to blow him. With a hand to her breasts, he felt her big tits and fingered her nipples, while he pushed her forward with his other hand. Then, with both hands to the back of her head, he was humping her face. "Suck it! Suck my cock, you thieving bitch. Do you like candy? I have a big load of white, sweet stuff for you to swallow." Even though I was aroused watching Kathy being stripped naked, even though I was aroused watching Kathy blow Dave, enough was enough. I couldn't believe my eyes. Now I was really mad. ''Dave, you can't do this," I said standing. "Shut up, Robert, or I won't give you a turn," said Dave humping her mouth and fucking her face while grunting. Good God, forcing her to suck his cock, he was really fucking her head with his hips "A turn? I don't want a turn," I said approaching him too late. He shot a load of cum in her mouth and another load across her face and in her hair. "Oh, yeah, baby, that was good. You're a good cocksucker," he said. "Get dressed. You can go now. I won't press charges, so long as you agree not to shop the store anymore. You're hereby officially banned from Big-Store stores, all Big-Store stores. If you're caught shopping in a Big-Store store, you'll be arrested and prosecuted to the full extent of the law. Sign here," he said dropping a piece of paper and a pen on her naked body. I couldn't believe he forced her to blow him. I couldn't believe he ejaculated in her mouth and all over her face and hair. I couldn't believe he was banning her from all the Big-Store stores. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. Dave raped a customer. When I saw how he violated her, when I saw how she crumbled to the floor broken and crying, and when I saw how inhumanely he treated her, after raping her, I hit Dave with a right hand and a left uppercut that knocked him unconscious. Then, I called the police. Kathy sued the Big-Store stores and won. Big-Store's lawyers settled out of court for an undisclosed amount and Kathy accepted that Big-Store's agreement not to confess any guilt in the allegations. Then, she filed criminal and civil charges against Dave. He accepted a plea bargain that dropped the charge down from rape to sexual assault. Nonetheless, he lost his job, had to pay Kathy a financial restitution, and went to prison. When I found out that Kathy worked for the shelter and those children weren't her children, but the children of mothers who were working, we developed a friendship. She was grateful that I not only came to her rescue but also testified against Dave and against the store in open court. Now we live together and I no longer work at Big-Store, nor do we ever shop at Big-Store. * If you enjoyed the story, please vote. I need the support of your vote. So very many readers don't vote. Please don't forget to vote, make a comment, and/or add me and this story to your favorite lists. Thank you for reading, voting for, and/or making a comment on my story.