Stratford Seduction
"Westfield security guard Tunde thinks his shift is over until he catches Yetunde—a thick Nigerian shoplifter—in the act. But she has her own ideas about how to avoid getting arrested."
Tunde spotted her on camera at 9:47 PM.
Thick woman. Nigerian, by the look of her ankara dress. Slipping a designer handbag into her oversized tote.
He sighed and went to intercept. Just another Westfield shoplifter.
But when he found her by the exits, she turned and smiled—and Tunde's professional demeanor crumbled.
She was stunning. Wide hips, heavy breasts, skin glowing like mahogany. And that smile was pure trouble.
"Going somewhere, ma'am?"
"Look," she said in the backroom, all pretense gone. "I know what you saw. I'm not going to insult you by denying it."
"Then you know I have to call the police."
"Do you, though?" She leaned forward, and her dress gaped open, showing cleavage that made his brain short-circuit. "Or could we... work something out?"
"I'm not that kind of—"
"Every man is that kind." She stood and approached him. "I'm Yetunde. And I think you're very handsome, Tunde. Very... authoritative."
She was on her knees before he could protest.
"What are you—"
"Shh. Let me show you how grateful I can be."
Her mouth was sinful. Hot and wet and skilled. She took him deep, those dark eyes looking up at him with a mix of submission and triumph.
Tunde gripped the desk behind him and groaned.
"That's it," she purred. "Just relax. Let me take care of you."
He should have stopped her. Called the police. Been professional.
Instead, he lifted her onto the desk and pushed up that ankara dress.
"No underwear?" he asked, finding nothing but soft, wet heat.
"I was hoping something like this might happen."
He pushed inside her, and she moaned loud enough to trigger the motion sensors.
"Harder," she demanded. "Security man, show me what you got."
They fucked in that backroom like they were trying to break the furniture. Her thick thighs wrapped around him, her nails in his back, her voice urging him on in Yoruba.
When she came, she bit his shoulder to muffle the scream.
When he came, he didn't even try to be quiet.
"So," she said, fixing her dress. "Are you going to arrest me?"
Tunde looked at the handbag, then at her. "Keep it."
"Such a gentleman." She kissed his cheek and pressed something into his hand. A number.
"Same time next week? I'll be shoplifting from John Lewis."
He knew he should delete the number. He knew this was wrong.
He texted her before she even left the building.
Some crimes, he decided, were worth committing.