We had sex with fear of getting caught
Hey there, I’m Ethan, a 30-year-old store manager at a bustling shopping mall in Chicago. I’ve spent years sculpting my physique through bodybuilding, resulting in a chiseled, muscular frame that turns heads. I live for the thrill of life, and let’s just say passion is my fuel. This is the story of my electrifying encounters with Sarah, a security guard at the mall, whose presence ignited a fire in me from the moment we met.
My days at the mall typically wrapped up around 10:30 PM. The place officially closes at 10:00 PM, leaving only a few straggling employees and the occasional late customer. By 11:00 PM, shuttle buses take the staff home, but I drive my sleek black Mustang, savoring the freedom of the open road. From the first day I noticed Sarah at the entrance, she captivated me. With her chestnut hair, bold makeup, and a strong, confident build, she exuded a magnetic aura. She’d only been working at the mall for about a month and a half, alternating between morning and night shifts. Our initial exchanges were polite—“Good morning” or “Good evening”—but soon evolved into casual chats at the end of the night. Sarah, likely in her mid-30s, wore no wedding ring, a detail I couldn’t help but notice. She relied on the shuttle for her commute, which gave me an idea.
One chilly Chicago evening, the wind biting through the air, I spotted Sarah bundled up near the entrance, waiting for her delayed shuttle. It was past 10:30 PM, and the cold was relentless. “Sarah, you’ll freeze out here. Let me give you a ride,” I offered, my breath visible in the frosty air. She hesitated, insisting on waiting, but as the minutes ticked by, she relented with a shy, “Alright, Ethan, thanks.” We climbed into my Mustang, the leather seats cool against our skin. “This is such a hassle for you,” she said, her voice soft. “No hassle at all, Sarah. It’s on my way. But how about we drop the ‘Mr.’ and ‘Ms.’ stuff?” I suggested with a grin. She laughed, her eyes sparkling under the streetlights, and agreed, “Okay, Ethan.”
We reached her apartment, a cozy building tucked in a quiet neighborhood. “Thanks again, Ethan. You’re a lifesaver,” she said, her smile lingering. I drove off to my girlfriend’s place, but Sarah’s image lingered in my mind. There was something intoxicating about her—her strength, her subtle allure, her mature confidence. I’d always been drawn to women a bit older, and Sarah was no exception. I wanted to get closer, to unravel the mystery of her.
From that night on, our interactions grew. We started sharing lunch breaks in the mall’s food court, laughing over sandwiches and coffee, our chemistry undeniable. Her wit matched mine, and our conversations danced between playful banter and subtle flirtation. Some evenings, I’d drive her home, keeping things friendly but charged with unspoken tension. One night, as I dropped her off, I took a chance. “Sarah, I want to be closer to you,” I confessed, my voice low. Her eyes met mine, and with a soft nod, she said, “I’d like that too.” Our flirtation was blossoming into something more, though we hadn’t crossed into physical territory—yet. We began meeting outside the mall, grabbing drinks or strolling through the city, each moment drawing us closer.
One evening, as I headed toward the exit, Sarah wasn’t at her post. Curious, I wandered toward the security staff’s changing room, wondering if she was there. As I approached, her voice called out, “Ethan!” I turned to see her, her hair slightly tousled, her uniform jacket slung over her arm. “I was just coming to find you, sweetheart,” I said with a wink. She smiled, “I’m heading to the changing room. Wait for me, I’ll be out soon.” I lingered outside, the mall now eerily quiet, its lights dimmed. Another female guard exited, leaving Sarah alone inside. Curiosity got the better of me, and I gently pushed open the door.
There she was, her back to me, slipping off her security jacket. Her black bra strap was visible, a stark contrast against her skin. The door creaked, and she spun around, startled, her hands flying to cover her chest. “Oh! Ethan, it’s you! I thought it was one of the girls,” she gasped, her cheeks flushing. I stepped closer, a playful grin on my face. “What are you doing? Someone could come in!” she whispered, her voice a mix of panic and excitement. I gently pulled her hands away, revealing her full, firm curves. “No one’s here, Sarah. It’s just us,” I reassured her, my fingers brushing her cheek. She protested softly, “We can’t, Ethan. We’ll get caught.” But her eyes betrayed her, flickering with desire.
I leaned in, capturing her lips in a tentative kiss. “What’s the matter? Is it this place, or is it me?” I teased. Her breath hitched, and she murmured, “It’s just… here. It’s too risky.” But her resolve was crumbling. My kisses deepened, my hands roaming to her hips, firm and inviting. I whispered, “You’re so damn sexy,” as my lips trailed to her neck, drawing soft moans from her. Her body pressed against mine, her protests fading into whispers of, “We shouldn’t… but don’t stop.” The thrill of being caught fueled my desire, and I could tell it excited her too. My hands slipped beneath her waistband, exploring her curves, and she shivered, her fears giving way to passion.
Suddenly, she pulled back, her eyes wide. “That’s enough, Ethan. We can’t.” But I wasn’t ready to stop. Spotting the restroom stalls nearby, I took her hand and led her to one, closing the door behind us. I pressed her against the wall, our lips crashing together in a frenzy. Her kisses were hesitant at first, but she soon matched my intensity. I unbuttoned her pants, sliding them down to reveal her black panties. Her physique was stunning, strong yet feminine. I sat on the closed toilet lid, pulling her onto my lap. Our kisses grew hungrier, and I freed myself from my jeans, guiding her hand to me. She hesitated, then took me in, her movements slow and deliberate, her warmth enveloping me.
Her bra came off, and I lavished attention on her breasts, her gasps filling the small space. “Ethan, please, we have to stop,” she whispered, even as she moved against me, her body betraying her words. Time was against us, and she urged, “Hurry, someone might come.” I guided her to her knees, and she took me in her mouth, her eyes locked on mine, her inexperience only adding to the raw intensity. Just then, the outer door creaked open, and the sound of heels echoed. We froze, her lips still around me, her eyes wide with panic. The footsteps faded, and the door closed. Sarah shot up, cursing under her breath, “Damn it, Ethan!” We scrambled to dress, the mall now dark and silent. We slipped out, the adrenaline still coursing through us.
In the car, she let loose, “You idiot! We could’ve been caught! What were you thinking?” I tried to calm her, but she was furious, storming out when we reached her place. That night, alone, the memory of her fueled my release, over and over.
The next day, I found her at lunch, her expression unreadable. “We need to talk,” I said. She brushed me off, “Not now, Ethan. Tonight.” At closing, she was waiting by the entrance. I apologized profusely, but she cut me off. “It was dangerous, Ethan. We shouldn’t have.” I asked, “Do you regret it?” She paused, then admitted, “No, but not there. Never again.” My heart leapt. “So, there’ll be a next time?” I pressed. She smiled faintly, “Yes, but not like that.”
Our interactions cooled briefly, limited to a few rides home and one coffee date. But the memory of that night haunted me, the thrill of almost being caught only intensifying my desire. One night, I texted her, “I miss you.” She replied, “We see each other, don’t we?” I pushed, “You know what I mean. I want more.” After a pause, she admitted, “Me too.” That night, our texts turned steamy, and she opened up about her past—a cheating ex-husband, a guarded life. She was hesitant, almost shy, but my provocative messages broke through her walls. When I asked about her ex, she confessed, “He took me every way he wanted.” I replied, “Now I’m the one who’ll claim you, every inch.” She was hooked, but wary. “Not in the changing room again,” she insisted. I had a plan. “The store’s stockroom, Sarah. No cameras, no interruptions.”
The next evening, I texted her to meet me at my store after closing. I sent the staff home, lowered the shutters halfway, and waited. Sarah slipped in, her eyes darting nervously. “No one will know, right?” she whispered. I locked the shutters and led her to the stockroom, a dimly lit space cluttered with boxes and a sturdy wooden table. I turned off the overhead light, leaving only the soft glow of an emergency exit sign. “Relax,” I murmured, peeling off her jacket. Her blouse strained against her curves, and I laid her back on the table, her eyes fluttering shut.
I unbuttoned her blouse, revealing her white bra, her skin glowing in the faint light. “You’re stunning,” I whispered, my hands tracing her body. She surrendered, her breaths shallow. Our lips met, a slow burn that turned ravenous. My tongue explored her neck, her skin warm and slightly salty, her soft moans urging me on. I freed her breasts, their fullness mesmerizing, and lavished them with attention, her nipples hardening under my touch. She arched into me, lost in the moment.
Sliding down, I kissed her stomach, her skin trembling under my lips. Her panties were damp, and I teased, “Someone’s excited.” She blushed, apologizing for not shaving. “You’re perfect,” I assured her, inhaling her scent—a heady mix of desire and raw femininity. I slid her panties off, her legs parting as I tasted her, her moans growing louder. Her hands gripped my hair as I explored her, her sweetness flooding my senses. “Ethan, please, I can’t wait,” she gasped.
I stood, slipping on protection, and positioned myself between her thighs. Her eyes locked on mine as I entered her, slow and deliberate, her warmth enveloping me. She gasped, her body adjusting to me, and I began to move, each thrust drawing us closer. Her head tilted back, her moans filling the air. I leaned down, kissing her breasts, her neck, her lips, our bodies in sync. She pulled me closer by my tie, her kisses desperate. I lifted her leg, kissing her ankle, driving deeper as she urged, “Harder, Ethan, harder.”
I turned her over, her knees on the table, her curves a vision in the dim light. I entered her again, pulling her hair gently, her moans now uninhibited. My hand found her, teasing her other entrance, and she shivered, “Oh, Ethan!” Her body tensed, then released, her climax washing over her. I followed, the intensity overwhelming, collapsing against her as we caught our breath.
She lay there, spent, as I cleaned up, her panties now a keepsake. “Don’t wear these,” I teased, wiping her gently. She laughed, weak but content. We dressed, her blouse clinging to her sweat-dampened skin. I lit a cigarette, watching her adjust her clothes. “I’ve never had sex like that,” she admitted, her eyes alight. “This is just the beginning,” I promised, my hand grazing her. “I want more of you, Sarah.” She hesitated, then whispered, “Not tonight, but soon.”
We slipped out of the mall, the city asleep around us. In the car, she kissed me softly, “That was incredible.” As she left, I knew this was far from over, the promise of her lingering like a forbidden dream.