I don't know what it is about a man in uniform. Even as a plain security guard, black pants, white long sleeved shirt with patches sewn into the sleeves, I managed to get more respect when I wore my uniform to a store or into a gas station, then I did in my normal blue jeans and sweatshirt. I think the gold badge that proclaims me as a Sergeant possibly helps the illusion of looking like a member of the law enforcement community, and makes the women feel safe about my presence.
When I first arrived at this factory, they stationed me at the back gate on second shift. Besides being bored for the last six hours of the night, it passed fairly quickly. The first two hours, I spent waving at all the employees as they flew by the open gate, racing each other to see who could hit the stop light at the end of the driveway while it stayed green.
Most of the men would ignore me, as if it's too much of a hassle to take their hairy knuckles off the steering wheel and wave, let alone slow down. A lot of times, the women drove worse then the men. Not only would they drive by my open gate at breakneck speeds, but they would also have one hand to their ear as they lifted the other off the steering wheel and waved. I learned to move out of the way quickly.
A few women, and even a few men, would slow down to answer my constant salutation to have a good night. Sara was my favorite of them all. She would pull up slowly in her little white Geo Metro, both hands gripped tight to the wheel, her knuckles turning slightly white, as she seemed to force her hands not to move. Her long red hair framed the sea blue eyes that only enhanced her beauty and intelligence.
Whenever she could, she would stop, her eyes darting between the rearview mirror and mine. They only had one exit gate for over 400 employees. No one liked to be stuck behind anyone. Every night, as she drove off, I would turn to watch her, catching the loving smile reflected out of her side mirror as I caught her looking at my snug pants.
The Friday before my promotion, no one was behind her when she left. With a soft voice that sounded like a morning songbird, she gave me her email address. The entire rest of the evening seemed to pass in a blur as we exchanged letters during the next six hours.
By the time we were done, they eventually turned into erotic letters. She was different from most women I met, in fact -- she was heavily into S&M, something I never experienced. I think my wife is a little into that -- she does have a way of dominating me. At one point, Sara even called, fortunately, I earlier turned off the lights in the shack, so no one noticed the bulge I supported for the rest of the night.
Saturday came, and I sent her more erotic letters, mostly describing in detail what I would love to do with her. However, Sunday came, and I returned to an empty building that I had to walk at least every few hours.
As I was about to enter the elevator to hit the forth floor office space, I heard a noise behind me and a familiar voice. It was Sara. This was the first time I ever saw her standing up, and her height took me by surprise. For some reason, I didn't except her to be my height, maybe it was because of the low car she drove. Dressed only in tight jeans and a loose oversized tee shirt, she still managed to grab my attention.
She was standing out of range of the camera, but I went up to great her. As I approached, we both looked around for any prying eyes that may be hiding around the corner. But the thought of someone watching, or seeing us was beginning to get me aroused. Since she had told me earlier that she was more submissive, I took control right from the start. Forcing her against the wall, I held her wrists tight and kissed her hard, moving away as her lips parted so she could barley reach me.
