Not On My Watch

by Fable

Copyright┬ę 2005 by Fable

Sex Story: A preoccupation with precise investigation leads to practical exploration of the clues.

Caution: This Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa   Consensual   Heterosexual   Humor   Safe Sex   Slow   .


We were stopped between the ninth and tenth floors, looking into one another's eyes, anticipating what would happen next when a bell rang. Our eyes locked, smiling, when the bell rang again. Damn, this always happens, I thought as I reached for the phone.

"Captain? We've been infiltrated," the caller announced in my dream-drugged ear.

"Not again," I groaned, recognizing Carter's voice.

"It's the same M.O. as before."

I frowned, looked over to my nightstand, reached for a glass of water and took a sip. It was warm

"Do you mean it's the same size and shape as before?"

"It's approximately the same size and shape," Carter paused before adding, "Captain."

"That hardly qualifies as an M.O."

"The stains are about the same too."

"What time is it?"

"A few minutes past two. It was not there when I came on duty or when I made my rounds at one. I just found it before I called you."

"Don't touch anything. I'm on my way," I ordered before hanging up the phone. I got out of bed, stretched lazily and made my way to the window.

"Not on my watch," I mumbled under my breath as I opened the drapes and let the moonlight filter into the room.

A nude couple was cavorting in the pool. I watched them for a full minute. From my sixth floor apartment the water looked inviting and the couple totally consumed with one another. Ah, to have a normal nine-to- five job. Ah, to be able to take a dip in the pool at two in the morning, nude.

D. R. Case Inc. is my company's major account and I intended to keep it at all costs. I was hired, according the director of security, because of my reputation and because of the slogan on my letterhead, "Not on my Watch."

Jerry Saddler was impressed with my resume. In addition to my ten years of exemplary service on the city police force, youngest detective, most awards for heroic service and fastest advancement in department history, it gave an impressive summery of my vast experience.

"What made you give up such a promising career?"

This was the question I dreaded most. I gave him the standard answer. "I was drawn to the opportunities in the private sector and I wanted new challenges, a chance to prove my abilities." It was bullshit but he bought it.

As director of security for D R Case Inc., Jerry admitted that his primary objective was to protect the company's records and software from being hacked by competitors. He spoke of fire walls and computer security like they were his sacred sanctuary. He wanted to turn over building and employee security to my company.

Dressed in combat fatigues, I adjusted my holster and buckled the strap that held my sidearm snug against my right thigh; it made me feel safe and secure. On the ride downstairs the elevator made me remember my dream. When was the last time I slept long enough to finish it?

Jerry usually breezed right past the desk and the security log, anxious to get to his computer and his precious firewalls. But something told me the first two incidents had changed his routine. He would check the log this morning. I could expect a call at, say; 8:17 A.M.

Herman Carter is one of my best officers. I trained him. But working two jobs interferes with his sleep. I understand that. Working two shifts and being on call twenty-four hours per day interferes with mine too.

The boardroom is on the tenth floor, near executive row. I know it well. The large room is dominated by the marble-topped table in the center of the room. There are two doors at the rear of the room, one leading into a kitchenette and the other to a unisex bathroom. And there is a full compliment of audio/visual equipment assembled around the room; parts of the system hanging from the ceiling.

Sixteen plush chairs were pushed against the walls that early morning. This was the third time I had been invited to inspect the table by one of my officers and I recalled my previous visits to the room. On both occasions one of the chairs was half way between the table and the other chairs, carelessly left askew, probably by the cleaning crew, anxious to go to their next job. Otherwise the room looked the same.

I told Carter to get rid of the yellow tape across the entrance. "'Crime scene, ' is not the appropriate term. It doesn't apply to a couple having sex on the boardroom table," I explained to Herman.

Something looked amiss. This time the two goblets of fresh cum were nearer the edge of the table.

"It looks different. I wonder if it's the same couple this time," I speculated to Carter.

"You're right captain. I noticed that too."

Carter motioned for me to move to a squatting position. He pointed out where the back of the female's legs left sweaty imprints on the ebony marble surface.

"They're too close together," I said, recognizing the point he was making.

"How do you mean? There were no sweaty marks on the edge the other two times."

"How would you know? You weren't on duty either of those times?" I asked. Herman's comments were making me suspicious.

"I read the reports and saw the photographs. There was no mention of the legs coming down over the edge."

"You're right, there wasn't. Good work Carter," I congratulated my officer, feeling foolish for questioning how he knew what had been discovered by previous investigations.

"It's my job. Isn't that what you always say, captain?"

I was preoccupied with the table. Something did not seem right. We had to verify this was the same couple, committing serial sex acts on the boardroom table. Otherwise, we had to consider the possibility that there were imitators, duplicating what could become a trend.

"Let's examine what is the same as the other times and what is different," I said to Carter. As was my custom, training sessions were always the order of the day or the middle of the night as it were.

"They've always used the same side of the table and approximately the same spot," Carter ventured to say.

"Good, good, but what's different?"

"The place where cum was deposited and the sweaty places on the edge of the table," Carter was quick to say.

"Exactly," I encouraged him. "But there's something else."

"What's that?"

"The placement of the legs, they're too close together," I said, sliding my ass onto the table to demonstrate. "See, the female would have her legs open like this. The sweaty imprint made by her ass should be farther back on the table and the male's palm imprints are missing completely."

"Unless," Carter began, coming over to me and pushing my legs up, "she had her heels dug in and his hands were on her knees."

He held my legs open at the knees while we contemplated his point.

"Ah," I said, "in that case there would be marks where the girl's shoes met the table. Even worse, there should be scratches on the marble surface."

"There aren't, I checked," Carter said, still holding my legs open at the knees.

"Let me up Herman. Let's check for scratches again."

"I'm telling you Captain, there are no scratches."

"Don't form an opinion so fast. Remember the class on observation? It's chapter six in your workbook. What if the female was barefooted?"

We checked the table again. He was correct. There were no scratches or marks where I predicted they should be.

I watched as Carter filled out the report, making sure he remembered to include each of the discoveries we had made. He took measurements while I photographed the scene, female's ass on top of table, female's leg placement at edge of table and where the male's cum had landed.

"That's it, this guy was tall," I exclaimed, startling Carter. Alertly, he studied the table and nodded his head. He saw my point.

"Step over here Herman," I said, sliding my ass back up on the table and letting my legs dangle over the side. "See, you're not tall enough to get your cock up to the girl's pussy if she's sitting back here."

I pushed him away and jumped to the floor. "The first two were shorter and both had to get up on the table. That's why the girl's ass was nearer the center of the table. It may have been the same couple because the positions were close and the places where the guy dumped his cum were almost identical. This latest incident must be another couple. The guy is tall and the girl has a smaller ass. Put that in your report," I instructed Carter.

We cleaned the table and I said goodnight, entrusting Carter to make the proper notations in the security log.

As I predicted, the call came at exactly 8:17. Jerry Saddler sounded insane. "Benjamin, get your ass over here," he shouted, making me knock the glass of warm water over on the nightstand.

I called the office to cancel my morning appointments and put on my dress blues, complete with captain's bars and police ribbons. It is my company. I can be any rank I choose to be. And because I run it like a police department, I chose to be the captain. The ribbons were earned for valor while I was a member of the force. Wearing them on a security guard's uniform violated department regulations. What would they do if they found out, fire me?

Jerry had calmed down when I arrived at his office. I used police vocabulary like 'perpetrators and surveillance.' I even mentioned 'modus operandi.' By the end of the meeting I agreed to spend more time around the company and take steps to find out who was fucking on the boardroom table.

My duties at the office would suffer but the D. R. Case Inc. account is important to me and my livelihood. I would make sacrifices.

In addition to making sales calls to find new business, I am responsible for recruiting, interviewing, hiring and training new officers. Keeping the bills paid and the payroll straight is left up to Nancy, my assistant. I don't know what I would do without her. My operations manager, Sandy Scoffer, posts duty schedules and arranges for substitutions, sick leave and vacations. He basically works all night, seven days a week.

I removed my coat and tie and rolled up my sleeves.

First, I ran the employee after-hours reports by time period. D. R. Case has an open door policy. The company encourages its employees to spend as much time at the office as is necessary to do their jobs. Between one and two A.M. there were seventy-one employees in the building, fifteen of them female.

Did that eliminate the other employees who worked in building A as suspects? I hoped so but did not rule them out as suspects. I didn't rule out cracks in the armor, my company's armor. It would mean that employees were getting in without running their pass through card readers. Or, piggy backing, sneaking into the building behind someone with a pass.

I pondered that point. What if there were more than seventy-one employees in the building? What if one of them was not an employee?

Next I checked the photos of the employees who had been in the building according to the after hours report. I cross referenced the time each of them exited the building.

The employee photos were old. They had not been updated since the employee was hired unless he had to have a new badge made. I made a note to suggest that new photos be taken once each year. The fifteen females all looked like serious career women. None of them seemed the type of girl who would place her bare ass on the marble table at 1:30 A.M. As far as I was concerned, they were all suspects. I eliminated no one.

Jerry invited me to have lunch with him in the company cafeteria. He wanted a full update. I had nothing new to report.

My uniform attracted attention. While trying to eat my chicken salad sandwich there were five interruptions by, judging from the hasty way Jerry jumped to his feet, higher executives. I stood to be introduced to the president of D. R. Case Inc. He said he hoped I would catch those responsible for besmirching the company's repetition.

I gave my solemn pledge that the culprits would be apprehended. "Ten four," he said as he walked away.

The head of human resources shook my hand warmly and assured me that the couple would be dealt with swiftly and severely once they were proven guilty.

I responded to each of the five executives with a 'we-will-get-the-bastards' handshake without revealing my suspicion that there was more than one couple involved.

Without hinting to Jerry that there could be a 'Doing-it-on-the-Boardroom-Conference-Table' cult in his company, I inquired as to his capability to eves drop on electronic transmissions.

"Are you asking if I can intercept e-mail?" Jerry had a way of getting right to the root of the nub.

"Something like that. I was wondering if you could detect trends such as frequency of messages between employees," I said, trying to soften my question. Jerry watched me run my fork through my complimentary Jell-O, appraisingly. He did not respond.

We discussed locking the boardroom doors but decided against it because that might just move the activity elsewhere. I did get him to approve the installation of a hidden camera which would be directed at the spot on the table where incidents were known to have taken place on three occasions.

"Could we have that personnel chick circulate a rumor that DNA is going to be collected from all employees for the records?"

"What?" Jerry slammed his fist down, nearly dumping my Jell-O in my lap.

"It would only be a rumor. She looks like she's capable of starting one. I'm not suggesting that it actually be done."

"She's not a chick. Miss Tally is vice president of Human Resources."

"I know. Do you think Miss Tally would do it?"

"Perhaps, if she were asked nicely," Jerry answered, calming. "Do you think you could convince her it would benefit the company?"

I spent the afternoon watching the exit film from the morning hours after one A.M. I looked especially for females with narrow asses and tall men. From the fifteen females and fifty-six males known to have been in the building early that morning, I was able to see all but sixteen of them exit the building, three females and thirteen males. Did that mean those employees had worked straight through and were still in the building?

It took the rest of the day to locate them. I did not confront them or even speak to them. I only wanted to have a look at them to see if they appeared tired. I did take interest in the height of the males and the width of the female's asses. Too bad we don't have their measurements on file, I thought.

At home that night I recalled the situation room at one of the precincts where I worked when I was on the force. Everyone in the room had been trained to look at a case from every conceivable angle. Motivation, I thought. What would motivate a couple to risk being caught doing the nasty in the center of the most sacred room in the company. All of the board members would see the stains.

Motivation, was it simply sex? Two employees cheating on their spouses could find dozens of other places in the building to have sex. I decided it was more than sex.

Was it money? Was it a bet or a dare? Was someone paying them to do it on the marble table?

I longed for the situation room back at the precinct. At any given time there were five or six detectives with years of experience to draw upon. My resources were limited. I was alone.

"You were destined to become captain," the chief told me when he accepted my letter of resignation. "Too bad you couldn't keep your hands off of that underling."

"Too bad I didn't know about the camera in the elevator," I responded in my own defense. But it was futile. My dreams of rising to the top were dashed by a few moments of indiscretion. Reluctantly, I traded 10 years of distinguished service for the chief's promise that my personnel file would remain unblemished.

I slept through the night, undisturbed, no phone calls and no dreams. Had the couple found out about the secret camera? Or had my security guard gone to sleep on duty. I made a mental note to check the tapes just in case.

Days passed. I was awakened because of emergencies in other companies but D. R. Case remained quiet until one early morning.

The elevator was in freefall. The cables cavorted through pulleys unfettered. Our eyes met in calm anticipation. The car squealed to a bouncing stop between the ninth and tenth floors. The car squealed again, again. It would not stop squealing.


"Captain," the voice was low and halting, "it's Winslow."

"Speak up Winslow."

"There's a guy in the boardroom."

"Only one guy. One guy alone?"


"Save the tape Winslow. I'll be there before your shift is over."

"But Captain."

"We're looking for a couple Winslow. Save the tape. I'll see you in the morning."

I hung up and went back to sleep, hoping to recapture the elevator dream but it was gone.

I played the tape for Jerry Saddler and we went together to play it for Miss Tully in Human Resources. She recognized the guy as a mail room attendant. He was a kid really, 18 and about 130 pounds.

"What's Denny doing here at 1 o'clock in the morning?" Miss Tully muttered.

"It looked to me that he was masturbating on the boardroom table," Jerry spoke up, making me stifle a laugh.

It was not a laughing matter. I was embarrassed, especially after Denny admitted to leaving his cum on the boardroom table the previous time also. None of the mail room attendants were on my list of employees in the building on any of the nights in question. If it had not been for the hidden camera Denny would never have been under suspicion.

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