“Look, last night did not go like I planned,” I said to Matthew, who sat across the breakfast table from me. The picture of domestic bliss we would appear to anyone looking in the big kitchen window from our backyard. In fact, we were a wreck and I’d wrecked us. The ruins of the breakfast he’d prepared lay on the tiny round kitchen table between us. We’d wolfed it down in tense silence. I picked a hard bacon crumb off my plate, waiting. Matthew’s calm, placid visage left me no clues of what to expect next. “You didn’t plan on getting caught with two dicks in you?” He said, evenly. “Or you didn’t plan on the consequences?” The ‘consequences’ had been rather spectacularly rough. After Matthew threw the two boys out, he gave me what I deserved and then some. The surprise, for me, was how thrilling it all was. Servicing two cocks like a whore while I knew Matthew watched from hiding, getting ‘discovered’, the horrifying first moments we were alone afterward all led up to some of the. " The TSA agent ran the metal detecting wand along my arms, then down my sides, around my waist, then down my legs. He paused mid-thigh when the wand detected the metal garter clasps. He paused and advised me that he would have to manually examine me. He then ran his hands up and down my upper legs and stroked the garter straps a couple of times, trying to determine what he was feeling. "What's this?" "I'm wearing old-fashioned nylon stockings held up by garters. It's more comfortable than pantyhose. Do you really need to check?" The agent replied, "I'm sorry, but I will have to verify that." He crouched down and proceeded to lift up the hem of my sweater dress and ran his hands up both my legs, inside my thighs, then outside, and back up along the back. He delicately stroked the sleek nylon stockings and paused at my stocking tops, and continued up to the back of my sheer panties. He was kneeling down as he closely inspected my upper legs, his face a few inches from my legs, perhaps.
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