Page 02
"Is that part of your training, Mark?" she asked, laughing softly.
I had no answer. At that moment, all I wanted to do was bury my face in Mrs. J's panties but I was frozen with fear, fear that even while presented with such an obvious invitation, acting on impulse would lead to an unrecoverable embarrassment for me, Mrs. J, and my mother. I was still kneeling like a statue, an inch from Mrs. J's delicious smelling muff when the tires on Mom's car announced her early arrival home.
"Mom's home," I mumbled automatically.
Mrs. J pushed herself away from the door, 'accidentally' bumping her panties into my nose. She cried, "Woops a'daisy", but twisted her pelvis, grinding her scent into my face, before pushing me back onto my heels. Mrs. J smoothed her skirt over her legs as I stumbled to my feet. Quickly, she slipped her feet into her sandals and expertly buckled them up. Panicked over Mom's imminent arrival, I was nevertheless unable to do anything but stand there looking from the door, which would any instant burst open, and Mrs. J who was regarding me with a flushed but amused face.
"Perhaps," she paused to let loose a gentle laugh, "you should go upstairs before your mother comes in."
Mrs. J looked down at my sweatpants. I followed her eyes and was horrified to find them sticking straight out from my groin, barely covering an enormous erection. I looked up into her eyes, my surprise evident as if in apology.
"It's alright, Mark, but perhaps you should call me Margaret from now on, at least when we're alone."
Mom's heels clicked on the sidewalk. I turned and ran upstairs.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - -
I was waiting downstairs the next morning, eager for Mrs. J's arrival. Mom had chided me the day before about rudely leaving Mrs. J downstairs on her own until she came in the house. She looked at me oddly when I became flustered trying to defend myself and scrutinized me even closer when I blushed profusely. I escaped to my room with Mom watching me all the way up the stairs.
I had decided to wear the same sweatpants. In my mind, Mrs. J and I would immediately continue from where we left off. As soon as she came in the door, she would lean back for me to remove her shoes whereupon I would slide my hands up her legs while she raised her skirt. This time, I wouldn't wait for her to push her panties into my face, I'd firmly plunge my nose into her muff while she tugged my head into place and, while she was momentarily confused by desire, I'd drag her panties off her ass, then pull them down her legs and off her bare feet. Rising, I would kiss her feverishly, grasping her big tits and impaling her with my love pole which, somehow having been magically relieved of my sweatpants, would slide easily into her silky wetness to lift her completely off her feet, moaning with unrestrained ecstasy impaled upon my supercock. I flung the door open when the bell rang, instantly forgetting my well-planned, casual welcome.
"Oh, Mrs. Yamato. Uh, Hi."
"Hello, Mark."
"Uh, Mom's not here, she's still at work," I said, offering no explanation for why I was flushed and seemingly out of breath.
Mrs. Yamato looked at me, a little surprised, and said, "That's ok, Mark. It's actually you I wanted to see."
"Oh," I replied, managing to look even more surprised than I already was.
"May I come in, please?"
"Oh, certainly, of course." I held the door open, closing it after she came in and stepped back. A brief image of Mrs. J, pinned against the door with her legs held high and wide to accommodate me, flashed through my mind. It must have been there for more of flash.
"Mark? Are you ok?"
"Huh? Oh, yeah, sure, sure."
"Would it be better if I came back another time?"
Perfect, here was an out. I could get rid of her and there would still be time to realize my fantasy if Mrs. J came soon.
"No, no. I'm ok." I couldn't believe those words came out of my mouth. "What can I do for you?"
"Well, I...," Mrs. Yamato looked hesitant. "I was thinking... well, I was... wondering..."
"About the pat-downs," I finished the sentence for her.
Mrs. Yamato laughed apologetically and ducked her head. "Yes, yes."
I turned and walked into the kitchen.
"Mrs. J dropped off some information for Mom yesterday. Maybe the answers will be there?"
Mrs. Yamato followed me into the kitchen and leaned over to look at the paperwork spread over the table. While she was looking, I looked her over. She was a very pretty, oriental woman with a nice, if petite, figure. She was short but had great legs and small perky breasts which, leaning over the way she was now, pressed against the white blouse she was wearing atop her simple black skirt. In my imagination, Mrs. Yamato wasn't wearing a bra. That, and the expectation I had been carrying all morning, made me suddenly want Mrs. Yamato. She was always so nice, not teasing like Mrs. J. Would she be so giving, if given the opportunity, and want me to call her by her first name too? What was it? I couldn't remember, though I'd heard Mom say it a hundred times. I found myself hoping Mrs. J wouldn't come to the door.
Mrs. Yamato straightened up and turned to face me.
"I'm sorry, this information doesn't answer my question," she said.
"Maybe I can help," I responded confidently, buoyed by the episode with Mrs. J.
"It's about the pat-down," she started, demurely looking down.
"Yes," I encouraged her to go on, finding myself impatient to get on with it, my mind already leaping ahead to where I hoped things might go.
"I was worrying... uh, I mean..." Mrs. Yamato stammered.
"About getting a pat-down when you're wearing a skirt," I suggested, extrapolating from my experience with Mrs. J and letting my gaze fall obviously down her slender figure.
"Oh, no. No, no," she laughed nervously. "I was more concerned with...," she paused, then curled her arms upward by her sides, fingers pointing inward. "Um... do they really need to...," She was looking at me expectantly.
I couldn't see if she was blushing but I did. "Oh, I see, you mean... will they still, uh, search you if you're... not big," I finished awkwardly.
"Yes, yes. That's it," Mrs. Yamato said.
I could see now that she was blushing, or at least, I sensed she was embarrassed.
"Yes, they will. They have to, it's part of the procedure."
"Oh," she looked quite disappointed. "Even if...," her voice trailed off.
"It should be quick," I said, then felt like an idiot making fun of her small breasts. I mean, they were small but looking at them now, I sure wouldn't mind taking them in hand.
"Could you... show me how they do it?"
"Show you?"
Mrs. Yamato nodded. "Please," she said.
"Well, sure... but it will be pretty much the way I showed you with Mrs. J," I said. I couldn't believe was trying to dissuade her and mentally kicked myself for it.
"It may be more than that, won't it?" she asked, looking to me for confirmation.
"Yes, yes it will," I admitted, lying through my teeth.
I wasn't going to look this gift horse in the mouth again. Thankfully, Mrs. Yamato was lifting her arms up, readying herself for my inspection. Man, this trip of theirs and my new job was a windfall for me. I tried to contain my excitement as I placed my hands on Mrs. Yamato's shoulders. I paused while she looked down to shuffle her feet together, then looked up at me and smiled, as if to say, 'Ready'."
I moved my hands over to her shoulders and along her arms, curling my fingers around to feel her limbs more than was necessary or advised according to my training. Reaching the end of her arms, I flipped my hands over and almost caressed my way under her fingers and palms, then along her lower and upper arms, stopping underneath with my hands pressed to her sides. She was so tiny, my hands covered at least a quarter of her torso. I stooped as I lowered my hands, closely following the curve of her wonderful little figure. When I reached her slender hips, I knelt on the floor.
"Please to just do up top," Mrs. Yamato pleaded, in her nervousness reverting to a mode of speech she probably hadn't used since she was a girl.
"I can't," I said. "This is the way it's done."
Mrs. Yamato nodded and looked up and to her left, as if resigned. A thrill zinged through me. I suddenly loved her submissive culture and vowed to read more about it. I felt that I could take some poetic license with this inspection. Excitement coursed through my veins as my hands slid down Mrs. Yamato's outer thighs and onto her legs which I noticed for the first time were not covered with pantyhose or nylons. A delicious twinge flicked my dick.
I moved my hands between Mrs. Yamato's ankles, which were tightly held together, and pressed outward. Dutifully, she moved her feet apart and waited for me to proceed. I paused to relish the feeling of anticipation, then slowly slid my fingers up the back of her calves, stopping over the tender flesh behind her knees before descending and starting back up on the inside of her legs which I followed all the way until I hit the hem of her dress.
I paused for about ten seconds while I struggled with myself. Should I do it properly, pushing her skirt between her legs which this one was sufficiently loose to do so, or do what I wanted to do and slide my hands up the inside of her thighs underneath her skirt, which was warranted if a woman was wearing a tight skirt. Warranted, of course, because the searcher was supposed to be a woman. I could sense Mrs. Yamato struggling to control her breathing. Was she nervous, or excited like I was?
I pushed upward, sliding my hands, inappropriately palm on flesh, up the inside of Mrs. Yamato's thighs, under her skirt. I felt her take a deep breath and hold it as my hands crossed the halfway point. I slowed my progress as her slender legs thickened — partly wanting to relish the feeling of nearing her panties and partly being afraid of her reaction to my audacious proximity. I ventured on and stopped when the edge of my hands were blocked by a warm, silky material. I was actually touching her panties!
Quickly, before she objected I dropped my hands, but slowly, very slowly, down the inside of her thighs, the way I had come. God, I was hot for her. I thought my hands were trembling but when they emerged from her skirt I saw they were steady. I realized then that it was Mrs. Yamato's legs that were shaking.
I stood up and placed my hands on her waist. Mrs. Yamato was still looking up and away but her eyes were now closed. I slid my hands around to her back and pressed my palms firmly against her flesh, moving them slowly all over her back. I was disappointed to discover that she was wearing a bra, a delicate affair by the feel of it, but still a bra. I guess it didn't have to be too substantial to support her assets. Even pressing as firm as I was, Mrs. Yamato's small breasts didn't reach my chest as Mrs. J's had done.
Looking down at her upturned face with closed eyes, I felt in control. I had gone beyond the pale feeling her legs up like that but she had accepted it. How far could I go here? I looked down at her small breasts and wondered if I could get away with putting my hand back underneath her skirt. No, I thought. I suppose not.
I dropped my hands onto her tiny ass and blatantly cupped her little buns. She didn't say a word, not even a single sound of protest. I pulled my hands around and pressed them against her belly, moving gently over her tummy. It was then I made the outrageous suggestion.
"I'm sorry Mrs. Yamato, but for small breasted women, they really search well for items that may be hidden inside a bra," I said, surprised by my own blunt observation.
She answered me, her eyes still squeezed shut, "That's what I was afraid of. Please show me what they do."
Fantastic! I moved my hands up and covered her small tits completely in my palms.
"They'll check for hideouts, like this," I whispered in a thick voice, twisting my hands and sucking in my breath when I felt something hard against the softness of each tit. Had she hidden something inside her bra for me to find? Had she come prepared to play games, like Mrs. J?
"What's this then?" I asked, squashing her breasts with my shaking hands. I flipped my hands over and explored her with my fingers, confirming the presence of two longish lumps, like bullets, bent sideways underneath her blouse. I walked Mrs. Yamato backwards until she was pressed against the fridge. "You can't sneak anything through like this, Mrs. Yamato," I said, suddenly angry that she was using me as a test run to get something through security. I flipped my fingers up and down across the twin lumps, pushing her tits up and down, now unconcerned about such a flagrant invasion of her person.
"What's this then," I repeated, incredibly unbuttoning two buttons on her blouse and pushing my hands inside with such aggression that I forced the next one to part as well. Mrs. Yamato didn't say anything but she looked very flustered, whether by my incredible violation or from fear that I was on to her scheme. I was mauling her bra now and could feel the distinctive form of the long, hard capsules. They were long enough to be pistol bullets but that didn't make any sense. How would she get a gun on board? Could it be a plastic one, like I'd seen in a movie once? No, they were probably vials filled with liquid, exactly what they were so worried about now.
I realized that Mrs. Yamato had been mumbling something but her voice was rising now, "That's it," she cried. "That's the problem!" She was crying, with real tears streaming from her eyes, but I stayed focused on the hidden contraband.
"What the hell is this?" I yelled, pressing her body to the fridge with mine as I forced my fingers under her bra and yanked it up and off, my eyes darting to the floor to see where the hidden capsules bounced. But nothing fell.
Mrs. Yamato was crying, "Oh no, oh no."
I looked around my feet, lifted the bra higher and turned it over, but still nothing fell out. Stunned, I looked at Mrs. Yamato's chest, at her breasts, and her... fantastic nipples.
They were incredible. They jutted out from her dark, perfectly formed little tits like church steeples piercing the sky. I had never seen any so long, in magazines or the internet, and certainly not in real life. However, staring at them, I realized they weren't grossly long but rather looked so set on her very small tits. Whatever, they were still magnificent.
Mrs. Yamato had closed her eyes again and dropped her head. Her posture cried... shame.
"Unbelievable," I cried. "They're simply incredible!"
I slipped my hands under her tits and lifted them, admiring her amazing, incredibly long, brown nipples.
"They're beautiful," I said.
Mrs. Yamato opened her eyes and peered into mine, unbelieving. "Really?" she asked.
"Of course. They're fantastic."
I closed my thumbs and forefingers over her incredible nips, pinched lightly and rolled.
"Ohhhh," Mrs. Yamato gasped. "You shouldn't..."
I tugged them out to full length, slid my fingers back down to their base, and then slipped my fingers out again, as if I was jacking a pair of tiny cocks. They thickened under my touch.
"Ohhhhh, jeez," Mrs. Yamato cried. "My husband hates them," she sighed.
"Are you kidding? These are gorgeous."
I pinched them tighter and Mrs. Yamato gasped. "He says they're not normal." She gasped again as I twisted her nipples back and forth. "He says I'll shame him if I go through one of those scanners and they'll laugh at me if I'm patted down."
"They need to be kissed," I gasped, excited beyond belief.
I tried to duck my head but Mrs. Yamato resisted, pushing it away. I lifted her off her feet and placed her against the fridge with her tits at mouth level.
"Oh no," Mrs. Yamato said, but it was too late. My mouth enveloped her right tit and sucked her long, stiff nipple in hard. "Oh God, oh God," she cried.
I pulled back and looked at her tit, now glistening with my saliva. Her nipple was now even longer and stiffer than before. Unbelievable. I dropped my mouth over the other one and sucked it hard too. Mrs. Yamato's hands, which had been trying to pull my head away, now pressed my mouth hard onto her tit. Her legs swung up to encircle my waist and I reacted naturally by sliding my hands onto her bottom to hold her up, underneath her skirt. I gripped her ass, a little pear in each hand, and sucked her tit even harder.
"Ahhhhhhh," she sighed. "Oh yes. Suck them," she cried, loosening her arms around her neck and hanging back to improve my access to her tiny delights. Her back was bent back in an arch that hard to believe was possible as she let her head and long, black hair fall. She was stretched back so far her tits almost completely disappeared, turning into pure, raw nipples.
A moment later, she pulled herself up and began frantically kissing the side of my face and twisting my head around on her tit. She didn't even notice me yanking her panties off her ass and sliding them up her thighs. Holding her with one hand on one cheek, I flipped my sweatpants out with the other and used it to guide my raging boner under her ass, found her slit, and wet my tip by sliding it back and forth.
That prompted Mrs. Yamato into action, trying to avoid my penetration.
"No, Mark. You can't," she cried.
I released her tit and looked in her eyes. "Yes," was all I said.
Holding her eyes, I worked the head of my cock into her. She was tight, really tight and my girth made her mouth fall open with the strain of accommodating me.
"You're so big," she whispered.
"And you're so hot," was my hoarse reply.
I got another inch into her. Her legs tightened around me and she circled her arms around my neck — she wasn't going to fight me. Her muscles relaxed and I sunk in another inch.
"I want to fuck you," I gasped.
"I know," she said, kissing me several times around my mouth.
"I'm going to fuck you," I gasped, as if trying to convince myself I was really going to do it.
"Then do it for Christ's sake," Mrs. Yamato growled, fitting her lips around mine and pushing her tongue into my mouth.
I slid my cock into her, fighting the clasping, resisting walls of her cunt all the way. When I was all the way in, Mrs. Yamato released my mouth and extricated her tongue, let her head fall on my shoulder, and whispered in my ear.
"Oh, Mark. You're so big, so big. Fuck me hard," she murmured. "Fill me with your juice."
I tried to do just that. I pumped her against the fridge for a couple of minutes, then, afraid that was too rough on her back, I walked her around the kitchen impaled on my cock, lifting her whole body up and down. She was so wet, I actually looked at the floor to see if she was dripping. Eventually I wandered into the living room, knelt on my father's overstuffed chair, and fucked her against the back of it for a while before turning around and, tired, sat in it to let her take control. She fucked me like that, feeding her small tits and long nipples into my mouth the whole time she frantically rode my cock. She was very loud when she came and I made a joke of it after.
"Japanese men like their women to show great appreciation," she explained, adding, "especially in hotels so they can broadcast their manliness. Ambitious young secretaries learn that early," she added and I wondered if that was how she ended up marrying Mr. Yamato.
"Are Japanese men that good in bed?" I asked.
"They're very aggressive," she said. "Fast, but too quick," she added with a titter. "Not like you. You're long, in more ways than one."
I loved her laugh. "I can be aggressive too," I declared.
"Really?" she said in a disbelieving tone.
"Yes," I cried, standing up with her still on me and trying to turn her around.
