Your Ultimate Plus Size Lingerie Boutique

I knew she was trouble the moment I saw her sashay through the security line.

Not that there was much of a line. The provincial airport, where I worked Security, was quiet at this time--too late for the flight to Boston, too early for the one to Chicago.

She was a business traveler; that much was obvious from her neat, knee-length gray skirt that skimmed her generous hips before falling demurely to her knees. Her jacket hung open, so I could see a cream-colored cashmere sweater, accentuating the generous gifts nature had given her. She placed her case on the belt, and bent to slip off her high-heeled pumps.

"Ma'am, would you mind stepping over here for a moment. I need to take a look inside you bag."

She inclined her head graciously, and moved to the table as indicated.

"I have a business meeting early tomorrow morning, and don’t want to iron," she said, as I lifted her bag onto the counter. "Please be careful with my clothes."

"Sure," I replied, and unzipped the bag.

Normally, I ‘d rummage through, seeking out the offending article, unconcerned about creasing clothes, but who could deny Ms. Trouble? Besides the day was a slow one.

She leaned over in that curve-hugging cashmere job, her full breasts straining against the clinging material. It was the best thing I'd seen all day. As she slid back into her pumps, she looked up at me and smiled.

I looked into her bag, and on top was a neatly folded pale grey jacket, with a matching skirt underneath, which I carefully laid aside.

"I appreciate your care," she said, in a soft voice that made me think of whipped cream, smooth whiskey, and other sinful things.

The next garment made me hesitate. From what I could see, I doubted it was anything she'd wear to the office. I tried to lift it out discreetly, but in my embarrassment I fumbled, and a black garter strap caught on the handle of the case.

"Sorry." I could feel the flush creeping up out of my shirt collar, up my neck. My fingers seemed as thick as sausages as I tried to free it without damaging anything.

"Here, let me."

Was that a hint of laughter in her voice? Gratefully I let her take over. Her fingers brushed mine as she worked the delicate garter strap from the handle.

Even in the airport's harsh lighting, the garment looked beautiful and exotic as she held it up, displaying it to my gaze. It was black and it was leather. "I love this corset," she said, as she turned it this way and that. "Luckily, I don't think it's damaged."

I swallowed thickly. For a moment there, as she held the garment up, I could imagine her wearing it, could imagine how the soft leather would feel, warm and up close against her skin, the black laces straining across her cleavage, pushing her full breasts together into the most glorious cleavage I could imagine.

Her hair, if freed from the officious twist she wore, would tumble down in dark waves to cover her coffee-colored shoulders. And the leather would part enough to reveal a valley of promise, enticing a man to follow the path down with his lips, down, down, until he drowned in her pleasure. I closed my eyes briefly, and imagined slipping my hand inside the tiny G-string, sliding it down over her silky flesh, stroking over those gloriously full buttocks, and then down, further down…

"Is something wrong?"

I was brought sharply back by her words. Ms. Trouble stood in front of me, one eyebrow raised. The expression on her face told me she knew exactly what I was thinking.

I muttered an apology, but she waved it away. "There's absolutely nothing to apologize for." Her voice lowered until it could best be described as sultry. "I'm glad you appreciate my taste in... clothes."

Her voice held a wealth of promise.

I closed my eyes briefly, and wished, silently and hopelessly, that this security checkpoint would somehow vanish, and I'd find myself in the big king-size bed at home with Ms. Trouble stretched languorously beside me, wearing nothing but this corset and that tiny, leather G-string.

"Am I embarrassing you?" Ms. Trouble asked in a mischievous voice.

I opened my eyes to the glare of airport lights.

"I bought these especially for my husband," she continued. "He loves to see me dressed up, just for him." She shifted slightly, and her jacket gaped wider, allowing me to admire her shape.

I longed to reach down and adjust myself. Her actions had had a predictable effect, and the tenting in my uniform pants was uncomfortable. Her husband was a very lucky man.

Instead of delving further I laid the corset back in her bag and I shifted the rest of her garments carefully to one side, burrowing down to the bottom of the case. There were some things that were better not displayed to the rest of the security staff. My seeking fingers closed on a roll of quarters, tucked into the corner. I pulled them out.

"I think this is what triggered the alarm. You can go now, Ma'am."

Ms. Trouble smiled innocently at me, and shoveled her clothes carelessly back into the case. Snapping the lid closed, she gave me a wink. "Thanks for your care, honey. I thought you'd like a preview of my latest purchase from Hips and Curves. I'll see you when I get back from Chicago."

A surreptitious squeeze of my fingers and Ms. Trouble, my wonderfully wicked wife, moved off leisurely to catch her flight to Chicago.

It would be a long three days of anticipation.

(((FIN)))
© Cheyenne Blue, 2004

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Create some trouble of your own. Send him plain brown package to the office with a little leather G-string or pair of leather hand-cuffs wrapped with bright pink tissue paper! Enclose a note stating the time and place that you intend to wear it.

You’ll set off all kinds of alarms in your luscious plus size leather from Hips and Curves.com!

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Seduction Tip: Now you can treat yourself to a set of three pair crotchless panties in assorted colors. These scanty panties are a fun surprise under just about anything - from a skirt in the park to a bustier in the bedroom. Have some hot fun in the summer time - or any season for that matter.

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Would you like to have your name used in one of our fictional stories? stories@hipsandcurves.com

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