Chapter 2

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.