Our honeymoon was coming to an end, but every moment of it had been idyllic and everything I had dreamed of. The hotel was spectacular, as was the white sandy beach, crystal clear ocean and lush gardens. Mark was the attentive and charming husband that I knew he would be, and even though he was not the most talented or energetic lover, the love between us ensured that the hours we spent together in bed were reaffirming and satisfying in their own way.
I had chosen Jamaica as the destination for our honeymoon as I had spent several outrageous vacations there with previous partners and had a fondness for the island and the beautiful men. I had no intention of ever cheating on Mark, but just the memory of my earlier passionate experiences was enough to arouse and excite me as I contemplated a life where Mark would be my only lover.
We spent the days lounging by the pool, drinking elaborate cocktails and swimming in the warm sea. I really loved how proudly Mark showed me off in my tiny bikinis and how quickly he became jealous as I teased and flirted with the hotel staff. He got off on people staring at my barely concealed body, but immediately became uncomfortable if he thought their attraction to me was reciprocated. And it often was reciprocated. I have always been attracted to athletic young black men and there were so many of them working at the hotel.
Mark would love to catch men staring at my breasts or turning to look at my ass as I walked past in my string bikini. In response I flirted wildly with the attractive bar staff, pool attendants and waiters. Once I had teased Mark sufficiently, I would take him back to our room and we would make love for the few minutes he could last as I fantasized about returning to the room with two or three of the staff whose superior endowment, stamina and prowess I really craved. Once Mark was finished, I would satisfy myself with my toys, imagining being fucked hard by an array of big black cocks for hours at a time.
As the honeymoon came to an end, I packed my case and prepared to depart for the airport as Mark smoked a final joint on the balcony. He still a couple of joints left that he had bought from one of the pool attendants who I had been especially attracted to, but with no time left to smoke them, I told him to flush them down the toilet.
We walked through the hotel lobby for the last time, and I let my short skirt ride up further, much to the appreciation of Mark and the porters who wished us a good trip and hoped we would return soon.
We checked in at the airport and made our way through security where my clit and nipple piercings set off the metal detectors as they sometimes did. The large security guard told me to stand to one side as I would need to wait for a female officer to pat me down. I looked at Mark, smiled, and then turned back to the security guard and told him that it was ok for him to do the search. I maintained eye contact with Mark the entire time as the burly officer slowly drew his hands over my entire body, brushing my nipples several times as he did. At one point I shivered with excitement at both the touch and Mark's expression which turned from arousal to jealousy in a moment.
We made our way toward the departure lounge, but as we approached the exit to security a sniffer dog began to bark as I passed by. I continued walking, but the dog barked several more times and I was instructed to stop by its handler. I immediately realized that the dog must be smelling the joint that Mark had smoked earlier. The handler asked if I was carrying drugs, and I naturally replied that I wasn't, but there might be some residual smoke in my clothes. This explanation was not sufficient, and Mark and I were still led to a private interview room where we waited for ten minutes to be joined by two more officers. I wasn't nervous as I knew this was a mistake, but Mark looked uncomfortable and said very little as we waited.
When the two black officers entered the room, I was immediately distracted by their tight uniforms and their clearly muscular bodies. Their short-sleeved shirts showed off their thick muscular arms and I could make out their pectoral and abdominal muscles through the material. Their wide shoulders and broad chests tapered down to narrow waists, accentuated by their very tight trousers. They were so tight that I was unable to look away from their impressive bulges for a second or two and stared at them longingly. I would have asked if they had guns in their pockets or were just pleased to see me, until I saw their actual guns, holstered to their sides, and I was returned to reality with a bump.
They asked me again if I was caring any drugs, which I again denied, and they asked if they could search my handbag. The contents of the bag were spilled out onto the table in front of us, including my lipstick, some chewing gum, a small bullet vibrator I am never without, and the two joints I had told Mark to flush down the toilet.
"I'm sorry," exclaimed Mark, "I thought we could enjoy them when we got home."
I couldn't believe he had done this. How could he be so stupid to try and sneak two joints through airport security and how could he be such a chicken shit to hide them in my bag and not his. I was furious and swore I would make him pay for this betrayal.
"What know," I asked the officers. Who replied that they would need to search my suitcase, hand luggage and my person to see if there were more drugs hidden in my belongings.
I agreed to everything and one by one our bags and eventually my suitcase was bought to the office and searched. Just having the bags inspected was humiliating as my dirty underwear was checked, piece by piece, until they reached my bag of sex toys. The officers could barely stop smiling as they examined the pair of large black dildos, each as thick as my wrist.
"And you bought these with you on your honeymoon?", they asked with genuine amazement.
Mark was responsible for my humiliation, and he wasn't going to get off lightly either.
