"Go to hell," I growl at the TSA agent. I'd had to walk through the metal detector one too many times on this trip. But when I had to take down my bun so the agent could "inspect" my hair, I finally lost it.
Our dear president had forced through a draconian executive order allowing the TSA practically the same authority as the Gestapo. My Nazi reference to the offending hair inspector had apparently been enough to detain me.
One would think that detention would have made me bite my tongue. One would be wrong.
So now I'm pissed that I'm trussed up in the agent's office ass up, over his desk: zip ties on my wrists and hand cuffs on my ankles. Apparently something in the executive order makes that legal. I'd love to read the statute myself, but it's probably in the large binder of TSA regulations propping up my hips. Mr. Power Trip was kind enough to throw his shirt over it, otherwise I'd have a bikini line full of paper cuts.
The problem is Mr. PT is pretty hot, even in the stupid wife beater revealed when he sacrificed his shirt to me. I'd been eyeing him, as a matter of fact, when they'd pulled me out of line to inspect my hair. He was the first to approach me after my Nazi comment. Late 40s, maybe early 50s, just a touch of white in his dark hair. Tall and fit but with a bit of heft-defined arms and chest that I can see when I cut my eyes at him now. But that's not really what makes him so hot. This fucker owns the room when he walks in. Every molecule in my body wanted to fall to his command when I first saw him.
When he led me away from the security line, his grip on my arm was just snug enough to make me follow. His presence was so commanding that I didn't-couldn't, wouldn't-resist.
His lackey brought my luggage and the boots I'd had to remove and they led me to a private screening room. The lackey disappeared back to the growing line of travelers.
"Look at me, bitch," he'd said after closing the heavy screening room door. I rolled my eyes at him and it took all my willpower to not spit in his face. "I know exactly what you're about, you self-satisfied, entitled cunt. You think you've got a right to verbally abuse my staff just because you're a basic white girl? Well, you're not going to get away with that shit on my watch and I've got the authority to make sure you're punished for it."
My back was to the two way mirror but I saw him eyeing something behind me and over my head. He walked towards me and, without warning, his hand was at my throat. I inhaled to scream but his hand tightened quickly, instinctively.
"Keep your mouth shut, bitch, and this will be less difficult for you. Put your hands up over your head and take two steps backwards. I felt my eyes widen, and was about to shake my head "no" when his hand tightened again-too quickly, like a reflex and not a response. He shoved me backwards and without ever releasing his grip on my throat, he cuffed my left hand and attached it to a D-ring above the mirror. "Welp," I thought, "I guess that explains what he was looking at."
He released his grip on my throat and put a finger under my chin. I didn't resist when he pushed up and inspected me. "What a beauty, truly," he said to me, staring into my eyes. "Too bad, I have to punish you for your little scene out there." I tried to hold his stare but my eyes fell to the floor. He mumbled something about breaking my pride as his eyes molested every part of my body. I inhaled sharply when he cuffed my other hand to the d-ring on the opposite side of the mirror.
He moved to my suitcase and started going through my things. I opened my mouth to protest but one look from him silenced me again-this guy, his command of the space was palatable. He found my vibrator and tested out the different speeds as he explained some obscure TSA rule about wireless electronic devices. "Basically, I can test any device to make sure it's not anything nefarious. And I'm going to test this on you, but believe me, the testing will be nefarious. Spread your legs, whore."
"No."
Backhand across my left cheek.
"Now."
Tears welled in my eyes, "No."
Backhand across my right cheek.
I spread my legs just enough for my skirt to crinkle up at my hips.
He kicked my feet open wider and my weight fell against the cuffs on my wrists. I gasped at the pain but was immediately distracted by my skirt being yanked up around my waist and my panties being yanked so hard in the opposite direction that they ripped across my spread thighs.
He pushed my ass back against the glass.
"You skank. All those people out there can see the outline of your fat ass. I wonder if they'll like it as much as you do when this test makes you scream my name."
"Wh-".
"Shut up. To you, my name is Sir, that's all you need to know right now. And don't speak unless you're spoken to."
Silence, I lowered my eyes. Then he glared at me, clearing his throat. "Answer me, you worthless whore."
