Mr Security

I had to go to the airport today to meet an arriving plane.

The drill to go through to the gates is to put my handbag on the conveyor to be x-rayed and then step through the metal detector. Pretty simple hey, pretty standard?

I checked before I got out of the car for any inadvertent sharp objects hiding in my handbag. I couldn't afford the time to have to take anything back to the car or have it confiscated as had happened once before. I had been carrying my camera bag through airport security. Dragging all my gear. Two cameras, my prized Hasselblad medium format film camera and my digital Nikon. I had remembered to leave my tripod in my luggage, but as I collected my camera bag from the other side of x-ray, airport security pulled me aside and asked, "Do you have a screwdriver in your bag?"

"No, I don't think so," then almost immediately, "oh hang on, yes I think I do!"

I think he thought he'd hit pay dirt as I reached in and pulled out the small screw driver I use to attach my tripod footing to the bottom of my camera. This is what all that training had been about. I could almost hear the metal cuffs ratcheting over my wrists...ahhh...er... now back from fantasy....Security's eyebrows raised and he shook his head as I said I had flown through two other airports with it before the keen eyes in his State had detected it. Well the upshot of the story was that I had to relinquish my screwdriver! There must be an awfully big pile of screwdrivers somewhere in airport security.

So, this time I was determined not to lose anything in my handbag. I zipped all the pockets and place my handbag on the conveyor. I readied myself to walk through the metal detector and there was Mr Security Guard waiting on the other side.

"Just come straight through."  he beckoned me.

I thought it an unusual demand after all where else was there to go and I didn't think I looked too much like I didn't know what I was doing.  Mr Security Guard scanned his eyes from my feet to my face where his eyes locked on mine for just a little too long. I became a little nervous though I really didn't know why.  I walked through and his eyes went to the lights above my head. Then it happened. Alice stepped through the looking glass. The light didn't flash it's detection of something untoward and the words from Mr Security Guard struck like a hot knife to my core.

"Good girl," a slight up turning at the corners of his mouth further caught my attention.

My breath caught in my throat, my body reacted viscerally and my slut pussy clenched. I was almost dizzy as I picked up my bag and looked at Mr Security over my shoulder. Did he know? Was I wearing my kink like a badge?  My eyes scanned the people immediately around me. Had they noticed? Heard? Noticed my reaction? I am not a girl and cannot be mistaken for one. I am all grown. Publicly I am a woman, but his words were clear and they rang in my ears and through every fibre in my body as a struggled not to allow the fantasy scenario forming in my minds eye to take hold. I fought to move away from Mr Security and into the arrivals hall but seriously, he could have had this little slut then and there on the security floor.

I shook myself out of my neediness and excitement. I calmed the ache in my slut pussy. I had a plane to meet.

Science-Medical-X-Ray-French-Woman-in-Corset

good girl whore

just some thoughts... an an excuse to show my favourite picture!

I am on the stepper at the gym and this is where I have time to do some thinking.

My mind of course turns to being a whore, a slut. Two of my most favoured words. I began to think about how much of a whore I could possibly be if whoring to only one man.

The free association of thoughts as beads of sweat slid down between my breasts. A whore is paid for service. A whore gives herself to many men, or women for recompense. While I don't pretend to understand the inner world of the whore belonging to that wonderful age old profession, I did start to think about the contradiction of the woman submissive, slave, pet, bitch (insert your favoured word here). Often, I have noted, one of the rules that submissive women (girls some like to say) are given, is that they cannot liaise with other men, Dominant men, in a sexually explicit way (though I recognise that some may be shared by there Dominant partner with others). A woman cannot have two Master's. On the surface, to me, this seems a fabulously vanilla concept and a contradiction to the purest meaning of the word whore.

We could consider then that a submissive woman declaring she is a whore to her Sir, Master, Daddy (insert favoured term here), or being declared a whore by him, is in no way a whore, but simply living the fantasy of being a whore.

For me Whoring isn't embodied in the act of submission or tantalising kinky sex acts. Whoring is borne in how a woman makes herself available to many (not that there's anything wrong with that!). Or is a whore the opposite in sexual behaviour from what is considered acceptable behaviour of a 'good girl'? The dichotomy of the whore - good girl is in me. I am polarised, and whoring is the fantasy that keeps the good girl in me alive. I strive to hear those words "good girl". They make me warm and fuzzy and tingly. How do I achieve this status? By being a whore, a slut, a bitch. By being his little bitch, I am his "good girl". 

LOL go figure!