Punish your way to a nice vacation

You stand in the entrance to the the West Terminal, surveying your surroundings with the glass decanter in your hand at your side, and no other possessions. The Terminal's ticketing and security area is full of people, of course, and all of them are strangers. You're still tipsy, but you're with it enough to formulate a plan.

You need:

• A ticket (to somewhere nice)
• Some cash money (Punishments are priceless, but for everything else...)
• Luggage? A spare set of clothes? A toothbrush? Maybe a satin sleeping mask? Nah, you mostly just need a ticket.

Looking around, the first thing you notice is a skinny, dyed-blonde with Kappa Omega Kappa's "KOK" written in block across the ass of her bright yellow booty shorts as she pushes her luggage cart by you. The next thing you see is a big-tittied MILF walking by flipping through her passport while her man pushes their stroller. Looking past the security line, you can see the souvenir shops and bars of the West Terminal, their normally over-priced drinks just one punishment away from your enjoyment. Your mind is swimming in the possibilities and swimming in whiskey. You take another big sip from the decanter and decide to get to work.

"Excuse me, sir, traveling light today?" It's an Airport Security Service gent, her tone is sarcastic, and she's eyeing your decanter. What business does she have harassing the GPM just for having a drink? Oh yeah, she doesn't know you're the GPM. No one here does yet.

You look her up and down, taking in her stocky, muscular build, her tight, chestnut brown ponytail, her large but well-hidden bust, packed into her blue uniform shirt and covered with badges and identifiers of one sort or another. Her plastic ID card, resting on the slope of her left breast, says "Officer D. Linette".

"Hi officer, I gotta let you know, I'm the GPM, I'm a little drunk, and you're misbehaving." You take another swig of your whiskey. "For taking such a sarcastic tone with me, your punishment will be to take a big swig of this whiskey and show me where you Airport Security Service people keep confiscated items."

She takes the decanter and puts away a decent amount of the whiskey. "Of course, Sir, I'm very sorry, no disrespect was intended. Right this way." She carries the decanter and leads you to an unmarked door with no handle. She uses her badge on a card reader on the wall, and after a beep and a click, the door opens inward, automatically. She gestures with her hand for you to enter.

Inside is what looks like a combination locker room/break room. There's a sink and counter with a microwave and mini-fridge. There's a lunch table and chairs, and a couch, magazines and a deck of cards on the end table. Seated at the table is a young, fit black woman with tight cornrows, A. Philips, wearing the same uniform as D. Linette, but shirt untucked and half-unbuttoned as she takes her lunch break. She is giving the two of you a pretty disapproving look, and you can imagine a few reasons why, but mostly it's because she doesn't know who you are.

"Hello Miss Philips, I'm the GPM. Enjoy your lunch."

That's all it takes, apparently. She nods and takes a bite of her sandwich, disregarding you. She's probably pretty hot under that awful uniform, but you're busy. Officer Linette leads you through the second door into a small, dimly lit room full of small bins locked up behind a cage door. She unlocks the cage door for you, this time with a physical key. "Here you go, sir."

These bins contain every little thing the Airport Security Service has taken from passengers in the security line, except of course water bottles... They'd need a separate warehouse for those.

You spend a good half-hour rummaging in this new supply depot you've found. You find a lot more guns and **** than you expected. The large quantity of knives doesn't surprise you too much though. There are actually quite a few bins containing possessions that aren't contraband themselves, but were bulk confiscated from offenders or people being arrested. You find a few hundred dollars this way but as you're about to pocket these items, you feel the Security agent's eyes on you.

You may have felt bad inflicting punishments on the sweet little maid across the street from your house, but you've been dicked around by enough bitches in Airport Security Service uniforms in your life that you're feeling pretty guilt-free as you exercise your power freely with D. Linette.

"Alright, Linette, there may be hope for reforming your misbehaving ass yet. We still have some issues to address, however." She frowns, and you respond with a wicked grin of your own. "Somehow, you've managed to have the biggest tits I've seen all day and still hide them better than any woman I've encountered, and for that heinous act, I'm going to require you to comply with all the tenets of the D. Linette Reformation Plan:

1. Between now and the end of your shift, you will finish the contents of that whiskey decanter, by yourself.
2. For the rest of your shift, you will wander the terminal, groping mens' crotches, claiming you thought you saw contraband in their pants. If you find no contraband, you will apologize and allow the men to grope you back as compensation for the offense.
3. You will never wear a bra to work again.
4. You will allow the GPM to confiscate any and all property of Airport Security Services that he wishes.

A tear runs from D. Linette's eye as she nods and takes another long sip of whiskey. You grab a backpack, stuffing it full of cocaine, marijuana, and other peoples' wallets. You grab a confiscated Android and an iPhone, so you'll have access to _both app stores on your flight! _Finally, you toss in a 27 tool Swiss Army knife and a gold-plated Zappo lighter, just in case. You watch Linette take off her bra, spilling her massive pancake titties out all over her stomach, and you leave as she's putting her shirt back on without it.

In the break room area, A. Philips has just finished up her sandwich. She's washing her dishes in the sink, her round little bubble butt calling to you under the ill-fitting polyester uniform pants. You do really want to get started on the vacation, though, so you walk on by.

She hears you leaving and turns around, wiping her wet hands on her uniform to dry them. "Have a nice day, GPM!"

You turn to wish her the same, but as you do, you hear the voice again. "PUNISH HER"

_Why? _you think to yourself, for wishing you well? Your drunkenness fading, you feel it being slowly replaced by guilt. As you check out agent Philips, wondering if you can punish her just for being hot, wondering if that's enough for you to want to punish her, wondering a lot of weird stuff, you see her uniform moving. Just above the point of her left breast, her plastic ID card is shifting like crazy. You step closer to get a better look, and though she makes a funny face at your staring, you lean in to read the card on her chest.

The letters on her ID tag are flowing in and out of each other, sometimes spelling her name, title, and agent number, and sometimes spelling out things like "I'VE BEEN NAUGHTY" or "CHASTISE ME".

"Is that what you're doing in here, Miss Philips? Having a nice day?"

She's confused. Rightly so; you are too, but you're also in charge.

"Miss Philips, you're in here eating and chatting away while your colleagues are out there in the terminal protecting our fair city from outside threats. Your lunch break is over, and your shirt is still untucked and messy. You should be ashamed of yourself. I'm going to have to punish you for it, of course. We'll start by getting you out of this unkempt uniform, but I'll be punishing you for a little while, so don't think you're done there."

She steps out of her uniform without objecting to your absurd accusation. She places her navy pants and light blue shirt on the table, and you take in her body once more, this time her smooth brown skin and shapely curves barely covered by her white lace underwear.

"Take off your undies too, Philips." She dutifully strips and stands stark naked over her lace underpants. "Bend over the counter and show me that ass."

She turns, without a word, and puts her hands on the counter. It's like when you saw her ass while she was washing dishes, except better in every way. You walk up behind her sexy little body and dump your backpack's contents on the counter next to her.

"Okay, Philips, don't worry, your punishment is almost over." You cut open a bag of coke with your pocket knife and measure out a line on the counter in front of her. "Do this line, and take my dick from behind, and then you'll have learned your lesson I think."

Philips cries out "Why?! Why why why me, I've never even tried anything but weed before. I don't even...aaaaaiiiiiiiIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEE." She shrieks as you cram your dick into her from behind. She shuts up and snorts the line, smushing her face against the countertop as you ream her asshole and finger her pussy.

You smash her tight little body against the counter repeatedly, eliciting a staccato yelp from your victim with each thrust. She wipes her nose and shouts 'Fuck yeah GPM, punish my ass!' Even if she's not truly enjoying this ****, the coke seems to have kicked in...

You fuck the black beauty's butt for another 20 minutes before the tightness finally gets the best of you, and you explode inside of her.

"That all you got?! I could go all day!" The cocaine has Philips wired and begging for it. You're done though, you still have an agenda. You pick up her uniform and wonder to yourself how you can improve on it.

"Wow, you haven't learned your lesson at all have you, slut? For begging so shamelessly, for being so willing to fuck instead of doing your duty, we're going to alter your uniform a little bit." You're not sure if this will work, but it seems safe enough to try. "Your uniform will no longer have any pants all, your uniform's shirt will now be a tube top, and your badge's inscription will be altered to more accurately reflect your job. Instead of 'Airport Security Services Agent' it will now say 'A.S.S. Agent'.

She slumps a little bit at this declaration, and looks forlornly at her discarded uniform, as you pick up the shirt off the table. It's still a blue polyester button-down, only now it's a tiny fraction of the size it was before, with no sleeves, etc. It's got just one button right in the center and still enough hooks and velcro on the small space covering the right-hand tit to hold all the necessary badges and IDs. You find that not only has the inscription changed as you'd hoped beyond all reason it might, but the image in the center of the circular badge, which used to show a plane taking off, has morphed into the nude, brown-skinned legs and ass of a curvy woman bending over.

You toss ASS Agent Philips her new, regulation blue tube top with its single, illogical button, and walk out, feeling pretty satisfied.

You still need a ticket! The attendant at the Alaskan Fare counter is the hottest in the terminal, with her sleek black hair and a very shapely figure, but you end up punishing her to work topless for the day and moving on after you learn she can't sell you any direct flights to any good beaches.

You look through the wallets you took from Airport Security Services (A.S.S.) and find that the few hundred dollars you have is not going to cover a ticket to anywhere worth visiting. You also find several boarding passes that were likely never used, as they were confiscated from their travelers. You could punish some gate agent or A.S.S. agent to let you use someone else's ticket, but it feels risky; what if someone unrelated to the punishment finds out...can you get in trouble? Better to just punish your way to a legitimate ticket and not have to worry about ripple effects.

You look around the Terminal, realizing that after all this, the best way to get a ticket is probably still to have someone else buy it for you.

You spot a wealthy looking couple with light-colored linen clothes. Probably vacationers with a warm destination.

You also see a small group of 20-somethings weighing and checking what can only be surf-boards. They're headed to a beach and you can punish one of the them to buy you a ticket too.

You're trying to make up your mind, when the front doors of the West Terminal slide open and in come four young women wearing matching T-Shirts. In big white letters on grey fabric, the shirts say 'Beachelorette'.

There's a skinny, petite blonde with the sleeves cut off her shirt. There's a tall, curvy blonde with cutoff denim shorts and high-heeled sandals. There's a freckled brunette whose frayed and knotted shirt shows off a lot of her smooth stomach. And there's a short, curvy, dyed blonde with a boat neck cut out of her shirt so her bra strap shows on one shoulder.

You wonder what flight the Beachelorette party is on as you dream of the First Class service you're about to get.