Sting to High Heaven
Carl is trying to be better, but an impudent teenaged Greyhound and her little dog, too, tests his patience. But not all is what it seems...
“Come on up," Carl grumbled, pressing the button so that the contraband scanner would spin around the disgruntled Shar Pei who was surely late for his flight. There was no best part of the job when you worked in Airport Security. Or so he'd thought.
Until the day he'd detained two stuck-up little ferals who didn't know their place. The pedigree Poodles had treated him like shit, struggled every inch of the way, and threatened to sue him. He'd made some pretty bad choices that day, but they were short-staffed like they always were, and he'd been able to cover it all up, thanks in no small part by the Poodles themselves.
Not even a complaint was filed. He'd done his due diligence in deleting the appropriate section of the security tapes, but no one even bothered to look into it. He'd finger-fucked the adult Poodle and let his drug-sniffing dog Boss get a piece of her tail, too, but she didn't want her husband to find out what happened. He'd gone even farther with the daughter, but he had the thirteen-year-old cumming on his cock, fully aware of her true position among the two-leggers in the world. She'd even thanked him on her way out the door.
Weeks had passed since then, and the large husky fell back into a boring routine of passing people through the gates, one by one, some of them being respectful, others terse, but every moment of every day he found himself thinking about that day. He honestly wondered if he was happier before that moment, when he'd never felt any amount of joy at all. Now every beep of the scanner was another reminder of the monotony of everyday life.
And then he saw them. They sparked his memory in a way that instantly had him getting horny. Glancing down at Boss, he could tell the dog's interest was piqued, too. A four-legged, white-and-black Greyhound bitch covering those large, black, cow-like splotches with far too much clothing leading a literal feral. Not unheard of, mind you, but most four-leggers didn't like to be reminded that they were only a few steps up from dumb dog, and without hands, it was often pretty tough to control those dumb dogs. The true feral was an Afghan Hound, like a long-furred Greyhound, a bit shorter than her handler. She was a cream brindle, with long, impeccably-groomed, white fur descending down her flanks, black highlights along her back, and a cute black muzzle on her otherwise cream-colored face. She was wearing nothing but a diaper, colored white to blend in with her excessively long fur. She practically looked like a model, like Isabelle had, only thensome. The grey Poodle had been quite the looker, but the way this dog's mane descended, perfectly straight down her head and along her long, floppy ears was like a wig, something you'd see in a magazine.
Not that Boss would care what she looked like.
He could already tell this young Greyhound was looking for trouble, and she and her little dog, too, were going to get some. “Please have your boarding pass and identification out as you approach the machine," Carl droned as the four-legged greyhound approached. She looked young, and her I.D. confirmed that - fifteen, the youngest age to fly outside of the unaccompanied minor program. Timpani Valens - Carl barely suppressed an eyeroll at the bizarre names some four-leggers chose for themselves. Her parents had likely taught Timpani to cherish her atavistic culture.
“And the dog?" he asked, glancing down at Timpani.
The greyhound reached into her neckpurse with her snout and managed to pull out the other ticket out - Harmony Valens. The dog had a more normal name than the child. Usually people transported their dogs in the belly of the plane, but seat tickets were allowed for a small extra fee. With an Afghan like Harmony, they probably didn't want to take any risks. “Thank you - step through," he said, waving them on.
He got the signal from the machine operator - unusual object detected. He'd expected it on Harmony, but he got the signal for both of them. Diapers usually triggered the system, and since ferals tended to use pads instead of tampons, he found himself inspecting far more feral bitches than he'd typically like. This time, however, he could barely restrain his excitement as he said, “Stand aside," to Timpani.
A short discussion with the technician, and it was confirmed - they were both flagged for diapers - Timpani was wearing one, too, under her baggy pants. Kneeling next to the two females, he addressed Timpani. “I'm going to need to pat you both down. It's probably nothing."
But the greyhound interrupted. “What for? What's wrong, officer?"
Carl followed the script. “The system flagged an unrecognizable item. Do I have consent to inspect your dog?"
She looked nervous. That was a big mistake. That was all he really needed to escalate this issue. She said, “N-no. I mean…can we just leave?"
Cocking his head, the black-and-white husky said, “You don't want to go on your plane flight?" This was additionally suspicious.
Gulping, Timpani said, “No, I do, but…yes, okay, you can search her."
With a small smile, Carl reached over to the dog. No wonder Timpani was nervous, the Afghan Hound seemed timid around strangers, and he was a fairly big husky. Gently, he ran his paws down her fur from her head through her flanks, the combed, straight fur long, white, and lucious. Of course, he was supposed to be investigating her diaper, but they always did a full pat down to make it more official. Over the rump, around the tail, and suddenly his paw was right on the dog's diaper. Harmony whimpered softly, ears flat, as his strong fingers searched for any sign of contraband inside her diaper.
He found only what he expected to find - a soft mound pushing at the cloth, the clear outline of the pet dog's spade. “Are you traveling to breed this one?" he asked conversationally to Timpani.
She looked shocked at the question. “Pleasure," she said, as if she'd rehearsed an answer to a different question.
“That doesn't really answer the question, now does it?" he laughed, squeezing the dog by the pussy until she was startled. “Now I've got to search you, too, Timpani."
Again, the greyhound looked upset, dehumanized, held to the side and basically fondled for the crime of wearing feminine hygiene products. But Carl was just following the TSA rulebook. She sighed and said, “Fine."
But she was tense - way too tense. His fingers cupped her armpits, ran down her blouse, her jacket, her baggy pants. He felt something - did ferals wear bras to support their freakish six-to-ten nipples? He ran his fingers across her flanks twice, confirming something hard. Could just be clothing - certainly not enough to ramp up the search process, especially since it hadn't been picked up by the scanner. “Stand, please," he added, and when she did, she got his paws tugging down her baggy pants, paws suddenly crawling over her diaper.
This time, he was surprised by the lack of something. A diaper on a four-legged almost always meant they were in heat. After all, he was pretty sure these primordial people could at least control their bowels. But Timpani wasn't. A brush and a rub of the right place made it clear that her fifteen-year-old pussy was flat as a lasagna noodle. Why wear the diaper, then? He had his suspicions. “Thank you," he said, getting up to talk to the technician.
He said all the right words to send this girl up the chain - she seemed nervous, she suggested leaving the airport, she almost refused to have her dog patted down, and some uncertainties with the pat down. None of these was really enough on their own, or even together, especially to escalate the situation with a fifteen-year-old girl. But the technician didn't know that, and Carl was the head of security. With an agreeable nod from the tech, he returned to the two females and said, “If you could come this way, ma'am, I have a few questions for you."
“What? Why?" Timpani asked, glancing left and right. “We did everything you asked."
Carl glanced around. “Do you want to make a scene here? We're just going to the security terminal right over there for a few follow-up questions."
“Fine," the spotted Greyhound finally agreed, leading Harmony by a leash attached to her own leash. Every hair on the husky's body was standing on end now, his heart pounding, but he had to keep acting like everything was normal for the cameras. He may have access to the security terminal's video recording, but he couldn't so easily delete footage of the airport itself.
[The rest of this story is freely available on my Discord for free and up subscribers here: https://subscribestar.adult/thakur]