After the scan, Michael is handed his clothes back and rather roughly sent on his way in the direction of the departure lounge, and the queue begins to move again. You watch his blue backside dissapear round a corner out of sight. As you step through the scanners yourself, you overhear the guards laughing to themselves about that "disgusting old pervert" and about the things they wouldn't mind doing to that new body of his.
You pass security without incident, and find your dad in the departure lounge pulling his clothes back on. Your eyes wander briefly over the flawless, sapphire swell of his buttocks before he pulls his boxers up over them and turns at your approach, your eyes snapping up to his just in time. His cheeks are burning a deep, navy blue of shame. "Can you believe that? I've never been more embarrassed in my life," he snaps. "The nerve of those people." He pulls on his shirt, which is now far too big for him, unhurriedly buttoning it up over his gorgeous tits and dark, navy blue nipples.
You find it hard to hide your amusement. "If you're expecting sympathy, you won't get it from me.That suit was meant for me, wasn't it?" you accuse.
"Well... yes," he admits, cracking a guilty grin. "Thought it'd help us win the competition, you know? Something to catch the audiences attention. It was made to your measurements - that's why I can hardly breath in here," he winces. "Should be a better fit on you."
If he thinks you're putting that on, especially after he's been wearing it and sweating in it for a lengthy plane ride, he's got another thing coming. You're about to voice your objection when the tanoy dings. The flight to San Diego...
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