Once my pants got below my crotch, he pushed his swivel chair back and let my pants drop to the ground. He smiled and looked up at me.“My my my, Ma...ty, what do we have here, or should I say Mrs. Fisher?” he asked.I stood there with my pants around my ankles wearing a pair of sheer, French-cut bikini panties that I had stolen out of my wife’s dresser. They were pale pink in color with a tiny pink bow in the center of the waistband. They cradled my small package nicely and made me feel girly. Travelling light this time only carried my spinning outfit with artificial lures rather than carry a heavy bucket for live minnows, tackle box, metal stringer and lunch box with me. It only took forty minutes to make the walk to my favourite spot, snap a spoon on to my line and start casting out thirty or forty yards then retrieve the spoon hoping its spinning flashing movements might tempt a fish. The only thing it hooked after a few minutes was underwater weeds which I had to pull,off the. ’ ‘You’re right, we haven’t. But we’re going back to the woods to look there again. This time, we’re doing a helicopter search first, with some fancy instrument that can detect very faint amounts of radiation. For some reason, the FBI is hot for the scenario where both Hatfield and McCoy were buried out there, and we stumbled onto the wrong one. So if they can detect anything from the air, we’ll dig where they say the radiation’s coming from and maybe we can put this whole thing behind us. It’s. ‘Do you like the way your wife’s smelly panties stretch my tights?’ I said, feeling my arse. ‘It’s so tight! Look at how the light catches the sheen!’ I looked over my shoulder and sighed. Boston smoothed his hands over my shiny bulges and admired them in awe. His cock was rock, rock hard. I placed my arse carefully on his face and felt him sniff and kiss my bulging pantyhose through his stocking mask. His compressed nose was nestled right amongst my smelly compressed bulges. I gently bobbed.