<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8" standalone="yes"?><rss version="2.0" xmlns:atom="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" xmlns:content="http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/content/"><channel><title>MargaretB on Gromet's Plaza Archive</title><link>/authors/margaretb/</link><description>Recent content in MargaretB on Gromet's Plaza Archive</description><generator>Hugo</generator><language>en-us</language><lastBuildDate>Fri, 10 Jan 2003 00:00:00 +0000</lastBuildDate><atom:link href="/authors/margaretb/index.xml" rel="self" type="application/rss+xml"/><item><title>Flight Security</title><link>/stories/2003/01/10/flight-security/</link><pubDate>Fri, 10 Jan 2003 00:00:00 +0000</pubDate><guid>/stories/2003/01/10/flight-security/</guid><description>&lt;p&gt;8
8
Flight Security
by Margaret B
Suggested by lillian&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;That bitch is queer!  She enjoyed every second from seeing me take
off my shoes to using that light to look up my pussy.  This was the
first time I’ve flown since Master Rick put the rings in and I didn’t think. 
I just did not think that two small rings in my pussy lips hooked by a
mailbox lock would set off the metal detector.  Shit, was I wrong! 
As I stood in line, I realized the rings and lock might set off an alarm,
but I hoped panties, pantyhose, skirt, and holding my legs together would
be enough.  Being pulled out of line and going through the whole routine
with the wand was bad enough, but then I was taken by a female security
agent to a private room.  I felt like every eye was on me and I knew
where those eyes were looking, right at my crotch.  Another woman
sitting at a desk in the small, clean, and brightly lit room told me what
the law required and asked me to sign a form acknowledging my consent. 
“Please place all your belongings on the table and remove all your clothing”,
the statement was short, tactful, and embarrassing.&lt;/p&gt;</description></item><item><title>Open!</title><link>/stories/2003/01/10/open/</link><pubDate>Fri, 10 Jan 2003 00:00:00 +0000</pubDate><guid>/stories/2003/01/10/open/</guid><description>&lt;p&gt;8
8
Open!
by Margaret B&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;An appointment with the dentist is one of those modern engagements that
all of us dislike.  Even if we have a dentist we like, insurance that
covers most of the cost, and enjoy the feeling of a clean smile and good
dental health going to the dentist is never a pleasure.  Some people
have true phobias of the dental office or chair requiring behavioral analysis
and modification to allow the barest required treatment from even the kindest
professional.  Sitcoms make jokes about dentists and the fear of the
chair expressing our dislike of going before millions of people. 
Thus, a few years ago Kramer coined the discriminatory title “anti-dentite”
in an episode of what many people believe to be the best sitcom series
ever produced.  There are among us a class of people who will avoid
the dentist as long as possible while suffering and risking their health. 
This short story recaps a recent visit to the dentist’s chair with a little
extra pain and suffering.&lt;/p&gt;</description></item></channel></rss>