Tied Up At Customs

Casey’s got that look that says somebody’s about to get spanked with paperwork. The two guards stand at attention while their boss taps a seized box—apparently stuffed with enough rubber to bounce a truckload of luggage through. Turns out the parcel wasn’t so innocent after all. First order of business: every stitch of uniform hits the floor. Brunette Victoria’s out of her shirt, blonde Nicole follows, and the assets underneath jiggle with the kind of natural bounce customs regulations don’t usually cover. Nipples tighten in the air-conditioned depot. Casey points at the table. Victoria’s up first. Wrists bound, ankles spread, belly up on cold steel. Nicole gets handed the biggest toy from the pile and told to “make it count.” She works the slick head between Victoria’s thighs while Casey leans in, lips at her ear, correcting her rhythm like a driving instructor. Each thrust sends Victoria’s breath out in sharp little punches. When Casey’s satisfied, they swap. Nicole’s wrists looped, legs hooked wide. Victoria’s turn to play executioner, pushing a thick wand into her blonde coworker until Nicole’s back arches clean off the table. Casey’s hand stays busy too—fingers inside, thumb circling, making sure neither slacks. Every time one guard moans, Casey’s smirk says “that’s right, earn it.” Tits pressed, sweat shining, the two blondes and brunette tumble through the pile—switching positions, switching toys, Casey rotating between them like a conductor who actually enjoys overtime. By the time the last toy thumps into the box again, the only thing left to declare is the mess on the table.