Crushing Convictions Part I

They took the bank last week and left the town still shaking. I was handed the case the next morning. Review the tape once and I’ve got them: two masked girls with tight jeans hugging their asses and automatic pistols in their hands. Charlotte Sartre and Leigh Raven. Dumb enough to post the whole thing online while the money was still warm. Five minutes on their feeds and their pretty little faces were on my screen. Now they’re in the station. Cuffed. Pushed face-down over my desk. Skirts hiked, panties yanked aside, their cunts already slick from the cuffs biting into their wrists. I don’t ask questions first. I cane the soft undersides of their asses until the skin flares red and the desk rattles. Every strike makes them twitch and drip. Leigh tries to bite her lip; Charlotte swears through her teeth. Neither one stays quiet for long. I edge them slow, fingers working their clits in tight circles until they’re grinding back against my hand and begging to come. Not yet. I want words. I want every detail of the robbery spilling out between gasps while their holes clench on nothing. When the cane lands again they choke on their own moans. Their thighs shake. Sweat runs down the small of their backs and pools above the cuffs. Only when they’re babbling every step of the heist do I give them what they’ve been chasing. I bury my cock in one, then the other, switching whenever their breathing tells me they’re close. They’re soaked, swollen, and still cuffed. I fill both of them, one after the other, cum leaking down their thighs while the cane rests across their backs like a promise. They’re not walking out of here until the file’s complete and their legs won’t hold them up.