TSAnal immigration Torment

Casey Calvert doesn’t blink when the order hits. She pulls Cheyenne and Charlotte off the line and shoves them into a holding room with one table, one chair, and no exit. "Assume the position," she orders. They bend. Their asses are open already, red and twitching from the trip. She makes them bury their faces in each other, tongues sliding deep into warm, stretched holes. The wet sounds fill the room. Cheyenne is next. Casey lines up the long black slink and feeds it in without mercy, inch after inch until the whole length disappears inside her gut. The skin around the plug stretches tight, then smooths as the toy sinks lower. Charlotte gets the chair next. Rope bites into her wrists and ankles. Casey works her fist past the ring, knuckles popping inside, then pulls out and slams back in until Charlotte’s hole hangs open, dark and pulsing. She adds fingers, then the whole hand again, forcing the gape wider every time she withdraws. Spit and lube run down Charlotte’s thighs while Cheyenne watches, still full, breathing hard.