I found myself in the customs line, still walking a little bowlegged from the buttplug and with my cock still tenting up in my pants. I kept my erection covered with my carry-on bad and wheeled my suitcase behind me. I was next in line. "Please step forward." She looked at me hard through her steel-rimmed glasses as I stood in front of her counter. "Anything to declare?"

Oh shit, the magazines. What the hell am I gonna do? "N-n-no, nothing", I said a little too slowly.

"Bags on the counter." I held the carry-on still, not wanting to display myself.

"All bags", came the quiet command. My carry-on followed and I could swear she was staring right at my crotch. I started sweating a little, but looked away, trying to remain calm. Her delicate but obviously strong hands started going through the suitcase, searching thoroughly. Then she opened the carry-on and I knew I was fucked. Out came the paper bag containing the magazines and then out came the mags themselves. Her efficient hands stopped. She looked right at me. I tried to look away, but her eyes commanded my attention. She started to flip through uncensored pictures of women spanking men, men trussed up in tight leather with hoods, girls peeing on men's faces, dominas with tight smiles buggering men with strap-ons, pausing at the more heinous offenses to her moral code. I was mortified.

Never in my life had I felt so small or wanted to flee so badly. The vibrator in my ass started to feel like a jackhammer. The customs officer finished flipping through the magazines, I started to try to explain, "I didn't..."

"Quiet", she cut me off, "You are in possession of numerous pornographic materials that violate my country's censorship laws." Her voice was quiet, melodic, and completely in control. "Follow me." With that she flipped down a barrier behind me and stepped out of her booth, nodding at two customs officers who were standing about thirty yards away. Not knowing what to do exactly, I picked up my bags and followed her down a narrow hallway, with the two additional officers trailing behind. She opened a door to a small room and motioned me in; the two escorts turned to go back to their stations.

I walked in, put my bags down and waited while she locked the door and marched to the other side of the room, seating herself behind a desk. She motioned to the chair in front of her. I sat down with a sharp inhale as the buttplug jammed deep into my ass. What a mess. I looked around the interrogation room- the long desk, two chairs, a waist high padded table, and a small porcelain sink in the corner. "It is not often that we deal with foreign pornographers- our country has many forms of this garbage, but their product is of a censored variety." Her English was clipped, precise, slightly inflected.

"I am not a pornographer..." A hand movement silenced my explanation.

"You have imported at least ten examples of items that violate very strict laws of my country. This is a serious offense." I stayed quiet. "Passport, please." I handed her my passport. She flipped through the country stamps and simply said, "Good, Mr. Baum. Now let us see what other items you have in your possession. Stand up and strip."

The whole situation was going to go from bad to worse. There was no way to explain away the women's panties or the vibrating buttplug. I sat there weighing the consequences. "There are two ways we do this- you cooperate or I get those two officers in here to help you cooperate". The moment of truth - strip in front of this woman alone or in the presence of two more uniformed, armed guards. Christ. I stood. I first slid my shoes off and put them on the desk where she motioned them to be placed. I then took my jacket and shirt off and put them down to be examined by my captor. And I froze. She looked sharply at me, removed her visored cap and her glasses and shook her long hair down. I then realized how gorgeous she was and how her beauty made this moment even more poignant and horrifying. She smiled a thin smile. A cruel smile. An expression of absolute control, not humor. "I will ask you once more and then the pleasantries will cease. My colleagues are not possessed of the same, how do you say, tolerance, as I am. Your pants."

I unbuckled my trousers and slid them slowly down, dying inside as I revealed the sheer panties. Silence reigned. She stared at me, "Well, well. I must say that I am surprised." I turned red. "Nice underwear. Aren't those women's panties?" I couldn't look up for I knew it was going to get worse before it got better.

My erection stood even taller, despite or maybe because of my humiliation. "What is that sound?" My pants had been dampening the vibrations of the buttplug, which was now buzzing freely, seeming to fill the quiet room with noise.

There was nothing in this world that I could say to ease my mortification or lessen my sense of guilt. "Hmmm? What is that sound?" Silence, working through any explanation that would seem plausible. "Well, I have no more patience for you. I will get the others." She stood up.

"No, please," I begged, "I can explain."

"Really?"

"I met a woman on the plane and she forced me to do things and then put this machine in my bottom." How much more lame an answer could I come up with?

"Machine? Really- let me see." She stepped out from behind the desk and pushed me over the padded table. "Hands on the table", she commanded. Quickly and efficiently did I find my hands attached to the other end of the table with leather cuffs that she obviously had ready. My upper body was stretched across this padded table in sheer white panties, hard cock pressing against the vinyl padding, buttplug vibrating away, trembling, wondering what the hell was going to happen next. I didn't have to wait long. The customs officer took a knife and cut through the knots on the panties, dropping them to the floor. And started to laugh. "Oh my- look at 'the machine' in your butt. Are you gay? Is that why you have a buttplug in your ass and you're wearing panties like a little girl?"

Pushed to my limit by this terrifying situation I started to tear up, quiet. "Are you going to cry little girl?" My chest started to heave with sobs- the tension was too much for me. "Be quiet- your tears are annoying me." For the life of me I couldn't stop- I was so worked up-aroused, scared, humiliated, excited, terrified - the contrasting emotions just broke a dam within me. "If you're not going to be quiet, I will shut you up." With that my tormentor took the panties, a little sticky from my precum and stiff with Junko's juices and held them in front of my face, dangling them.

"Open wide." I couldn't. Not like this. She held my nose and since I was still weeping a little my mouth flew open, gasping for air. But instead of air I got a mouthful of panties. She pushed them in deep, filling my throat.

"Don't spit them out or you will be sorry." I knew my place, sobbing through the sheer fragrant material. Behind me I could hear her slide her shoes off and then her nylons. She wrapped her nylons around my mouth and tied them into place. "There. That will keep you quiet". She stepped in close and I could feel the brass buttons of her uniform pressing against my bare skin.

She started stroking my hair and whispered, "Now you will please me. Or I will throw you in jail to be fucked in the ass by a gang of African drug smugglers until they deport you." I could only jerk against my bonds, realizing the precariousness of my situation. "You will do everything I ask, no hesitations, won't you?" I nodded, my eyes filled with tears. "Good. Now let me see this 'machine'". With no further warning, she yanked the buttplug out of my ass. I felt this gaping hole and cool air rush around the void. I could hear her turn, drop the plug into a trash can and then open a drawer. She moved around for a bit and I couldn't make out what she was doing. The next sound I heard was the snap of a rubber glove.

"I just want you to relax." She stood next to the table in front of me, my eyes wide with uncertainty. Her uniform jacket was now off and she was standing in her heels, no skirt, only tight black pvc panties. Her blouse was tied at her waist, unbuttoned to reveal her cleavage, nipples taut through the material. One hand was covered by a long dark green examination glove. Her other hand was squeezing lube from a tube all over the glove. "You might be carrying other contraband. I have to give you a", brief smile, "cavity search."

She moved behind me and quickly slid a finger in. My ass took it easily- the stretching it suffered from the buttplug served me well. Another finger followed. And a third. I whimpered. "Don't tell me that's too much for a big girl like you," she cooed. She rotated her wrist around, coating the inside of my rectum with the lube, stretching out my sphincter. Her hand started to move back and forth and the waves of pleasure began. "You like it, don't you?" No response from me. A quick deep stab into my ass, "Don't you?" I nodded. "I knew you would. "Cause my friend told me about you." With that the door swung open and there was no doubt as to who it was.

To be continued...

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