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Border Control

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Be aware of what you declare.

Now what? First things first, I fished my bra through the arm of my tee. I don’t need one anyway, mostly, and I do my best thinking when I can get rid of it. I tossed it over my shoulder like a wedding bouquet and spun to see where it landed, which was next to the pretty black one I was looking for last Saturday night. Hey, the day was looking up already! 

We had all gotten the text this morning that the plant was shutting down for a week and all of the hourly workers were furloughed. What, they didn’t know this on Friday? And couldn’t have told us then? Ugh! I looked at myself in the mirrored closet door and ran my fingers through my freshly-cut hair. I didn’t even get the chance to show off my new ‘do. So, now what? 

“Road trip!” popped into my mind. The weather was warm even for early June. I could be on the Canadian side of Niagara Falls between an hour and a half and three hours, depending on the border traffic. And since I was mostly broke and I was about to lose a week’s pay, of course hitting the casino was a perfectly logical thing to do. 

I stripped off my tee and jeans and tossed them next to my bra (so I’d know where to find it). I unearthed my yellow backless maxi dress with a halter top, the new one with the marked-down price tag still on it. I pulled off the tag with my teeth, thankful that I didn’t put a hole in the dress this time.  

I upgraded my makeup from ‘going out to toil’ to ‘going out.’ Then I wiped it all off except my mascara. Fuck it, I’m cute as a button, especially with the new pixie cut. I dug through my shoes and found my flat white walkin’ sandals. I vowed to put the other shoes away when I got home. I had gas in the tank, big ol’ oversized sunglasses on the top of my head, and I probably moved everything I’d need from my real purse to my tiny travel crossbody one. I set up my GPS so I didn’t end up in Erie, stuck my E-zpass to the windshield, tuned to a radio station that would fade out half-way there, and hit the road. 

-==- 

Twenty-six and single. The problem with driving alone is your brain goes out looking for things to think about. For instance, I would have thought more highly of my brain if it had remembered to bring my phone. No, instead it said, “Hey! Remember why Brian your boyfriend of two years dumped you?” 

“Yes,” I answered. “Let’s not go there, please.” 

“He said your tits were too small. Remember?” 

“These are perfectly fine tits thank you very much and, and, and they deserve a LOT better than you slobbering on them!” That’s what I should have said. Instead, I said “OK” and got my hair cut. I looked at myself in the rearview mirror. I liked my new hair. And I hoped Brian’s new girlfriend’s tits hit her knees by time she’s thirty. I would accept thirty-five. 

-==- 

The crossing time wasn’t bad at all and I altogether enjoyed walking along the Falls. The girls poked against the damp fabric of my dress but settled back when I wandered just a few yards away into the sunshine. They got chilled again when I strayed back into the mist, and went back into hiding in the sun. I giggled to myself as I zig-zagged in and out of the sun; off, on, off, on. 

On. On. On. I gave one a poke before I remembered I was in public. They were stuck on ‘on.’ Apparently we were all having too much fun, so I decided to go gamble.

The only gambling I do is play the slot machines. I’m sure there are people there that would be only too happy to show me more ways to lose my money, but I never asked. I figured out pretty quickly that all the stares I was getting was because I was the only person there under seventy. The bartender noticed the difference as well when he rejected my polite request for a rum and coke. “Nice try,” he said at first. “Is this your big sister’s ID?” My license picture of course was me with my long hair. 

“Really?” I replied, “You think I look younger? I thought this cut made me look more mature. I changed the color too. See how much lighter it is in my picture?” I lifted it in front of his face, then flipped it over to look myself. “Well, you can’t tell but my hair was just, you know, blah brown. I had her give me a darker color when she cut it, but then she said do you want highlights and I said ooh, I hadn’t thought of that and so she did that too. I got it cut because my boyfriend just broke up with me. Do you think I overreacted?” 

I thrust my chest forward and tipped my head to one side just a little and kittenishly smiled. Blink blink. I glanced down quickly and confirmed that there were no nips to be seen. C’mon, bitches, now’s not the time to let me down! The joke was on them because I got my fucking rum and coke anyway. 

The day kept getting better because I walked out of the casino with ten whole dollars extra. I flipped my sunglasses off my head and walked up and down Clifton Hill looking for touristy ways to spend my riches. I ended up getting a t-shirt, a sweat shirt and a cork screw to replace the one I couldn’t find. I bet Brian probably stole it. I also found a pair of panties that had, “Maid of the Mist” written on the crotch. I giggled at that because, well, because, and I dug through the pile to find my size, XS, don’t judge me, it’s small but nicely rounded, thank you. I found two pairs (only a dollar, imagine that!) and that ended my shopping spree. 

-==- 

I carried my loot way over to the cheap parking lot and headed for home. The line at the border was about as long as I expected. I kicked off my sandals and inched steadily to the U S of A. I slid my sandals back on when it was my turn and showed them my ID. 

“Anything to declare?” 

“Yes,” I said, patting the bag on the passenger seat. 

“How many items?” 

“Four.” 

“Could I see a receipt?” I handed him my receipt. “It says you bought five items.” 

I counted things up in my head and I said, politely, no, one sweat shirt, one t-shirt, some panties and a cork screw. 

“But you bought two pairs of panties. That makes five.” 

“Yeah, but they’re the same so I counted them as one.” 

“Pull over to that empty spot please.” I tried not to roll my eyes but I know I did. I chatted with the next officer or whatever and they took my bag and escorted me inside. Ugh! I said that out loud and meant every syllable. 

I waited fifteen minutes or so before an officer or agent or whatever came in with my bag. She dumped everything on the table in front of us. Now, you know me, I’m not any kind of fashion expert regarding proper uniforms for crossing guards, but hers seemed a little off to me. 

For one thing, her coat was severely cinched at the waist, like if you could make a uniform out of a corset, it would be that. For another, she wasn’t wearing a shirt. Instead her bosoms were pushed waayy up, and they were huge. I mean, I could have reached down there to my elbow and pulled out five, maybe six pairs of lost sunglasses. The seventh pair was on her face. Inside a room with no windows. Her trouser legs were tucked inside her glossy black thigh-high boots. 

Aaaand she had a riding crop on her belt. 

I felt like I was getting punked and looked around for a hidden camera, except there was only the one BIG camera and it was pointed right at me and there was a big red light on it that blinked, “You’re. Fucked. You’re. Fucked.” 

“Do you know why you’re here?” 

“Yes, ma’am. It’s because I missed that episode of Sesame Street that explained the difference between four and five.”  I thrust my chest forward and tipped my head to one side just a little and kittenishly smiled. Blink blink. It didn’t work. Must have been because she couldn’t see me properly through those glasses ‘cause I’m cute as a button. 

With one smooth motion she swung that crop off her belt and slammed it on the table. I jumped. You would have too, don’t judge me. 

“You don’t seem to understand the severity of the situation you’re in,” she snarled. 

“Oh, OK, I get it now. Could I please pay my fine and leave?” 

“NO!” she shouted, the crop again snapping across the table. “We take international trade very seriously here at the border! Everyone MUST learn that lesson!” 

I was getting scared. I glanced up at the camera and back down at my loot. “Yes ma’am, I’ve learned my lesson.” I didn’t look her in the eye. 

“Excellent. I believe you have. Now you have a choice to make.” 

Gulp. 

“We can detain you, confiscate, impound, you know, things like that, things nobody here really wants. Or.” 

Gulp. 

“Or I can give you a sound spanking.” 

Gu-. Wait. What? 

“Wait. What?” I said. 

“It’s the better solution, really. No paperwork. No Permanent Record. How far away do you live?” I told her. “Well, that’s not so long to sit on a sore bottom now is it?” 

I said I suppose not. 

She said, “Eh-xcellent.” She had me stand and place my palms on the table. “You’re wearing a very pretty dress. It’s so much easier when they wear a dress.” She flipped the hem of my dress up onto my back. “And such sensible panties! You can imagine how slutty some of the girls are who come through here.” I told her I’d rather not. 

“Take them off.” 

“Wait. What?” 

“I’m not allowed to remove them myself you understand. Just slide them down, you may keep them around an ankle if you prefer.” I did as she asked and reassumed the position. 

“Such a pretty little tush you have. So tiny! No risk of anything smuggled there, eh?” 

That did it. “It is NOT too tiny and it’s perfectly round, thank-you very much, and I could hide PLENTY in there if I wanted!” 

“Did you? Do we need a cavity search?” 

Uh oh. “No. No, of course not. Much too small for that. Forget I said anything.” I re-reassumed the position. 

“Very well. Let’s get this started then.” THWACK. 

That stung, I won’t lie. She obviously didn’t put everything she had into it, though. I stopped myself from joking ‘thank-you ma’am may I have another’ because I didn’t think she needed the encouragement. 

“I meant it, that really is a pretty dress you’re wearing. Is it new?” THWACK. 

She got the other cheek that time. “New last season. I got it on clearance.” Still not too bad. Almost fun. 

“Cute haircut.” THWACK. 

I stood up touching my hair. “Thank-you! I just got ….” 

“PALMS ON THE TABLE!” THWACK. THWACK. 

I quickly complied. The stinging wasn’t going away, but it wasn’t entirely unpleasant either. I felt the girls brushing against the halter. I checked quickly, but not quick enough. THWACK. 

“Hands on the table!” THWACK. 

Yup, they were a little stiff. I resolved to have a chat with them about when they choose to show up. Although, they kind of forced me to admit that I kind of liked this. Maybe. A little. 

THWACK. “Do you have a boyfriend?” THWACK. 

Not any more, I told her. “Shame.” THWACK. “Tits too small?” 

I almost took the bait. “Eh.” 

THWACK. “Men can be such unappreciative assholes.” THWACK. 

The stinging persisted and creeped around the front, pretending to be tingling. 

“Uh huh.” I wasn’t much interested in conversation any more. 

THWACK. 

Thank you ma’am may I have another. I didn’t say it out loud but the bitch knew I was thinking it. 

THWACK. 

The girls and my lady parts were conspiring, talking behind my back about what was going on behind my back. Was that sweat rolling down my thigh? I reached down. 

“Hands on the table!” THWACK. 

Dammit. I had just enough time to confirm that my cute button was competing with the nips for size and shape. I didn’t care who won, I just wanted to cross the finish line. 

THWACK. 

I wanted to thank my pussy for her vain attempts at putting out the fires burning across my ass, but couldn’t take my hands off the table. 

THWACK. 

Kegels, don’t fail me now. I squeezed every muscle down there I could find. So. Close. 

“I think we’re about done here,” she stated simply. SUPER-THWACK! 

Oh, yeah, we were done, that was it. The Kegels were push, push, pushing my vagina inside out up to my throat. They finally relaxed and I didn’t moan. I swear I didn’t moan. 

“Sounds like you understand now, no?” She put the crop on her belt and handed me a box of tissues. “You may collect your things and go.” With that, she left. 

-==- 

I was about fifteen minutes away from the border, fidgeting on my seat. My panties were in my loot bag. The more I thought about it, the more I convinced myself that that wasn’t normal. I’m an adult, dammit. That’s what I should have said. I should have insisted that I not be treated like an errant child, whatever ‘errant’ means. That’s what I should have done! So I made what was probably an illegal U-turn and crossed back into our neighbor to the north. I bought more shit that I couldn’t afford and got back in line to go home. 

It was a different guy this time and this time I lied and told them I had six items when there were really seven. He said thank-you and have a nice day. 

“Ha!” I said. “I told you six, but I have seven items. SEVEN. So what are you going to do about it, bitch?"

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