A lock and a soft place

Though the town was apparently designed by a drunken belly dancer after a long night out frolicking (not far from the truth) you eventually navigate successfully and find your bearings. Recognizing your surroundings you find an important detail to reunite with your beloved crew. The pier which your ship was docked sans your steadfast ladies the vessel laid before you. You are able to retrace your unsteady steps back to the customs office witnessing even further sexual antics as the sun slowly set and the sailors got off (literally). The port though more deserted than in the day is considerably more risque. The frenzied antics of the dock women during the searing heat of day seemed to only reflect how intense the revelry raged through the moonlit night. Many of these built amazons indulging in drink and lust hastily fondling multiple dainty concubines in dim alleys and back streets. Sometimes groups of 4 or more all mating frantically as if driven insane with the desire to be throughly bred by the impressive strength of the toned beauties howling in pleasure with every orgasm. The customs building was of unique architecture and design with elaborate curves in the structure as well as an intricate artisianship befit of any ornate temple back home. A sequential series of carvings depicting numerous sapphic acts displayed in prominence as a variable karma sutra of lesbian passion. The front entrance appeared locked despite the bawdy moans and yells from within. She was sure she could make out the distinctive moans of her most trusted crew.(she knew those moans very well) As well as the unfamiliar guttural groans of numerous customs enforcers happy to grind their crotches into the nearest pretty face and cover them with another load of girl cream.