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Standing there, waiting in the immigration and customs line, of the airport in Muscat. It was my first trip overseas, which my parents had given me as a present, for graduating year 12. Flying via Oman to Istanbul, I was so excited about my trip, too bad I had to have a one night stop over here. I suppose it is a nice place, but I didn’t go on my trip to see Oman, I think to myself. During my daydreaming, I noticed a customs officer, staring at me, looking me up and down. I blush instantly and I think he notices my embarrassment.
I was wearing a pair of sandals, a short ruffle skirt, and a tight halter neck plain white singlet. The temperature in the hall was warm, and I was starting to sweat, causing the singlet to cling to my body. All of a sudden, the customs office walks over to me. He doesn’t look like a standard customs officer, but appears to be a senior officer. Standing close to me, he looks at my bags,
“Please, madam can you come with me, you have been selected at random to have your bags checked” He says, in a polite tone.
Nervously, I nod, not knowing if this is serious, trying to remember if I packed anything that could be illegal, and not really knowing Omani local laws. I pick up my bags and follow him to a table off to the side of the customs line.
“Can you please place your bags on the table, and open them” He directs, politely, as he places on some rubber gloves, “this should only take a few minutes, if everything is in order”.
I pick up my bags, and place them on the table, slowly leaning over, accidentally giving him a good view down my single, of my bra covered breasts.
He delves into one of my bags, picking up items, my personal items, “did you pack your own bags, miss?” he asks.
“Um…..yes”, I reply, my voice shaky.
“What is your name” he says in a commanding voice.
“Ni…Ni…Nicole” I stutter, showing how nervous I am.
Delving through my bag, he picks up some of my frilly, pink panties, thongs, and lacy bras. I see a little smile from the corner of his face, as I blush hard. This total stranger is holding my underwear for everyone in the hall to see. I just want to die.
He looks up at me, a G-string in his hand, “you know that there is a death penalty, for trafficking drugs in Oman, with no appeals”. As he looking at me, I look at him, worrying, getting startled for a moment. As we are staring at each other, without me noticing it, he lets a plastic bag fall from under his sleeve, covering it with my clothes.
“But you have nothing to hide, do you?” he asks.
“No”, I reply, the fear obvious in my voice.
He continues to search through my bag, and pauses, looking up from my bag, and looking around, signals to a guard. Suddenly, I get nervous as two large guards walk over to the table. The office talks to them, in their native language, and then turns to me. “I believe we have a problem,” he says, holding up a 2 small bags, one holding pills, one holding a sugar like substance. The guards walk around to my side, grabbing my arms, and roughly handcuff my hands behind my back.
“What let me go, ooowwww!” I cry out. As one guard leads me to a room, and the other guard collects my stuff. The room is plain, with a table, and a couple of chairs. The guard pushes me into the corner of the room, I try to protest, but he doesn’t reply. Leaving me there, locking the door behind. I move to one of the chairs and sit down.
Time passes, and I wonder what is going to happen to me. I have never used drugs, I have never even seen drugs before, or known anyone who uses them. I can’t believe it, they must be wrong. It seems like an eternity, but the officer, who searched my bag, enters the room. Walking to me, roughly he pulls me up, until I am standing in front of him. My hands cuffed behind my back, pushing my breasts out, and making me look submissive, with the posture I am forced into.
He looks down on me, and stares down my top. “We need to perform a strip search, to ensure you don’t have any other contraband. You can either willingly submit to it here, with just me in the room, or I can call in a few guards, and they will strip you. But I suggest if you want some privacy, you will not cause any problems”. He says, looking at me.
I look at him, not believing all that he has said, “what, you….but. What about a female officer to do that?” I reply.
“So, you don’t want to do it willingly?” He says, as he heads towards the door, with the intention of calling in guards, “Im sure the guards will enjoy this show you are about to put on”. Pausing, as he is about to open the door, I suddenly get these images, of 10 guards in the room, holding me, ripping my clothes off, all staring at my body, my privates, and it sends a shiver down my spine.
“No, please…I’ll, ok” I say.
He switches the lights on, sending a few spot lights onto my body, and walks over to the table and opens the draw, and pulling out a digital camera, snaps a picture, without warning. He had just taken a picture, of me with my hands cuffed behind my back.
“What?” I cry out, unable to stop him.
“We need to document everything for evidence. If you have drugs hidden on your body, I need pictures as proof.” He says, as he walks over to me, undoes my handcuffs, and steps back waiting for me to strip.
“You, can’t be expecting to take pictures of me…….NAKED!!,” I protest,
“This is Oman and I am the officer in charge of the Muscat customs branch, this is not Australia. The more difficult you make this; the worse it will be for you. If you do not immediately remove your singlet, and give it to me, I will call in a few guards, and they will do it for me. Do you understand?” He says sternly.
Slowly, I nod as I look at the ground. I reach up undoing my singlet halter straps. He takes a picture.
“But, this is not fair. Please” I say as he glares at me.
“NOW” He shouts, causing me to jump.
He holds out a plastic evidence bag, for me to put my top in. My hands shake, as I quickly remove my top, and place it in the bag. He seals the bag, steps back, and takes another picture, this time of my exposed breasts.
“The skirt now” he orders, as he pulls out another bag.
I take a deep breath, as I slide my thumbs into the waist band of my skirt. Realising that, all of a sudden, I am standing here, nearly naked, in front of a strange man from a different country, and he is taking pictures, of my nearly naked body. Slowly, I slide my skirt over my hips and down past my panties, revealing my pink, slightly frilly boy shorts. He takes more pictures, rapidly, taking shot after shot of me removing my skirt, my free breasts dangling in the air as I bend over to step out of my skirt. He holds up the bag, and I drop the skirt into the bag, and he closes it. I glance towards his crotch, realising he has a bulge in his pants, and quickly look away, not wanting to believe it.
“Remove your panties now, I want to see your western pussy” He sternly orders, scaring me with how his attitude is changing, as I strip. I stand there, not wanting to do it, not wanting to loose all dignity, but also scared to protest. He is sitting back; looking my body up and down, staring at my long legs, and my nice, round breasts, my nipples slowly hardening, causing me to blush even more. He holds out a bag, with a stern look on his face, showing no mercy.
Slowly, unable to look at his face, I instead look at his feet, and slide my panties down my thighs, revealing my pussy, and it’s short regrowth of hair around my pussy, and a longer v of hair above my slit. I continue to slide my panties down, as he continues to take pictures of me, bent over, slipping my panties over my high heels. Stepping out of my panties, I stand up; my legs close together, as he motions for me to place my panties in the bag. My hands are shaking and my face is bright red, as I think that it cannot get any worse, as I drop my panties in the bag.
He steps back, asks me to look in the camera, and takes a picture. I look at the camera, glaring at him, as he takes more pictures. “Spread your legs” he sternly orders.
“Spread? But why” I say, my voice shaking. I am scared of been sexually violated, knowing that there is no one that I can complain to.
“Now!” he orders, “I will not ask again”. Slowly, I shuffle my legs apart, still wearing my platform high heels. “Further” He orders, as I spread further, my feet nearly one metre apart. He pulls out a rubber glove, puts it on, as he explains, “I need to check to see if you have any hidden contraband inside your orifices. If I experience any resistance, on your behalf, I will call in the guards, to ‘scrutinize’ you”.
This sends a shiver down my spine, not really understanding exactly what he means, but not wanting to find out. “Also place your hands behind your head” he orders.
I feel so vulnerable right now, standing there, naked, my legs spread wide, giving him a good view of my pussy, hands behind my head, pushing my breasts out, as a man, a Omani stranger walks over to me, about to examine my most private areas. He snaps another picture of me, standing there in that humiliating position. He bends down, sitting in front of me, shuffling closer to my open legs; he reaches up, spreading my lips, revealing my clit, and my hole.
He takes a picture of my spread pussy, causing me to growl, angrily. I start to imagine what might happen to these pictures. What happens, if somehow they are leaked onto the internet? All of a sudden, I am brought back to reality, as the officer slaps my pussy hard, with his whole hand, causing me to shriek in pain. “OOhhh”, I moan out causing my legs to buckle. I look down at him, with a shocked look on my face.
“What was, that was…..why?” I ask, shocked, and about to cry as my pussy throbs, shocked at what he just did.
“Do you want me to call in the guards” he replies, and continues to run his fingers up and down my slit. I start to get a tingle between my legs, trying to ignore it, as he slides his index finger inside me.
I let out a little moan, hating the invasion of my pussy by this complete stranger, his legs crossed between my feet, stopping me from closing my legs.
“You are quite wet, and warm here, miss. Are you enjoying this?” He says, chuckling. I don’t reply, but blush profusely, as he puts another finger inside me, pushing his two fingers to the knuckle, probing me. I hate this, wanting for it to be all over, wishing it was all a bad dream. He snaps more pictures, of his fingers buried in my pussy. He slowly slides them out, as they glisten, and stands up, holding his hand up. I see the residue of my juices on the glove. Standing over me, as I maintain my position of spread legs, and hands behind my head, he slowly brings his glistening glove covered fingers up, within 2 inches of my face, I screw up my face as I smell my own juices.
“The western slut was enjoying this examination, maybe she does want to service the guards” He taunts, causing me to go bright red, as he looks me in the eye. “I want you to clean my glove, lick it clean slut, taste your slut juices”
“What, no, you….i cant do that, its disgusting” Seeing him point, his two glistening fingers right at my closed mouth. Suddenly, with his other hand, he grabs my right nipple, and he roughly twists it between his thumb and his finger, pulling it and pinching it. “It will all be over once you clean my fingers.
Shocked, feeling my nipple throb, the mix of pain, and pleasure excruciating, causing me to moan, my eyes rolling in the back of my head. “You fucken bastard” I cry out, as I open my mouth, leaning forward, and allowing his fingers, coated with my pussy juices to enter my mouth. I close my lips around his fingers, and screw up my mouth, as I taste my own juices. He grins, as he lets go of my nipple causing the blood to rush back to it, causing it even more pain. He slides out his fingers, ensuring he leaves as much juice on my tongue as possible.
“I will return once we have done further investigation on your clothes” he says clinically, as he picks up the bags of my clothes, the camera and walks to the door.
“But, what about my clothes, what am I to wear” I cry out, but he doesn’t reply as he closes the door, and locks it. He leaves me standing there, in an empty room, naked, but for my high heels, the taste of my own pussy filling my mouth. I look around, but the door is locked, and I have no way to escape. Even if I were to try, a naked girl running down the streets of Oman, wouldn’t get far. I sit, waiting for the officer to return.
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