u/SheepherderSort

There’s something so deliciously invasive about searching another person. First an over-the-clothes patdown for any obvious contraband. Perhaps a metal detector, depending on the circumstances. Asking for name and address, alongside other basic identifying information.

Then comes the order to begin removing clothing. It may be stated like a request, but the tone makes it clear that it is a command. And what else can you do but obey? Perhaps lodge an impotent complaint or two, but we both know how this is going to go. First blouse and skirt fall to the floor. Then, after a pause and another protest, bra and panties. Another barked order, this time to stop covering yourself.

Finally, the cavity search. A gloved hand probing your mouth, hard eyes staring into yours. Pushing to the back of your throat, certainly to search for contraband and not to test your gag reflex. Then the order to bend over. To spread your legs. To put your hands on your ass and part your cheeks. You know what is coming next, and that you are utterly helpless to stop it.

The questions become more intimate, less professional. You try to retreat into yourself, become as small as possible only to be pulled back again and again by sensations. Of the cold of the table against your bare breasts. Of the hard linoleum flooring on your bare feet. Of the chill of lubricant against your anus, dripping down between your legs onto your cunt. Then you hear it.

“Now cough.”

There’s something so deliciously invasive about searching another person. First an over-the-clothes patdown for any obvious contraband. Perhaps a metal detector, depending on the circumstances. Asking for name and address, alongside other basic identifying information.

Then comes the order to begin removing clothing. It may be stated like a request, but the tone makes it clear that it is a command. And what else can you do but obey? Perhaps lodge an impotent complaint or two, but we both know how this is going to go. First blouse and skirt fall to the floor. Then, after a pause and another protest, bra and panties. Another barked order, this time to stop covering yourself.

Finally, the cavity search. A gloved hand probing your mouth, hard eyes staring into yours. Pushing to the back of your throat, certainly to search for contraband and not to test your gag reflex. Then the order to bend over. To spread your legs. To put your hands on your ass and part your cheeks. You know what is coming next, and that you are utterly helpless to stop it.

The questions become more intimate, less professional. You try to retreat into yourself, become as small as possible only to be pulled back again and again by sensations. Of the cold of the table against your bare breasts. Of the hard linoleum flooring on your bare feet. Of the chill of lubricant against your anus, dripping down between your legs onto your cunt. Then you hear it.

“Now cough.”