Forced
2007-04-04
The flight was long, boring as are most long flights, and now during the long flight the lights are dimmed and most people are ignoring the movie and trying to sleep you among them, but is eluding you. Thankfully the seats next to you are empty and you cuddle against the window pulling your jacket over you like a comforter and slowly the hours pass amid the low level noises of other passengers and the hum of the big jet engines, when suddenly it is time to land and go through customs.
Customs, you haven’t filled out your forms expecting to have time and now you rush through them hoping it won’t take too long and manage to scribble all the answers in the blanks hesitating once over the purpose for the trip. Do I dare say, “having Thomas fuck me?” You ponder to yourself and then grinning to yourself you write, “pleasure” on the form.
The customs queue moves slowly like all such official inspections until you are in front of the desk and the routine questions come one after another, but you can tell from the expression of the security officer something isn’t quite right. Sure enough he calls someone of the phone and you and your bags are separated from the line and escorted to a plain looking conference room where you are instructed to sit.
Taking a chair you wonder what is going to happen, but the officers are quiet, yet you sense in spite of the lack of words that you are clearly being detained. After an endless wait of about ten minutes a tall, blond woman comes in and judging from the reaction of the other officers, is it clear she is very senior in rank to the other police officers. She sits opposite of you, looks in a file and after a few moments, looks up and you and begins.
“Your name shows up as a match on our watch lists. Have you ever been associated with any known criminal or terrorist groups or perhaps a charity working primarily in Islamic counties? Or have you traveled to any middle-eastern nation in the last ten years?”
“No, to both questions. This is my first trip to the United States and I have never traveled outside of Europe. ”
"Well I don’t know why you are showing up. It may be as simple as a clerical error, but the only quick resolution is to finger print you and then for a hour or two you will have to be detained. You will be released just as soon as your identity is confirmed.
Chuck,” she said to one of the male officers.
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“Please fingerprint her and take her to restraint three. Call me when you arrive and I’ll come right down. ”
20 minutes later you are standing outside a room with a small sign reading Restraint III. The female officer who interviewed you arrived and escorts you by yourself into the room. You look around at the 18 by 18 foot room with a couple of plain chairs on either side of a low table sort of like a coffee table and a non-enclosed metal sink and toilet. There are bars covering the single window and one long bar across the ceiling with two heavily padded wrist restraints. Before you can begin to worry more about you surroundings the woman begins to speak.
“This will be your home until your prints come back. I need you to strip off everything for your initial search. "
“Everything?”
“Yes, completely nude sweety. It wouldn’t do at all for you to have something on you that you shouldn’t, so I will haven to look you over and check your clothes before you can redress. ” She smiled reassuringly.
You look about the room. No place of privacy. Nothing else to do but take it all off so you turn away from her and remove your blouse and pants.
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Sitting down you take off you shoes and socks, the titled floor seeming unnaturally cold to your bare feet the chill seeming to run through your whole body your nipples hardening instantly. You reach back and unhook the bra allowing your full breasts to fall free and they stand proudly outward proclaiming your sex. Eager to get it over with you ditch your panties and the woman motions you over under the bar.
“Just raise your arms so they can be restrained while I search you. ”
“Do I have to be tied up?”
“Yes. .
