Standing there, waiting in the immigration and customs line, at the airport in Muscat. My first trip over sea’s. My parents had given me this trip as a present, for graduating year 12. Flying via Oman to Istanbul. So excited about my trip, too bad I had to have a 1 night stop over here.  I suppose it is a nice place, but I didn’t go on my trip to see Oman. During my daydreaming, I saw a customs officer, staring at me, looking me up and down, I blush instantly and I think he notices my embarrassment. Im wearing a pair of sandals, mid thigh high green skirt, with a tight, plain white singlet. All of a sudden, he walks over to me. He doesn’t just seem like a standard customs officer, but a more 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 follow him to a table off to the side of the customs line. “Can you please place your bag on the table, and open it” 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 bag, slowly leaning over, accidentally giving him a good view down my single, of my cleavage. He delves into my bag, picking up items, my personal items, “did you pack your own bag, miss?” he asks. Replying “yes” as my voice shakes. He picks up some of my frilly, pink panties, thongs, and lacy bra’s, I see a little smile from the corner of his face, as I blush. This total stranger, holding my underwear for everyone in the hall to see. 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 looks at me, I look at him, worrying, getting startled for a moment. At that time, without me noticing, he lets a plastic bag, fall from under his sleeve. Covering it with my clothes. “But you have nothing to hide, do you?” “No”, I reply. My voice shaky. He continues to search through my bag, and pauses, looking up from my bag, and looks around, signalling 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 around to me. “I believe we have a problem,” he says, holding up a 2 bags, one holding pills, one holding a sugar looking substance. The guards walk around to my side, grabbing my arms, and roughly handcuffing my hands behind my back. “What let me go, ow!” I cry out. As one guard leads me to a room, and the other guard collects my stuff, and I get led to a plain room, with a table, and a couple of chairs. Two closed doors also in the room. The guard pushes me down, I try to protest, but he doesn’t reply. Leaving me there, locking the door behind.

Time passes, I think, wondering what is going to happen to me. Never had used drugs, never has even seen drugs before, or known anyone who uses. I don’t believe it, they must be wrong. It seems like an eternity, but the officer, who searched my bag, enters. Walking to me, roughly he pulls me up, standing in front of him, my hands cuffed behind my back, pushing out my breasts out, and making me look submissive with the posture I have. He looks down on me, and down my top. “We need to perform a strip search, to ensure you done 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 that is a no to been willing,” he says, as he heads towards the door, to call in guards, “Im sure the guards will enjoy this show you will put on”. Pausing, as he opens the door. Suddenly, I get these images, of 10 guards in the room, holding me, ripping my clothes off, all staring at my body, my privates, sending a shiver down my spine. “No, please…ill, ok” I say. He switches the light on, sending a few spot lights onto my body, and walks over to the table, opening the draw, and pulling out a digital camera, snapping a picture, without warning me, taking a picture of me with my hands cuffed behind my back. “What” I cry out, unable to stop him. “We need to document every little bit of evidence. If you have drugs hidden on your body, I need pictures.” He says, as he walks over to me, undoing my handcuffs, and steps back waiting for me to strip. “You, can be expecting to take pictures of me, in the nude,” I protest, “This is Oman, I am the officer in charge of the Muscat customs branch, this is not Australia. The more you make this difficult, 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 get it for me. Do you understand?” He says sternly. Slowly, I nod as I look at the ground, and 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, holding out a plastic bag, for me to put my top on. Causing me to jump, my hands shaking, I quickly remove my top, and place it in the bag. He seals the bag. Steps back, and takes another picture, pointed right at my breasts, “the skirt now” he orders, as he pulls out another bag. Taking a deep breath, as I slide my thumbs into the waist band. Realising that all of a sudden, I am here standing nearly naked, in front of a stranger from a different country, and he is taking pictures, of my near naked body. Slowly, I slide my skirt, over my hips and down past my panties, revealing my green, slightly frilly boy shorts. He takes more pictures, multiple pictures of me removing my skirt. He holds up the bag, as I drop the skirt into the bag, and he closes it. I look towards his crotch, realising he has a bulge in his pants, looking away, not wanting to believe it. He quickly orders me to remove my panties, 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 harden, causing me to blush even more. Holding out a bag, with a stern look on his face, showing no mercy. I slowly, unable to look at him, look at his feet, and slide my panties down my thighs, revealing my pussy, 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 takes a picture of me, bent over, my breasts dangling down. 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 shaking, face bright red, thinking it cannot get any worse; 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, looking displeased, as he takes more pictures. “Spread your legs” he sternly orders. “Spread? But why” I say, my voice shaking. Scared, of been sexually violated, knowing that I cannot complain to anyone. “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 meter apart. He pulls out a rubber glove, puts it on, as he explains, “I need to check to see if you have hidden any contraband inside your orifices, if I experience and 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 place my hands back, as he snaps another pictures. My hands behind my head, thrusting my breasts out, and my legs spread, giving a good view of my nakedness. 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, causing me to growl, angrily. I start to imagine, what could 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, sending a stinging pain from my pussy, shocking me as I get hit right up the slit. OOhhh, I moan out. Causing my legs to buckle. I look down, with a shocked look on my face. “What was, that was, why? I ask. “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, stoping me from closing my legs. “You are quite wet, and warm here, miss. Are you enjoying this” He says, chucking. 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, with 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, as he removes the glove. “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. I call out, “But, what about my clothes, what am I to wear”, but he closes the door, without saying a word, and I hear the door lock. Standing there, in basically an empty room, naked bar my high heels, I look around, but all the doors are locked, and I have no way to escape. Even if I were to try, a naked girl running the streets of Oman wouldn’t get far. I sit, waiting for the officer to return.