Almost Out of Africa
The beat-up Jeep bounced along the deeply rutted dirt road, raising a cloud of dust behind it. After miles of empty country, passing only the occasional isolated village or solitary hut, the vehicle was entering the ramshackle outskirts of Kemo City, capitol of Mabuto. Passing a crowded roadside market, the truck drew stares from many of the locals, who rarely saw Westerners pass through the streets of their backwards nation.
Mabuto was an African country in decline; its' traditional poverty made worse by the current government, a corrupt and oppressive dictatorship. Its' absolute ruler, 'President Kemo', was a former army sergeant who led a successful coup several years ago and now ruled with an iron hand. Hoarding the meager wealth of the nation in his personal bank account, he remained in power with the support of the so-called army. Little more than a collection of thugs, he allowed his 'soldiers' to extort the local businessmen, the occasional foreign visitor, and the even rarer tourist. His peculiar style of running his nation had earned Mabuto a place on the U.S. State Department's warning list. Potential visitors were alerted to the dangers of crime and a corrupt and sometimes ******* police *******. There had been a number of unpleasant incidents involving tourists.
The young couple in the rear seat of the bouncing Jeep was well aware of the warnings; they had simply decided to ignore them. Jim and Susan Hartley considered themselves adventurers. Others might look on them as jaded American yuppies with money to burn. They had just finished two weeks of touring Kenya and Tanzania, staying mostly in luxury safari camps. They had decided to cap their African vacation with a quick visit to a place none of their friends had been to, mostly for bragging rights. With the cocky innocence of the young, they calculated the odds of something bad happening to savvy travelers such as themselves, and elected to "go for it".
Their three day stay in Mabuto made it strikingly clear to them why no one visited there. The country was poor, primitive and dangerous. Most of the wildlife had been killed for meat or shot for target practice by the undisciplined soldiers. The poverty was stark and unsettling. They had realized soon after they arrived that they had made a mistake coming here, and would have left sooner had the next plane out not been for three days.
Deciding to make the best of it, they hired a Jeep, a driver and an English speaking guide, who took them into the backcountry for two days, which was safer than being in the crime-ridden capital. Their main concern had been dealing with the corrupt and unpredictable soldiers, who served as both army and police *******. Their wonderful guide, John, was invaluable in avoiding potential trouble with the soldiers, using just the right mixture of bribes and deference.
Still, Jim and Susan breathed a collective sigh of relief when the Jeep finally pulled up in front of the warehouse that passed for an airline terminal for the capital. 'President Kemo International Airport', read the large sign hanging over the entrance. Jim paid off the driver and, with John's help, carried their bags inside the building. They passed a small waiting area where a few fellow travelers sat with their luggage and as they approached the counter marked 'Customs', they were aware of being the only Westerners visible.
Behind the counter stood the customs agent; a tall, thin black man dressed in a white shirt with shoulder boards and plain blue slacks. He had a self-important air about him as he reached for their passports and then thumbed through them carefully. When he was finished, he placed the passports out of reach and slowly looked the young couple up and down.
What he saw were two affluent, conceited American tourists, dressed in high quality, safari style clothing, on a jaunt through Africa without a care in the world. The man was tall and trim, decked out in khaki, with a confident but naïve air about him. The agent's main focus, however, was the wife. The woman was beautiful, really lovely. Blonde, blue eyed, of medium height; she wore an opened bush jacket over a plain white T-shirt, under which her full bosom was clearly discernable. Thick blue shorts and heavy duty hiking boots contrasted with the smooth skin of her bare legs; accenting rather than detracting from her femininity. A khaki baseball cap completed her outfit; the overall effect was cute and attractive.
A man could fall in love with such a woman, the agent thought to himself; but he was moved by darker passions.
"Bags on the table", he said suddenly, gesturing to a long, low table to his left. The Hartley's both placed their small carry-ons on the table as instructed. They had brought just a few changes of clothes with them and had only purchased one or two trinkets. They were confident of passing easily through customs. So they thought. The agent moved with an annoying air of officiousness as he unzipped Jim's bag and peered inside. He reached into the bag, moved a few items around, and then turned his attention to the other bag.
Three disreputable looking soldiers were leaning against the far wall, watching every move the customs officer made, giving off an air of casual menace. Not far from them was an officer, a young Captain, his face an unreadable mask of blankness.
As the agent reached for Susan's bag, his eyes were locked on those of the young woman, watching for her reaction as he unzipped the bag and looked inside. He seemed intent on intimidating her, but she met his gaze evenly. The man obviously had some need to dominate this well-off couple, perhaps from a feeling of inferiority. He began to remove items of clothing from Susan's bag, holding them up before laying them on the table. A shirt..., a pair of socks..., shorts..., and then a brassiere. Susan was on to his game and remained impassive as he fingered and displayed her undergarments, but inside she was getting nervous, as was her husband. They both knew enough to keep quiet and let this two-bit official show off for the soldiers, demonstrating what enormous power he had. Even so, Jim was very uneasy standing there silently while this skinny jerk held up his wife's bikini panties for the soldiers to gawk at.
The agent was now smiling broadly at Susan as he delicately lowered the panties to the table, holding them by the crotch between two dark fingers. More quickly now, he went through every item in the bag: more clothing, underwear, toiletries; pausing with a small spray bottle of feminine deodorant, examining it with mock carefulness as if it were explosives. When he had completely emptied the overnight case, he turned it upside-down and gave it a final shake, then placed it on the table and gestured to Susan that she could repack it.
Her cheeks starting to redden with suppressed anger, Susan grabbed handfuls of her stuff and shoved them back into her bag, jamming clothes and other items together in a jumble. She zipped the bag shut, giving the customs agent a look of unconcealed contempt.
It was a mistake. As their guide John had repeatedly warned them, the officials and soldiers of Mabuto may not have measured up to their counterparts in a real country; but here their power was absolute. While they did treat white foreigners with some degree of deference, it was essential for travelers to show that they understood the power they wielded and were respectful of it.
Susan's attempt to intimidate the customs man with an angry look failed miserably. A slow smile spread across his face as he seemed to come to some inner decision. He glanced at the Captain as if seeking authorization, and got a curt nod of assent. Turning to the soldiers leaning expectantly against the wall, he said one word in the native language, which John the guide translated for Jim and Susan. "Search!"
Three broad white grins lit up the faces of the soldiers. They unglued themselves from the wall and advanced on Susan menacingly. Jim immediately placed himself between the approaching soldiers and his wife; but before he could say anything their guide John stepped in front of the frightened couple and began arguing forcefully with the customs agent. Though he spoke in the native tongue, Jim and Susan could imagine what he was saying: "These were American tourists..., they had money..., there would be official protests..., how much did he want...?" As the guide's impassioned pleading continued, the couple realized how lucky they were to have a loyal advocate who understood the game here.
The customs agent seemed about to back down, the husband and wife starting to relax, when the young Captain, who had been watching the entire incident with seeming indifference, approached the group at the table. The reaction of the Africans to his presence was startling. The soldiers snapped to a sloppy attention while the agent and guide fell instantly silent; the look of fear in the eyes of both men saying all that needed to be said about the kind of power the Captain wielded.
He looked straight at the guide and said one word: "Leave!" John turned pale, and with a helpless glance at the young couple, practically ran out of the door of the terminal.
Her protector gone, Susan looked to her husband for aid; but the Captain had stepped between her and Jim. He began speaking in perfect, un-accented English; his educated voice reeking of menace and finality.
"We are going to conduct a random search of this woman, as we have a legal right to do. She will not be harmed. If either of you interfere or resist in any way, you will be in violation of the laws of our country and will forfeit all protection of international law. You will then be instantly arrested, forcibly searched, and thrown in our prison; whose amenities, I am sorry to say, are not rated highly in most tourist guidebooks." Turning to Jim, and speaking slowly for emphasis, he said "I can assure you, your wife will have a particularly unpleasant time in our penitentiary, whose guards are not accustomed to having such an attractive prisoner in their care." Then he just stood there, his air of cold indifference returning, as if he couldn't care less what happened to these insignificant people.
Jim and Susan stared at each other in shock. Although their decision to come to this backwater country had obviously been a mistake, they were both intelligent people and could assess the situation. The abrupt departure of their formerly faithful guide told them all they needed to know about the potential ******* of these people. And there was no mistaking the menace in the Captain's voice or the reality of his threats.
There was only one choice here that made any sense. Susan realized that she needed to be the one to speak up; freeing her husband from the unbearable task of turning his wife, whom he was supposed to protect, over to the tender mercies of these dangerous looking men.
"Honey" she said tenderly, putting her hand on his arm, "we need to do exactly what they say. Please, please don't do or say anything to get them angry. I'm very worried, but I think they'll let us get out of here if we just follow their orders and act submissive." The look of fear and entreaty in her eyes helped Jim resolve his own internal struggle. He gave her a wan smile and, kissing her on the forehead, said "I'll be waiting right here. I'm sure it'll be alright."
Of course he was sure of no such thing.
The apparent leader of the three soldiers, who had been smirking through the tender scene, stepped forward and put his large hand on Susan's upper arm, roughly guiding her towards a door to the right of the table.
With a horrible sinking feeling, Jim watched helplessly as his beautiful wife was marched through the door surrounded by the soldiers, the customs agent bringing up the rear. He turned to the Captain and, in the most respectful tone he could summon up, asked: "Will there be a female officer in the room to conduct my wife's search?" With a look of contempt, the Captain shot back: "Our women stay home with the children; they know their place. Now sit down and do not move or speak again." With that he turned and followed the other men into the back room, slamming the door behind him.
In stunned silence Jim slumped into a seat. The customs desk was now deserted; the entire workforce apparently needed to conduct the 'search'. 'A real professional operation they run here', he thought derisively; but after three days in this half-assed country he wasn't that surprised. Neither was he really concerned about how they ran their country; he was just trying, without success, to think about anything other than his wife's coming ordeal.
Jim was overcome with guilt. It had been his idea to come here, to ignore the warnings, to convince his wife that it would be a real adventure. Now he could only sit in an agony of worry, trying not to think about what was happening on the other side of that door.
Susan didn't have to wonder what was happening on the other side of the door; she was there, along with five evil looking men. She took a few deep breaths to calm down and surveyed her surroundings. She was in a large, high-ceilinged room with bare cinderblock walls. A row of thin windows near the ceiling filled the room with light but were too high to look out of. The room was empty except for two old, plain wooden chairs and a small medical examination table. The table was ancient and decrepit, its' brown padded top badly worn and ripped in places. It looked as if it had been torn out of some condemned doctor's office. The floor was bare concrete and looked dirty and moldy, especially around a drain set in the center of the room. 'Not a pleasant place at all' thought Susan, and an involuntary shudder went through her.
Turning around, she saw that the soldiers had arranged themselves in a semi-circle facing her, with the customs agent in the center. The Captain had seated himself in one of the two chairs off to one side. The other chair was next to the agent but remained unused, emphasizing the Captain's supremacy. As she glanced around at the men, Susan could see a disturbing look of excited, almost predatory anticipation in each set of eyes. The only exception were the eyes of the Captain, which had the same cold, blank look as when she first saw him.
Smartly dressed in her bush outfit, Susan looked oddly out of place in this dingy shed of a room, surrounded by the three soldiers and the customs agent in his sweat stained white shirt.
Clearing his throat to cover his nervous excitement, the agent addressed Susan in English. "We will now conduct an official strip search, which is customary in most countries and is in full accordance with international law. You will remember the Captain's instructions: do exactly what I tell you and absolutely no back talk. Speak only when asked a question. Do you understand, Mrs. Hartley?" Although she was trembling inside with fear and anger, Susan knew that she must stay focused and in control of her emotions. With as much calm as she could muster, she looked across at the agent and said, in a voice just above a whisper, "Yes".
"Verrry good", said the smiling agent, "now listen carefully. When I tell you to, you will undress yourself. You will take off each item of clothing, hand it to me, and wait while I inspect it. When you see that I am finished, you will hand me another item. Is that clear? Silence..., and then quietly from Susan, "Yes".
"Verrry good; now strip!"
A quick look around at the expectant faces told Susan that there was no appeal. She slipped off her open bush jacket and handed it to the waiting agent. He took it and began opening its' numerous large pockets; removing the items contained in each. A camera, a small pair of binoculars, sunglasses, a pack of moist towelettes; the usual accoutrements of the western tourist. The agent made a show of examining each item carefully, then placing it on the empty chair. After inspecting the jacket inside and out, he laid it over the other gear and stared at Susan in anticipation. She pulled off her cap and held it out, her short blonde hair shaking loose. The agent barely glanced at it before tossing it on the chair and looking up to receive the next garment. No words were spoken; the choice of what to hand over next seemed to be entirely up to Susan.
She was standing in her white T-shirt, bulky blue bush shorts, sturdy hiking boots, and heavy white socks. Eyeing the dirty, clammy looking floor; Susan was not ready to give up the protection of her boots. She had resolved to follow their commands, in order to protect herself and her husband; and was trying to de-sensitize herself to the particulars of what she had to do. Without another thought, she grabbed the lower hem of her T-shirt and pulled it over her head, handing it to the surprised customs officer.
The grins of the soldiers spread wider as they stared at the young woman's white bra and expanse of pale skin. The fullness of Susan's brassiere promised delights to come; an air of excitement hung in the room. The agent pulled the T-shirt through his fingers, his eyes never leaving the partially-clad woman standing passively in front of him. He laid the shirt on the chair and waited again.
Susan was dealing with her increasingly awful predicament by mentally withdrawing from the details of what she was doing. Aware of the need to hand over another item, she reached behind her back and unhooked her bra. Pulling the bra from her body, her full breasts tumbled free, nakedly exposed to the wide-eyed men.
Somewhere in the back of her mind, Susan had reasoned that seeing her topless would not excite these men much, since the native women in the back country all went bare breasted. Not so! It was true that the local men were used to seeing the local tits; but the sight of a white woman's breasts was a rare sight indeed. The agent and soldiers stared transfixed at Susan's twin beauties, round and white, her pale pink areola and nipples starring right back at them.
The young woman stood there naked to the waist. After a long minute of feasting his eyes, the agent gestured for the next item, snapping Susan out of her daze. Not wanting to take her pants off yet, she kneeled down to untie first one boot and then the other. The men focused on her smooth, white back and the sides of her boobs, bulging outwards as she hunched over. Susan stood up and pulled her boots off one at a time, her tits wobbling with her efforts. As each boot came off, she placed a sock-clad foot on the dirty floor.
The boots were given a cursory inspection and then placed under the chair. 'At least he didn't put them on top of her other clothes' thought Susan, allowing that the man might have some shred of consideration. Not much though, she realized, as he waited for her next garment.
Susan was surprised at how well she was controlling her fear and anger. A cold calm seemed to envelope her, dulling the embarrassment of this humiliating striptease.
Still unable to imagine putting her bare feet on the disgusting floor; she unbuckled her heavy shorts and let them slide down her legs. Stepping out of her pants, she handed them to the agent, who received them with a smiling formality. Despite her numbed state, the young wife was now acutely aware of her near nudity. Her pretty white bikini panties left much of her hips and belly bare, her titties were hanging exposed; only her thick, white socks afforded her any felling of protection.
The soldiers were jabbering happily among themselves in their native language, obviously critiquing her exposed charms. The slimy agent was trying to go through the pockets of her shorts while keeping his eyes glued to her boobs. The situation would almost be funny, she thought, except for the fact that, ridiculous as she found these people, she was completely in their control. A chill went through her as she glanced over at the Captain sitting impassively in his chair; his expressionless eyes taking in every detail of her humiliation but revealing nothing.
Susan sensed the agent waiting and shuddered. All her feelings of safety and security in the world were slipping away with her clothes. Her thick, warm socks had taken on an almost irrational importance to her. Right now she wanted more than anything to be able to keep them on. She knew the order of her stripping didn't matter; that she would be buck naked in a few minutes anyway.
Looking around, Susan could see how anxious the men were to see her most private parts. Realizing that denying them that pleasure for a few moments longer was probably going to be her last chance to deny them anything, she made her decision. Lifting her leg, Susan yanked one sock off angrily and planted her bare foot firmly on the ground. She quickly pulled off the other sock and now stood barefoot on the dirty, clammy floor. The coolness of the concrete radiated up her body and an involuntary shiver ran through her as she stood there, barefoot and bare breasted before the leering males.
The agent dropped her dirty socks carelessly on top of her other clothes, and then stared at her, waiting. Susan did not move. She needed a brief show of resistance to regain her composure. Thinking that she was making it too easy for this worm of an agent, she decided that he would have to ask for her last garment.
The agent had to swallow before he spoke, his mouth having gone dry from excitement. In an annoyed voice, he croaked "Take off your underpants, now!"
Pleased with herself for disconcerting the man, Susan slipped her fingers into the waistband of her panties and pushed them down over her bare hips. Her hairy bush was suddenly exposed to five sets of male eyes; her panties sliding down her legs and pooling around her ankles. She stood there like that for a full minute, stark naked, her fallen panties bunched around her ankles. The men stared in silence, mesmerized. Most had never seen a nude white woman. They drank in the glories of her body: her blonde hair, her pale skin, her pink nipples, and, most fascinating of all, her blonde triangle of pubic hair. Susan's pubes were slightly darker in color than the hair on her head, but she was definitely a natural blonde; as these men could clearly see.
Letting her panties fall to the dirty floor may seem odd, but Susan was trying to demonstrate, to both herself and the Africans, that she didn't care what they did, that nothing would faze her. It was a gesture wasted on her tormentors, who were too focused on her nudity to even notice. The agent finally held out his hand and Susan stepped out of her empty panties, picked them up, and handed them to the man. He dropped them on top of her dirty socks.
The pile of Susan's clothing was now complete. Everything she had been wearing when she entered the room was now on or under the old wooden chair, leaving her in her birthday suit. She stood with her arms at her sides, making no attempt to cover her nudity as the soldiers ran their eyes over her bare body.
Susan's mind wandered, thinking about the role reversal of her situation. Instead of the white explorer or traveler encountering the scantily clad natives, here she was completely naked in front of a group of fully clothed Africans.
"Put your hands behind your head", the agent ordered abruptly. She did as he instructed, elbows out. Her audience watched as her firm tits were raised and thrust forward, her bare nipples pointing right at them. "Legs apart" barked the agent. Susan shifted her legs so that her feet were shoulder width apart. The men's eyes instantly dropped to the young woman's crotch; where they could just make out her pink cunt through her blonde bush. Susan ****** herself to remain detached. She wondered what Jim was doing at this moment.
Jim was sitting.
He too was trying to keep his mind blank. The thought of what might be happening to his wife behind the closed door, was too painful to contemplate. He was sunk in a morass of conflicting emotions. He wanted to protect his wife; but the only way to do that was to sit here meekly and do nothing. He consoled himself with the thought that whatever was being done to Susan in that room, it was better than what would happen to her if he resisted. Jim looked around the terminal. It was filling up with people for the flight out, but no one was at the counter to process them; all of the customs staff being in the search room, enjoying the show, he thought bitterly. Oddly, the other passengers did not seem upset or annoyed at the lack of organization. Jim guessed that in Mabuto, remaining docile was an important quality of the successful citizen. The threat of quick and ******* retaliation for anyone who stepped out of line was guaranteed, and he knew that included him. So he sat, and worried.
Inside the room, his naked wife stood, legs apart, and worried. How far were these thugs going to go, she wondered? Despite her resolve to remain detached, Susan couldn't help but be aware of her nudity; and a wave of shame swept through her bare body. With great effort she managed to shake it off, just in time to hear her next instructions. "Walk to the far wall and back, and keep walking until I tell you to stop". Susan turned and walked towards the rear wall, the soldiers getting their first look at her naked backside. All eyes were glued to the woman's bare ass, her full cheeks wobbling lewdly with each step. Reaching the wall she turned and walked back towards the men, boobs and hairy bush embarrassingly of display. The men watched like a pack of hungry wolves as she made several back and forth trips, trying to decide which side they preferred. Finally the agent told her to stop, and she stood before them at attention.
"Turn around", he ordered. She complied. "Bend over and spread your cheeks".
Susan was not shocked; she was expecting something like this. Now they were getting down to the nitty-gritty of this charade. She turned her back on the men and spread her legs slightly. Taking a deep breath, she reached back, grabbed a full buttock in each hand, and bent forward at the waist, pulling her ass cheeks wide apart. 'I'm going to give them the full show', she thought through her anger; 'just so they'd shut their stupid mouths and look their fill'.
The agent and soldiers watched in a lusty stupor as the beautiful naked tourist brazenly spread her bottom for them. The dark crease between her lush bum cheeks parted, revealing her asshole. Susan's crinkled anus was a deep reddish color, contrasting obscenely with the very pale hemispheres of her bare fanny. The men stared long and hard. They had subjected many hapless victims to this humiliating routine, mostly males. This was their first white woman. They gazed in wonder; the time passing in silence.
Susan's back and legs were starting to ache as she held the uncomfortable position. She could feel a slight breeze against her exposed anus, and though idly that maybe it was coming from the combined heavy breathing of all the men in the room. 'What a way to pass the time waiting for a flight', she thought sarcastically. Finally, reluctantly, the agent whispered "Stand up". Susan straightened up slowly; the men watching in fascination as her rosebud was again enfolded and hidden between the plump cheeks of her behind.
"Come over here" the agent ordered as he walked to the old examination table. As Susan followed him, her bare feet padding across the cool, dank floor, she was again feeling very naked. She glanced briefly at the Captain, watching her from his chair with cold eyes. He seemed the least interested in the proceedings, the least likely to do anything physical to her; yet he frightened her the most. Arriving at the table, she faced the customs agent, who made a point of looking her up and down before he spoke. "We will now do a body cavity search" he said with a smirk on his lips. "Get on the table and lie on your back".
Susan looked down at the table and shuddered. The old leather padding was scratched and torn. It was a mottled brownish color, covered with dark stains. She imagined that these were sweat stains from previous naked victims. Suppressing her revulsion, Susan climbed nakedly up on the table. As she lay back, she found that it was too short to stretch out on full length. With her head at one end of the table, she had to bend her knees almost straight up so that her feet could rest on the opposite end. She could fell the sharp edges of the rips and tears in the leather padding digging into her back and buttocks. "Spread your legs" the agent blurted out. She moved her feet carefully to the outer edges of the table and let her thighs fall wide open. Susan knew that if she held anything back from these pigs they would just give her more orders; and she was thoroughly sick of hearing the agent's nauseating voice. She was determined not to feel shame; they were the guilty ones here.
Guilty though they might be, the agent and soldiers' focus was not on their misconduct but on the beautiful nude blonde spreading her legs before them. Susan's pubic bush parted, revealing her cunt. The men watched hungrily as her pink vulva slowly opened, exposing the inner folds of her labia. Susan glanced down towards the end of the table and found herself almost amused at the oddness of the view. Looking past her bare breasts, which were leaning outwards, her blonde bush sprouted at the base of her belly like some small garden growing between the V of her thighs. Crowded in a tight group between those thighs were four goggle-eyed men, framed by the V as if posing for a group portrait.
The moment stretched on. Susan found herself actually getting bored. 'All right already', she mused, 'they've seen my cunt, big deal! I haven't got anything down there different from any other woman'.
But from the soldiers' point of view, it was a very big deal. The soft, pink vaginal lips, glistening slightly in the center of their furry, light-haired nest, was to them a sight fit for the Gods. Susan was fortunate that she could only see the men from the waist up. Had she been able to see the ominous bulges in the men's pants, she might have been more worried.
The agent reached into a drawer in the table and took out what looked like an old canister of cold cream and unscrewed the wide, round lid. With a leer of anticipation, he stuck his long, thin finger in the jar and pulled it out, coated with a nasty looking yellowish gel. Susan knew what was coming. Looking up at the cracked ceiling, she braced herself; gripping the edges of the table and digging in her feet. Placing the palm of one hand on her hairy mound and spreading her inner lips with his fingers, the trembling agent slid his long, greased digit slowly into her open vagina. The soldiers watched in fascination and envy as the agent's finger disappeared completely into the woman's body. Keeping his finger all the way in, he rotated his hand to the left and then right, feeling the walls of her vaginal canal, his knuckles rubbing against her blonde pubes. Susan's eyes were squeezed shut against the intimate and uncomfortable intrusion.
The soldiers were now jabbering at the agent, who reluctantly withdrew his finger from the young woman's sex. It emerged with a soft, smacking sound. Susan glanced down again and saw that the soldiers were jostling each other for position. With a shock she realized they were arguing over who would be next to finger her. She barely had time to comprehend this new development when the tallest man in the group won the argument.
With a grin at the others, he dipped his large finger in the grease and unceremoniously shoved it up Susan's pussy to the hilt. She let out a yelp of surprise and pain. The man's finger, besides being very large, must have had a rough or cracked nail, and had scratched her going in. The bastard laughed at her discomfort, grinning idiotically, and began sawing his finger in and out of the young wife's tender vagina. Susan bit her lip and bore it, determined not to give him the satisfaction of crying out again. He finally pulled out with a loud, greasy smack and made a big show of sniffing his dripping finger, drawing laughs from the others. He had barely stepped away from the table when a second soldier took his place.
Susan's open vulva was glistening with grease, her pubic hair matted with it. Not bothering with the preliminaries, the new man brutally thrust a stubby digit into her cunny and held it there, felling the warm walls of her cunt clinging to his finger. A look of uncontrollable lust suddenly came into the man's eyes. He jerked his finger painfully out of Susan's pussy and began fumbling with his pants.
When she saw that she was about to be raped, Susan snapped out of her compliant role. Struggling to get up, she kicked out strongly with her legs at the same time. Another soldier moved to hold her down, but just then she landed a powerful kick directly to the balls of her potential *******. The man let out a scream and fell to the ground, doubled over in pain.
Suddenly the Captain was on his feet, shouting out a string of commands in the native language. The soldiers instantly froze, then came to attention, fear in their eyes. The man on the floor stopped groaning, probably more afraid than the rest. All was quiet in the room again. Even Susan, naked and half sitting up, didn't move. The Captain's air of icy calm returned. He turned to Susan and said: "We will continue the search, but you will not be harmed". With a nod to the agent he resumed his seat. Susan recognized that although the Captain had protected her, the man had no feelings of protectiveness towards her; she doubted if he had any feelings at all.
As for the Captain; he would let his men have a little fun with their strip search, at the same time teaching these haughty American tourists a little humility. *******, however, might result in an official protest. Although President Kemo generally did not worry about such things, you never knew when something would annoy him; and he was a most unpleasant man when annoyed.
"Go on", he ordered the agent, who was so overcome with fear that, turning back to the table, he could not even appreciate the erotic vision stretched out before him. Susan lay propped up on one elbow, breathing hard from her struggles, her naked breasts rising and falling with each breath. Her bare legs were slightly apart, her vagina leaking melted grease onto the brown leather, a pool of which shimmered between her thighs.
"Almost finished now Miss", he announced politely, "one more procedure and then you will be free to go. Get down and turn around, facing the table." Susan could hear a new tone of respect in the agent's voice. Her apparent lack of shame in responding to their humiliating commands, combined with the effective fight she put up to defend herself when they tried to go too far; had marked her in their eyes as a woman to be reckoned with. As she slipped off the table, she noticed the man she had kicked, still not able to straighten up. A warm glow of inner satisfaction spread through her, somewhat making up for the feeling of the dank floor under her bare feet, and the knowledge of what was coming next.
"Bend over the table, legs apart" came the command, and she assumed the position, sticking her ass out defiantly. She was determined to take the worst they could dish out without a whimper, proud of her newfound toughness.
The men may have had a new measure of respect for the scrappy American tourist, but they were not to be denied their fun. They were again leering hungrily at the sight of the naked young woman bent over the table, her bare white bottom shining at them. The agent dipped his finger once again into the can of grease and pulled it out, liberally coated with the yellowish goo. He stepped right up close to Susan's rump as if he intended to mount her. Placing his hand on one of her bare bum cheeks, he spread it to the side, exposing her puckered anus to the soldiers who had crowded close to watch.
What happened next depended on who and where you were.
From the agent's viewpoint, standing right behind the naked woman, all was right with the world. He was filled with feelings of power and lust. What a wonderful man he must be; able to order this American beauty to strip and then submit to these humiliating procedures. Trembling with sexual excitement, his eyes locked on Susan's asshole, he brought his greased finger towards its' intended target. He thrilled at the feeling of rubbery warmth as his fingertip lodged against her puckered rosebud. Pushing harder, the agent's long, black finger slid smoothly through Susan's clenching sphincter and on into the intimate, dark recesses of her rectum. He pushed the digit all the way in, until his fist was pressing up against Susan's ass crack, her anus gripping the base of his finger tightly. The soldiers crowded round, feasting their eyes on the obscene sight.
From Susan's viewpoint, there wasn't much to see at all; only the stained leather top of the examination table and the bare wall beyond. For her, the experience was one of feelings. First, the feeling of exposure from the degrading position she was ****** to assume, displaying her bare ass to a group of strange men. As she bent over and her ass cheeks separated, she could once more feel the humid air on her exposed anus. Next, she felt the agent's sweaty palm on her left buttock. Expecting worse, she got it. A warm, slimy object nudged against her anal opening, pushed hard, and slid on into her rectum. Susan's sphincter defensively tightened against the intruder, but the greasy finger was not to be denied. She could feel the man's knuckles as they glided past her clenching rosebud; and she found herself thinking absurdly that they hadn't even been properly introduced. She willed herself to lie there passively, with a tushy full of finger, waiting for it to be over.
From Jim's viewpoint, there was nothing much to see or feel, except in his mind. He was vaguely aware of the people sitting patiently around him, the low murmur of African voices. He stared fixedly at the door to the back room, its' blank surface revealing nothing. He knew only that his wife was on the other side, in a room with five men, completely at their mercy. He couldn't help but knowing that the men would make Susan undress and inspect her naked body. The least he could hope for is that they would do nothing worse. It was painful enough to realize that his wife was probably nude on the other side of the door, the men seeing everything; but he was experiencing an even worse feeling. It was the feeling of being shut out, of being the only one involved who couldn't see her. Jim was somewhat ashamed of his desire to witness Susan's humiliation, but he couldn't deny the feeling, it was too powerful. Though he didn't know it, it was also a perfectly natural reaction to his situation. Those men did not deserve to be getting any free peeks or feels of his wife. Only her husband should be allowed such liberties, if any man should. His place was being usurped, and he felt it keenly.
Back inside the room, the greedy customs agent had now had his finger up Susan's fundament for several minutes. He could feel the heat of her body radiating through her intestines as if he were taking her rectal temperature. Reluctantly, he pulled his finger slowly out of the woman's clinging anus. It exited with a soft, wet pop, which draw a chuckle from the soldiers.
'About time' thought Susan, flooded with relief. Apart from being extremely inappropriate, the anal intrusion had not been particularly painful; but her back and legs were now aching from holding the awkward position for so long. What was making her most uncomfortable at the moment however, was a pressing need to pee. Without asking permission she slowly straightened up, relieving the pain in her back and legs, and turned to face her tormentor. She was past caring about their seeing her nakedness, she just wanted to finish up and get to a bathroom. "I didn't say you could get up", snapped the agent. "One more man has to perform the rectal search", he explained, indicating the soldier who had not yet laid a hand on her.
Disbelief and rage flashed through her, but she quickly suppressed her emotions, determined to reveal nothing to the enemy. In a calculated act of rebellion, she actually took a step closer to the agent, her bare body only inches from his clothed one. Staring him right in the eye, she stated in a calm but steely voice that would brook no refusal: "I need to go to the toilet, now!"
Taken totally off guard, the agent felt intimidated by the angry, naked woman. He might even have let her dress and leave, but he knew he could not completely surrender his authority in front of the Captain and the soldiers. Regaining some of his composure, he pointed to the metal grating of the drain, set in the middle of the floor; certain she would refuse such a degrading suggestion. Without a moments' hesitation, Susan marched over to the drain, turned facing the men and, straddling the grating, proceeded to squat and pee.
The soldiers stared in amazement at the sight of a naked white woman urinating in front of them. All eyes were glued to Susan's crotch, where a yellow stream of piss was gushing from the young wife's urethra. Susan's pee made a hissing noise as it continued to pour forth strongly from between her hairy lips, splashing on the metal grating and wetting her pretty toes before trickling down the drain. Finally, her seemingly endless stream began to weaken. The five males watched transfixed as the last few drops of urine dribbled out of Susan's wet, blonde pubes.
Without a word, and without wiping herself, Susan stood up, walked calmly back to the table, bent over, and spread her legs. The men were stunned and confused by Susan's behavior. Though they of course enjoyed the unexpected treat of watching the beautiful blonde tourist take a piss right in front of them, they were put off by the new brazenness of her behavior. She was not acting cowed or intimidated, two of the basic requirements of a good strip search. She was taking some of the "fun" out of it.
Nevertheless, one more treat was in store for them, as the third soldier approached Susan's proffered backside. They all knew that this man had short but unusually thick fingers. Not bothering with the jar of lube, he placed the blunt tip of his fat finger against Susan's already greased asshole and shoved mightily.
Susan let out a yell, a long, drawn out "aaaaahhh!" The men watched in fascination as her small anus stretched to accommodate the huge intruder, expanding from a crinkled red dot to a smooth and shiny wide ring of distended muscle, gripping the man's fat finger. Susan was trying to relax, to accustom herself to the monster lodged in her rectum, when the man began to crudely pump his digit in and out of her rear end.
Pain shot through her as she fell helplessly forward across the table. She tried not to cry out, but the agony from the massive finger stretching and rubbing the tender flesh of her dilated anus was too much to bear. An unladylike grunt escaped her throat each time the brute pushed his finger in, followed by a low moan when he pulled out. The soldiers were practically drooling over the obscene sight of Susan's distended anal ring gripping the fat, black finger as it slid relentlessly in and out of her rectum, buggering her. Her grunts and moans were music to their ears.
Suddenly the Captain's voice shot across the room. "Enough!" he commanded; and it was over.
The soldier pulled his finger from Susan's behind with a loud, wet 'plop'. Her asshole, looking red and raw, remained open for a few seconds before slowly contracting to its' normal pucker. The room was quiet except for the heavy breathing of both the young woman and the men. The quiet was suddenly broken as Susan let loose with a series of loud, wet farts, the soldiers laughing hysterically at her discomfort.
"Get dressed, you're free to go" announced the customs agent. He felt that he had done what was expected of him; that he and his assistants had thoroughly humiliated this prideful young woman.
Susan took a few more deep, healing breaths as she lay draped across the table, her bare arse still facing the smirking men. Disregarding the pain between her legs, she stood up and, ignoring the men completely, walked over to the pile of her clothes. She picked up her panties, dirty from having fallen to the floor when she undressed, turned them around to find a clean spot, and used them to delicately wipe the grease from her raw cunt and ass. Then, throwing the panties on the floor, she put the rest of her clothes back on.
When Susan was once again fully clothed: bulky shorts, safari jacket, heavy boots, baseball cap; she looked as stylish and attractive as when she came in. Without a look back, she walked to the door and left the room; leaving the soldiers to marvel at her toughness, and feel a little ashamed at having treated such a decent woman so disgracefully.
Susan didn't give the men another thought, they were beneath contempt. Entering the main terminal area, she saw Jim rise from his seat and threw herself into his waiting arms. "I'm fine", she whispered reassuringly, "I'll give you the gory details later. Let's just go home". Her husband, sensing her needs, asked no further questions, grateful to see her apparently unhurt. He took charge and tenderly guided her through the rest of the airport procedures and onto the waiting plane. Susan clung to his arm, lost in her own thoughts.
They had both been so sure of themselves, not realizing what a dangerous place the world could be. She had born the brunt of their punishment, but horrible as it had been, she had discovered just how strong she could be.
She was proud of the way she had handled herself. She had given in when she knew she must, to protect herself and her husband, but had maintained her dignity. She had not acted like some helpless ninny, and was enormously proud of fighting off the man who had tried to ******* her. Most of all, she was determined to put the whole, distasteful incident behind her. Not that it excuses the men; but the things that were done to her were not so unusual. They were just the things that such men do when given power over women: undress them and stick their fingers into various orifices. Not very original when you think about it. She would not be traumatized, she was stronger than that. She had a wonderful husband, and a good life to get back to.
Susan was suddenly aware that they were on the plane already, flying over the trees and scrub, headed back to civilization. Looking out of her window, she found herself thinking what a beautiful country this really was. Maybe, if the government changed, they would come back here someday.
A brief spasm of pain shot through her sore asshole, followed by a small fart.
Then again, maybe not.
The beat-up Jeep bounced along the deeply rutted dirt road, raising a cloud of dust behind it. After miles of empty country, passing only the occasional isolated village or solitary hut, the vehicle was entering the ramshackle outskirts of Kemo City, capitol of Mabuto. Passing a crowded roadside market, the truck drew stares from many of the locals, who rarely saw Westerners pass through the streets of their backwards nation.
Mabuto was an African country in decline; its' traditional poverty made worse by the current government, a corrupt and oppressive dictatorship. Its' absolute ruler, 'President Kemo', was a former army sergeant who led a successful coup several years ago and now ruled with an iron hand. Hoarding the meager wealth of the nation in his personal bank account, he remained in power with the support of the so-called army. Little more than a collection of thugs, he allowed his 'soldiers' to extort the local businessmen, the occasional foreign visitor, and the even rarer tourist. His peculiar style of running his nation had earned Mabuto a place on the U.S. State Department's warning list. Potential visitors were alerted to the dangers of crime and a corrupt and sometimes ******* police *******. There had been a number of unpleasant incidents involving tourists.
The young couple in the rear seat of the bouncing Jeep was well aware of the warnings; they had simply decided to ignore them. Jim and Susan Hartley considered themselves adventurers. Others might look on them as jaded American yuppies with money to burn. They had just finished two weeks of touring Kenya and Tanzania, staying mostly in luxury safari camps. They had decided to cap their African vacation with a quick visit to a place none of their friends had been to, mostly for bragging rights. With the cocky innocence of the young, they calculated the odds of something bad happening to savvy travelers such as themselves, and elected to "go for it".
Their three day stay in Mabuto made it strikingly clear to them why no one visited there. The country was poor, primitive and dangerous. Most of the wildlife had been killed for meat or shot for target practice by the undisciplined soldiers. The poverty was stark and unsettling. They had realized soon after they arrived that they had made a mistake coming here, and would have left sooner had the next plane out not been for three days.
Deciding to make the best of it, they hired a Jeep, a driver and an English speaking guide, who took them into the backcountry for two days, which was safer than being in the crime-ridden capital. Their main concern had been dealing with the corrupt and unpredictable soldiers, who served as both army and police *******. Their wonderful guide, John, was invaluable in avoiding potential trouble with the soldiers, using just the right mixture of bribes and deference.
Still, Jim and Susan breathed a collective sigh of relief when the Jeep finally pulled up in front of the warehouse that passed for an airline terminal for the capital. 'President Kemo International Airport', read the large sign hanging over the entrance. Jim paid off the driver and, with John's help, carried their bags inside the building. They passed a small waiting area where a few fellow travelers sat with their luggage and as they approached the counter marked 'Customs', they were aware of being the only Westerners visible.
Behind the counter stood the customs agent; a tall, thin black man dressed in a white shirt with shoulder boards and plain blue slacks. He had a self-important air about him as he reached for their passports and then thumbed through them carefully. When he was finished, he placed the passports out of reach and slowly looked the young couple up and down.
What he saw were two affluent, conceited American tourists, dressed in high quality, safari style clothing, on a jaunt through Africa without a care in the world. The man was tall and trim, decked out in khaki, with a confident but naïve air about him. The agent's main focus, however, was the wife. The woman was beautiful, really lovely. Blonde, blue eyed, of medium height; she wore an opened bush jacket over a plain white T-shirt, under which her full bosom was clearly discernable. Thick blue shorts and heavy duty hiking boots contrasted with the smooth skin of her bare legs; accenting rather than detracting from her femininity. A khaki baseball cap completed her outfit; the overall effect was cute and attractive.
A man could fall in love with such a woman, the agent thought to himself; but he was moved by darker passions.
"Bags on the table", he said suddenly, gesturing to a long, low table to his left. The Hartley's both placed their small carry-ons on the table as instructed. They had brought just a few changes of clothes with them and had only purchased one or two trinkets. They were confident of passing easily through customs. So they thought. The agent moved with an annoying air of officiousness as he unzipped Jim's bag and peered inside. He reached into the bag, moved a few items around, and then turned his attention to the other bag.
Three disreputable looking soldiers were leaning against the far wall, watching every move the customs officer made, giving off an air of casual menace. Not far from them was an officer, a young Captain, his face an unreadable mask of blankness.
As the agent reached for Susan's bag, his eyes were locked on those of the young woman, watching for her reaction as he unzipped the bag and looked inside. He seemed intent on intimidating her, but she met his gaze evenly. The man obviously had some need to dominate this well-off couple, perhaps from a feeling of inferiority. He began to remove items of clothing from Susan's bag, holding them up before laying them on the table. A shirt..., a pair of socks..., shorts..., and then a brassiere. Susan was on to his game and remained impassive as he fingered and displayed her undergarments, but inside she was getting nervous, as was her husband. They both knew enough to keep quiet and let this two-bit official show off for the soldiers, demonstrating what enormous power he had. Even so, Jim was very uneasy standing there silently while this skinny jerk held up his wife's bikini panties for the soldiers to gawk at.
The agent was now smiling broadly at Susan as he delicately lowered the panties to the table, holding them by the crotch between two dark fingers. More quickly now, he went through every item in the bag: more clothing, underwear, toiletries; pausing with a small spray bottle of feminine deodorant, examining it with mock carefulness as if it were explosives. When he had completely emptied the overnight case, he turned it upside-down and gave it a final shake, then placed it on the table and gestured to Susan that she could repack it.
Her cheeks starting to redden with suppressed anger, Susan grabbed handfuls of her stuff and shoved them back into her bag, jamming clothes and other items together in a jumble. She zipped the bag shut, giving the customs agent a look of unconcealed contempt.
It was a mistake. As their guide John had repeatedly warned them, the officials and soldiers of Mabuto may not have measured up to their counterparts in a real country; but here their power was absolute. While they did treat white foreigners with some degree of deference, it was essential for travelers to show that they understood the power they wielded and were respectful of it.
Susan's attempt to intimidate the customs man with an angry look failed miserably. A slow smile spread across his face as he seemed to come to some inner decision. He glanced at the Captain as if seeking authorization, and got a curt nod of assent. Turning to the soldiers leaning expectantly against the wall, he said one word in the native language, which John the guide translated for Jim and Susan. "Search!"
Three broad white grins lit up the faces of the soldiers. They unglued themselves from the wall and advanced on Susan menacingly. Jim immediately placed himself between the approaching soldiers and his wife; but before he could say anything their guide John stepped in front of the frightened couple and began arguing forcefully with the customs agent. Though he spoke in the native tongue, Jim and Susan could imagine what he was saying: "These were American tourists..., they had money..., there would be official protests..., how much did he want...?" As the guide's impassioned pleading continued, the couple realized how lucky they were to have a loyal advocate who understood the game here.
The customs agent seemed about to back down, the husband and wife starting to relax, when the young Captain, who had been watching the entire incident with seeming indifference, approached the group at the table. The reaction of the Africans to his presence was startling. The soldiers snapped to a sloppy attention while the agent and guide fell instantly silent; the look of fear in the eyes of both men saying all that needed to be said about the kind of power the Captain wielded.
He looked straight at the guide and said one word: "Leave!" John turned pale, and with a helpless glance at the young couple, practically ran out of the door of the terminal.
Her protector gone, Susan looked to her husband for aid; but the Captain had stepped between her and Jim. He began speaking in perfect, un-accented English; his educated voice reeking of menace and finality.
"We are going to conduct a random search of this woman, as we have a legal right to do. She will not be harmed. If either of you interfere or resist in any way, you will be in violation of the laws of our country and will forfeit all protection of international law. You will then be instantly arrested, forcibly searched, and thrown in our prison; whose amenities, I am sorry to say, are not rated highly in most tourist guidebooks." Turning to Jim, and speaking slowly for emphasis, he said "I can assure you, your wife will have a particularly unpleasant time in our penitentiary, whose guards are not accustomed to having such an attractive prisoner in their care." Then he just stood there, his air of cold indifference returning, as if he couldn't care less what happened to these insignificant people.
Jim and Susan stared at each other in shock. Although their decision to come to this backwater country had obviously been a mistake, they were both intelligent people and could assess the situation. The abrupt departure of their formerly faithful guide told them all they needed to know about the potential ******* of these people. And there was no mistaking the menace in the Captain's voice or the reality of his threats.
There was only one choice here that made any sense. Susan realized that she needed to be the one to speak up; freeing her husband from the unbearable task of turning his wife, whom he was supposed to protect, over to the tender mercies of these dangerous looking men.
"Honey" she said tenderly, putting her hand on his arm, "we need to do exactly what they say. Please, please don't do or say anything to get them angry. I'm very worried, but I think they'll let us get out of here if we just follow their orders and act submissive." The look of fear and entreaty in her eyes helped Jim resolve his own internal struggle. He gave her a wan smile and, kissing her on the forehead, said "I'll be waiting right here. I'm sure it'll be alright."
Of course he was sure of no such thing.
The apparent leader of the three soldiers, who had been smirking through the tender scene, stepped forward and put his large hand on Susan's upper arm, roughly guiding her towards a door to the right of the table.
With a horrible sinking feeling, Jim watched helplessly as his beautiful wife was marched through the door surrounded by the soldiers, the customs agent bringing up the rear. He turned to the Captain and, in the most respectful tone he could summon up, asked: "Will there be a female officer in the room to conduct my wife's search?" With a look of contempt, the Captain shot back: "Our women stay home with the children; they know their place. Now sit down and do not move or speak again." With that he turned and followed the other men into the back room, slamming the door behind him.
In stunned silence Jim slumped into a seat. The customs desk was now deserted; the entire workforce apparently needed to conduct the 'search'. 'A real professional operation they run here', he thought derisively; but after three days in this half-assed country he wasn't that surprised. Neither was he really concerned about how they ran their country; he was just trying, without success, to think about anything other than his wife's coming ordeal.
Jim was overcome with guilt. It had been his idea to come here, to ignore the warnings, to convince his wife that it would be a real adventure. Now he could only sit in an agony of worry, trying not to think about what was happening on the other side of that door.
Susan didn't have to wonder what was happening on the other side of the door; she was there, along with five evil looking men. She took a few deep breaths to calm down and surveyed her surroundings. She was in a large, high-ceilinged room with bare cinderblock walls. A row of thin windows near the ceiling filled the room with light but were too high to look out of. The room was empty except for two old, plain wooden chairs and a small medical examination table. The table was ancient and decrepit, its' brown padded top badly worn and ripped in places. It looked as if it had been torn out of some condemned doctor's office. The floor was bare concrete and looked dirty and moldy, especially around a drain set in the center of the room. 'Not a pleasant place at all' thought Susan, and an involuntary shudder went through her.
Turning around, she saw that the soldiers had arranged themselves in a semi-circle facing her, with the customs agent in the center. The Captain had seated himself in one of the two chairs off to one side. The other chair was next to the agent but remained unused, emphasizing the Captain's supremacy. As she glanced around at the men, Susan could see a disturbing look of excited, almost predatory anticipation in each set of eyes. The only exception were the eyes of the Captain, which had the same cold, blank look as when she first saw him.
Smartly dressed in her bush outfit, Susan looked oddly out of place in this dingy shed of a room, surrounded by the three soldiers and the customs agent in his sweat stained white shirt.
Clearing his throat to cover his nervous excitement, the agent addressed Susan in English. "We will now conduct an official strip search, which is customary in most countries and is in full accordance with international law. You will remember the Captain's instructions: do exactly what I tell you and absolutely no back talk. Speak only when asked a question. Do you understand, Mrs. Hartley?" Although she was trembling inside with fear and anger, Susan knew that she must stay focused and in control of her emotions. With as much calm as she could muster, she looked across at the agent and said, in a voice just above a whisper, "Yes".
"Verrry good", said the smiling agent, "now listen carefully. When I tell you to, you will undress yourself. You will take off each item of clothing, hand it to me, and wait while I inspect it. When you see that I am finished, you will hand me another item. Is that clear? Silence..., and then quietly from Susan, "Yes".
"Verrry good; now strip!"
A quick look around at the expectant faces told Susan that there was no appeal. She slipped off her open bush jacket and handed it to the waiting agent. He took it and began opening its' numerous large pockets; removing the items contained in each. A camera, a small pair of binoculars, sunglasses, a pack of moist towelettes; the usual accoutrements of the western tourist. The agent made a show of examining each item carefully, then placing it on the empty chair. After inspecting the jacket inside and out, he laid it over the other gear and stared at Susan in anticipation. She pulled off her cap and held it out, her short blonde hair shaking loose. The agent barely glanced at it before tossing it on the chair and looking up to receive the next garment. No words were spoken; the choice of what to hand over next seemed to be entirely up to Susan.
She was standing in her white T-shirt, bulky blue bush shorts, sturdy hiking boots, and heavy white socks. Eyeing the dirty, clammy looking floor; Susan was not ready to give up the protection of her boots. She had resolved to follow their commands, in order to protect herself and her husband; and was trying to de-sensitize herself to the particulars of what she had to do. Without another thought, she grabbed the lower hem of her T-shirt and pulled it over her head, handing it to the surprised customs officer.
The grins of the soldiers spread wider as they stared at the young woman's white bra and expanse of pale skin. The fullness of Susan's brassiere promised delights to come; an air of excitement hung in the room. The agent pulled the T-shirt through his fingers, his eyes never leaving the partially-clad woman standing passively in front of him. He laid the shirt on the chair and waited again.
Susan was dealing with her increasingly awful predicament by mentally withdrawing from the details of what she was doing. Aware of the need to hand over another item, she reached behind her back and unhooked her bra. Pulling the bra from her body, her full breasts tumbled free, nakedly exposed to the wide-eyed men.
Somewhere in the back of her mind, Susan had reasoned that seeing her topless would not excite these men much, since the native women in the back country all went bare breasted. Not so! It was true that the local men were used to seeing the local tits; but the sight of a white woman's breasts was a rare sight indeed. The agent and soldiers stared transfixed at Susan's twin beauties, round and white, her pale pink areola and nipples starring right back at them.
The young woman stood there naked to the waist. After a long minute of feasting his eyes, the agent gestured for the next item, snapping Susan out of her daze. Not wanting to take her pants off yet, she kneeled down to untie first one boot and then the other. The men focused on her smooth, white back and the sides of her boobs, bulging outwards as she hunched over. Susan stood up and pulled her boots off one at a time, her tits wobbling with her efforts. As each boot came off, she placed a sock-clad foot on the dirty floor.
The boots were given a cursory inspection and then placed under the chair. 'At least he didn't put them on top of her other clothes' thought Susan, allowing that the man might have some shred of consideration. Not much though, she realized, as he waited for her next garment.
Susan was surprised at how well she was controlling her fear and anger. A cold calm seemed to envelope her, dulling the embarrassment of this humiliating striptease.
Still unable to imagine putting her bare feet on the disgusting floor; she unbuckled her heavy shorts and let them slide down her legs. Stepping out of her pants, she handed them to the agent, who received them with a smiling formality. Despite her numbed state, the young wife was now acutely aware of her near nudity. Her pretty white bikini panties left much of her hips and belly bare, her titties were hanging exposed; only her thick, white socks afforded her any felling of protection.
The soldiers were jabbering happily among themselves in their native language, obviously critiquing her exposed charms. The slimy agent was trying to go through the pockets of her shorts while keeping his eyes glued to her boobs. The situation would almost be funny, she thought, except for the fact that, ridiculous as she found these people, she was completely in their control. A chill went through her as she glanced over at the Captain sitting impassively in his chair; his expressionless eyes taking in every detail of her humiliation but revealing nothing.
Susan sensed the agent waiting and shuddered. All her feelings of safety and security in the world were slipping away with her clothes. Her thick, warm socks had taken on an almost irrational importance to her. Right now she wanted more than anything to be able to keep them on. She knew the order of her stripping didn't matter; that she would be buck naked in a few minutes anyway.
Looking around, Susan could see how anxious the men were to see her most private parts. Realizing that denying them that pleasure for a few moments longer was probably going to be her last chance to deny them anything, she made her decision. Lifting her leg, Susan yanked one sock off angrily and planted her bare foot firmly on the ground. She quickly pulled off the other sock and now stood barefoot on the dirty, clammy floor. The coolness of the concrete radiated up her body and an involuntary shiver ran through her as she stood there, barefoot and bare breasted before the leering males.
The agent dropped her dirty socks carelessly on top of her other clothes, and then stared at her, waiting. Susan did not move. She needed a brief show of resistance to regain her composure. Thinking that she was making it too easy for this worm of an agent, she decided that he would have to ask for her last garment.
The agent had to swallow before he spoke, his mouth having gone dry from excitement. In an annoyed voice, he croaked "Take off your underpants, now!"
Pleased with herself for disconcerting the man, Susan slipped her fingers into the waistband of her panties and pushed them down over her bare hips. Her hairy bush was suddenly exposed to five sets of male eyes; her panties sliding down her legs and pooling around her ankles. She stood there like that for a full minute, stark naked, her fallen panties bunched around her ankles. The men stared in silence, mesmerized. Most had never seen a nude white woman. They drank in the glories of her body: her blonde hair, her pale skin, her pink nipples, and, most fascinating of all, her blonde triangle of pubic hair. Susan's pubes were slightly darker in color than the hair on her head, but she was definitely a natural blonde; as these men could clearly see.
Letting her panties fall to the dirty floor may seem odd, but Susan was trying to demonstrate, to both herself and the Africans, that she didn't care what they did, that nothing would faze her. It was a gesture wasted on her tormentors, who were too focused on her nudity to even notice. The agent finally held out his hand and Susan stepped out of her empty panties, picked them up, and handed them to the man. He dropped them on top of her dirty socks.
The pile of Susan's clothing was now complete. Everything she had been wearing when she entered the room was now on or under the old wooden chair, leaving her in her birthday suit. She stood with her arms at her sides, making no attempt to cover her nudity as the soldiers ran their eyes over her bare body.
Susan's mind wandered, thinking about the role reversal of her situation. Instead of the white explorer or traveler encountering the scantily clad natives, here she was completely naked in front of a group of fully clothed Africans.
"Put your hands behind your head", the agent ordered abruptly. She did as he instructed, elbows out. Her audience watched as her firm tits were raised and thrust forward, her bare nipples pointing right at them. "Legs apart" barked the agent. Susan shifted her legs so that her feet were shoulder width apart. The men's eyes instantly dropped to the young woman's crotch; where they could just make out her pink cunt through her blonde bush. Susan ****** herself to remain detached. She wondered what Jim was doing at this moment.
Jim was sitting.
He too was trying to keep his mind blank. The thought of what might be happening to his wife behind the closed door, was too painful to contemplate. He was sunk in a morass of conflicting emotions. He wanted to protect his wife; but the only way to do that was to sit here meekly and do nothing. He consoled himself with the thought that whatever was being done to Susan in that room, it was better than what would happen to her if he resisted. Jim looked around the terminal. It was filling up with people for the flight out, but no one was at the counter to process them; all of the customs staff being in the search room, enjoying the show, he thought bitterly. Oddly, the other passengers did not seem upset or annoyed at the lack of organization. Jim guessed that in Mabuto, remaining docile was an important quality of the successful citizen. The threat of quick and ******* retaliation for anyone who stepped out of line was guaranteed, and he knew that included him. So he sat, and worried.
Inside the room, his naked wife stood, legs apart, and worried. How far were these thugs going to go, she wondered? Despite her resolve to remain detached, Susan couldn't help but be aware of her nudity; and a wave of shame swept through her bare body. With great effort she managed to shake it off, just in time to hear her next instructions. "Walk to the far wall and back, and keep walking until I tell you to stop". Susan turned and walked towards the rear wall, the soldiers getting their first look at her naked backside. All eyes were glued to the woman's bare ass, her full cheeks wobbling lewdly with each step. Reaching the wall she turned and walked back towards the men, boobs and hairy bush embarrassingly of display. The men watched like a pack of hungry wolves as she made several back and forth trips, trying to decide which side they preferred. Finally the agent told her to stop, and she stood before them at attention.
"Turn around", he ordered. She complied. "Bend over and spread your cheeks".
Susan was not shocked; she was expecting something like this. Now they were getting down to the nitty-gritty of this charade. She turned her back on the men and spread her legs slightly. Taking a deep breath, she reached back, grabbed a full buttock in each hand, and bent forward at the waist, pulling her ass cheeks wide apart. 'I'm going to give them the full show', she thought through her anger; 'just so they'd shut their stupid mouths and look their fill'.
The agent and soldiers watched in a lusty stupor as the beautiful naked tourist brazenly spread her bottom for them. The dark crease between her lush bum cheeks parted, revealing her asshole. Susan's crinkled anus was a deep reddish color, contrasting obscenely with the very pale hemispheres of her bare fanny. The men stared long and hard. They had subjected many hapless victims to this humiliating routine, mostly males. This was their first white woman. They gazed in wonder; the time passing in silence.
Susan's back and legs were starting to ache as she held the uncomfortable position. She could feel a slight breeze against her exposed anus, and though idly that maybe it was coming from the combined heavy breathing of all the men in the room. 'What a way to pass the time waiting for a flight', she thought sarcastically. Finally, reluctantly, the agent whispered "Stand up". Susan straightened up slowly; the men watching in fascination as her rosebud was again enfolded and hidden between the plump cheeks of her behind.
"Come over here" the agent ordered as he walked to the old examination table. As Susan followed him, her bare feet padding across the cool, dank floor, she was again feeling very naked. She glanced briefly at the Captain, watching her from his chair with cold eyes. He seemed the least interested in the proceedings, the least likely to do anything physical to her; yet he frightened her the most. Arriving at the table, she faced the customs agent, who made a point of looking her up and down before he spoke. "We will now do a body cavity search" he said with a smirk on his lips. "Get on the table and lie on your back".
Susan looked down at the table and shuddered. The old leather padding was scratched and torn. It was a mottled brownish color, covered with dark stains. She imagined that these were sweat stains from previous naked victims. Suppressing her revulsion, Susan climbed nakedly up on the table. As she lay back, she found that it was too short to stretch out on full length. With her head at one end of the table, she had to bend her knees almost straight up so that her feet could rest on the opposite end. She could fell the sharp edges of the rips and tears in the leather padding digging into her back and buttocks. "Spread your legs" the agent blurted out. She moved her feet carefully to the outer edges of the table and let her thighs fall wide open. Susan knew that if she held anything back from these pigs they would just give her more orders; and she was thoroughly sick of hearing the agent's nauseating voice. She was determined not to feel shame; they were the guilty ones here.
Guilty though they might be, the agent and soldiers' focus was not on their misconduct but on the beautiful nude blonde spreading her legs before them. Susan's pubic bush parted, revealing her cunt. The men watched hungrily as her pink vulva slowly opened, exposing the inner folds of her labia. Susan glanced down towards the end of the table and found herself almost amused at the oddness of the view. Looking past her bare breasts, which were leaning outwards, her blonde bush sprouted at the base of her belly like some small garden growing between the V of her thighs. Crowded in a tight group between those thighs were four goggle-eyed men, framed by the V as if posing for a group portrait.
The moment stretched on. Susan found herself actually getting bored. 'All right already', she mused, 'they've seen my cunt, big deal! I haven't got anything down there different from any other woman'.
But from the soldiers' point of view, it was a very big deal. The soft, pink vaginal lips, glistening slightly in the center of their furry, light-haired nest, was to them a sight fit for the Gods. Susan was fortunate that she could only see the men from the waist up. Had she been able to see the ominous bulges in the men's pants, she might have been more worried.
The agent reached into a drawer in the table and took out what looked like an old canister of cold cream and unscrewed the wide, round lid. With a leer of anticipation, he stuck his long, thin finger in the jar and pulled it out, coated with a nasty looking yellowish gel. Susan knew what was coming. Looking up at the cracked ceiling, she braced herself; gripping the edges of the table and digging in her feet. Placing the palm of one hand on her hairy mound and spreading her inner lips with his fingers, the trembling agent slid his long, greased digit slowly into her open vagina. The soldiers watched in fascination and envy as the agent's finger disappeared completely into the woman's body. Keeping his finger all the way in, he rotated his hand to the left and then right, feeling the walls of her vaginal canal, his knuckles rubbing against her blonde pubes. Susan's eyes were squeezed shut against the intimate and uncomfortable intrusion.
The soldiers were now jabbering at the agent, who reluctantly withdrew his finger from the young woman's sex. It emerged with a soft, smacking sound. Susan glanced down again and saw that the soldiers were jostling each other for position. With a shock she realized they were arguing over who would be next to finger her. She barely had time to comprehend this new development when the tallest man in the group won the argument.
With a grin at the others, he dipped his large finger in the grease and unceremoniously shoved it up Susan's pussy to the hilt. She let out a yelp of surprise and pain. The man's finger, besides being very large, must have had a rough or cracked nail, and had scratched her going in. The bastard laughed at her discomfort, grinning idiotically, and began sawing his finger in and out of the young wife's tender vagina. Susan bit her lip and bore it, determined not to give him the satisfaction of crying out again. He finally pulled out with a loud, greasy smack and made a big show of sniffing his dripping finger, drawing laughs from the others. He had barely stepped away from the table when a second soldier took his place.
Susan's open vulva was glistening with grease, her pubic hair matted with it. Not bothering with the preliminaries, the new man brutally thrust a stubby digit into her cunny and held it there, felling the warm walls of her cunt clinging to his finger. A look of uncontrollable lust suddenly came into the man's eyes. He jerked his finger painfully out of Susan's pussy and began fumbling with his pants.
When she saw that she was about to be raped, Susan snapped out of her compliant role. Struggling to get up, she kicked out strongly with her legs at the same time. Another soldier moved to hold her down, but just then she landed a powerful kick directly to the balls of her potential *******. The man let out a scream and fell to the ground, doubled over in pain.
Suddenly the Captain was on his feet, shouting out a string of commands in the native language. The soldiers instantly froze, then came to attention, fear in their eyes. The man on the floor stopped groaning, probably more afraid than the rest. All was quiet in the room again. Even Susan, naked and half sitting up, didn't move. The Captain's air of icy calm returned. He turned to Susan and said: "We will continue the search, but you will not be harmed". With a nod to the agent he resumed his seat. Susan recognized that although the Captain had protected her, the man had no feelings of protectiveness towards her; she doubted if he had any feelings at all.
As for the Captain; he would let his men have a little fun with their strip search, at the same time teaching these haughty American tourists a little humility. *******, however, might result in an official protest. Although President Kemo generally did not worry about such things, you never knew when something would annoy him; and he was a most unpleasant man when annoyed.
"Go on", he ordered the agent, who was so overcome with fear that, turning back to the table, he could not even appreciate the erotic vision stretched out before him. Susan lay propped up on one elbow, breathing hard from her struggles, her naked breasts rising and falling with each breath. Her bare legs were slightly apart, her vagina leaking melted grease onto the brown leather, a pool of which shimmered between her thighs.
"Almost finished now Miss", he announced politely, "one more procedure and then you will be free to go. Get down and turn around, facing the table." Susan could hear a new tone of respect in the agent's voice. Her apparent lack of shame in responding to their humiliating commands, combined with the effective fight she put up to defend herself when they tried to go too far; had marked her in their eyes as a woman to be reckoned with. As she slipped off the table, she noticed the man she had kicked, still not able to straighten up. A warm glow of inner satisfaction spread through her, somewhat making up for the feeling of the dank floor under her bare feet, and the knowledge of what was coming next.
"Bend over the table, legs apart" came the command, and she assumed the position, sticking her ass out defiantly. She was determined to take the worst they could dish out without a whimper, proud of her newfound toughness.
The men may have had a new measure of respect for the scrappy American tourist, but they were not to be denied their fun. They were again leering hungrily at the sight of the naked young woman bent over the table, her bare white bottom shining at them. The agent dipped his finger once again into the can of grease and pulled it out, liberally coated with the yellowish goo. He stepped right up close to Susan's rump as if he intended to mount her. Placing his hand on one of her bare bum cheeks, he spread it to the side, exposing her puckered anus to the soldiers who had crowded close to watch.
What happened next depended on who and where you were.
From the agent's viewpoint, standing right behind the naked woman, all was right with the world. He was filled with feelings of power and lust. What a wonderful man he must be; able to order this American beauty to strip and then submit to these humiliating procedures. Trembling with sexual excitement, his eyes locked on Susan's asshole, he brought his greased finger towards its' intended target. He thrilled at the feeling of rubbery warmth as his fingertip lodged against her puckered rosebud. Pushing harder, the agent's long, black finger slid smoothly through Susan's clenching sphincter and on into the intimate, dark recesses of her rectum. He pushed the digit all the way in, until his fist was pressing up against Susan's ass crack, her anus gripping the base of his finger tightly. The soldiers crowded round, feasting their eyes on the obscene sight.
From Susan's viewpoint, there wasn't much to see at all; only the stained leather top of the examination table and the bare wall beyond. For her, the experience was one of feelings. First, the feeling of exposure from the degrading position she was ****** to assume, displaying her bare ass to a group of strange men. As she bent over and her ass cheeks separated, she could once more feel the humid air on her exposed anus. Next, she felt the agent's sweaty palm on her left buttock. Expecting worse, she got it. A warm, slimy object nudged against her anal opening, pushed hard, and slid on into her rectum. Susan's sphincter defensively tightened against the intruder, but the greasy finger was not to be denied. She could feel the man's knuckles as they glided past her clenching rosebud; and she found herself thinking absurdly that they hadn't even been properly introduced. She willed herself to lie there passively, with a tushy full of finger, waiting for it to be over.
From Jim's viewpoint, there was nothing much to see or feel, except in his mind. He was vaguely aware of the people sitting patiently around him, the low murmur of African voices. He stared fixedly at the door to the back room, its' blank surface revealing nothing. He knew only that his wife was on the other side, in a room with five men, completely at their mercy. He couldn't help but knowing that the men would make Susan undress and inspect her naked body. The least he could hope for is that they would do nothing worse. It was painful enough to realize that his wife was probably nude on the other side of the door, the men seeing everything; but he was experiencing an even worse feeling. It was the feeling of being shut out, of being the only one involved who couldn't see her. Jim was somewhat ashamed of his desire to witness Susan's humiliation, but he couldn't deny the feeling, it was too powerful. Though he didn't know it, it was also a perfectly natural reaction to his situation. Those men did not deserve to be getting any free peeks or feels of his wife. Only her husband should be allowed such liberties, if any man should. His place was being usurped, and he felt it keenly.
Back inside the room, the greedy customs agent had now had his finger up Susan's fundament for several minutes. He could feel the heat of her body radiating through her intestines as if he were taking her rectal temperature. Reluctantly, he pulled his finger slowly out of the woman's clinging anus. It exited with a soft, wet pop, which draw a chuckle from the soldiers.
'About time' thought Susan, flooded with relief. Apart from being extremely inappropriate, the anal intrusion had not been particularly painful; but her back and legs were now aching from holding the awkward position for so long. What was making her most uncomfortable at the moment however, was a pressing need to pee. Without asking permission she slowly straightened up, relieving the pain in her back and legs, and turned to face her tormentor. She was past caring about their seeing her nakedness, she just wanted to finish up and get to a bathroom. "I didn't say you could get up", snapped the agent. "One more man has to perform the rectal search", he explained, indicating the soldier who had not yet laid a hand on her.
Disbelief and rage flashed through her, but she quickly suppressed her emotions, determined to reveal nothing to the enemy. In a calculated act of rebellion, she actually took a step closer to the agent, her bare body only inches from his clothed one. Staring him right in the eye, she stated in a calm but steely voice that would brook no refusal: "I need to go to the toilet, now!"
Taken totally off guard, the agent felt intimidated by the angry, naked woman. He might even have let her dress and leave, but he knew he could not completely surrender his authority in front of the Captain and the soldiers. Regaining some of his composure, he pointed to the metal grating of the drain, set in the middle of the floor; certain she would refuse such a degrading suggestion. Without a moments' hesitation, Susan marched over to the drain, turned facing the men and, straddling the grating, proceeded to squat and pee.
The soldiers stared in amazement at the sight of a naked white woman urinating in front of them. All eyes were glued to Susan's crotch, where a yellow stream of piss was gushing from the young wife's urethra. Susan's pee made a hissing noise as it continued to pour forth strongly from between her hairy lips, splashing on the metal grating and wetting her pretty toes before trickling down the drain. Finally, her seemingly endless stream began to weaken. The five males watched transfixed as the last few drops of urine dribbled out of Susan's wet, blonde pubes.
Without a word, and without wiping herself, Susan stood up, walked calmly back to the table, bent over, and spread her legs. The men were stunned and confused by Susan's behavior. Though they of course enjoyed the unexpected treat of watching the beautiful blonde tourist take a piss right in front of them, they were put off by the new brazenness of her behavior. She was not acting cowed or intimidated, two of the basic requirements of a good strip search. She was taking some of the "fun" out of it.
Nevertheless, one more treat was in store for them, as the third soldier approached Susan's proffered backside. They all knew that this man had short but unusually thick fingers. Not bothering with the jar of lube, he placed the blunt tip of his fat finger against Susan's already greased asshole and shoved mightily.
Susan let out a yell, a long, drawn out "aaaaahhh!" The men watched in fascination as her small anus stretched to accommodate the huge intruder, expanding from a crinkled red dot to a smooth and shiny wide ring of distended muscle, gripping the man's fat finger. Susan was trying to relax, to accustom herself to the monster lodged in her rectum, when the man began to crudely pump his digit in and out of her rear end.
Pain shot through her as she fell helplessly forward across the table. She tried not to cry out, but the agony from the massive finger stretching and rubbing the tender flesh of her dilated anus was too much to bear. An unladylike grunt escaped her throat each time the brute pushed his finger in, followed by a low moan when he pulled out. The soldiers were practically drooling over the obscene sight of Susan's distended anal ring gripping the fat, black finger as it slid relentlessly in and out of her rectum, buggering her. Her grunts and moans were music to their ears.
Suddenly the Captain's voice shot across the room. "Enough!" he commanded; and it was over.
The soldier pulled his finger from Susan's behind with a loud, wet 'plop'. Her asshole, looking red and raw, remained open for a few seconds before slowly contracting to its' normal pucker. The room was quiet except for the heavy breathing of both the young woman and the men. The quiet was suddenly broken as Susan let loose with a series of loud, wet farts, the soldiers laughing hysterically at her discomfort.
"Get dressed, you're free to go" announced the customs agent. He felt that he had done what was expected of him; that he and his assistants had thoroughly humiliated this prideful young woman.
Susan took a few more deep, healing breaths as she lay draped across the table, her bare arse still facing the smirking men. Disregarding the pain between her legs, she stood up and, ignoring the men completely, walked over to the pile of her clothes. She picked up her panties, dirty from having fallen to the floor when she undressed, turned them around to find a clean spot, and used them to delicately wipe the grease from her raw cunt and ass. Then, throwing the panties on the floor, she put the rest of her clothes back on.
When Susan was once again fully clothed: bulky shorts, safari jacket, heavy boots, baseball cap; she looked as stylish and attractive as when she came in. Without a look back, she walked to the door and left the room; leaving the soldiers to marvel at her toughness, and feel a little ashamed at having treated such a decent woman so disgracefully.
Susan didn't give the men another thought, they were beneath contempt. Entering the main terminal area, she saw Jim rise from his seat and threw herself into his waiting arms. "I'm fine", she whispered reassuringly, "I'll give you the gory details later. Let's just go home". Her husband, sensing her needs, asked no further questions, grateful to see her apparently unhurt. He took charge and tenderly guided her through the rest of the airport procedures and onto the waiting plane. Susan clung to his arm, lost in her own thoughts.
They had both been so sure of themselves, not realizing what a dangerous place the world could be. She had born the brunt of their punishment, but horrible as it had been, she had discovered just how strong she could be.
She was proud of the way she had handled herself. She had given in when she knew she must, to protect herself and her husband, but had maintained her dignity. She had not acted like some helpless ninny, and was enormously proud of fighting off the man who had tried to ******* her. Most of all, she was determined to put the whole, distasteful incident behind her. Not that it excuses the men; but the things that were done to her were not so unusual. They were just the things that such men do when given power over women: undress them and stick their fingers into various orifices. Not very original when you think about it. She would not be traumatized, she was stronger than that. She had a wonderful husband, and a good life to get back to.
Susan was suddenly aware that they were on the plane already, flying over the trees and scrub, headed back to civilization. Looking out of her window, she found herself thinking what a beautiful country this really was. Maybe, if the government changed, they would come back here someday.
A brief spasm of pain shot through her sore asshole, followed by a small fart.
Then again, maybe not.
