Submit to the search...

You lay over the hood of the squad car, feeling a sense of unease creeping up within you. The officer asks again if he can search you, and after a moment of hesitation, you reluctantly nod your head in agreement. "Sure, go ahead," you say, trying to sound calm and composed.

As the officer starts to pat you down, you feel a surge of discomfort wash over you. His touch is rough and invasive, making you wish you had never agreed to the search in the first place. "Hey, watch it," you mutter under your breath as his hands roam over your body. You can't help but feel a sense of shame and humiliation as you stand there, allowing this stranger to invade your personal space. "I can't believe I let this happen," you think to yourself, regretting your decision to consent to the search.

Despite your growing discomfort, you try to stay composed and hold back any feelings of anger or frustration. "Just get this over with," you urge the officer, hoping that he will finish the search quickly and let you go on your way. As the officer continues the rough search, you feel a mixture of discomfort and an unexpected wave of arousal. Your cheeks flush as the realization dawns on you, causing you to feel shame at the inappropriate response to the situation. The search continues, each passing moment making you more acutely aware of your body's response to his touch.

You stand there, frozen and helpless, as the officer's hands methodically search and grope your breasts, squeezing and pulling them painfully. He pinches and pulls at your sensitive nipples. Each touch sends a shiver down your spine, a mixture of shame and arousal settling in the pit of your stomach. The officer's voice is cold and unyielding as he continues his intrusive search, "I need to make sure you're not carrying anything illegal on you. This is standard procedure."

You can feel his gaze burning into you as his hands roam over your body, leaving no inch untouched. Your cheeks burn with embarrassment at the intimate violation, yet you can't deny the forbidden thrill that courses through you at his touch. You swallow hard, unable to meet his gaze as a wave of humiliation washes over you. You feel exposed and ****, your body betraying you in ways you never thought possible. The officer's knowing look only adds to your sense of shame, leaving you feeling both violated and strangely exhilarated at the same time.

You feel a surge of fear as the officer instructs you to spread your legs further apart, forcing you to bend over the hood of the squad car. The cold metal presses against your skin as you comply, feeling **** and exposed in this compromising position. The officer's voice is stern as he commands, "Keep still and don't resist. I need to conduct a thorough frisk to ensure your safety and mine."

You grit your teeth and try to suppress a whimper as his hands move over your legs, one at a time, from bottom to top. The touch is firm and invasive, leaving you feeling violated and helpless as he searches every inch of your body. As his hands trail higher, you can't help but gasp at the sensation, feeling a rush of heat pooling between your thighs. It's a strange mix of arousal and shame, the overwhelming need to be touched conflicting with the humiliation of being so exposed in front of the officer.

Finally, the officer straightens up, a knowing glint in his eyes as he takes in the sight of you, bent over and breathless. "Seems like you enjoyed that a little too much," he remarks, his words dripping with implication as he takes in your flushed cheeks and damp arousal. You feel a hot flush of embarrassment wash over you, torn between the thrill of the forbidden and the shame of being caught in such a compromising position.

As the officer steps back, part of you can't help but crave more, the anticipation building in your chest. You hear the distinct snap of a rubber glove being pulled on as he approaches you, the cool air adding to the heat radiating from your exposed skin. Your heart races as he informs you that it's time for a body cavity search.

"No, please," you whisper, the fear and vulnerability evident in your voice as you look back at him with pleading eyes. But he doesn't falter, his expression stern and focused as he prepares to continue the search.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but it's standard procedure," he replies, his voice authoritative and unwavering. You feel a mix of embarrassment and helplessness wash over you as he gently instructs you to bend forward, the reality of the situation sinking in.