The Training Subject

Author: lodestar
Title: The Training Subject
Date: 24 March 2014

The Training Subject

My buddy is head of airport security at our local terminal. Recently he told me they’d received the same equipment as major airports to catch and process smugglers who bring dope in bags in their guts. If they caught a suspect, they’d strip him, search his cavities, and use a portable MRI to look at his insides. If they saw bags, their medic would give him a big enema. He then would sit on a clear plastic toilet, connected by clear pipes to a tank. The bags of dope would get washed into the tank and held as evidence.

“Wow, that’s quite a process” I told him as I began to feel a stir in my pants. “Yeah, we have a new group of officers coming in for the training. One of them has to play the suspect, and as you might guess, nobody wants to volunteer.” “No, I guess not” I said, trying to keep my tone steady.

“There’s our most junior guy, a big bruiser, who would be logical one, but he swears it ain’t gonna be him, and we’d spending most of our time subduing him. Not sure where we’re gonna find a suspect, maybe ask the local police academy for their worst fuck-up”.

“Or,” I offered, trying not to sound too eager, “I could play the suspect”.

My friend look deeply at me. “Really? You would?”

“Sure”, I tried to sound casual.

“Well, it might not be an easy deal, the guys might not be real gentle on you, particularly if they know you’re my buddy”. “That’s fine, I’ll be OK with it”.

“I don’t know about any pay per se, but we might be able arrange some, uh, compensation”, he grinned. “Whatever you think is right will be fine with me”, I agreed and we cracked open another round of beers.

One the morning of the training, I washed myself out twice and made sure I was very clean all over. I parked in the employee lot and my friend met me at the side door of the security building, which was away from the main terminal.

I walked in to the processing area and his five new officers were waiting. All were grinning at the thought of the morning’s training, and I’m sure, that they’d have a civilian to practice on. One was about six feet even, a little on the heavy side with a thick mustache and strong shadow, even this early in the morning. Hairy forearms ran up to nice, but not huge biceps inside his tight uniform shirt. I guessed this was the junior guy.

My pal introduced me and said they’d get started right away. “Gloves on” he told his troop, and turned to me. “Go ahead and strip” he barked, and I did so, trying not show any excitement. When I was naked, cavity searched was announced. The officers took turns looking in every orifice other than my rectum. One of them then gruffly told me to bend over and spared my cheeks, which I did so instantly. Five sets of fingers took turns stretching me open and inserting up to my prostate. A couple of the guys made remarks about my hairy ass and crack. The last took a little longer than the rest. I was glad I had gotten extra clean. When that was over I stood up and I saw that the last examiner, who had taken so long was in fact our young bruiser, grinning through his mustache.

The duty medic wheeled in the portable MRI machine. He told the officers to stand at least ten feet away. There was a small narrow table and he told me to lay down on it. He then passed the ring of the machine over my abdomen and looked at the screen. “At this point, if the suspect had any bags in his gut, you’d see them clearly, like these in a real smuggler”. I couldn’t see the screen but he must have showed them a screen shot of what bags look like in somebody’s gut.

My buddy announced, “Now we’ll assume we saw bags on the screen. Next step is to wash them out”. He marched me into the exam room. There was a free-standing bath tub with a low-set metal bar at one end. The plastic toilet was set up on a stand, like a throne from a sci-fi movie. Clear tubes ran from it to a clear tank next to the floor drain.

“Stand in the tub” the medic said, trying to sound friendly. “At this point” my friend narrated, “a real suspect would be restrained to that bar, but since our subject is being so cooperative”-here everyone chuckled- we’ll just have him bend over and grab it.”

I did as I was told. The medic poked the plastic tube up my asshole, which was already sensitive from five sets of hands inspecting it. I tried to relax and let the water just flow in, like I had that morning. This seemed to be a bigger fill, or maybe I was just nervous. Eventually, the medic cut off the flow and he cautioned me to tighten up as he slowly pulled out the tube.

“Mount the toilet but hold it in until I tell you” my friend ordered. “Yes sir” I responded, almost automatically. The medic offered he his hand for steadiness as I stepped up to the platform and sat down on the clear seat. Seven guys were watching me hold it in, totally naked. I began to cramp and bent down a little. “Hold it!” my friend barked. I was sweating now and I guess I moaned.

“Ok, let it go!” A Niagra came out of me, one huge gush and then a few loud squirts. The officers were hold their sides and laughing; it was probably the funniest thing they’d seen in a while. “Ahhhh!” I let out all my tension as the last of the water ran out. “The bags, if he had bags in him, would have been washed into the holding tank, where we’d recover them and bag and tag them as evidence”.

I was about to get up and reached for the toilet paper. “Clean up real good, because I think some guys were not paying attention, so we’d better repeat it.” I almost started to protest and thought the better of it. He was being hard on me since we were friends and I couldn’t wimp out in front of his troop. I cleaned up and walked down. I got back into the tub, and bent over and grabbed the bar. The tube went back up into me, and it seemed like the amount was even bigger. I guess I was stretched out enough that it didn’t bother me as much this time. In just a few moments I was clenching my cheeks and mounting the toilet again. Once again I started to cramp and sweat, the perspiration making tracks in my chest and belly hair. Finally, came the command to let go. The officers laughed just as hard this time. Glad I could entertain them, I thought, as the last squirts came out.

“Well, guys, there you have it. That’s the procedure. A round of applause for our friend for being such a good sport”. A few claps and the officers left. The medic helped me down and offered me wet wipes to clean myself up. “How’d I do?“ I asked my pal after the medic left. “You did great, and thanks.” I looked around for my clothes. “Hold your hands out” he said evenly. I did so and he slapped cuffs on me. I was more puzzled than startled. “Time for your compensation, buddy”. He took hold of the short chain between the cuffs and led me to a door at the back of the processing area. He opened the door the office and there stood Mister Junior Brute next to a desk. No shirt, his hairy muscles twitching slightly, and in his right hand was a doubled belt. “Thanks again” my friend said merrily, pushed me inside, and shut the door.