Frisking the Dirty Backpacker

Malcy had just finished university and had decided to take 6 months out to backpack around South America. He had already been travelling for three months, and whilst enjoying himself, his money was now tight. He’d been staying in cheap single sex hostels and rarely washed his clothes. Whilst he did try to shower or bathe each day, that wasn’t always possible. He’s quite dishevelled looking with long hair and an unkempt beard. All his belongings are in a large rucksack. Malcy is 19 and exclusively gay, with quite a lot of sexual experience, and has met up with several guys already on his trip. We pick up the story as he is crossing the border from Colombia to Venezuela, and the border guards have pulled him over for questioning and ultimately a full strip search and examination.

--- The border guard’s flashlight raked over Malcy’s face, the beam lingering on his sweat-slicked skin and tangled beard. "*Documentos*," the man growled, thick fingers tapping the butt of his pistol. Malcy fumbled his passport from his cargo shorts—damp with three days of travel—and handed it over. The guard flipped through it, eyes dark and assessing. "Empty your bag," another guard barked, already yanking the straps of his rucksack before Malcy could move. Clothes, half-rotten fruit, a crusted bottle of lube spilled onto the concrete. The guards exchanged a glance. One smirked. "Strip." Malcy’s pulse spiked, but he knew better than to argue. Kicking off his boots he then pulled his sweaty t-shirt over his head and placed it on the counter for the guards to examine. They could already smell his strong body odour. His shorts hit the ground next, revealing hard, travel-tight muscles beneath tanned skin. He stood there in just his briefs and socks, wondering if they really wanted him naked. The guard's expressions could not be clearer, and his briefs—grey with wear—and socks followed. He placed them on the counter, too, but the officers dared not touch them, given the smell. Malcy's cock was already half-hard from the excitement of being naked in front of such hunks in uniform. The guards circled him, the leather of their boots creaking as one dragged a baton along the inside of his thigh. "Turn," the first guard ordered. Malcy obeyed, chest pressing against the cold metal table as fingers spread his ass cheeks without warning. A grunt. A slick glob of spit landed between them. "*Muy sucio*," the guard muttered, nudging his hole with a gloved finger. Malcy bit his lip. This wasn’t his first search. He knew how to make it worth their while.

Despite several searches by border guards, this trip, he could never tell which way the search was going to go. Some had been over in minutes, whereas others had been gruelling interrogations with internal body cavity searches and detention lasting hours. He didn't speak much Spanish, so he just had to follow the guard's visual instructions. Truth be told, he quite liked the thrill of being naked in front of men in uniform!

The guard’s gloved finger pressed harder, the latex catching slightly on Malcy’s rim before slipping inside with a wet sound. Malcy exhaled sharply, hips twitching forward—whether to escape or chase the sensation, even he wasn’t sure. The second guard stepped closer, his baton tapping the underside of Malcy’s balls, forcing a choked gasp from his throat. "*¿Drogas?*" the first guard demanded, twisting his finger deeper. Malcy shook his head, fingers splaying against the metal table as the intrusion stung. The baton slid higher, pressing against his perineum while the guard’s free hand roughly groped his chest, pinching a nipple hard. "*Mentiroso*," the second guard muttered. He wrenched Malcy’s head back by his hair, flashlight beam blinding him. "Last chance." Malcy panted, sweat dripping down his spine. "N-no... *nada*." A snort. The first guard yanked his finger out, making Malcy jerk, then seized his wrist, forcing his hand behind his back. The cold snap of metal cuffs locked around his wrists while the second guard hauled his legs apart with a boot between his ankles. The baton dragged up his inner thigh again, stopping just shy of his balls. "Turn," the first guard ordered, shoving him sideways against the table. Malcy’s chest hit the steel, his ass exposed as the baton nudged between his cheeks. A glob of spit landed on his hole, followed by the blunt press of latex—two fingers this time, thrusting in without mercy. Malcy hissed, back arching as they scissored him open. "*Cristo—*" The second guard leaned down, holster creaking, his breath hot on Malcy’s ear. "*Te gusta esto, puta?*" The fingers twisted, knuckles grinding against his walls. Malcy’s cock throbbed, dripping onto the concrete as the guard chuckled. The baton clattered to the floor. Leather unbuckled, the sound deliberate, slow. Malcy’s pulse spiked. Now they’d really begin.

Yes! That's much better. Malcy was in no hurry and perversely quite enjoyed these interruptions to his journey. His own cock was already erect and dripping pre-cum from the anal examination. He hoped the two hunky guards were packing big cocks. From the bulges beneath their uniforms, it certainly seemed that way. The guards had put up a small screen to protect their examination from the rest of the travelling public, but Malcy could still hear the noise of passing foot traffic and was sure people could look over the top or underneath to see what was going on. How embarrassing, how humiliating.

The guard behind him spat again, the wet splatter landing just above his twitching hole before a thick finger—then two—sank back in, fucking him roughly. Malcy groaned, his cock bobbing against his stomach, precum smearing across the cold metal table. The other guard unbuckled his belt with a sharp click, leather sliding free, then nudged Malcy’s legs wider with his boot. "Mírame," he growled, palming the obvious bulge in his trousers. Malcy turned his head just in time to see the guard yank his fly open, his cock springing free—thick, uncut, already leaking. He licked his lips before the guard grabbed a fistful of his hair and pulled him forward. "Suck." Malcy didn’t hesitate, taking the head between his lips, tasting salt and musk. The fingers in his ass twisted deeper, making him moan around the cock filling his mouth. The guard behind him chuckled, his free hand slapping Malcy’s ass hard enough to leave a red mark. "Puta sucia," he muttered, dragging his fingers out just to shove them back in, this time with three. Malcy’s hips jerked, his own neglected cock dripping onto the floor. Behind the flimsy screen, footsteps passed, voices murmuring. Malcy’s stomach tightened—anyone could see him like this, spit-slick and spread open. The thought only made his cock throb harder. The guard in front of him thrust deeper, forcing Malcy’s nose into his trimmed pubes. "Swallow it all," he ordered, fingers tightening in his hair. Malcy obeyed, hollowing his cheeks as the fingers in his ass crooked, brushing his prostate. He gasped, choking slightly, but the guard didn’t let up. Not until he was shuddering, his throat working around every inch. The guard behind him leaned down, his breath hot on Malcy’s ear. "*Listo para más?*" Malcy nodded, his hole clenching around the fingers still buried inside him. He knew they were just getting started.

Malcy was worried about what those travelling through the border control could see and hear. He was enjoying sucking on the guard's fat cock and wanted to moan out loud, but didn’t want to attract more attention. He was also worried about what happened to his belongings. His rucksack was there on the bench but he couldn't see many of the clothes other than his boots and his briefs. Had they been taken away for further searching or stolen!

Malcy’s thoughts scattered as the guard in front of him bucked his hips, forcing his cock deeper down his throat. He gagged, spit running down his chin, but the grip in his hair held him firm. Behind him, the other guard finally withdrew his fingers—only to replace them with the thick head of his cock, pressing against Malcy’s spit-slick hole. His breath hitched, his own neglected cock leaking onto the floor, but a flicker of panic cut through the pleasure. His rucksack—where the hell were his clothes? His passport? ll he could see from the corner of his eye were his boots and briefs. The screen wobbled as someone passed by, a shadow pausing just beyond it. Malcy tensed, but the guard in front of him just smirked, driving his cock back into his mouth. "Nobody cares, *puta*," he muttered, thumb pressing hard under Malcy’s jaw. Then the guard behind him thrust in—no warning, no mercy—stretching him wide with a single brutal push. Malcy’s scream was muffled by the cock in his mouth, his body jolting forward as the guard set a punishing pace, hips slapping against his ass. His belongings didn’t matter now. Nothing did, except the cock stuffing his throat and the one splitting him open. The guards grunted above him, their grip unrelenting, the screen trembling with every thrust. Someone *had* to be watching. The thought sent a fresh wave of heat through him, his own cock twitching, desperate for release. The guard behind him leaned in, teeth grazing Malcy’s ear. "*Grita para mí*," he growled. And Malcy did.

There was no doubting that Malcy was enjoying this despite the predicament he was in. His own cock released precum and piss as the guard's cock pounded his prostate. His own bodily fluids flooding the table, which the guard would mop up with his own briefs.

The guard in front of Malcy’s face yanked his cock free, thick strands of spit clinging to his lips before snapping. Malcy gasped for air, but the relief was short-lived—the guard behind him pistoned harder, hitting that spot inside him with bruising precision. His cock twitched violently, piss and precum splattering the metal beneath him in uneven spurts. The guard in front sneered, gripping Malcy’s soaked briefs and yanking them up between his legs, roughly mopping the mess from the table. The damp fabric dragged against his oversensitive cock, forcing a broken whimper from his throat. “*Mira qué asco*,” the guard muttered, shoving the soiled briefs into Malcy’s mouth. The taste of salt and musk flooded his tongue, humiliation burning hotter than the stretch of the cock in his ass. Behind him, the guard’s thrusts grew erratic, his grip bruising on Malcy’s hips. Every slam forward sent shockwaves through him, his body trembling on the edge. The guard grunted, burying himself deep—Malcy felt the hot pulse of his release filling him, thick and relentless. The screen rattled again. This time, a third uniformed figure stepped inside, eyes locked on the mess of Malcy’s trembling body. “My turn,” the newcomer said, unbuckling his belt. Malcy’s hole clenched around the softening cock still inside him, already dreading—craving—what came next.

The third guard quickly finished pounding Malcy's ass before he was roughly thrown into a cell with two other prisoners. Malcy was naked with his boots, briefs and empty rucksack lying on the floor beside him. The cell was bare. No seats or beds, just an open toilet in the corner. The other two prisoners were fully clothed and much older than Malcy. He was now worried.

The cell door clanged shut behind him, the metallic echo ringing in his ears. Malcy stumbled forward, his ass still slick with the guards’ spend, his thighs trembling. The two older men watched him with hungry eyes, their gazes raking over his naked form. The taller one licked his lips. “Looks like they left us dessert.” Malcy backed against the wall, but there was nowhere to go. The other prisoner circled him, calloused fingers brushing his hip—testing. He flinched, but the man just laughed, gripping his ass with a rough squeeze. “Still loose,” he murmured, fingers sliding between Malcy’s cheeks, probing the wet mess the guards had left. Malcy shuddered, his cock twitching despite himself. The other man stepped closer, unbuckling his pants without hesitation. “On your knees,” he ordered. The first man forced him down by the shoulders, his cock already hard and pressing against Malcy’s lips. He didn’t resist this time—just opened his mouth and let them use him. The toilet in the corner reeked, but the stench barely registered. Not when the second man’s fingers pushed back inside him, stretching him wider, preparing him for what was coming. He knew he wouldn’t leave this cell untouched. And worse—he wasn’t sure he wanted to.

Both prisoners fuck Malcy’s ass, leaving him bleeding. He passes out. He awakes in the morning and is released as though nothing has happened. Miraculously, his rucksack has his belongings, and he's left to travel on. The story then ends,

The first prisoner shoved into Malcy’s mouth without warning, his cock hitting the back of his throat. Gagging, Malcy’s eyes watered as the man gripped his hair, fucking his face in sharp, brutal strokes. Behind him, the second man spat into his wrecked hole before driving in, the stretch forcing a muffled scream past the cock in his mouth. They used him in tandem, pistoning into him with no rhythm, no mercy. The burn was unbearable—every thrust split him wider, his body stretched beyond its limit. Blood slicked their cocks, mixing with the guards’ spend, the metallic tang thick in the air. The second man came first, grunting as he spilled inside Malcy’s ass, filling him even more. The first followed soon after, pulling out of his mouth just to paint his face in thick stripes. Malcy collapsed forward, his vision swimming. The last thing he felt was the wet slap of cum dripping down his thighs before darkness swallowed him whole. --- Sunlight seared his eyes when he woke. His body ached—his ass burned, his throat raw. But he was alone, slumped against the cell wall. His rucksack sat beside him, untouched. Staggering to his feet, he grabbed it, fingers trembling as he checked inside. His clothes, his belongings—all there. The cell door stood open. No guards. No prisoners. Like it never happened. He pulled on his briefs, wincing as the fabric clung to the dried mess between his legs, then yanked his boots on. The hallway outside was empty. No one stopped him as he walked free.