Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 65189 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 326(@200wpm)___ 261(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65189 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 326(@200wpm)___ 261(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
I tensed as I felt his gloved fingers probing between my legs. There was a brief, uncomfortable sensation, and then… nothing.
“There we are,” he said, sounding satisfied. “The sensor is now in place. You won’t be able to feel it, but it will be constantly monitoring your physiological responses.”
My mind reeled. A tiny device, hidden on my body, tracking my most intimate reactions? The violation of it made me want to scream.
“Now,” Dr. Smith continued, “we’ll move on to the next phase of the examination.”
My heart raced as he walked over to a cabinet and retrieved something. When he turned back, I saw he was holding what looked like a riding crop.
“This part of the exam will help us calibrate the sensor,” he explained calmly, as if discussing the weather. “We need to establish your baseline responses to various stimuli.”
“No,” I whispered, tugging uselessly at the restraints. “Please, I don’t want this.”
The nurse stroked my hair in a mockery of comfort. “Shh, dear. This is all part of the program. If you want that scholarship, you’ll need to cooperate fully.”
Fighting back tears of humiliation and fear, I squeezed my eyes shut as Dr. Smith approached. The cool leather of the crop trailed along my inner thigh, making me shiver.
“We’ll start with mild sensations and work our way up,” he said. “The sensor will record your body’s responses. Try to relax and let yourself feel everything.”
The first strike of the crop against my thigh was sharp and stinging. I gasped, my body jerking against the restraints.
“Very good,” Dr. Smith murmured. “Now, let’s see how you respond to pleasure.”
His gloved fingers brushed against my most intimate parts, and to my shame, I felt my body responding despite my fear.
“No lubricant required,” the doctor said, a horrid tinge of amusement in his tone. He reached for something on the metal tray beside him. I craned my neck, trying to see what new torment he had in store. My eyes widened as I saw him pick up a small, egg-shaped device.
“This is a medical-grade vibrator,” he explained clinically. “We’ll use it to test your responsiveness to direct clitoral stimulation.”
Before I could protest, he pressed the vibrator against my most sensitive flesh. The low hum filled the room as intense sensations radiated through my body. I bit my lip, struggling not to react.
“Now, Alice,” Dr. Smith said conversationally, “tell me about your masturbation habits. How often do you pleasure yourself?”
Heat flooded my face. “I… I don’t,” I stammered indignantly. “I never… play with myself like that.” But even as I denied it, I felt my cheeks burning with embarrassment.
Dr. Smith raised an eyebrow. “Never? A healthy young woman like yourself?” He adjusted the vibrator slightly, sending a jolt of pleasure through me. “Your body seems quite responsive for someone who claims no experience with self-stimulation.”
To my dismay and shame, I felt my hips involuntarily arch into the vibrator’s touch. A quiet moan escaped my lips before I could stop it.
“Promising,” Dr. Smith murmured. “Your verbal responses and physiological reactions are at odds, just as your chart indicates they should be, based on your response to your written exam yesterday.”
Wait, what? I remembered the terrible, embarrassing question about corporal punishment, and how it had made me blush. Had they… had they somehow registered that heat, recorded it and put it in my chart?
I tried to think it through, but the buzzing between my legs made rational mental activity almost impossible.
Suddenly Dr. Smith switched off the vibrator, leaving me panting and flushed. I felt ashamed of how my body had responded, betraying my mind’s protests.
“Now, Alice,” the doctor said, his tone clinical but with an undercurrent that made me shiver, “we’re going to examine your anal responsiveness.”
My eyes widened in shock. “What? No, please—”
“Shh,” the nurse soothed, stroking my hair again. “Remember, dear, this is all part of the exam. You want that scholarship, don’t you?”
I bit my lip, torn between my desperation for the opportunity and the humiliation of what was happening. Dr. Smith continued as if I hadn’t spoken.
“During this part of the examination, I want you to allow yourself to orgasm if you feel the urge,” he instructed. “In fact, I strongly encourage it. We need accurate readings of your full sexual response.”
My face burned with embarrassment. I’d never even touched myself there before, let alone had someone else do it. And to orgasm? I’d never done that either, though I told myself I’d come close a few times when making out with my ex-boyfriend.
Thinking about that here, bound naked to the exam chair brought a new wave of heat to my face. Honestly, I had only gotten close to climax in circumstances that made me think I really didn’t want to go further—for example when I had told him to stop, to take his hand from between my legs, but he had kept going, before he got control of himself.