Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

A lice

The nurse nodded, her expression unreadable. “Lie back,” she instructed again, her tone severe.

With trembling limbs, I lowered myself onto the crinkly paper. The cold metal of the exam table sent goosebumps racing across my skin. I stared up at the harsh fluorescent lights, trying to steady my breathing as the nurse moved to the side of the table.

“Arms at your sides,” she said crisply.

I complied, my heart thundering in my chest as she grasped my wrist. The Velcro made a harsh ripping sound as she secured the restraint, cinching it snugly. She repeated the process on my other wrist, then moved to the foot of the table.

“Feet in the stirrups,” she directed.

Hesitantly, I lifted my legs, face burning as I placed my feet in the cold metal stirrups. The position left me feeling horribly exposed. The nurse efficiently strapped my ankles into place, leaving me spread open and utterly helpless.

“There now,” she said, her tone almost soothing. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

I couldn’t bring myself to respond, mortification stealing my voice. The nurse wheeled over a small cart laden with various instruments. My eyes widened as I caught sight of things that looked decidedly more invasive than standard medical equipment.

“Let’s start with your vitals,” the nurse said, selecting a blood pressure cuff.

I tried to focus on my breathing as the nurse wrapped the cuff around my arm and inflated it. The pressure was uncomfortable, but it was nothing compared to the anxiety coursing through me. What kind of examination was this?

“Blood pressure’s a bit high,” the nurse commented. “Not surprising, given the circumstances.”

She made a note on her clipboard, then picked up a stethoscope. The cold metal made me flinch as she pressed it to my chest.

“Deep breaths,” she instructed.

I complied, desperately trying to calm my racing heart. The nurse listened intently, moving the stethoscope to various points on my chest and back.

“Heart rate elevated, but steady,” she murmured, jotting down more notes.

Next came a thermometer in my ear, followed by a penlight shined in my eyes. The nurse’s movements were efficient and clinical, but there was an underlying tension in the air that made my skin prickle.

I heard a knock, and then the door opened. I couldn’t suppress a little cry as a middle-aged doctor, dressed in blue scrubs, entered the exam room.

“Ready for me, Theresa?” he asked the nurse.

“This is Alice, Dr. Smith,” she replied. “I just took her vitals.” I saw a little smile on her face. I took it for admiration, but I also noticed something that brought a hard crease to my forehead: deference, yielding—a kind of antiquated feminine submissiveness, even. “She’s ready for you.”

I swallowed hard. No. No… I’m definitely not ready. My whole body had gone hot and then cold as the doctor glanced up and down my naked, spread, restrained form. His eyes roamed over my exposed body. His gaze, to my distress, seemed not quite completely clinical. I felt utterly violated, but I noticed a different feeling, too: an unwelcome flutter low in my belly.

“Excellent,” he said, moving to stand between my spread legs. “Let’s begin the examination.”

My heart raced as he snapped on a pair of latex gloves. What kind of exam was this? I tugged futilely at the restraints, panic rising in my chest.

“Now, now,” Dr. Smith chided, his tone patronizing. “There’s no need for that. Just relax and this will go much more smoothly.”

I bit my lip, trying to hold back tears of humiliation as his gloved hands touched my inner thighs. His fingers probed and prodded, moving higher until they reached my most intimate areas. I squeezed my eyes shut, wishing I could disappear.

“Good girl,” he murmured. “Just breathe.”

I gasped as I felt something cold and metallic being inserted. The speculum, I realized with dawning horror. This was far beyond a normal medical exam.

“No hymen present,” the doctor said as I felt him open the beak of the awful thing inside me. “You’ve had vaginal intercourse, Alice?”

My face blazed like the sun at the slightly disapproving note in the doctor’s tone. I had the sudden urge to lie, to say I’d lost the sign of my virginity in a bike accident or something. I swallowed hard, trying to find some resistance.

“Yes,” I said, my voice sounding so meek I wanted to sink into the floor.

The speculum closed at last and departed.

“Theresa, sweety, could you hand me the sensor?” Dr. Smith asked.

My eyes flew open. “Sensor? What sensor?” I asked, my voice shaking.

But they ignored my questions. I craned my neck, trying to see what the nurse had handed to the doctor. It looked like a tiny metallic bead, no bigger than a grain of rice.

“This, Alice, is a perineal sensor,” Dr. Smith explained, holding up the tiny device for me to see. “It’s a remarkable piece of technology developed by Selecta’s biomedical division.”

I stared at the minuscule metallic bead, my mind racing. “What… what does it do?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

Dr. Smith’s lips curved into a smile that sent chills down my spine. “It’s designed to monitor various physiological responses. Heart rate, body temperature, muscle tension, and most important, humidity—so its primary function is to measure your sexual arousal.”

My cheeks burned hot with embarrassment. “Arousal? But why would you need to?—”

“The sensor will be placed just between your vagina and anus,” he continued, cutting off my question. “It’s completely non-invasive and you won’t even feel it once it’s in place.”

I squirmed against the restraints, my heart pounding. “I don’t understand. This can’t be part of a normal scholarship exam!”

The nurse placed a hand on my shoulder, her touch apparently meant to comfort me but in fact only serving to heighten my anxiety. “Dear, this is all part of the program. A brilliant girl like you must have read the fine print, surely.”

Fine print? What fine print? My mind raced, trying to recall every word of the emails I’d received. Had I missed something crucial?

I racked my brain, trying to remember if I’d seen anything about sensors or invasive exams in the emails from Selecta. But everything had happened so fast—the flyer, the test, and now this bizarre medical exam. Had I been so desperate for this opportunity that I’d overlooked something important?

“I… I don’t remember seeing anything about this,” I stammered, my voice shaking.

Dr. Smith’s eyebrows rose slightly. “No? Well, I’m sure it was all there in the terms and conditions you agreed to. Selecta is always very thorough with their documentation.”

A wave of nausea rolled through me as I realized how careless I’d been. In my eagerness to salvage my academic dreams, had I unknowingly consented to something far more sinister?

“Now, let’s get this sensor placed, shall we?” Dr. Smith said briskly. “You may feel a slight pressure, but it shouldn’t be painful.”

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.

Dr. Smith’s gloved hand moved between my legs, and I felt his fingers gathering the moisture there. I squirmed, mortified by how wet I’d become.

“Excellent natural lubrication,” he commented. “This will make things much easier.”

I felt Dr. Smith’s slick finger probing at my back entrance. My entire body tensed as he began to slowly work it inside. The sensation was strange and invasive, making me squirm against the restraints.

“Try to relax,” he instructed calmly. “Take deep breaths.”

I struggled to obey, my chest heaving as I tried to calm myself. But as his finger pushed deeper, I felt an unexpected jolt of pleasure that made me gasp.

“Very good,” Dr. Smith murmured. “Your body is responding well.”

He began to move his finger in and out in a steady rhythm. To my horror and shame, I felt heat building between my legs. My hips shifted restlessly as unfamiliar sensations radiated through me.

“No,” I whimpered, turning my face away. “Please stop.”

But Dr. Smith continued relentlessly, his movements becoming more forceful. “Remember, Alice, you’re encouraged to orgasm if you feel the urge. Don’t fight it.”

I bit my lip hard, desperately trying to resist the growing tension in my core. But when Dr. Smith crooked his finger inside me, brushing against some secret spot, a cry escaped my throat.

“Nurse,” he said, “her anal cavity is showing excellent elasticity and responsiveness. I believe she’s ready for sexual penetration.”

At his clinical assessment of my most intimate parts, something inside me snapped. Waves of intense pleasure crashed over me, overwhelmed me, spiraling outward from my core in electric thrills I’d never experienced before. My back arched involuntarily as my body tensed, every muscle clenching. A cry tore from my throat as the orgasm took hold of me, leaving me trembling and gasping.

“Excellent response,” Dr. Smith said clinically, though I thought I detected a hint of satisfaction in his tone. “A good, powerful climax, just as your profile predicts.”

I lay there panting, my mind reeling. What had just happened? How had my body betrayed me so completely? Shame and confusion warred with the lingering aftershocks of pleasure.

“Alice is fully qualified,” Dr. Smith told the nurse. “She can move on to her final preparations. Theresa, you can go ahead and shave her vulva.”

My eyes flew open in shock. “What? No, you can’t?—”

But Dr. Smith was already striding out of the room, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

The nurse patted my arm in a way that felt brusque. “Alice, you’re going to have to stop fussing. I understand this is new to you, and clearly unexpected, but at this point you’re committed. I’ll tell you more about the expectations of your program as I get you nice and smooth for your sponsors.”

She wheeled over a small cart laden with supplies: shaving cream, a razor, a pair of scissors. I tugged futilely at my restraints, mortification burning through me.

Sponsors?