I want to say it isn’t, but my body is betraying me with a flush of shameful heat. I know what it is like to want to have sex so badly you think you might die. The few sexual encounters I’ve had were with men who I wasn’t intellectually or emotionally attracted to, but my body wanted sex in such a primal way, it didn’t matter. And despite those encounters not being Earth shattering, they still scratched my sexual itch.
“Now back to your health. Your cortisol levels are high, no doubt from your recent transfer from Earth and all the new information that came with it, such as learning that aliens exist,” he says, scanning my vitals with a device that pulses light blue across my forehead. “Would you like me to alleviate your anxiety? I can do it naturally, of course, without telepathy.”
“Okay, as long as there’s no telepathy,” I agree, because my body is burning with adrenaline that won't stop making my mind race with scenarios way out of my control. And more than anything, I need to keep my head clear so that I can make good decisions.
“I promise. We will do this the natural way. Lie back.” He gestures to the bed as though it were part of a routine examination. “I’ll stimulate your pelvic nerve bundle directly.”
Wait, does he mean my clit?“With your hands?” I ask.
“Of course not. That would introduce errors.” He readies a device. “This is a medical stimulator. It is fitted with an injector that releases a dilation rod, which will be calibrated to your vaginal canal and create the perfect girth size for your optimal pleasure. As the rod penetratesyou, the stimulator will target your clitoral bundle with precision pulses, ensuring orgasm is achieved swiftly but not prematurely. When climax is reached, the rod will release a neurofluid into your vaginal walls, flooding your system with relaxing hormones. This is the best and most natural way for a woman to reset and restore balance to her system.”
Seeing the hesitation in my eyes, he adds, “This is superior to sedatives or chemical dampeners. It is science, and it is what your body craves, even if your mind resists for cultural reasons.”
The bed shifts beneath me as I lie back. My mind is protesting, but my body refuses to listen. This definitely isn't what I expectedwhen he saidnaturally.But part of me, a part I never gave permission to exist, wants to know what it's like to be touched this way by someone who doesn't ask questions and who doesn't care if I'm turned on or ashamed, only if my cortisol levels drop and my neural patterns normalize.
“Remove her clothing,” the doctor says.
The young assistant hesitates only for a second before obeying. His hands are cold against my skin as he tugs at my skirt, sliding it down slowly. My stockings follow, and then, finally, he hooks trembling fingers into my underwear and drags them down, exposing my sex to both of them.
The young man lingers a beat too long before stepping back. He’s trying to copy the doctor’s detachment, but he isn’t practiced at it. His eyes roam over me hungrily, despite his effort to appear clinical.
I burn with shame with every inch of me on display for these aliens.
The doctor doesn’t look at my face, only between my thighs, as though I’m nothing but a body to be studied. “Activate the restraints,” the doctor orders.
Before I can protest, metal cuffs slide out from the bed’s frame with a mechanical hiss, locking around my wrists and ankles. And the sudden confinement pins me flat, helpless and displayed.
“We must limit your movements during the procedure,” the doctor explains as though binding me half naked were simply standard practice.
I close my eyes, trying to think of this only as a medical procedure.
The doctor switches on the device, and it begins to hum. A moment later, the stimulator cups over my clit, and I jolt. It’s too much. Too precise. I don’t think I can do this. Three strong emotions are passing through me on rotation: humiliation, curiosity, and desire. My mind is telling me I’m wrong to want this, but my body is screaming with delight, “Yes, fuck me with these medical instruments.”It’s as if Satan himself were here, pleasing me with this technology that knows my body better than I do, knowing exactly where the pulses should coax me wetter, softer, and make me more open.
And just when I think I can’t spread my thighs any wider, I feel the press of the rod, sliding into my wet sex with mechanical certainty. And it feels so good. I have never experienced anything like this before, and to my shame, I moan like a Jezebel, and in my mind, I’m thinking,Yes, fuck me, Doctor.
Then, I open my eyes and look at the alien men watching me, and I can’t help but wonder if they’ll masturbate later thinking about me like this. It turns me on to think that they will.Does that make me a sinner?
The device shifts inside me, expanding subtly, adjusting in increments, and I close my eyes, letting the pleasure take over.
“Good,” the doctor says. “Your vaginal canal measures longer than the average human baseline. You also respond well to increased girth. That is a favorable combination. Most Imperial males have larger organs than their human counterparts. You will be able to accept them without tearing. Perhaps even enjoy the sensation of being stretched so wide.”
He adjusts the rod’s settings by a fraction, increasing the girth to stretch my vagina even further. “Yes, your body enjoys larger penises. So you will probably also enjoy their greater volumes of semen. I will not replicate theaverage amount ejaculated with this device as it would be redundant, but it is relevant for you to know. If you have sex with an Imperial man, you will feel the weight of his semen filling you to your limits and then spilling out onto your thighs. In my experience, most human women enjoy the extra.”
I want to tell him that I didn’t accept this promotion to have sex. But saying that in this position seems a bit hypocritical, so I say nothing.
“I’m increasing the pressure, and the rod will begin to move faster inside of you.”
The added pressure is blunt and unforgiving. My body begins to convulse around the rod, and I let out a small moan before I can stop it. Heat floods my face as shame courses through me, humiliated by how wanton I must look tied to the bed and twitching like a whore with his device inside of me. But another part of me wants to be a whore, and if I can do this without anyone else knowing or judging me, I will come back to this doctor again and again for this kind of full-body rejuvenation “reset.”
“This is standard anxiety relief. Sexual stimulation increases oxytocin and dopamine and lowers amygdala activity. It's very efficient. Most women require less than three minutes for complete reset. But since you are incredibly anxious, I think we should go for the maximum, so I will continue. Just relax and let your body take over for a few minutes.”
I try to speak, to protest, or thank him; I don’t know which. But as the erotic pressure continues to build, the sound I make isn't even a word; it’s another low moan. Then my thighs shake and my mouth turns dry. I have an urge to clutch my breasts and pull on my nipples, but I can’t; my hands are strapped down.
“You're close to a complete reset,” the doctor says. “Do you want my assistant to add sensation to your breasts?”
“Yes,”I breathe, not questioning how he knew that.
“Unbutton her shirt and apply the nipple sensors,” the doctor instructs.
