My legs felt like jelly as I approached the exam table. The stirrups gleamed under the harsh lights, and I couldn’t stop staring at the webbing restraints attached to various points along the padded surface.
“Are you… I mean, do I have to…” I gestured weakly at the restraints.
“Not to start with, at least. Though given your resistance so far, we may need them before we’re through.” She glanced at her tablet, then patted the table. “Up you go. The system thinks there’s only a twenty percent chance we’ll need to restrain you.”
I climbed onto the table, the vinyl cool against my bare skin. I lay back, my whole body trembling, my arms instinctively moving to cover myself again.
“Arms at your sides,” Nurse Samuels commanded.
I forced my arms down, my hands gripping the edges of the table so hard my knuckles went white. I stared at the ceiling, trying to pretend I was anywhere else.
Her hands were cool and efficient as she began the examination, palpating my breasts with professional, practiced movements. I bit my lip, willing myself not to react, not to give her any more data to analyze and dissect.
“Responsive,” she murmured, making another note. “Very responsive.”
My face burned hotter. I could feel my nipples hardening under her touch, betraying me completely.
“No.” I jerked my shoulders, trying to twist away from her touch. “Don’t?—”
“Hold still.” Her voice sharpened.
But I couldn’t. The sensation of my nipples tightening into hard peaks under her clinical manipulation sent a wave of shame and something else—something worse—through my body. I squirmed on the table, my hips shifting, my legs pressing together.
“I said hold still.” Nurse Samuels stepped back, her expression hardening. “Hank!”
The door opened almost immediately, as if he’d been waiting just outside. The massive orderly filled the doorway, his eyes sweeping over my naked, trembling form with that same flicker of judgment I’d seen before.
“Restraints,” Nurse Samuels said crisply. “The system’s probability assessment was too generous.”
“No!” I tried to sit up, but Hank’s large hand pressed firmly against my sternum, pushing me back down onto the table. “Please, I’ll be good, I’ll hold still?—”
“Too late for that.” Nurse Samuels moved to the side of the table, pulling out yet another wide webbing strap—one I hadn’t noticed before. “You had your chance to cooperate.”
Hank worked with efficient precision, his movements practiced and sure. The new strap went around my waist first, cinching tight enough that I couldn’t lift my torso. Then another around my neck—not choking, but firm enough that I couldn’t turn my head more than an inch in either direction. My wrists were next, pulled down and secured to the sides of the table.
Then, to my horror, he raised the stirrups, and I saw that they, too, had been fitted with restraints. I struggled involuntarily as the orderly dispassionately spread my knees wide and set them in the metal grasp of the horrid things, then fastened the straps around my lower thighs, just above my knees, spreading me so wide that I gasped at the feeling of the cool air on my most intimate places.
I was completely immobilized. Completely exposed. My breath came in short, panicked hiccups.
“That’s better.” Nurse Samuels nodded at Hank, who stepped back but didn’t leave the room. She moved to stand beside the table where I could see her clearly, her eyes boring into mine. “Now, Laura, I think we need to have a frank discussion about the waiver you signed.”
My heart hammered against my ribs. The waiver. The pages and pages of legal text I’d scrolled past without reading.
“The waiver grants Selecta Arrangements officials—that includes me—the authority to administer corporal punishment as we deem necessary during your evaluation and training. That means if you’re uncooperative, if you resist, if you fail to follow instructions…” She paused, letting the words sink in. “I am legally authorized to spank you. Or even to whip you.”
The words hit me like ice water. “What? No, that can’t?—”
“It’s all there in the document you agreed to. Just as your future sponsor will have the right—the contractual right—to subject you to traditional bare-bottom discipline whenever he judges you’ve been naughty or disobedient.”
The words should have filled me with outrage. Horror. The urge to demand my release and storm out of this place. Instead, what flooded through my body was a wave of heat so intense I thought I might combust right there on the exam table.
No. No, no, no.This couldn’t be happening. I couldn’t be getting aroused by the idea of being spanked. Of being punished. Of having some wealthy stranger bend me over his knee and?—
“Oh my,” Nurse Samuels said softly, her eyes on her tablet. “Well, that’s quite conclusive.”
I squeezed my eyes shut, but I couldn’t hide from the truth written in whatever biometric data she was reading. My body had betrayed me completely. The thought of being disciplined, of being put over someone’s knee for a bare-bottom spanking when I was naughty—god, why did that word make everything worse?—sent pulses of shameful heat straight to the needy place between my legs.
“I should mention,” the nurse continued, her voice taking on a conversational tone that somehow made everything more mortifying, “that this examination is being recorded on video. Platinum-level sponsors—the wealthiest tier—will have access to your complete file, including this footage.”
