My eyes flew open. “What?”
“They’ll want to see how you respond to authority. How your body reacts to correction. And Laura?” She leaned in slightly. “I think you should expect that prospective sponsors will notice very clearly that you need a firm hand.”
The humiliation of knowing that strange men—wealthy, powerful men—would watch this recording made my stomach clench. But beneath the shame, that traitorous heat only intensified. What the hell was wrong with me?
Nurse Samuels moved to a cabinet and returned with what looked like hair clippers. “I’ll continue with your exam now. I’m going to shave your privates. It will help with the exam, and it’s something your sponsor will almost certainly appreciate.”
My face went hot as I pictured it—the bareness, the smoothness, the vulnerability. I bit my lip so as not to cry out, determined not to give the nurse the satisfaction of denying my useless protest. The clippers buzzed to life, and I felt their vibration against my mound. I couldn’t see what she was doing—the restraint around my neck kept my head immobilized—but I felt the tickle of trimmed hair falling away. She worked methodically, reducing my light brown thatch to stubble.
“Selecta Arrangements fully subsidizes aesthetician visits for associate members,” Nurse Samuels said conversationally. “Your sponsor will probably instruct you to have one weekly to keep yourself tidy for him.”
I chewed my lip, feeling tears of mortification prick at the corners of my eyes. After the clippers came warm lather and a razor. The scrape of the blade against my sensitive skin made me hold my breath. She shaved everything—my pussy lips, the area around them, even further back toward my bottom. The professional efficiency of it didn’t make it any less intimate. Any less revealing.
“There we are. Much better.” She set aside the razor and wiped away the remaining lather with a warm cloth. “Now for the sensor installation.”
“Sensor?” My voice came out strangled.
“A perineal sensor. It’s microscopic—you won’t feel it after the initial placement. It monitors your sexual response patterns even more accurately than the sensor suite in this room—and the one in your new apartment.” She pulled on fresh gloves and picked up what looked like a tiny applicator: a plastic stick with some sort of pad at the end. “This will allow your sponsor to track your arousal levels remotely, even when you’re not at home.”
I felt a little pressure between my vagina and my anus. A brief sting followed, then a strange warmth spreading through that intimate area. The sensation made me gasp, my hips jerking involuntarily against the restraints.
“There we are. All installed.” Nurse Samuels stepped back, studying her tablet with evident satisfaction, then glancing up to survey my lower body. “Oh my. Laura, you’re absolutely drenched. You’re very aroused—it’s quite visible.”
My face burned with humiliation. I couldn’t see what she was looking at, but I could feel it—the slickness between my legs, the throbbing heat that had been building despite every effort to suppress it.
“I need to document your hymen for the premium placement file,” she said, setting down the tablet. “This will be uncomfortable, but try to hold still.”
I felt her gloved fingers at the entrance to my vagina, gently spreading my outer lips. The feeling of exposure was so strong that I had to grunt to suppress the mortifying whimper that threatened to rise from my throat. The fingers moved further, as the nurse used them to open me even more widely, and I heard the simulated click of a camera.
“You’re quite tight,” she observed clinically. “Your sponsor will be informed that you’ll experience significant discomfort when his penis enters you for the first time. The initial penetration will be painful, and you’ll likely find sex uncomfortable for the first few times after that as well.”
Tears leaked from the corners of my eyes. The casual way she discussed my future defloration—like she was describing a routine medical procedure—made everything feel horribly real.
“Of course,” Nurse Samuels continued, her fingers still holding me open, “given how beautiful you are and how desperately needy your body clearly is, I’m quite sure your sponsor will use your vagina frequently. You’ll loosen up before long. Sponsors do prize tight vaginas, though, so you can expect him to be quite demanding during your first few weeks together.”
She released me finally, and I heard her moving around, opening drawers. When she returned, she held what I recognized as a metal speculum.
“This is for your anal examination,” she said matter-of-factly. “I need to assess your suitability for sexual training there.”
“No!” The word burst from me. “Please, you can’t?—”
“Laura, you should understand very clearly that your sponsor will expect to train you anally, and to have intercourse there. Your bottom will be penetrated by his penis regularly—probably several times per week at minimum. Many sponsors employ anal sex as a form of discipline as well as simply for variety. I need to evaluate how much preliminary stretching you’ll require before your sponsor can have sex with you there as frequently as he chooses.”
The cool metal touched my anus, and I couldn’t stop the whimper that escaped my throat. She worked it in slowly, and I felt the horrible pressure of being opened in a place made for a very different function. The speculum clicked, spreading me wider.
“Quite small,” she murmured. “Your sponsor will definitely need to take his time with your initial anal training. But the muscle tone is good. You’ll accommodate him, with proper preparation.”
CHAPTER 3
Laura
Nurse Samuels withdrew the speculum and I couldn’t keep a sob from escaping my chest at the relief of my anus closing after the speculum’s invasion. Nor could I stop the trembling that racked my body as the awful woman made a few final notes on her tablet. The relief of having the horrible device removed warred with the lingering shame of what had just been done to me.
“Well, Laura,” she said, her tone taking on an almost congratulatory quality that made my stomach churn, “your examination is complete. I’m pleased to inform you that you’re approved for the premium offer.”
The words should have brought relief, but instead they only deepened the pit of dread in my stomach. Approved. Like I was a product that had passed quality control.
“Hank,” Nurse Samuels called, and the massive orderly stepped forward from where he’d been standing by the wall. “You can go ahead and release her and take her to the photography area.”
