The brightly lit room is clearly a medical facility. The sturdy examination table with absorbent paper to mop up excess fluids, the gyno chair with leg stirrups, sink, nitrile gloves and brightly coloured bins. There are devices here, too — a speculum, an infrared thermometer, sampling swabs, a steel ruler, lube, a large mains-powered Doxy wand vibrator, and a clipboard with a pen and pad attached to it. Your name is written on the pad, blank data columns below that.
The ambient temperature is comfortable; the sound of the door locking is less so.
Nothing is said as he gestures at you to lie on the table. Hesitating a little, you acquiesce. His sigh is clearly somewhat exasperated; the following shrug suggests that it will do as he picks up the shears first, pinching together part of your top and cutting a hole which he then tears open into a gaping rent, big enough to fully expose your bust. Your knickers fare even worse, now in useless tatters on the floor. This was pure function with the sole aim of exposing you. For study.
The exam begins. The temperature of your skin even in those intimate places, the colour of your complexion, pulse rate, pupil dilation, rate of breathing, nipple length, labial engorgement, clitoral exposure and length, wetness of inner labia. You feel fully like a lab rat, copious notes scratched onto the pad. And then the page is turned.
A finger pointing at the chair, you know it’s time to move. Stirrups adjusted to your fit, straps that you hadn’t previously noticed used to hold your legs, arms and torso in place. There’s no way of getting away from here. The clench, the betraying clench and feeling of warmth and wetness between your legs. Hoping he doesn’t notice; hoping it’s not too obvious. Hoping that… oh, fuck — he’s preparing the speculum. He’s going to notice when he puts that in, for sure! Going to see that your body is already responding in the way that you know he’s looking for, the way you find so embarrassing when you’re so exposed. Pulse quickens as you lick your lips that seem suddenly dry. The restraints do their job as you futilely try to close your legs, to hide your shame.
And there it is. He has noticed. A slight raising of his eyebrows, a glance into your eyes and he reaches for the clipboard. Taking more notes and a sample; committing to paper the sorry state you’re already in, a permanent reminder of your treacherous cunt.
Unceremoniously, the cold metal of the speculum causing you to clench for other reasons, you’re pried apart, exposed, wide open. It aches. Your discomfort is not being examined, here, just your state of arousal as more measurements and observations are noted down, even temperatures from inside your hole, briefly interrupted as he turns to the table and tears off some of the absorbent paper to place on the floor beneath you; a drip catcher! The deep flush of further humiliation again noted on the damn clipboard.
You realise, peripherally, that your focus is wavering. The warmth between your legs, the wetness you can feel leaking out, the sound of your own heart in your chest, the ache in your nipples, the heat in your cheeks. The sound of a plug being pushed into a wall socket and a deep vibrating sound. He’s surely not going to actually use the Doxy on you, is he? With you like this? It’s difficult to tell whether that’s panic or excitement that you’re fighting back – perhaps both? Your clit is so exposed and so very sensitive, and that’s a big, powerful wand! He’s can’t possibly… YES! He did! Body tense, the fear of him hitting the wrong spot but oh, please don’t stop! Keep it there, let it work its magic!
A blinking red light.
It feels so good! Breathing harder, the speculum solid, unyielding as you clench on it.
Red light. Blinking.
Trying desperately to push yourself onto the head of the Doxy harder, let the vibrations rumble deeper.
What? What the fuck? It’s a CCTV camera with the red light! Pointing directly at you! It’s on! This is being monitored by… others? On the screen in the room you were waiting in before being brought into here?
Feels so good.
Is that why those strangers kept smiling at you? Because they knew? And that’s the only way back out of here! Will they still be there? Smiling some more, because they’ve seen you, used and tested?
Do. Not. Stop.
Are they taking notes, too? So they can compare and discuss later? Discuss their observations of this subject and her uncontrollable reactions?
You hear yourself begging, whimpering, as he has removed it from your clit and switches it off. He has stopped to take another set of measurements, a further appraisal of your state. He picks the absorbent paper up from the floor, shows it to you. Shows you how stained it has become. Shows it to the camera, too, and then drops it into a brightly coloured bin marked “BIOLOGICAL WASTE”. If only the ground would open and swallow you up.
Moving behind the chair, you can hear him fiddling with something – some mechanical sounds, squeaks and a few noises similar to springs being stressed. An arm? No, a clamp? Stretching from behind the chair, over your shoulder to somewhere between your splayed legs, with a large laboratory-style clamp on the end of the arm which he proceeds to affix the Doxy to, positioning it so that it’s not quite making contact with your clitoral area. Clipboard and measuring devices to hand and the absorbent paper on the floor replaced, he turns it back on and immediately checks that it’s still not quite touching you. You can’t feel it, but it’s very close. You can maybe just manage to push yourself onto it – perhaps there’s a little give in the restraints – but he’ll notice; notice you desperately trying to make contact with it, again. Unless… unless you wait until he’s preoccupied with his damn clipboard, or something. Yes, be patient. He’s taking more measurements, keeps looking away from you; just need to get the timing right when he’s focussed elsewhere so that you can
Push. Yes! That’s it!
Trying to ignore that you are being measured by him and watched by people at the other end of the camera still steadily blinking a red light, the relief when you manage to push your clit back onto the Doxy is blissful. Closing your eyes, letting the sensations course through your cunt, another little push to get a bit more pressure. Yes, this is ok. You can do this. Enjoying the deep, rumbling, cunt-wetting vibes that are so familiar to you from this wonderful toy. Sure, you’re usually holding it between your legs, reading your filthy smut or off on some depraved fantasy in your head, rather than strapped to a gyno chair and being treated like a damned guinea pig, but this is still good; you can get into this, still, let yourself relax some more, feel the build, clenching around the unyielding device spreading your vag, the warmth, pushing a little harder onto the toy, wetter, breathing harder, it’s been a while since you last came — this may be a bit quicker than usual for you, it’s so good! There’s the familiar feeling of the muscles in your legs starting to shake, tightness in your nipples as they harden, shallower breaths, it’s
Knock knock knock
What? No! He pulled it away from you! There’s someone at the door! He steps to it and opens it enough for a whispered conversation that you can’t make out. Just a few moments and the door closes. His back to you, the sounds of him rifling through his equipment, a quiet pop, a click and he turns around holding… what’s that? An anal speculum? Before you can stop yourself you have sworn at him. His look of disapproval speaks volumes, but that’s the last you’ll be speaking as he picks up the remnants of your knickers and forcefully shoves them into your mouth. The cold pressure against your anus as he inserts and then cranks open the device — fuck, you feel totally full. Aching from the double gaping by speculum. A moment of silence punctuated by the sound of a drip landing on the paper beneath you. He hears it. You hear it. He peers over his glasses at you, raising his eyebrows. Then presses the Doxy against you, hard.
Intense clenches, clit struggling with the onslaught from the Doxy. He means business — you’re clearly going to be put through whatever he wants you to suffer and he’s still filling in the columns of data he’s taking from you when he could be helping you!
And then you feel another drip. Not from your cunt, which has been merrily making a filthy mess of the floor for a while now, but from your gagged mouth. Seeping from the corner, it’s the forerunner of much more drool to come. Little chance that he won’t notice; probably also little chance that he’ll not deduce that you like it, too. Not even having control over your own saliva — how pathetically shameful as you can’t stop your desperate cunt from clenching harder. What a depraved little slut you are.
He’s holding his clipboard up to the camera, showing something that is written on it. What is it?
Doxy feels so good!
Tosses the clipboard onto the bed and adjusts the Doxy, turning the power up a notch and making sure it’s pressed securely against you. Futile whimpering noises as you’re breathing hard through your nose, feeling of wetness on your chest as your drool stains your ripped t-shirt and he opens both of the speculums a tiny bit more!
Oh, fuck! It hurts!
Something in his hands – something metallic. A sharp pinch on your left nipple, another on your right and then a cry from your throat as he pulls on the chain connecting the clover clamps he’s just used on you! The new flood of adrenaline mixes with the other endorphins already coursing through you. You know that you want to come; want the release that you’ve not had for several days. The pain mixing with the ohsogood feeling of the wand on your clit, your stretched cunt and ass.
Doxy is life. Doxy is pleasure, mixing with the pain. Legs trembling, quick breaths, nearly there! Just a little more! Yes! Going to come! Going to come! Coming now…
NOOOO! He turned the Doxy off! He turned it off just as you started to come! He ruined it! After all that he ruined it! Fucking bastard! Fucking fucker! Why?!
He’s taking more measurements as you silently fume. Shaking, perhaps from anger, perhaps from the ruination of the orgasm you so desperately wanted, was sure you were going to get. Did, indeed, start to get!
Clover clamps painfully released, speculums removed, straps undone he silently nods you to the door, indicating that he’s finished with you. You stand, wobbling a little and hold on to the chair for support. Your hand moves to your mouth to remove your shameful knicker gag, but he shakes his head – that has to stay in, for now. You turn to the door and see, on the wall behind the chair, a screen. A screen with a bar chart on it. Three columns: Orgasm, Deny, Ruin, the latter being the biggest bar. Looking over to the bed, to his clipboard on there… the word, the word that he held up to the camera: VOTE
They voted to ruin your orgasm. They watched you, saw you humiliated, exposed, measured and then voted to ruin your orgasm.
Leaving the room, the short corridor leads back into the waiting area. There they are, watching you come into the room, semi-naked, still gagged with your own underwear, smiling knowingly at you, a suppressed giggle from one or two of them. The screen on the wall, clearly showing the room you just came from with the title: Test Subject 1. Tonight you will be using your own Doxy on yourself. You have plenty of new material to fantasise about for many pleasurable nights.
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