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(Part one, part two.)

After initial visual inspection and baseline vitals were established for Ivy (hereinafter “subject”), the session proceeded as per standard protocol. Subject was responsive and aroused. Subject was vocal despite attempted self-restraint.

Of particular interest for this exam were the subject’s orgasmic threshold, pain threshold, and verbal or physical cues to indicate their approach. The following techniques were employed to glean data.

  • Subject’s glans clitoris and labia were stimulated manually.
  • Subject, while sight-deprived, was allowed to hear a nitrile glove being donned.
  • Subject was offered and accepted synthetic lubrication.
  • Subject’s vaginal canal was penetrated with a single finger. (note: concern about diameter expressed here, unusually early)
  • Subject was stimulated via vibrating wand fitted with silicone diffuser head.
  • Subject was induced to choose between body weight on said wand or sustained stress posture. (note: she chose tiptoes)
  • Subject was bent at the waist, and manual impact stimulus was employed.
  • Subject was eventually persuaded to count manual impact stimulus aloud. Impact was extended to the upper thighs and the soles of the feet, in addition to the traditional posterior site, as part of this persuasion
  • (Note that by this point self-lubrication had made synthetic reapplication redundant.)
  • Subject was penetrated with two gloved fingers. Vocal protest increased sharply. Significant pressure noted.
  • Subject was turned onto reverse side to allow for tactile examination of breast tissue and, again, application of the wand.
  • Subject’s legs were repositioned to allow for maximum exposure.
  • The exam proceeded to phase three.

As audible cues had proven effective in exciting the subject so far, she was granted another one: the sound of a speculum being unscrewed and opened. While recent advances have brought some comfort and convenience to the apparatus, it remains apparent that the traditional steel-and-screw mechanism carries the strongest connotations. As stated at the outset, the objective was to establish thresholds, physical and emotional. Connotation was therefore considered paramount.

Subject’s vocal reactions increased in volume again and began to lose coherence as the device was secured in an open position. Visual examination of the canal, while not a focus of this visit, revealed healthy tissue. Subject was palpated deeply on the anterior surface of the lower abdomen while still dilated, which produced significant vocal reactions as well.

It may be that the reader wonders, at this point in the report, what makes it worth recording in such detail. After all, procedure according to protocol can be condensed to a terse note or two. But beyond personal interest in the subject, it is here that the events of the session become particularly noteworthy.

The subject was stimulated with the wand a third time, with the longest duration yet. In this case the wand was applied directly to the base of the speculum, which was still expanded internally. This led in short order to an orgasmic response, despite the fact that vibration was transmitted primarily to the internal body of the clitoris and not the glans. Subject voiced a sustained, high-volume response and displayed mild muscular convulsion.

Subject was evaluated verbally once verbal capacity appeared to return. Subject’s feet were also observed to uncurl as time went on. While she was engaged in light conversation and offered a lightly mocking taunt for her failure of self-control, subject was observed and evaluated for refractory period.

When it was judged that said refractory period was elapsing, subject—still blindfolded, restrained, and splayed open—was given another auditory stimulus: the sound of the vibrating wand being reactivated.

This is the part where Ivy clenched in fear so hard that she forced the speculum out.

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Sick Day, Part Three

She tried to push the panties out of her mouth to answer him, but he reached forward to push them back in, grabbing her chin and pulling back to make her arch. Then he touched the buzzing vibrator to the side of the thermometer, just above where it was pushed inside her.

She couldn’t control herself at that sensation, bucking and jerking as he held her tight to keep her from wriggling away. Her hands scrabbled at the sheets. Muffled sounds of outrage escaped her; it wasn’t painful, but not exactly pleasant either. It was sure as hell stimulating.

Then she felt him release her chin, reach back, and undo his belt.

She stilled, even as he continued to toy with the vibrator: the learned response to the slithering sound of leather through loops overrode her urge to squirm. He doubled it and let it brush slowly across her lower back, then the tops of her thighs, the places she knew he could make it hurt worse if he wanted to. Then he gave her one sharp snap on her left cheek.

She bit down on the sodden wad of fabric in her mouth and slowly exhaled, a little helpless mewl, but he didn’t spank her again. He just took her wrists, one by one, and crossed them on her back once more. Then he let the dangling end of the belt tap her on the shoulder.

She lifted her head. He tucked the belt under her, around her throat, and looped it through the buckle. He wrapped it around his fist, and she slid back on her elbows, presenting herself. Slick and swollen, dark pink, ready.

The angle of it made her gasp, when he pushed inside. It wasn’t the first time he’d fucked her while teasing her ass, but it was definitely the first time he’d fucked her from behind with a glass rod buried inside her while obstructing her breathing with her own underwear and a convenient choke-leash. When he sat back on his heels, pulling her hips into him, and pressed the vibrator up against the top of her slit, she more or less lost the ability to think.

It was a nice position for him; he could make her fuck back against him by tugging the belt, and adjust her vertically to his preference via upward pressure on the vibe. The way this combination made her strain and struggle, gasping and trying to find her balance, was all that kept her from coming. She wanted him deep, wanted him to just plunge all the way into her, but he liked to keep it shallow sometimes: the head of his cock popping just in and out of her lips, teasing her needy cunt.

“Do you feel,” he panted, “any better?” But her only answer was a stuttered groan.

He made her come first. She could feel herself clenching tight around the thermometer. Distantly, she wondered if he was watching, if he could see it moving with each involuntary contraction–not that it would have been easy, given the way the rest of her was thrashing around. Just as she was coming down, he pulled out the glass plug and his cock, flipped her over on her back with one scoop of his arm, and jacked off onto her belly and chest.

Feeling his warmth spatter on her skin gave her a startling aftershock; she did spit out her gag, finally, chest heaving for air as the rush went through her and she collapsed out of her orgasmic arch.

He flopped down next to her, eyes barely open, grin very self-satisfied. “Are we sorry?”

“Yeah,” she said, after a couple of tries.

“Are we well?”

“Yeah.”

His hand was between her legs again, lightly testing the feel of her closed lips with all his fingers. She shivered; usually she was capable of revving right back up afterwards, but then usually she didn’t come quite that hard. He dipped a finger into her and then out, wetly slipping over her clit, which–well. Huh. Apparently she was ready to rev back up after all.

“I’m going to ask you to take over on this for me in a moment,” he murmured, “while I go get the laptop. And then, to make sure today’s lesson sticks, you’re going to walk me through every tab you have open. Every post you liked. Every line of conversation that made you this wet.”

“Now?” she said, startled.

“I took the afternoon off to take care of you,” he said, with that smug and sleepy smile. “And I intend to. As many times as necessary.”

She bit her lip. “Um. Okay.”

“That’s right, okay.”

“Some of it might just be… a little… weird to you,” she admitted.

“I certainly hope so,” he laughed, and kissed her temple. “My little sicko.”

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Sick Day, Part Two

She didn’t even know what that meant, but she was shivering a little as he took her wrist and pulled her to her feet. Guilt, her old companion. Shame and embarrassment and feeling very small. She had been Bad. She was In Trouble.

(And yet, deep down, the little secret core of her was warm and safe and unafraid, the way only he could make her feel.)

In the bedroom, he tapped the footboard with his open hand. “Belly down, please.” She squirmed up onto it and felt him tug her t-shirt up, her panties down. She didn’t even realize she’d automatically parted her thighs until she felt him having to tug harder to get them past her knees. She could hear his little chuckle at that.

He crossed her wrists behind her back, his grip reminding her–as always–that he could easily twist them to control her if she wriggled. He touched the back of her neck, and she could feel the heat under her skin as he brushed away a stray curl. Then the bed creaked as he climbed off and left her lying there.

She lifted her chin and tried to peer back out of the corner of her eye to guess where he’d gone, but she didn’t quite dare turn around. She could almost feel his hands still on her wrists. He returned quickly, anyway, holding something she couldn’t quite make out…

“When a girl can’t be trusted to confess her symptoms honestly,” he said, “it becomes suspect whether she can be trusted to even take her own temperature. Do you know how one checks for a fever in subjects who can’t be trusted to keep their hands where they belong?”

… Wait. He wasn’t really going to–

She heard a drawer slide open and shut, and the tiny click of a plastic bottle opening. Next to her face, burning scarlet against the bedspread, she saw the little plastic tab of a disposable sterile wrapper flutter down.

Then he started pushing the thermometer into her ass.

She squealed. There was no other word for it, and she certainly didn’t feel articulate enough to express herself with words at the startling, slender penetration. He’d lubricated it–which, a detached part of her thought, probably interfered with its actual function–and it didn’t hurt, not exactly. It just felt…

Well, it felt fucking humiliating, and pretty hot.

“Now, we’re going to have to leave it there for a moment to make sure it’s got a good read,” he said, and she could hear the fucking grin in his words. She took a deep breath to tell him exactly what she thought about this disproportionate response, but just as she did, he fucking moved it. Twisted it. Made her indrawn breath burst out of her in another little squeak and made her body react, helplessly, trying to wriggle away or aside or… something. She and her body never could reason with each other.

He had his hand at the base of her neck again, tangling in her hair, pulling back and up to make her arch. Her mouth dropped open, and that was when he stuffed her damn traitorous underwear between her teeth.

She could still feel her own cooling wetness there, and taste the evidence of her lazy, blissful, disobedient morning. She’d been so relaxed and confident that she had all day that she hadn’t bothered to get herself off the whole time. If only she’d fucking known…

“Three infractions. Is that what I said, girl?” he asked, leaning in close to her ear. She had to nod, still blushing so hard her cheeks had gone past red and into white. “So. Three demerits. One in your ass. One in your mouth. I have a couple ideas for the last one. Where do you think it should go?”

She heard him pick up the vibrator he’d taken from the closet drawer. And she heard him unzip.

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Behavior correction case file #10011A. Subject was followed, observed and recorded by a specialty team for two weeks before intake, in order to establish an unbiased diagnosis. Subject’s attractiveness is not in question, and indeed monitoring her habits while alone and when consuming pornography indicate no significant problem with nudity in concept or practice. The operative part of her stated problem is indeed a fear of exposure. We will therefore begin with exposure therapy.

Subject will of course be stripped upon intake, and will remain unclothed for the duration of her stay. She will also be blindfolded, and both her vision and her movement will continue to be constrained during each session with her treatment team. Said team will inform and remind her that they were assigned to watch her at all times during the assessment period, through every private moment, and that there is nothing left for her to hide from them. They will reinforce this message with touch therapy and manual stimulus. Subject’s physical arousal will be taken to edge steady-state and held there for the duration of each session; data on the subject so far indicates that such a state will depress her overactive executive function and generally augment the effectiveness of treatment. Only at the conclusion of each session, during an extended orgasm, will the subject’s blindfold be removed long enough for her to be forced to watch herself–exposed and observed at a moment traditionally granted only in intimate settings.

Over time we believe the subject will not merely grow used to nudity, which would be simple to accomplish but also miss the deeper issue. In addition, she will acquire a conditioned arousal response to all feelings of exposure or humiliation that bypasses her hesitation and doubt entirely. Such a response should not only alleviate any sexual performance issues she had experienced in the past, but will make her a valuable addition to the therapy objects stored in Annex G2. This treatment plan gives us, at least, a great deal of confidence.

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He kept a Band-Aid and a tiny sterile wipe on him; she’d found them the first time she’d ever sat on top of him and pulled his wallet from his pocket to go through it (smirk on her face, pulse wild in her throat). “What’s this for?” she’d said, wrinkling her nose.

“Accidents,” he’d replied.

“I think most guys carry a condom for that reason.”

“When I do,” he’d said, “there’s nothing accidental about it.”

Now here she was with her legs across his lap, hands behind her on the bench, remembering that afternoon and watching ruefully as he cleaned and bandaged her scrape.

“Ouch!” she said.

“Don’t flinch,” he murmured. “If you’re very brave you’ll get a reward.”

“Fine,” she grumbled. There was a brief cold sting to it as the alcohol evaporated, but the the thing that made her wince was the thought of being seen like this. She’d indulged herself with the mismatched knee socks and pigtails that morning; she hadn’t expected to find herself in this position, her little skater skirt riding up, getting her skinned knee tended to as if… well.

He wasn’t technically old enough to be her father.

“I did tell you to tie your shoe,” he said.

“I know!” she said defensively. “But this girl walked by with a puppy, and–” she swallowed the rest of the sentence before she could dig herself any deeper.

He looked up, eyebrow raised, and offered a smile to someone behind her. She twisted around to see: oh. The woman she’d mentioned, smiling in sympathy, walking up while her dog raced happily around the off-leash park behind them.

“I saw you take a spill there!” she said as she approached. “Everything okay?”

“No permanent injuries,” he said, extending a hand over to shake. “I’m Drew. Fine-looking dog you have there.”

“Thanks!” she said. “I’m Natalie. And this is…”

“And this,” he said amiably, rubbing her leg, “is my little girl.”

She froze, mouth halfway open to introduce herself, suddenly uncertain. She took a breath to say something–but what?

“Fine-looking one you have there yourself,” said Natalie, eyes sparkling. They nodded at each other, very slightly. Then Natalie took a seat behind her on the bench.

What was going on? She still couldn’t seem to find the breath to say anything, but the flush of nerves she’d felt while he was tending to her had graduated to a full-on burning face. She automatically made room, twisting to pull her legs off his lap and sit down between them.

Natalie only moved closer, and casually ran one hand up her back, thumb brushing the nape of her neck over and over in a gentle, soothing motion. It didn’t actually soothe her at all, of course; she sat bolt upright and gripped her Daddy’s arm, mouth half open, unable to think of what to even say to this.

“She seems very sweet-natured,” Natalie smiled, and moved her thumb up to rub lightly under her ear, behind her jaw.

“She is,” he said. He could definitely see what Natalie was doing, but he didn’t seem to mind, and certainly didn’t object. “Doesn’t bite. Except when she’s playing.”

He started scratching the back of her head himself, doing it exactly the way he knew she liked–pushing outward with the backs of his nails, making her instinctively press against them with her head, tingling. Her hands gripped her skirt. Her face was still so hot, but they weren’t doing anything that was actually weird or embarrassing.

Right?

Natalie moved the hand at her jaw back to her throat, then ran it down her flank, stroking the thin shirt and making goosebumps rise on her skin. “She do okay with strangers?”

“We’re working on that. Why don’t you try her and see if she behaves?”

Natalie’s lips pressed against her hear, breath warm, lips soft. “Can you present for me, girl?”

She felt that hand drift to the side of her skirt and undo the tab, then to the back, and slide down underneath it. So. Okay. Now they were doing something a little more embarrassing.

But she felt her back arch and her hips push up a little anyway. Doing tricks for a stranger.

He had his hand on her neck now, slowly squeezing, almost holding her by the scruff. His other hand reached across her body and picked up the blue nylon leash from Natalie’s lap. He held it up, examining the clip at the end. “Do you know,” he said, “I’ve been thinking about getting one of these?”

“I say stick with a simple one,” smirked Natalie. “Works just as well as the fancy versions.” That cool, careful hand was slipping down into her the back of her panties, one fingertip teasing between her cheeks and making her breath hitch. She was rolled so far forward on her hips now that she was almost off balance, back a shaky arch, shirt tight against her breasts.

She started to say “Daddy, is this something you–”

She started to say “Daddy–I’m all blushy–”

She started to say “Daddy, I’m not a–”

She started to say “Daddy please–”

But all that came out of her throat was a tiny, high-pitched little whine.

Natalie’s hand was underneath her now, cupping her, finding her lips warm and her panties sopping. Natalie’s grin was a bitten lip and a searching expression, looking off in the middle distance with careful, probing fingers that easily wet themselves inside her. Natalie found her clit, and let out a little satisfied “ah.”

Her fists had twisted the skirt into themselves so thoroughly that she was vaguely surprised it hadn’t torn yet. There was no mistaking what was happening now: anyone who glanced across the path from the park would see a girl trapped between a man and a woman, held very still by the neck, while one of them quite obviously worked her pussy as if she were polishing a plaque.

Her face was so hot and she couldn’t seem to breathe all the way in. She felt paralyzed, shaky, helpless, used. She felt so fucking turned on she couldn’t think.

It didn’t take long at all.

When she came it was almost a surprise, and she couldn’t quite contain an embarrassing little grunt as her breath burst out of her. Her belly contracted and she nearly raised her fists to her mouth before she had the presence of mind to force them back into her lap. She felt herself dropping her face to her knees instead, legs shaking, Natalie slowly and carefully pushing her all the way to the end before that wicked hand finally withdrew.

Natalie popped her fingers in her mouth, a deceptively sweet little smile on her face. “Well,” she chuckled, meeting his eyes across her crouched body. “She is just a lovely little thing, isn’t she?”

“As sweet as they come,” he agreed.

Natalie stood and stretched, looking across the park to where her goofy retriever was bounding toward her, stick in his mouth. “Snickers and I should get going,” she said, “but any time you want to meet up for a playdate…”

“Oh, I think I know where to find you,” he said. Natalie grinned, and waved, and was gone.

“Oh my God,” she finally managed to say into her damp and wrinkled skirt.

“Shhhh,” he said, still rubbing the back of her neck. “You did so well, darling girl. Here, let me see your knee.”

She pushed herself up again, not yet steady, feeling as if her face must still be puffy and red from the exertion of… well, holding still. “Did you–was that–do you two–”

“Not something you need to worry about, princess,” he soothed. “Here. I told you if you were very brave you’d get a reward, didn’t I?”

“Yes,” she said, fighting to keep her voice in its normal register.

He leaned down, kissed her bandaged knee, and produced a tiny heart sticker from his pocket to stick next to it. “Such a good girl,” he said. “And only getting better.”

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The Exam, Part Three

The study lasted–well, they later told her it was six weeks. She’d lost count by day four.

She returned to the doctor’s office each morning, and since Daddy had to leave early for work, most days she got belted into the back seat in her slippers and nightie and sleepy fuzzy hair. She always got put in a gown (and usually taken out of it) as soon as she arrived anyway. And it didn’t matter if she’d just had a bath or not; they always stripped her down and scrubbed her clean before they started.

Her head was different, inside and outside the doors. She knew that, but she found it hard to recall one version while she was living in the other. Her body felt different here, too. She wasn’t allowed to forget any part of her physical presence for long, and she became very used to any of the dozens of students treating her like a loose-limbed doll for checkups or demonstrations. She’d been hesitant about that, a little, at first. After a few days in the straps, she learned to comply.

Some days were play days, when she and other girls would be put in a room with toys and asked to try things or answer questions, while most of the staff watched from the other side of a mirror. Some days were Uh-Oh play days, when the straps came out, and the other girls got to make her the toy. Some days were good girl days, when they’d put sweet things in her mouth and sweeter things in her private parts, and she’d spend hours giggling and arching and edging and end up with a serious case of the squirmies.

Some days were bad girl days, when they’d put her on the table, and bring out the blindfold and the cold metal instrument tray and the cuffs. She didn’t like the bad girl days. Not even a little. No matter what they said.

The doctor was always there, even when she couldn’t see him. She grew to know his hands from everyone else’s: they way he was so careful with her, so precise, the way his palm on her back soothed her and the way his fingers inside her made her jerk and squeal. By the time Daddy came to pick her up, most days, she was well past the point of comprehending grownup words, but she could hear them quietly discussing her progress. She hoped the doctor always told her Daddy she was a good girl. She knew he sometimes didn’t.

There were two bad girl days in a row. Then three. Then four. Then this-many. She was very, very deep in scary space; she had stopped being able to come out of it even after Daddy took her home. She squirmed in the back seat, thumbsucking, trying to work up the nerve to say that she didn’t want to go back, please, please, it was a nuh-uh, it was too much.

That was when they kept her overnight.

She tried so hard to be brave, even when she could hear the other girls being shepherded off and picked up, even when she knew she was alone with all of them and the doctor was pulling on gloves and spreading her very wide. Even when she heard the click-buzz of the scariest implements, and felt the tip of the metal sound. Even when she felt the click of the oral speculum worked between her teeth.

They made a wet and thrashing mess of her. They reduced her body to a string of helpless muscles and raw nerves, and no matter how many times she inarticulately begged her they wouldn’t let her come, and then once she got really scared of coming they ignored her pleas to stop. This wasn’t punishment: there was no smirking or mockery, no attempt to see if she’d learned her lesson. This was a procedure. They were working, quietly and with professional competence, to break her.

The operation was declared successful at 5:34 am.

She woke up in her own bed with her Daddy stroking her hair. She was still aching, but her memories of the night seemed distant and foggy, locked in something at the center of herself.

“Shh,” said her Daddy. “You’re home now. The study’s concluded. You’re back here with me.”

“Do I have to go back?” she managed, curling instinctively around her blanket.

“No, no.” Daddy smiled. “The doctor wants to follow up with you, of course–he’ll be making a series of house calls.” Her heart skipped, for a complex and confusing number of reasons. “But all the primary work is done. Their next project is working with the data you and the others gave them.”

She wormed her head under the soothing hand, one fist against her lips, exploring the new space she’d found her head in. It didn’t buzz quite like it used to. Instead, very softly, it sang.

“Daddy,” she said, “how did the exam go?”

A little chuckle. “Oh, my little girl. You got the best possible score.”

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The Exam, Part Two

They wouldn’t even let her keep her pretty little socks on.

Her daddy braided the rope into her hair while the doctor guided her hips to one side and slowly pulled her trembling fists away from her mouth. “Can’t have you hiding from the students, now can we?” he smiled, and carefully tightened the cuff around one wrist. “Besides, we don’t know where your fingers have been.”

“S-students?” she squeaked.

Her daddy began to loop the doubled rope in a cuff around her ankles, slowly pulling her head back, making her look up wide-eyed at the doctor as he cupped each of her breasts and palpated them. When it seemed he’d checked them out quite thoroughly, he shook a pair of clamps on a chain out of the pocket of his white coat.

“Nuh-uh,” she whimpered, looking down as best she could, increasingly unable to move her head to track them. “Nuh-UH.”

“What did we say about being bratty with the doctor?” purred her daddy, giving her a sharp little bad-girl spank between her legs.

“I’m sorry!” she gasped. “But I didn’t—I don’t—I’ve been GOOD—”

“Even good girls need to wear the right testing equipment.” The doctor patted her cheek, then reached down to grab her nipple and tweak back and forth a few times. She couldn’t help but let out a little whining sound when he tightened the first clamp onto it. “We have to make sure you fit in with all the others.”

“Others—” was all she said before her daddy, pulling on a spare glove, silenced her by pushing three fingers into her mouth.

Pacified, sucking automatically at them as they fucked against her tongue, she barely even noticed as the second clamp tightened down and the doctor unset the brake on the table’s wheels. Dazed, increasingly sunk in a very particular headspace, she watched them roll her—stripped, bound and exposed—out of the room and down a hallway. The wheels bumped over the threshold of an elevator, where a couple of other doctors glanced over at her with mild interest, and then turned away.

When they rolled her out, she saw a bank of other tables adorned with squirming, hogtied girls, and one empty spot in the middle.

“See? Nothing to fear. Still, we can give you a little something to soothe your nerves,” smiled the doctor as he pulled up a tray of gleaming surgical steel. The something in question turned out to be a heavy, bulbous plug, which he was able to work into her slippery ass without much trouble at all.

It worked, too, enough that once it was in, her daddy pulled out of her mouth and left her throbbing and panting and trembling—but not afraid. Being filled always helped her feel this way, like she was being used correctly, like she could stop guessing and flinching and just be where she was told to be.

“Acute regression,” the doctor was saying as his students gathered around, peering at her taut-bowed body. “Like most of the others in this group, we can prolong or intensify the effect with mild genital stimulation.” Some kind of plastic instrument pressed against her, parting her lips; a set of rubber nubs settled against her exposed clit and clicked to buzzing life. She squeaked, panting harder, looking up at them all in open-mouthed vulnerability as the flush spread from her cheeks down to her throat and chest.

The students all noted that down.

“Go ahead and form two lines to take a closer look,” said the doctor, “one on the left side of the table, one on the right. Remember, fresh gloves for each orifice! She’ll be staying with us during each day for the duration of the study, and released to her caretaker at night.”

Her daddy patted her hair as the anonymous people queued up to look inside her, one after another. It was clearly something they were getting used to practicing: speculum in, speculum open, a few swabs of the gloved fingers, speculum closed and out. The ones in front of her didn’t even bother making eye contact, just took her chin one by one and probed inside her cheeks, under her wet and gasping tongue. She would have been trembling even without the little instrument still teasing her clit.

Every one of them took a moment to toy with the plug and watch her react to it. Every one of them tapped a few times on the clamps, and scribbled a note or two.

By the time they’d all gone through both lines, she was a blinking, speechless mess, so deep in her own head that she couldn’t remember the way back out. “You’ve been SO brave,” she thought she heard the doctor murmur, bending down to stroke her ear while Daddy rubbed one thumb along the back of her neck. “And you’re all done for today! Tomorrow will be a little… longer, but you did just fine, and your Daddy and I agree that you can earn a new treat every time. Won’t that be nice?”

“Uh—uh huh,” she whimpered, even that little sound requiring an enormous feat of concentration.

“You’re here because you’re very, very special,” smiled her daddy. “I’ve always known it. The doctor here is just going to prove it. Isn’t that exciting, sweetheart? You and all your new little friends are going to be part of something absolutely wonderful.”

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The Exam, Part One

She squirmed a little on the crinkly paper of the table. “Daddy,” she said in her smallest voice, “I’m scared.”

“Nothing to be nervous about, sweetheart,” Daddy said, stroking her hair and adjusting her headband. “I’ll be right here the whole time. And we’re only here to do what’s best for you.”

“That’s right,” said the doctor, closing the door behind him and flipping through her chart. “I’m sure this is all going to be quite routine, young miss. We’ll get you taken care of in no time, and then your daddy can take you out for a treat. Won’t that be nice?”

She bit her lip and nodded.

“Why don’t we start by taking off that pretty dress?” The doctor smiled and flipped her frilly hem with his pen. “I’ll need to listen to your heart and lungs, so I’ll just warm up my stethoscope.”

She’d known this was coming, but it still made her pink up a little. Sliding off the table, she held her arms up straight, letting her daddy gather the material and pull it off over her head. “Upsy-daisy!” murmured Daddy, giving her a kiss on the cheek.

The doctor did warm the metal disc with his hand, but she still involuntarily shivered when he first put it against her chest, sitting there in her bra and white panties and little lace-trimmed socks. “Breathe in and hold,” he instructed, his other hand gently pressed to her back. “Very good. And again…” He moved the scope, slipping it under the edge of her bra. “Again. GOOD girl.”

She tingled, goosebumps rising on her skin, and she was sure he could hear her heart skip as he moved the strap off her shoulder and the cup out of the way. “One more time. You’re doing just fine.”

Her daddy stepped forward to squeeze her knee. “Told you it was nothing to be scared of, didn’t I?”

“Yes, Daddy,” she said, a little more quavery than she’d wished.

“All sounds just fine,” said the doctor, looping the scope back around his neck. “Now let’s proceed with the manual exam, hmm? Go ahead and turn over on your tummy, and you can remove your underwear, please.”

She swallowed, then swallowed again, and looked to her daddy for reassurance. All she got was an amused expression and a little circling gesture. Definitely blushing now, she rolled over, putting her thumbs against her waistband and then hesitating at the sound behind her: latex gloves being tugged into place.

“This won’t hurt,” said the doctor, hand coming to rest on her hip. “Go ahead. Good girl.”

That damn phrase always made her pliable. She scooted her knees up and pushed her panties all the way to her ankles, then felt the doctor’s other hand on her knee. He guided her back down, knees apart, hips just an inch off the white paper as his fingers cradled her mound.

“Pass me that, please?”

“Of course,” said her daddy, audibly smiling.

Then the wet cool feeling of lube, startling as it slide between her cheeks, and he was pressing one gloved finger slowly into her ass.

“Daddy!” Her voice came out in an embarrasing squeal, and she bit her knuckles, looking back with a panicked expression as the doctor gently continued to work it into her. She could feel herself pulsing and relaxing, almost tugging him in, and her face was on fire.

“Shh, princess.” Cool hands stroked her hair, her cheeks, and gently brushed her eyes closed. “You’re doing so well. Just relax and let your doctor do his job.”

She tried so hard. Her legs trembled; her breath came shallow, hitching in her throat. The doctor had worked himself in deeply now, probing her in the most embarrassing place, and if that wasn’t enough, she felt as if she kept accidentally pushing her hips down against his other hand.

She couldn’t help it. Her hand tilted, pressed to her lips, and then she found herself sucking nervously on her thumb.

It helped. Fuck, it helped. Her whimpers subsided, and she felt herself relax, little rhythmic sounds of comfort coming from her mouth as her daddy brushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear. The doctor was pressing his hand up now, parting her pussy and wetting it with the lube that had dribbled down between her legs. Then his thumb was pushing into her—not too far, just inside, teasing her entrance even as the finger in her ass worked deeper.

The gentle hands continued to soothe her, cheek and chin and throat. “Everything seem all right down there, Doctor?”

“Absolutely.” He pulled out from both her holes, abruptly, and she gasped again. “I think the preliminary has gone just fine.”

“P-preliminary?” she mumbled around the thumb in her mouth.

“Go ahead and get her fully stripped,” the doctor continued, peeling off his gloves, “and we’ll move on to the therapy.”

(to be continued)

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Behavior correction case file #82: Lucy. Subject is an exhibitionist who enjoys withholding; she has chosen to decorate her body with piercings and extensive tattoos, which she enjoys flaunting, but has very rarely been observed to do anything more than lead on her admirers for attention, privilege and financial outlay.

Lucy will be taught to understand that her body is property, and communal property at that. We’ve set up a special rig in the entrance hall of the Institute, the one with the glass floor that opens down over the subterranean levels. She has been installed there in a rope harness which can be repositioned with ease, and a timer indicating the minutes she has been left untreated. The counter has only two digits; we expect it will not need more.

Given that the Institute is run on a 24-hour shift system, there should be no difficulty in ensuring that the subject is in near-constant use. A jar of lubricant, bridle, electrical stimulus device, and various other tools are available from the check-in desk. Orgasm is not to be strictly avoided, but not encouraged either–employ a clitoral clamp if necessary. The subject will not be addressed directly during her stay here, but may be discussed as an object in the third person within her hearing.

At the conclusion of each week of training, Lucy will be pressed flat to the glass floor while staff members watch from below, stimulated via heavy vibration until sensory overload, and then asked to choose her next tattoo from a selection of words and symbols indicating her status. Charting her pliability and eagerness to accept such markings should lead to a good indication of her treatment progress. When she starts begging for the next one before we can even get the needle humming, we’ll know she’s on her way to being cured.

Stage two: pierce her clitoral hood, fold her into one of the transparent lockers in the hallway on 6B, and set up oscillating electromagnet for continuous stim.

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Behavior correction case file #440: Ivy. Subject is regressive, and struggles with denial and reluctance to acknowledge her own sexual needs. Subject has also demonstrated a marked difficulty with remaining still.

Ivy is to be restrained at all times until she has internalized the basic fact that struggling, while rewarding in the short term, has long-term consequences. Orderlies are advised to use consistent manual contact in order to accustom her to being handled, as one would a small domestic animal. Restraint position should be changed regularly to keep the subject from relaxing too far into subspace. To prevent excessive struggle during rope changes, consider use of toys: subject may respond to a combination of oral occupancy (finger/pacifier) and clitoral stim. Use a gentle tone of voice at this time and keep up a stream of verbal praise–again, as one would soothe a small pet, or a child.

Subject is expected to maintain a high baseline level of lubrication and should be manually stimulated to edge at random intervals; color and temperature of facial surfaces and throat provide a useful gauge of current arousal. The promise of orgasm will be used to motivate behavior, but should be largely withheld even when subject behaves properly (this is not expected). Provide spurious reasons to withhold orgasm: minor infractions of unspoken rules, embarrassing observations from case file, and so on. Upon objection, alternate spanking with further edges.

Once per day, subject is to be blindfolded, partially declothed (panties at ankles, etc), and brought to an observation chamber via nipple clamp leash to answer questions about her progress. Phrase questions in degrading, belittling ways, and use anal stimulation to reward answers in the same idiom. Discourage silence, impertinence, or other attempts at dignity via freeform means. Observers and questioners will rotate: it is considered important that the subject know she is humiliating herself verbally in front of an ongoing series of unknown people.

If subject should maintain a full week of proper behavior, good conduct and appropriate self-degradation, set her existing conditions as a new benchmark and impose new ones until she reaches failure state (aka “tantrum”). Suggestions: display orifices for sexual partners until such time as they choose to acknowledge and make use of them; insert tail, apply bondage mitts and serve food and water in floor dishes; installation bondage in lobby to allow exploration/stimulation by guests waiting for admittance.

Admittance of this subject is open-ended and therapy is set to end only when subject herself believes that she is “cured.” Division D has prepared her cell for an indefinite stay and will document and, if helpful, publish each step of her correction online.

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You’d be surprised how easy it is to find an unused storage room down in the subbasement of the theater and communications building, and even more surprised how easy it is to fill it with scavenged materials. A bench. a clip-on scoop light. A rolling cart. A wheeled frame. Padlocks. Chains.

Of course, Kelly couldn’t borrow everything–some of it she had to order through the departmental Amazon account, furtively tapped out during her work-study shift and snagged from the office before anyone could open the boxes. Cuffs. Lube. That ridiculous dildo.

Not that any of the equipment ever got much use. She just snuck in there to stare, fantasize, shove a hand down her shorts, and have massive, fist-biting orgasms.

It was hers and only hers, and as the semester went on she grew more and more daring. She started spending the night there, just smirking when her roommate asked curiously who she was hooking up with. She played with cuffs, tightening them around one ankle, then both. She challenged herself to see how fast she could wriggle out of her own ropes.

It was addictive, but, Kelly told herself, it was harmless. None of the stuff was actually stolen–it hadn’t even left the building. And she wasn’t one of those sick sadists who actually hurt people for pleasure. She was just having a little fun.

She discovered that if she locked her wrists AND her ankles, she could come just by squeezing her thighs.

It was in just such a situation that she found herself, late one Friday night after all her classmates had drunk themselves into stupor. She liked to hide the key in the laces of her shoe, so it couldn’t possibly get lost, but she really had to work to get it up in range of her–fuck. Was that the door handle rattling?

No. No no no no no–