Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 76329 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76329 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
“Now,” she said, returning to stand between my still-spread legs, “we have one final assessment to complete. To ensure that Selecta Arrangements can match you properly with a compatible sponsor, I need to observe your masturbation technique.”
I jerked upright onto my elbows, my eyes wide with shock. “What?” I gasped, certain I’d misheard her.
“Your masturbation technique,” she repeated calmly. “How you bring yourself to orgasm. This information is essential for the algorithm.”
“I-I can’t,” I stammered, shaking my head. “Not… not with someone watching. That’s private.”
Nurse Georges sighed, that same impatient sound she’d made earlier when I’d asked for a gown. “Mademoiselle Campbell,” she said, her tone cooling several degrees, “nothing about your sexuality will be private once you enter an arrangement. Your sponsor will have the right to observe and direct all aspects of your sexual response.”
She checked something on her tablet. “Furthermore, refusal to complete this assessment will disqualify you from the First Intimacy Premium Program.”
I stared at her in disbelief, my mind racing. Every instinct screamed at me to grab my clothes and run, to escape this ‘medical’ humiliation. But then what?
Thirty days until deportation. No job. No money. No future.
“I…” My voice cracked. I gulped and tried again. “I usually… I don’t usually do it like this.”
“How do you usually do it?” Nurse Georges asked, her tone unchanged.
My face burned so hot I thought I might combust. “I usually lie on my front,” I admitted in a whisper so quiet I could barely hear it myself.
To my surprise, Nurse Georges simply nodded. “Very well. Let me help you out of the stirrups.”
Her hands felt impersonal as she lifted my feet from the cold metal supports. I felt a wave of relief wash over me—not because this would be any less mortifying, but because at least I wouldn’t have to look at her while I did it.
“You may position yourself as you prefer,” she instructed, stepping back slightly.
With trembling limbs, I turned over onto my knees, facing away from her. The paper covering the examination table crinkled loudly beneath me, the sound seemingly amplified in the quiet room. I positioned myself on all fours, then slowly lowered my upper body until my burning cheek pressed against the cool paper. This position—rear elevated, face down—felt even more exposed than before, but at least I didn’t have to see her watching me.
“Proceed,” came her dispassionate voice from behind me.
I closed my eyes tightly, trying to imagine I was alone in my tiny apartment. My hand moved between my legs, fingers finding the familiar bundle of nerves that had given me private pleasure on lonely nights. To my horror, I was already very wet—whether from the invasive examination or the strange, unwanted arousal triggered by this humiliating situation, I couldn’t be sure.
I began to move my hips in a slow, rhythmic motion against my hand, the way I always did when I was alone. My breath came faster as my body responded despite my embarrassment. I could feel the heat radiating from my face, my neck, my chest—burning shame mingling with unwanted arousal.
“The sensor is registering strong response patterns,” Nurse Georges commented, her clinical tone somehow making this even more mortifying. “Your submissive tendencies are quite pronounced.”
I bit my lip to keep from making any sound, focusing on the movement of my fingers, trying desperately to forget where I was and who was watching. The familiar tension began to build deep inside me, my body betraying my mind’s distress.
“Touch your rectum as well,” came Nurse Georges’ instruction, cutting through my concentration.
My eyes flew open, though I still couldn’t see her from my position. “W-what?” I stammered.
“Your anus,” she clarified unnecessarily. “Many associates find anal stimulation enhances their arousal. Touch your rectum while you continue.”
“I’ve never…” I trailed off, mortification stealing my words. The sensations and thoughts the nurse’s speculum had already evoked in that tiny, forbidden hole heightened my reluctance even further.
“That’s precisely why you need to try,” Nurse Georges replied in that maddeningly even voice. “Your potential sponsors will expect you to be responsive to all forms of stimulation.”
My breath caught in my throat. I hesitated, my fingers still moving between my legs, my body betraying me with its arousal even amidst my humiliation.
“Now, please,” she added, her tone making it clear this wasn’t a request.
With my burning cheek pressed against the crinkly exam table paper, I slowly moved my other hand behind me. I felt exposed in a way I never had before—my most intimate parts on display as I reached back, my fingers trembling as they approached that forbidden place.
The tip of my middle finger touched the tight ring of muscle, and I gasped at the unexpected jolt of sensation that shot through me. It felt… wrong. Taboo. And yet, to my absolute horror, intensely arousing.
“Press gently,” Nurse Georges instructed. “Just the tip of your finger.”