Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 64452 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 258(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64452 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 258(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
I sat up slowly, my legs shaking as I swung them over the side of the examination table. The absence of the vibrator left me feeling hollow and desperate, my body still humming with unfulfilled need. Between my legs, I thought I could feel the microscopic sensor they’d implanted, though I knew I must be imagining it.
“Can I… can I have my clothes back?” I asked, wrapping my arms around myself.
Nurse Simmons shook her head. “I’m afraid not. As I mentioned, wives in this facility remain naked unless clothing is required for specific training activities.”
The casual way she said it made my stomach drop. “But what about other people? What if someone sees me?”
“The only people you’ll encounter are staff members and other wives in the program,” she replied, helping me down from the table. “Everyone here understands that nudity is part of the process.”
Other wives. The phrase sent a chill through me. How many women like me were here? How many had been brought against their will, restrained and examined and fitted with sensors?
Nurse Simmons led me from the examination room back into the hallway. My bare feet were silent on the cold linoleum, and I felt hyperaware of every part of my exposed body. The air conditioning made my nipples harden, and with every step I could feel the sensitivity between my legs thanks to my pussy’s new bareness.
“Let me give you a tour of the facility,” the nurse said, guiding me down a different corridor. “It will help you understand what to expect during your stay.”
The first room we entered was a fully equipped gymnasium. Exercise bikes, treadmills, and weight machines filled the space, all looking modern and well-maintained. But what made me freeze in the doorway was the sight of another woman on one of the treadmills.
She was young, maybe my age, with dark hair pulled back in a ponytail. She wore nothing but a white sports bra, her bare legs pumping rhythmically as she ran. Her breasts bounced with each step, and I could see the flush of exertion on her face. She glanced over at us briefly, her eyes meeting mine with a look of resigned understanding before she turned back to her workout. I did everything I could not to look at her bare bottom as it moved lewdly with her exertion, but I couldn’t help seeing what looked distressingly like purple stripes across the mobile cheeks.
“Exercise is an important part of the program,” Nurse Simmons explained casually, as if the woman’s near-nudity was perfectly normal. “It helps maintain physical fitness and provides a healthy outlet for stress.”
I stared at the woman, my mind reeling. She looked so… normal. Like someone I might have gone to school with or worked beside at the mall. Yet here she was, practically naked, running on a treadmill in what was essentially a prison.
“Come along,” Nurse Simmons said, placing a gentle hand on my back.
The next room we entered made my blood run cold. It was set up like some kind of medieval torture chamber, but cleaner, more clinical. Padded benches of various heights and angles filled the space, along with what looked like wooden stocks and strange chair-like contraptions with built-in restraints.
“This is our training room,” Nurse Simmons announced, her voice maintaining that same professional tone. “Where wives learn proper discipline as well as submission techniques.”
At the far end of the room, I saw another woman. She was bent over a padded bench, her wrists and ankles secured with leather cuffs. A man in khakis and a black polo shirt stood behind her, holding what looked like a wooden paddle. As I watched in horror, he brought it down across her bare bottom with a sharp crack that echoed through the room.
The woman cried out, her body jerking against the restraints, but she didn’t try to escape. Instead, she seemed to push her hips back, presenting herself for the next blow.
“No,” I whispered, my hand flying to my mouth. “This is insane. You can’t just… you can’t do this to people.”
“She’s learning to accept correction gracefully,” Nurse Simmons explained, as if we were discussing a cooking class. “It’s an essential skill for any properly trained wife.”
The paddle fell again, and this time the woman’s moan sounded almost… grateful. My stomach churned with a mixture of revulsion and unwanted arousal.
“I think I’ve seen enough,” I said, backing toward the door.
“Just a bit more,” Nurse Simmons said, her hand guiding me firmly forward. “Understanding the full scope of the program will help you adjust more quickly.”
We passed through a set of double doors into a smaller, more intimate space. The lighting was softer here, warmer, and for a moment I almost felt relieved. Then I saw what occupied the center of the room.
A naked woman knelt prostrate on a thick cushion atop a table, her head bent submissively to the table’s surface and her bare backside raised. A man, dressed in the same polo shirt and khakis uniform as the trainer in the previous room, stood behind her. She cried out as his cock, protruding from his fly, moved forcefully in and out of her anus. My face burned with recognition. I’d cried out that same way countless times with Chad, learning to take him deep in my bottom while he praised me for being such a good little ass girl.