Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 64357 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 257(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64357 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 257(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
“Take your clothes off,” he says.
“Take my clothes off? Why?”
He looks at me, immediately impatient. I don’t think people usually ask questions. “You are not here to ask questions, girl. You are here to be screened for final suitability.”
“What does that mean?”
My question earns me another irritated glance. “Your body belongs to the Artifice first, your husband second, your babies third, and yourself a distant fourth.”
I have never heard that precept stated so boldly and simply before. Of course, it is more or less there in the Angelicized texts distributed to the populace, but never this crudely.
“What does that mean?”
“It means you need to be quiet and submit,” the officer says. “And take your damn clothes off, before you earn yourself Artifice marks.”
“Is that some kind of currency?”
I have inadvertently reached the end of the officer’s patience. I discover what an Artifice mark is when he grabs my hand and lays the business end of a short but terribly whippy cane across it.
I gasp in pain, snatching my hand from his and looking at the awful red line left in its wake. “How dare you!”
“I am the human manifestation of the will of the Artifice,” he says. “Now take your clothes off, unless you want to see the doctor with a very sore ass.”
At that point, the doctor enters the room. He is an older man with a kinder air, though when he speaks, he also has a Stateside accent.
“Hello, young lady. No need to look so concerned. This is a simple enough examination to determine your suitability for mating and marriage. It is important that all brides are capable of procreation. We’re going to do a physical exam today to test your nervous system’s responses to stimuli, and to ensure that you’re ready for copulation.”
When he says it like that, it all feels very reasonable. I feel a bit silly for having resisted in the first place. I take my dress and boots off and sit up on the bed. I am still wearing my underwear, which he does not seem to mind.
“Put your feet in the stirrups. Good girl,” he says. “Now lean back, and let me know how this feels.”
“Oh!”
My underwear is pulled to the side, and I gasp as warm gel is dripped down between my legs, landing on a very sensitive part of my anatomy that has never been handled before. The doctor’s gloved fingers then begin to massage it in with a touch that cannot help but feel exceptionally intimate.
“Don’t worry. We will be preserving your innocence today. That belongs to your husband,” he says.
I was not worried. I’m still not entirely sure what is taking place. This is all part of the official procedure, so it must be alright, even though it is giving me very complicated feelings.
“Did the Archon-General request this?” I breathe the question, trying to make my voice sound normal. I fail. It sounds breathless and strained.
“The Artifice requires it,” the doctor explains, his thumb pressing against a very delicate part of my anatomy. My hips jolt, and I let out a squeal of surprise.
“Very good!” The doctor praises me unexpectedly. “You’re incredibly responsive. Your husband will be well pleased. Now, we are going to check the intensity and strength of your orgasmic response. This is done by machine. Don’t hold back. It is important we see exactly how you react.”
My entire body feels flushed with heat from shame, humiliation, and very, very good feelings. I have touched myself before, but I’ve never made myself feel this way. Now the doctor is pushing a tool up between my thighs, something that cups the area and suctions lightly across the entirety of my crotch, covering me from the golden hair on my soft mound, all the way down toward that filthy hole I do not like to think about.
I feel all the muscles low in my belly tensing as I respond to the stimulus, which I am not able to escape even if I want to. Shamefully, I don’t want to. It feels different. It feels nice.
I have a faint feeling I should not be enjoying this so publicly. The realization that I am being observed, all of my reactions documented, makes me blush furiously, which in turn only seems to accelerate my excitement.
“Just relax,” the doctor says as the machine begins to vibrate.
I try to relax, but I cannot, because the machine is creating several sensations all at the same time. There is a wet sucking against the area around the top of my lips, and a light probing feeling lower down. It doesn’t enter my body, but it presses against my secret entrance, promising penetration without delivering.
My back arches, and my mind swirls with the strangest thoughts and feelings. It is as though I am trying to think through molasses. The device is giving me so much pleasure, I do not know how to handle it. It’s more than I have ever felt. More than I knew I was capable of feeling, and it is being delivered in the most clinical way possible.