The doctor’s patient smile returned. For the first time Melanie saw him drop his eyes to look down there, where he had just declared his intention to make her tidy. She didn’t know exactly what that meant, but something about the very idea of his having an intention where her privates were concerned had an unwelcome effect on her. She wondered if the device they had wired her to, that had apparently made her lose consciousness, had something to do with it.
Melanie hadn’t thought she could feel shame about her body—she certainly hadn’t been brought up according to any outdated notions about modesty either in speech or in appearance, or even in action. She had lost her virginity readily enough, in a rather transactional way, taking off her jeans and spreading her thighs for the callow young ally of the Sisters for a Capital-Free World to introduce his condom-wrapped penis as she gritted her teeth to get past the crucial, messy moment.
He and his equally callow successor in her mild affections had enjoyed themselves well enough while fucking her, and Melanie hadn’t had a bad time fucking them. She felt no shame about that.
Or, rather, she had never felt shame about it until now, when Dr. Evans stood looking at the place where they had put their penises, having just said that he would first make her tidy there and then talk to her about her pussy and her anus. She didn’t know why the idea of that conversation should make her face so hot, nor why that warmth seemed to gather down below, too, under the doctor’s gaze.
“Then I’ll paddle you, and we can get on with your program.”
Her heart jumped, and the heat of shame seemed to redouble. While he had used the shears to cut through the fabric of her jeans and panties Melanie had almost forgotten the terrible plastic object lying on the desk. This doctor had promised her a bare-bottom paddling, to punish her for refusing to answer Mr. Jones’ and then his own questions—the awful questions about sex and spanking.
“I don’t understand! What is the program?” She felt that if she could just get him to give her some piece of information about their intentions, she might be able to feel less helpless—might start figuring out how to resist.
To her distress, Dr. Evans reached out his hand and laid it on her pussy, rubbing a little circle around Melanie’s clit as he continued looking down as if evaluating her intimate places for some study he had undertaken. Melanie whimpered at the violation of the modesty she must have somehow pushed away until a doctor with a patient smile but a very firm manner had seen fit to tell her she would be punished the old-fashioned way, and that he would make her tidy between her legs so that she couldn’t hide anything from him.
He lifted his eyes to hers as he kept rubbing gently. “This is the program, Melanie.”
Then, though she protested again, “I don’t understand!” Dr. Evans went back to the cabinet and got an electric hair clipper. He plugged it into the base of the bed and clicked it on. The buzzing filled the room.
“I’ll trim your pubic hair and then shave it nice and close. You have a very pretty vagina, Melanie, and it’s going to look even more attractive without these curls to get in the way, as cute as they are.”
Then, as she craned her neck to try, mostly unsuccessfully, to see what he was doing between her shamefully spread knees, she felt the buzzing clipper start to do its work. She cried out softly at the stimulation, which she realized must be rather like what a vibrator felt like.
How frequently do you masturbate? Never, with a vibrator or with anything else.
If she really had no shame and no modesty, why had she never masturbated? Melanie had told herself it came from being asexual, but really…
She bit her lips as the maddening sensation continued, not wanting to give the doctor the satisfaction of another whimper or cry of arousal, though she didn’t know why she thought that would satisfy him.
Really she knew that if she touched herself down there she would think about things she didn’t want to think about. The callow young men would become much less callow, as she imagined them, and they would move with much more decisiveness between her thighs.
The clipper moved up and down, as the doctor worked quickly to remove the hair it had taken Melanie years to grow as the sign of her nineteen-year-old free womanhood. Now, it seemed, in the eyes of this doctor and of whoever else would take charge of her program, she would be exposed and controlled—down there where experienced men like the doctor knew how to handle a wayward girl. The thought, to her renewed distress, made her face hot once again.
The clippers stopped, and the doctor put them on the desk and got a disposable razor and shaving lotion from the cabinet, which now seemed to Melanie to hold a rather improbable number of things.
“You’ll probably feel some sexual stimulation as I rub the lotion in, as I think you did when I used the clippers, sweetheart.” How could she feel more heat in her face than she had before? “That’s nothing to be ashamed of. When an older man touches you down there and takes charge of your private parts, it’s natural for your body to prepare your vagina for sexual intercourse.”
Melanie couldn’t help it: she whimpered, and then gave a little moan, as Dr. Evans, looking down intently at his handiwork, spread the lotion all over her pussy and her rear cleavage.
“Especially the first time a girl like you experiences sexual control and correction it can be confusing,” he said as he began to shave her, “but I wonder if now you might be ready to answer the questions, so we can start to discuss your vagina and your anus, and what I’ll be doing to them after your paddling.”
Melanie’s jaw dropped, and she couldn’t say anything as the gentle, horribly pleasant scraping proceeded in parts that the doctor had somehow rendered shameful to her in a way she hadn’t thought of them since her earliest memories. That must be it, she realized. As shameless and immodest as she had tried to make herself in her adult life, those early ideas about everything to do with panties and keeping clean down there had never, it seemed, gone away at all. They had waited, it seemed, until an older man came along to exercise… she could hardly even think the words he had said.
She wanted to scream them, though, in his face, to try to drive away her blush and the growing understanding she thought she must now be getting of what her program would entail. As he moved further down between her thighs, and she couldn’t suppress another little whimper, though, she managed to whisper weakly, “Sexual… control and correction?”
“You’ll see,” said Dr. Evans in a tone whose reassuring quality seemed positively to mock her. “Why don’t you go ahead and tell me how many sexual partners you’ve had. Do our records have it correct—that you’ve been penetrated by two men?”
Melanie felt a deep furrow develop in her brow. She shook her head on the hospital bed, closing her eyes so she didn’t have to see him even out of the corner of her eye, and catching her lip between her teeth.
“No, our records are wrong, or no, you’re still refusing to answer?” Dr. Evans asked. The razor had stopped moving. “I don’t think you want a more severe paddling than you already have coming, Melanie, do you?”
The razor began its maddening, too-sensual movements again. To Melanie’s cheek-staining mortification, he had reached the valley between her bottom-cheeks, where she had always felt faintly ashamed to have a few stray hairs. No more, she thought, scrunching her eyes even further closed and wishing she could sink into the floor.
A sob rose into her throat as the doctor’s fingers moved gently between her buttocks, spreading them a little for the razor. No, she didn’t want more of a paddling. She didn’t want any paddling. “Two,” she whispered.
“Thank you,” Dr. Evans said. “Was that so hard? Alright, I’m all done. You look even prettier now than you did with your hair.” She heard him put things away, heard the cabinet open and close again. “Go ahead and open your eyes for me, please, Melanie.”
When she opened them, she instantly had to close them again with a little gasp, for he had gotten a handheld mirror and positioned it so that even lying on her back she could see what he had done between her legs, and how shamefully innocent her pussy and anus looked.
“Open your eyes again, please, sweetheart. I need you to see yourself so that you understand about not hiding things, and so that you take me seriously when I explain the most important part of your program.”
Melanie felt tears come into her eyes, and she shook her head again, but she knew what he would say next—that he would paddle her even more—and so finally she did as he had said and opened her eyes and looked. She bit her lip. What did it mean, that he had taken the hair away, that he had made her tidy? Sexual control and correction.
“Your vagina and anus don’t belong to you anymore, Melanie,” Dr. Evans said in a warm, level voice that seemed to make the words even stranger and more alarming. “They belong to the men you’re going to meet in your program, including me, who will teach you the benefits of submitting to a man. They will guide you, and discipline you when necessary, and they will have sexual intercourse with you when they wish, using you for their pleasure in whatever way they choose, whether in your mouth, your vagina, or your anus. My job is to make that clear to you, and to examine you in an instructive way, so that you begin to understand the choices in front of you, and the limits the men who master you will place on their conduct in order to make sure you learn the lessons we wish to teach.”
Melanie’s mouth hung open, and she felt her upper lip quivering. She tried to take her eyes from the mirror that showed her bare pussy and her bare bottom-hole, but she found she couldn’t, because it would mean she would have to look at him.
“You can’t,” she tried once more, but again it came out in a tiny voice.
“We can,” the doctor said, his voice suddenly so authoritative that she had to look at him, and see his jaw set firmly and his steady blue eyes upon hers. “I’m going to examine your vagina and your anus now. While I open you up with my speculum, I want you to think about why I had to restrain you, and why you’re going to be paddled in a little while.”
Then he opened the cabinet and took out something in a plastic pouch, which he ripped open. He sat on the stool at the desk, and wheeled himself between her upraised knees. Again Melanie’s face felt as hot as the sun.
She felt the speculum, anointed with some kind of lubricant, push its way in, and she felt her forehead crease at the humiliating invasion. She closed her eyes. At least she didn’t have to look at anything while she felt the terrible sensations. She didn’t have to think about why he had restrained her, or why he was going, it seemed, to paddle her like a little girl, as she felt her most sensitive parts spread open so that Dr. Evans could see inside her.
But she did: she couldn’t help it. He had restrained her because he needed to take care of her, and she had refused to let him. She felt tears welling up and she tried angrily to twitch them away with her nose, with her lips.
The doctor, too, seemed intent on enforcing his will as to her thinking about her choices. “Just relax and let me do my job, Melanie,” he murmured. “I need a good look at your cervix.”
The speculum closed, and he withdrew it. For an instant Melanie thought the ordeal must be over. Then, she felt the beak of the thing against her smallest hole. She tightened against it with a little whimper.
Dr. Evans sighed. “Sweetheart, I need to see inside this anus. Push a little, to let the speculum in. You know how.”
With a grunt that sounded weak and petulant to her ears, and with the tears leaking from her closed eyelids, Melanie obeyed, and felt the horrible instrument enter her and then spread her open.
“That’s it,” he said in a satisfied tone. “Good girl. Thank you.” At last he withdrew the speculum from her bottom, and then, finally, she heard the plastic speculum drop into the wastebasket.
Dr. Evans said, “You made poor choices, Melanie, but you are going to learn to make better ones, as you learn to obey us, so that one day you can obey your husband.”
“My husband?!” Melanie suddenly seemed to recover her ability to speak at a normal volume. “I… I mean… I mean I’m not planning to get married.”
“Oh, you haven’t met him yet of course,” Dr. Evans replied, taking the mirror away and giving her pussy a little rub with his left hand that made her cry out to realize how aroused all this terrible information had gotten her, for some reason she absolutely didn’t want to think about.
“I mean, I’m not going to get married, ever!”
He didn’t reply for a minute, but merely kept rubbing her down there, much more pleasurably than either of her boyfriends had ever done it. He’s not hot! screamed the sensible part of her brain.
Finally the doctor said, “As you’ve been told, that will be your choice, at the end of your program. But a girl like you needs a firm-handed husband to obey. That’s what we’re going to try to teach you.”
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