Tracker
Jenkins leads Ayden into an industrial looking anteroom. The air is chilled and the walls have been
painted a pale blue. The paint bears the
scars from years of neglect, revealing the remnants of what was once a lime green
wall underneath. It is evident this room
has not been maintained in many years.
Tracker Jenkins tells Ayden to wait in the room before he goes through a
door to the right. She is left standing alone
feeling like the paint on the wall with her innermost-self exposed. Without a clock Ayden is unsure how long she
is left waiting, but time seems to tick by painstakingly slow. She looks to the ceiling for cameras. She watches the door from the room where she has
just come. There are no chairs so she
stands in the middle of the room becoming increasing more anxious about her vulnerability. She tries crossing her arms in front of her
but she needs one hand to place between her legs. She turns with her back to the doors but then
feels she should cover that view with both hands. She thinks how silly she must appear
fidgeting in this room all alone. She
stands up tall just as the door to her right swings open. She spins around, as Tracker Jenkins strides
back into the room. Reflexively she crosses
her arms back over her breasts; discretely hiding each of her nipples behind
the cupped palm of her hands.
Taking
up her leash Tracker Jenkins guides her into the room from which he has just
come. The lights are bright and they emit
a green glow off of every polished metal surface. The stark contrast between the neglected room
where Ayden has been and the modern cleanliness of this room somehow makes the
lights glow brighter. Ayden squints at
the glare coming from the large grouping of lights hanging from the
ceiling. The light shines above what
looks like a strange padded chair.
Around the edges of the room are cabinets and counters full of medical
equipment of every variety. Ayden does
not have time to study the room for long before she is guided around and is standing
behind the odd chair. Ayden marvels at
how strange it appears, but then everything about this new world feels odd to
her.
“Please,
climb up on the bench,” Tracker Jenkins asks politely but Ayden knows she does
not have a choice in the matter.
Hesitantly,
she climbs up and sits on the flat surface at the top and rests her feet on the
two long, narrow slats below. Every
surface of this chair is padded and covered in leather that sticks to her bare
skin. Ayden folds her hands into her lap
and peeks up to Tracker Jenkins through the wisps of wet hair that cover her
eyes. Her knees are raised up in an
awkward position well above her waist.
The position of the foot rests leave her thighs parted and exposed. Ayden watches as Tracker Jenkins’ eyes wash
over her making her blush like a small child.
He chuckles quietly and shakes his head, “No girl. You lay on your belly on the bench. Roll over.”
Ayden
immediately feels foolish and does as she is told. Once she has rolled over her body molds to
the table and she finally understands how this device works. There is a padded flat area where her belly
rests. At the top is a padded ring that
is open in the center so that her face is resting in the hole but supported by
the ring. To either side of her are padded
planks that extend out and have leather straps near the end. Her knees are now comfortably folded in a
kneeling position on what she had thought were the foot rests. Positioned like this she can allow her full
weight to be supported by the bench.
Tracker
Jenkins comes closer and she feel foolish after of her laughable mistake. He
removes the leash that is chained to her collar. There is something about his mannerisms that
makes Ayden’s belly tense against the leather that is now warming against her
skin.
Placing
one hand splayed across her back and one hand on the top of her head Tracker
Jenkins instructs her, “Please lift your head slightly and spread your arms out
to the sides.”
Ayden
complies and he moves to the front of the table, near her head. With her head raised her gaze is fixed
directly on his loins. He attaches a
clip from the ring to her collar and placing his hand on the back of her head
presses her face back into the leather ring. He is wrapping cuffs around her wrists when a
tall, strikingly beautiful woman enters the room. She is dressed in a nurses’ uniform that
looks like it is right out of the 1940s; complete with white thigh-high stockings,
held up by a garter belt, and the little white cap with a red cross on the
front. The hem of her skirt is very
short and barely covers the fasteners where her lacy white garter belt meets
the top of her stockings.
The
nurse announces with a smile in Tracker Jenkins’ direction, “Doctor Bob will be
here in just a moment. He is completing
his notes from the last detainee.”
With
the shiny metal buckle secured, Ayden’s hands are immobilized. There is no slack in the leather bands
wrapped around her wrists. She tries to
raise her head for a better look around the room but the clip attached to her
collar only allows her to lift her chin to the level of the padding.
Tracker
Jenkins pats Ayden softly on the forearm and asks, “Comfy?” To which she rewards
him with a silent smile and nod.
The
nurse approaches a cabinet near Ayden’s feet.
Ayden can hear her pulling out drawers as the bottom of a wooden drawer
scraps against the frame of the cupboard.
There are sounds of metal hitting metal, but Ayden is unable to turn her
head far enough to see what the pretty nurse is doing. A moment later her soft hands are on Ayden’s
ankle and in a delicate voice she whispers, “Relax dear. I am just going to bind your legs.”
First
one leg and then the other is positioned properly onto the support. Then a leather strap is buckled into place over
her shins, so that she I incapable of moving either of her legs. The nurse then gently spreads the hinged supports,
pulling Ayden’s knees apart. Ayden is
lying in such a position that she appears to be sitting in a chair that is
laying face down, towards the floor. Her
legs tucked under her body, but spread out on either side.
“Okay
you are all set,” Tracker Jenkins announces and retreats to the far corner of
the room, where he just stands with his arms folded.
The
room is cold and Ayden watches as the nurse bustles around the room wheeling
trays of medical implements over to the bench.
The nurse is in constant movement and appears almost like a butterfly in
search of nectar as her feet flit in and out of view. Before the nurse has finished her harried
preparations the door in the far corner of the room, opposite from the one
Ayden entered, opens and latches quietly.
Ayden can hear footsteps but does not attempt to raise her head. She waits for another set of feet to come
into view.
“Good
morning, Doctor. How are you today?” Ayden recognizes Tracker Jenkins’ voice and tilts
her head slightly, raising an ear in his direction, waiting to hear a response
that never comes.
The
doctor does not respond to the pleasantries, but gets straight to
business. “I see you have brought in another
one. Specifics; please.”
Tracker
Jenkins begins a list of Ayden’s brief history as he knows it, “Possible
runaway captured at the Squeeze Inn this morning. She has been flogged one time. I am sure it will heal up fast enough, but it
should be noted and watched. She seems
healthy and has not given us any difficulties.”
“Age?”
comes the deep clear voice of the doctor; closer now. It sounds as if he is standing near her feet,
but when Ayden strains she cannot lift her head enough to see him. “Age?” he repeats again, but this time more
insistent.
“Dear,
he means you,” the nurse says nudging Ayden’s arm.
“Oh!
23,” is Ayden sudden, stunned reply. Her
cheeks pressed in by the padding of the ring making her voice sound strange.
“Subject
arrived this morning from the Squeeze Inn.
Upon first glance she appears healthy and compliant. Age, 23. Average height and healthy weight.” The doctor’s voice is clearly coming from,
down low, between her feet and Ayden is confused. She tugs at her restraints trying to get a
glimpse of the doctor.
“Very
well, let’s get this exam done. It has
been a long, tiring day,” says the doctor with a loud clap of his hands that
echoes off the ceiling and walls.
Ayden
feels the doctor’s gloved hands as he begins the exam. One is pressed against her left inner thigh,
pushing the leg strapped helplessly to the hinged slat further to the
left. His other hand gently spreads the
folds of her labia, opening it far enough to easily welcome the intrusion of
one finger that applies a moist gel to her clit. With her legs still spread and imprisoned she
cannot move to diminish her reaction. The
gel begins to slowly warm her skin, making the tingling little clit erupt from
its hiding place. The moisture seems to react to her arousal; growing warmer
with each beat of her racing heart. The
moisture that envelopes her clitoris is again brushed by the doctor’s fingertip
and the growing warmth is awakened. It
quickly lights the slight tingle into a smoldering fire. Her back arches instinctively, rising to
greet this new sensation. She moans
uncontrollably.
“Excellent
clitoris response. A solid 8, and
clearly trainable,” and as suddenly as her decadent indulgence is becoming
enjoyable the doctor uses a rough cloth to wipe it away. Ayden’s quiet whimpers go unnoticed as does
her silent plea for it to resume.
Still
breathless she feels the cold of a metal implement as it invades her. Her body tenses but she cannot move to escape
it. She briefly glances to where Tracker
Jenkins is standing. He is still there;
his arms are clasped behind his back and he is staring straight ahead of him at
a blank wall. Ayden turns to the nurse,
but does not find rescue. The doctor
rests his hand on her lower back and slowly glides the cold metal deep inside
of her. Ayden tries to relax as the
metal expands her inside. She can hear each
twist of the screw prying her open. The
doctor’s breath is the only sound in the room and it is magnified in the
silence. Finally he comments aloud, “I
see no evidence of pregnancy, but I see no barrier in place. Score that a
6.”
Quickly
the metal that has only begun to warm against her skin loosens and slides from
her body. Ayden takes in a deep breath
and lets it out along with the implement.
Helplessly she wonders if he is done, but neither Tracker Jenkins nor
the nurse move to her rescue.
“Nurse,”
is the doctor’s simple command that brings the nurse rushing to Ayden’s
side. There is more metal bumping
against metal and Ayden now knows these are their trays of medical tools. Nervously, she waits and then the gentle
hands of the nurse move her legs into the center until her knees are only as
wide as her pinned shoulders, making this defenseless position a little more
comfortable. The nurse rests one of her
small hands on each cheek of Ayden’s sore tush.
Her touch is delicate as she gradually spreads them open, but the heat
radiating from the marks left by the mornings flogging are a clear reminder
that she no longer controls her own destiny.
The
wait for what will come next seems to last an eternity, but just as she begins
to relax the doctor’s finger enters her orifice applying the gel inside of
her. She involuntarily tightens against
the finger which is only there a moment.
Ayden begins to panic as the warming gel activates. There is no way to escape the heat. Her attempts to move her hips only brings the
nurse’s hands down firmly, holding her in place. With her sole focus on the heated gel she is
taken by surprise as the doctor slowly inserts something into her burning
hole. She tries to fight it, tightening
her muscles but she is a captive in their hands.
Ayden’s
eyes begin to well up and she does not know if it is out of discomfort or the
degradation of her plight. Just as she
thinks she can bare it no longer the doctor slowly spin the implement inside of
her before edging it in further. The
battle against this invasion is futile and she is stretched to the point of
true pain. The tears wet the leather
around her face forcing her to turn her head to the side and slowly pant,
willing the device to be removed from her.
“Doctor
she is still fighting it,” the nurse observes.
“Yes
and I do not want to cause any damage so we will wait and then try again,” he
explains to her.
Ayden
tries to clear her head; to think of anything other than this incursion. She looks at the cupboards that line the
walls and the jars filled with colored liquid on the counter. But her mind is continually reminded she is
being invaded because the doctor periodically spins the intruding device inside
of her causing the gel to tingle with each twist. Then comes her final humiliation. With one final twist Ayden grunts as the
device is plunged deep inside her. She
cries out this time, “Please, no more.”
The
seconds pass but finally the doctor relents.
The device is slowly, carefully removed, but not fast enough for
Ayden. She tries to help it along. Salty tears trickle over her nose and down
the side of her face to puddle onto the leather ring near her cheek.
The
doctor’s voice echoes off the walls and it sounds like thunder as he passes
judgment on her, “Anal score 2. Detainee
needs stretching and training. Is
non-compliant.” Two more tears trail
across Ayden’s face when she realizes that she has failed.
“Nurse,
please tend to the girl,” the doctor says from across the room.
“Yes,
Doctor,” she replies sweetly.
The
heels of the nurse’s shoes click across the tile floor. She moves quickly to a drawer below the jars
full of liquid. Ayden watches as the
nurse gropes around and retrieves a small tube of ointment and several cotton
swabs. Returning to Ayden’s side the
nurse sees she is upset and tries to soothe her but Ayden is not listening to
her words. Lightly, the nurse applies
the cooling salve to the marks left by the flogger. It chills what little heat remains. Ayden closes her eyes and tries to push the
images of the room from her mind. She
actually begins to relax and give herself over to the comforting massage of
healing balm. By the time the nurse is
finished Ayden has nearly forgotten her indignities and lays tranquilly pinned in
the custody of her captors.
Tracker
Jenkins and the nurse both move in and remove her bindings. Without a word Ayden is placed on her feet
where she stands before a man that is barely as tall as her navel. Never before has she seen such a man. She cannot keep from letting out a little
gasp of surprise. He is wearing dull
green scrubs and Ayden bites back a smile because he is short; very short. He is standing at full height, but his eye
level only reaches to the small patch of hair that hides her supplicant little
clitoris.
“Needs
to be shaved before the auction,” he says into a small recording device hanging
from his ear.
Ayden
is looking down at him smiling, having nearly forgotten her nakedness, because
she is so captivated by the curious looking doctor who has just examined her. His hair is bright auburn, straight, and the
top is pulled back into a neat ponytail.
It frames the delicate features of his face, however it does not obscure
the fact that he has elongated, pointed ears jutting out from under his long straight
hair that sprouts from his head below his ears and cascades over his shoulders. His deep brown eyes are kind and except for
his apple red lips the rest of his face is mostly hidden behind a well-trimmed
beard. She is so amused that she does
not notice him reaching up to her left nipple until he closes it in a vise-like
pinch.
“Hey!”
she shrieks. It is instinctual and it
flies from her mouth before she can pull it back. She reacts without thinking; jumping back and
reaching up to cover her throbbing nipple, trying her best to rub the sheering
pain away.
The
doctor’s gentle eyes instantly turn stern.
“Do not make me have you restrained again. You will fold your hands behind your head and
keep them there until told to do otherwise.
Do you understand?” he asks and it is less of a question than a
directive. The iciness of his words
startle Ayden. She feels like a child
who has just been scolded. Nodding her
head she fights the tears that threaten to fall anew and laces her fingers
behind her head.
The
doctor reaches up again twisting as he pinches her right nipple this time. Ayden bites her lip raising her eyes to the
ceiling still fighting the tears. When
he releases it the pain instantly dissipates and the tingling sensation left
behind makes the little ball harden proudly.
“Very
nice, with the exception of that outburst.
A, 7,” is his instruction to the recording device on his ear. “You may relax,” he tells Ayden.
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