Page 5 of Innocence Tamed
I hooked my thumbs into the waistband of my plain white panties—so practical, so midwestern—and slid them down my legs, stepping out of them with burning cheeks. The air-conditioning raised goosebumps across my exposed skin. I stoodthere, naked and trembling, my arms instinctively crossing over my breasts.
Nurse Georges finally looked up, her clinical gaze sweeping over my body as if cataloging every detail. There was nothing sexual in her assessment, yet I’d never felt more exposed in my life.
“Arms at your sides, please,” she instructed.
I forced my arms down, my fingers curling into fists at my thighs. She looked me up and down. Then, to my surprise she held up her tablet in front of her, its back to me. I heard a soft, continuous beep, and then a chime.
“This assesses important aspects of your biometrics,” the older woman said. “You keep yourself in good shape, Audrey. Bravo. You’re in the top decile for attractiveness.”
I swallowed hard, my brow furrowing. To my dismay, the nurse’s objectifying words had stirred something down below my belly that I absolutely didn’t want to think about.
“Now, onto the examination table,” she said. “Lie back and place your feet in the stirrups.”
I approached the table, the paper covering crinkling loudly in the silent room as I sat on its edge. The surface felt cold against my bare bottom, making me flinch. I swung my legs up and lay back, staring fixedly at the ceiling as I placed my feet in the cold metal stirrups. The position forced my knees apart and bent them back, fully exposing the most intimate parts of me to the cool air and Nurse Georges’ scrutiny.
“Scoot down further, please,” she directed. “Bottom at the edge of the table.”
I inched down until I felt the edge of the table beneath me, my legs now spread even wider. I squeezed my eyes shut, wishing I could disappear. This was beyond embarrassing—it was mortifying. Yet some desperate part of me kept whispering:thirty days, no visa, no money.
I heard the snap of latex gloves and the squeak of wheels as Nurse Georges pulled a rolling stool between my spread legs. I jumped when her gloved hand touched my inner thigh.
“I’m going to install something called a perineal sensor, now, Audrey,” she said in an even tone that contrasted with the worrisome words—install… perineal sensor. What could she possibly mean?
I felt my breath catch. “A perineal sensor?” I managed to whisper. “What’s that for?”
“It’s a microscopic device that monitors physiological responses,” Nurse Georges explained, her tone as casual as if she were discussing the weather. “Selecta Arrangements associates who wish to qualify for luxury sponsors must have one—that includes the first intimacy program, obviously, which is exclusive to luxury sponsors. It helps your sponsor understand your responses to sexual intimacy.”
Before I could protest or ask more questions, I felt something cold and wet between my legs. I gasped, my body instinctively trying to pull away.
“Remain still,” Nurse Georges commanded. “This is a specialized antiseptic solution.”
I bit my lip and forced myself to relax back onto the table, though my heart was thundering so loudly I was certain she could hear it. The cold wetness was followed by the lightpressure of her gloved finger exactly where she’d said—that sensitive strip of skin between my most private openings.
“This won’t hurt,” she assured me, though her tone suggested she wouldn’t particularly care if it did. “The sensor is nanoscale. You’ll feel a slight pressure, then perhaps a warming sensation as it calibrates.”
I felt her fingertip press firmly against that intimate area, and then a curious prickling sensation, like tiny electrical pulses. It wasn’t painful, exactly, but it was intensely strange—the feeling of something foreign making itself at home in a place I barely acknowledged myself.
“There,” she said with clinical satisfaction. “Installation complete.”
CHAPTER 3
Audrey
I heard a series of soft beeps, and realized Nurse Georges must be monitoring something on her tablet. The prickling sensation intensified briefly, then subsided into a gentle warmth that radiated outward in a way that made me shift uncomfortably on the table.
“Now we’ll calibrate the sensor,” Nurse Georges continued, setting her tablet on a small stand where she could glance at it. “It needs to establish baseline responses.”
I had no idea what that meant until her gloved hands suddenly moved to my breasts. I gasped in shock, my eyes flying open.
“What are you?—”
“Lie still, please,” she interrupted firmly. “This is necessary for proper calibration.”
Her hands cupped my small breasts, her touch impersonal yet somehow deeply invasive. I felt my face flood with heat, theblush spreading down my neck and chest. To my absolute horror, I felt my nipples hardening against her palms, betraying a physical response that had nothing to do with my conscious feelings.
“Good,” she murmured, glancing at the tablet. “The sensor is picking up your sexual responses perfectly.”
I wanted to disappear through the floor. This wasn’t a medical exam—it was some kind of perverted evaluation. And yet I couldn’t bring myself to protest, to demand that she stop, to get up and leave.Thirty daysechoed in my head like a death knell.No visa. No money. No future.
