Page 12 of Shameful Needs
Dr. Hamelin smiled, a cold expression that didn’t reach his eyes. “But you needn’t bother saying anything at all, Heather. I know you’ll only lie.”
His casual dismissal hit me like a physical blow. I opened my mouth to protest, to defend myself, but he held up a hand to stop me.
“Every word that comes out of your mouth will be calculated to protect the image you’ve created of yourself,” he continued, pulling on latex gloves with practiced efficiency. “The good wife. The reformed woman. The respectable young lady who certainly doesn’t fantasize about being used like a whore.”
CHAPTER 6
Heather
Whore.
I flinched at the crude word, my arms tightening around my knees. “That’s not?—”
“See?” Dr. Hamelin gestured to Nurse Simmons, who was watching our exchange with professional interest. “Already lying. Already trying to convince us that the woman who moans ‘fuck me harder’ in the shower every morning is somehow different from the woman sitting naked on my examination table.”
The heat in my cheeks was unbearable. Were the transcripts from the recordings of me in the shower part of my medical chart, now?
Your permanent record.I hadn’t ever broken the law, but somehow the idea of a random doctor being able to read what I had said while playing with myself seemed worse than having a felony in my file.
“Your body won’t lie, though, Heather,” Nurse Simmons said, moving to a cabinet and retrieving what looked like medicalequipment. “Bodies never do—they can’t, really. They tell us exactly what a woman needs, even when her mind is fighting against it.”
Dr. Hamelin nodded approvingly. “Exactly. Which is why we’re going to let your body do all the talking today, Heather. We’re going to see what it tells us about what you really are.”
I started to scramble backward on the table, but there was nowhere to go. “What are you going to do to me?”
“Nothing you don’t need,” Dr. Hamelin said, his voice maddeningly calm. “Nothing your husband hasn’t given us permission to do. Now, I need you to lie back and place your feet in the stirrups.”
The stirrups. I watched in horror as the doctor pulled them out of their recesses in the table and raised them up to either side of me. They waited there, menacingly, to spread me open and expose me completely.
“No,” I said, shaking my head frantically. “I won’t do it. You can’t make me.”
“Actually, we can,” Nurse Simmons said, approaching with her hands raised in a sort of taming gesture that brought a new surge of heat to my face. “But it would be much easier if you cooperated.”
I tried to bolt then, swinging my legs over the side of the table, but Dr. Hamelin was faster than I’d expected. His hands caught my shoulders, firm and unyielding, and the contact sent an unwanted jolt of electricity through my body.
“Nurse Simmons,” he said, his voice never losing its professional calm, “would you assist me, please?”
I fought them. I thrashed and kicked and screamed, but they were too strong, too practiced. Nurse Simmons grabbed my ankles while Dr. Hamelin’s hands pressed down on my shoulders, pinning me to the table. His grip was firm,authoritative, and to my absolute horror, my body responded instantly.
Heat flooded through me as he held me down, his strength completely overwhelming mine. The more I struggled, the more aroused I became, my pussy growing wet despite my terror. I could feel myself getting slick between my legs, my body betraying me in the most humiliating way possible.
“Stop,” I gasped, but the word came out breathless, almost pleading. The fight was draining out of me as unwanted arousal coursed through my veins. My struggles became weaker, more halfhearted, because every movement seemed to make the arousal worse.
“That’s better,” Dr. Hamelin murmured, and I could hear the satisfaction in his voice. “Just as Nurse Simmons said. Your body knows what it needs, doesn’t it?”
I went limp on the table, my chest heaving as the nurse efficiently secured my ankles in the stirrups. I felt tears of shame stream down my cheeks as she fastened webbing restraints around my wrists, and a belt around my waist. I lay there open, spread… available.
“Go ahead and shave her, now,” Dr. Hamelin said, stepping back to observe my restrained form.
“What?” I lifted my head, panic cutting through the haze of arousal. “Shave me? Why?”
Nurse Simmons was already retrieving supplies from a cabinet—shaving gel and a razor, a basin she started to fill with warm water. “Just lie still, Heather. This will be much easier if you don’t move.”
The warm cloth she pressed between my legs made me gasp, and I felt my face burn with humiliation as she began to lather the auburn curls I’d never thought I’d have to remove. “Please,” I whispered. “Why are you doing this?”
“I’m sure you can guess why,” Dr. Hamelin said, his voice clinical and detached.
The razor scraped across my sensitive skin, and with each careful stroke, understanding dawned on me like a cold slap. I had always told myself the New Modesty recommendations about wives keeping themselves bare were for hygiene—practical, medical reasons that didn’t apply to me because I kept myself clean. But now, spread open and helpless while a stranger removed my most intimate hair, I understood the truth.
