Page 16 of Shameful Needs
Before I could even register what was happening, Dr. Hamelin pulled the vibrator away from my clit. The sudden absence of stimulation left me gasping and writhing against the restraints, my body screaming for release that had been snatched away at the last possible second.
“No!” I cried out, my hips bucking desperately against nothing. “Please, I was so close…”
“I know exactly how close you were,” Dr. Hamelin said, setting the vibrator aside. “That’s the point of the sensor.”
My mind reeled as I tried to understand what he was telling me. “What sensor?” I demanded again, my voice cracking with desperation and confusion. “What did you do to me?”
Dr. Hamelin adjusted his glasses and looked at me with the same detached professionalism he might show a lab mouse. “The perineal sensor is a microscopic device we placed between your vagina and anus during your preparation. It allows us to monitor your arousal levels with perfect accuracy.”
The words hit me like ice water. They’d put something inside me. Some kind of device that could read my body’s responses, that could tell them exactly when I was about to come. The violation felt complete, total.
“We told you your body doesn’t lie, Heather,” Dr. Hamelin continued, pulling off his latex gloves. “And as we’ve also already told you, your arousal is organized around your need to submit to masculine domination. The sensor confirms what we already knew about your nature, but it also gives us a valuable, fine-grained way to help you learn to please your husband as you should.”
I stared at him in horror, my chest heaving as I tried to process what he was saying. “You can’t… you can’t just put things inside me without my consent?—”
“Your husband’s consent is all that’s required,” he replied matter-of-factly. “And he’s given us complete authority over your body and your training.”
Dr. Hamelin moved toward the door, and panic flooded through me. “Wait!” I called out. “You can’t just leave me like this! I need?—”
“You need to learn patience,” he said, pausing at the doorway. “I’ll see you soon, Heather. Your real training begins tomorrow, after you’ve settled in a little.”
CHAPTER 8
Heather
Dr. Hamelin left the room.Nurse Simmons began to release me from the table.
“Wh-what happens now?” I asked, my breathing still ragged from the frustration of my denied orgasm.
“Now we get you settled into your room,” Nurse Simmons said, her voice taking on a gentler tone as she unfastened the restraints around my wrists. “You’ll have some time to rest before dinner.”
I sat up slowly, my legs shaking as I swung them over the side of the examination table. The absence of the vibrator left me feeling hollow and desperate, my body still humming with unfulfilled need. Between my legs, I thought I could feel the microscopic sensor they’d implanted, though I knew I must be imagining it.
“Can I… can I have my clothes back?” I asked, wrapping my arms around myself.
Nurse Simmons shook her head. “I’m afraid not. As I mentioned, wives in this facility remain naked unless clothing is required for specific training activities.”
The casual way she said it made my stomach drop. “But what about other people? What if someone sees me?”
“The only people you’ll encounter are staff members and other wives in the program,” she replied, helping me down from the table. “Everyone here understands that nudity is part of the process.”
Other wives. The phrase sent a chill through me. How many women like me were here? How many had been brought against their will, restrained and examined and fitted with sensors?
Nurse Simmons led me from the examination room back into the hallway. My bare feet were silent on the cold linoleum, and I felt hyperaware of every part of my exposed body. The air conditioning made my nipples harden, and with every step I could feel the sensitivity between my legs thanks to my pussy’s new bareness.
“Let me give you a tour of the facility,” the nurse said, guiding me down a different corridor. “It will help you understand what to expect during your stay.”
The first room we entered was a fully equipped gymnasium. Exercise bikes, treadmills, and weight machines filled the space, all looking modern and well-maintained. But what made me freeze in the doorway was the sight of another woman on one of the treadmills.
She was young, maybe my age, with dark hair pulled back in a ponytail. She wore nothing but a white sports bra, her bare legs pumping rhythmically as she ran. Her breasts bounced with each step, and I could see the flush of exertion on her face. She glanced over at us briefly, her eyes meeting mine with a look of resigned understanding before she turned back to her workout. I did everything I could not to look at her bare bottom as it movedlewdly with her exertion, but I couldn’t help seeing what looked distressingly like purple stripes across the mobile cheeks.
“Exercise is an important part of the program,” Nurse Simmons explained casually, as if the woman’s near-nudity was perfectly normal. “It helps maintain physical fitness and provides a healthy outlet for stress.”
I stared at the woman, my mind reeling. She looked so… normal. Like someone I might have gone to school with or worked beside at the mall. Yet here she was, practically naked, running on a treadmill in what was essentially a prison.
“Come along,” Nurse Simmons said, placing a gentle hand on my back.
The next room we entered made my blood run cold. It was set up like some kind of medieval torture chamber, but cleaner, more clinical. Padded benches of various heights and angles filled the space, along with what looked like wooden stocks and strange chair-like contraptions with built-in restraints.
