Page 13 of His Little Sapphire

“Nothing is broken,” Surgient announces. “That’s good.” He blows on the disk of his stethoscope and leans over me to set it between my breasts as Papi removes his hand. “Breathe normally, Little one,” he encourages.

I try. I fist my hands to keep from bringing them in closer to my body. If it hadn’t been for my mother getting sick and being in and out of hospitals for several years, I wouldn’t know a thing about medicine. Before that, I’d never been to a doctor or hospital.

What I learned from my experience as my mother’s caregiver was that there was little modesty to be had in a hospital. Years of being told that our bodies should remain concealed from prying eyes flew out the window for my mother during her illness.

I remind myself of that now as I lie here naked and exposed while two men clinically examine me. I don’t recall my mother ever being so totally naked that she had nothing to protect her, but apparently the Eleadians have different methods.

I can’t look. All I can do is try not to think about the fact that both men can see my nipples. They’re stiff, and I’m still feeling lingering sensations from what happened while Papi washed me. I’m mortified and embarrassed by my response to his touch, while he seems to think it was perfectly natural.

After moving the disk around several times, Surgient sets the stethoscope aside and pulls out another device. It looks sort of like a curling iron. “Can you help roll her to her left side?” he asks, glancing at Papi.

Papi carefully moves me so I’m lying along the edge of the bed and rolls me to face away from them.

“What are you going to do?” I ask, my voice shaking as I pull my arms in toward my chest and fold them between my breasts.

Surgient lifts my top leg, bends my knee, and eases it up close to my chest before setting it against the mattress.

Papi puts one hand on my bent leg near the knee and the other on my hip. “Surgient is going to check your vitals, Little one. It won’t hurt.”

I don’t understand for a moment, but then Surgient parts my butt cheeks, and something cold drips onto my crack. A moment later, I hear what I assume is a glove snapping onto Surgient’s hand.

I flinch and squeeze my butt muscles. “What are you doing?”

When his finger taps my tight hole, I cry out. “No. Please don’t.”

Papi pats my hip without releasing me. “Be a good girl, Little one. Hold still for Papi.”

I shake my head and try to twist away, but it’s futile. He’s much stronger than me.

Surgient rubs my tight hole a moment and then slides his finger inside me. “I need to examine your bottom, Baby girl. Take a few breaths.”

I keep shaking my head, squirming, fighting this, trying to get away. I can’t budge though. I’m not moving from this position until Papi releases me.

“I don’t like it, Papi,” I cry. “Please tell him not to touch my bottom.”

“Shh. Take a breath, Little one.” Papi manages to repeatedly pat me without easing up on his hold.

The finger disappears, but something hard replaces it, sliding into me. It doesn’t hurt, but the stretch is uncomfortable, and it feels like it goes in a mile.

“Please…” More tears fall. This is so humiliating, but even worse than that, wetness is leaking between my legs. Am I bleeding? Surgient said I might bleed from what Papi did to me during the bath.

My face is a million degrees as Surgient adjusts the probe, twisting it and pushing in deeper.

“You’re doing well, Baby girl. It needs to stay inside you for a few minutes to collect data.”

“What data?” I ask. Perhaps it will distract me. I doubt it.

“Blood pressure, heart rate, temperature, oxygen levels, and several other things. It’s more advanced than anything on Earth,” Surgient tells me. He continues to hold my cheeks parted wide.

My channel contracts, and I keep squeezing it, but the strange feeling I felt in the bath returns and grows with every passing moment until I’m distraught. I squeeze my forearms against my breasts, trying to put pressure on my swollen nipples.

I don’t breathe properly until Surgient finally eases the probe out of me. “That’s a good girl. See? Didn’t hurt at all, did it?”

I don’t answer. Pain wasn’t the issue. Mortification was. Do they always examine their patients completely naked on Eleadia?

Papi rolls me onto my back again, and I can’t decide if I’m grateful or not. Instead of them looking at my rectum, they can see my breasts again.

“Arms above your head, Little one,” Surgient demands as he does something I can’t see with the probe.

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