This story was inspired chiefly by RedMullet's "Brooke's Embarrassing Exam" -- though I did get the idea for "Promenade" from Blairbrek's short write-up of "The Dare I did on September 22." I sent a copy to each of them, but neither has replied. SHOW AND TELL by C. Lakewood Part 1 Connie Hoover groaned, pushed herself back from her keyboard, and stretched -- carefully -- before leaning forward again to proofread the short-short that she had just typed up. PROMENADE A Story-Strip by Connie It was March 20th, the first day of spring -- chilly, rainy, windy.... Following orders to the letter, I wore a thin yellow sundress and a pair of flip-flops...and nothing else. I drove out to County Line Road, parked, and took the bus the rest of the way to the decaying Grand Avenue Shopping Center, a long strip mall. The bus stop had a bench, but no shelter, and it was well away from the hole-in-the-wall grocery store I was headed for. I'd have to run the whole way, exposed to the wind and rain. My dress was going to get really wet, and, when it did, it would become pretty much transparent. I got off the bus and ran as fast as I could in those damn sandals, willy-nilly through the puddles. By the time I made it to the overhang, I was winded and drenched. Passersby (all equipped with rain gear and comfortable clothing) gave me the eye. The males grinned, and most of the females frowned -- except for two girls with crew-cuts and tattoos.... I paused a moment to compose myself, tugged at my dress, and entered the store. There were only a clerk and two customers, and all three of them stared at me with the same mix of expressions that I'd gotten outside. I bought half a dozen eggs and discarded the cardboard carton. Carrying three eggs in each hand, gingerly, I sort of sidled to the door, which I pushed open with my hip. I kept my eyes averted, but I could practically feel everyone watching me. As I proceeded south along the long walkway, away from the bus stop, the wind was gusting between the buildings and flapping my dress like a storm flag. In order to cradle the eggs in my hands, I had to keep my forearms parallel to the ground, but was able to tuck my elbows in tightly against my sides. By holding myself that way and walking a bit crab-wise, I attempted to mitigate the effects of the wind on my sodden dress -- with only limited success. I could feel the back of the dress flick up and down, the cold wind attacking my naked and exposed bottom. And it really wasn't any better when the wind would plaster my now see-through dress hard against my behind. I wanted to just cut and run, but I had to follow the orders I'd been given, regardless of the humiliation. The wind shifted slightly and swirled about me, flipping up the front of my dress so that the hem was waist high. I had to wiggle my hips -- practically do a hootchy-kootch -- to get it to flop back down. Some college-age Hispanic kids were hanging out nearby in front of a deserted shop. As I passed them, they made muted comments (mostly about my hairless crotch), but I maintained my focus and kept walking. The dress flipped up several more times, and, each time, I just about died, as the wind whistled between my legs and the cold rain lashed my behind. I must have seemed a total tramp, flashing everyone like that. I had to walk all the way down to the south end and then all the way to the north end. When I went by the band of kids on the return trip, their remarks were louder and more pointed. When I had trudged the full length of the strip, twice, I could finally slink back to the bus stop. The rain was still falling. I huddled miserably on the bench with my eggs and hoped that my tormenter -- whoever it was -- would be satisfied. ****************************** "Ehhh.... The ending needs more punch," she muttered to herself. "A bit lame, as it is.... Oh, well, I can think about it later." After she closed the file, her eye drifted across the many stories in her collection -- a few that she had written and others that she'd downloaded from the 'Net: "Palermo Six," "Pet Teacher," "Pool Girl," "Modern Education," and the like. Of course, Joe Doe had a folder all to himself.... She shivered, remembering "Open Book Exam" and "Foreign Forms," in particular. She wished, for the umpteenth time, that she was rich enough or brave enough (or at least tenured enough) to dare acting out some of her dark fantasies. But she wasn't...and didn't. A 34-year-old divorced English teacher, after all, had no business flirting with scandal. She shrugged. Her masturbatory fantasies would just have to suffice. She got down from her perch, gingerly, turned her chair right way round, and eased the wiener from her asshole. She'd typed "Promenade" kneeling on the seat of her reversed chair, reaching around the chair back to manipulate the keyboard and mouse, which put her in a crouch, with her bare butt, wiener and all, jutting upward and outward. She looked at the hot dog with admiration. It was just so nearly perfect. While other things, perhaps thicker or firmer, might be more physically uncomfortable, the wiener tantalized its "victims" with its very smoothness and pliability, and produced a pleasure they're ashamed to admit that they enjoy -- or even notice. And, because of its smooth tubularity, one does have to use some dexterity in retaining it. She giggled, thinking it was going to be so surreal going to work tomorrow and imagining her students and colleagues seeing what she was doing tonight...and how dramatically that would contrast with the conventional, conservative, professional Connie Hoover that they were familiar with. ****************************** That was May 23rd. Five days later, disaster struck; her comfortable (if somewhat frustrating) existence was invaded by someone using the alias "Hacker," who must have been looking for the key to the final exams she was about to give...but, instead, managed to download everything salacious from her hard drive and her various e-mail accounts. For a long time afterward, she was to remember the tag line from the first of Hacker's many messages: "People who live in glass houses should lower their shades." ****************************** For months, she had repeatedly allowed herself to be blackmailed into all sorts of increasingly lewd behavior. And now it was mid-September, and here she was, squirming unhappily on a rickety plastic chair in the waiting room of a seedy clinic. She was uncomfortable sitting there in her sweaty tennis outfit and anxious to get this thing over with. Once again, she wondered if she were doing the right thing in giving in to blackmail.... So far, it hadn't been exactly intolerable, just, well, humiliating: being given peremptory orders and having to obey -- orders to shave off her pubic hair, to masturbate over and over (and NOT to cum), to conform to a "dress code," to shower or bathe only when given permission -- but it had been mainly private or, if public, anonymous at least. But now.... She sighed, knowing that she really had little choice, unless she wanted to see everything in ruins: career, reputation, finances, future.... She was on edge, worrying about what might be going to happen next. If only she hadn't written that stuff...or had safeguarded it better...kept it on floppies instead of on her hard drive.... She knew she looked very out of place here. Everyone else in the waiting room obviously thought so, too. The females were scowling at her, and the males leering. She tried to pretend an interest in an ancient copy of "Ebony" magazine, with little success. The absolute worst thing about all this, of course, was that it was turning her on so. Her mind wandered back over the things her unseen "master" had been making her do.... And she could feel her panties getting damp. She was so preoccupied that, for a moment, she didn't notice the nurse who pulled aside the curtain that more or less screened whatever lay beyond. The nurse gazed into the waiting room. "Connie Hoover!" she blared. THAT got Connie's attention. "Here," she said, softly. "Follow me, Connie," the nurse said, condescendingly, and ushered her through the curtained doorway into an examination room. It was a standard set-up, a plain, chilly room with supplies on shelves and various pieces of equipment here and there, some medical posters on the walls, a desk, scales, and so on, but what drew and held her attention was the examination table that dominated the room. She shivered, and not from the cold. "Just be seated. Doctor will be with you in a moment." The nurse turned and left, her manner brisk, but her appearance a bit sloppy. Aside from the doctor's desk chair, there was nowhere to sit except the exam table. As Connie sat down on it, the slick paper liner crinkled under her. For some reason, it seemed an ominous sound. She never felt really comfortable during a medical exam, but she was unusually nervous about this one -- in this place and under these circumstances. And there was only that flimsy curtain closing off the doorway. It was hardly sound proof and even stopped short of the floor by almost 2 feet.... Then the doorway curtain was swept aside, and the doctor entered -- black, heavy-set, youngish (maybe younger than her), bald, wearing a lab coat and carrying the inevitable clipboard. "Hello," he said. "I'm Dr. Maxim. How are you feeling?" She smiled uncertainly and shrugged. "Let's try that again. I am THE doctor. When I ask a question, you will answer me...out loud. Now, how are you feeling?" "I-I'm fine...." "Call me 'doctor' or 'sir.' Understand?" "Yes, sir.... Sorry." "And what are you here for, Connie?" "A...um...complete physical, sir." "That's better. Now then, as you know, this clinic is supported by the various medical training establishments in the area. You will therefore be receiving our services free of charge...but, in return, you must agree to assist in our teaching function. Here, sign these waivers." He handed her the clipboard and a pen. She didn't understand this, but knew she had to do it. So she signed. "Very good. Now, please, strip down completely...clothes, jewelry, everything. You can put your things in that black crate there." She saw the crate, but there was no screen or alcove where she could undress. "Um...c-could I have a...a gown?" "No, sorry. We don't any clean ones left. Now, get on with it." Connie sighed. She was out of options, and there really was no point in dawdling. Resigned, she moved across the room to the black crate and started to undress -- she had no wallet, jewelry, keys, or other valuables to worry about. Sneakers first, in the bottom of the crate...then her skimpy tennis dress and ruffled tennis panties.... She shivered. The chill of the tile floor was already seeping through her socks. When she took them off and stood barefoot, her toes curled. Paradoxically, she was sweating. The tight sports bra came next. She felt herself blushing furiously, as she finally slid her damp thong panties off and hid them beneath her other clothes. She stood there nervously, looking down at her things in that crate. This could have been a scene out of one of her stories.... "Ready, Connie?" Dr. Maxim's voice prodded her back to reality. "Yes, sir." She looked up to see that he was watching her. Had he been watching the whole time? "Then come over here, smartly now. Before we go any further, my girl, you should know that we've been warned about you...that you would likely be uppity and uncooperative. You had better just behave yourself, or you'll get a bad write-up in my report." ("Warned"? "Bad write-up"?) Her confusion -- and her blush -- deepened. "Right. Now up on the scale...arms down...stand up straight." She did so, and he fiddled with the counter-weights. "Hmmm...weight: 148...height: 5'7".... You're a bit overweight, you know." He made a notation on his clipboard chart. (He smiled to himself, the joke being that he'd over-stated her weight by 17 pounds, drawing a shocked look from Connie.) "Alright, Connie, now turn around." He sat down. When she turned, her crotch was about on the same level as his nose. (He can see my...my cunt, all red and puffy and unfulfilled from the workout I've had to subject it to -- and he can smell it, too, for god's sake....) "I see you shave your pubic hair. Is that for cosmetic, sexual, or medical reasons?" "It...it's...ah...s-sexual...." "I see...." He leaned close and nonchalantly used a cloth tape to take her measurements. "Hmmm...35...26 1/2...37...." He looked up at her. How often do you work out?" "Every day, sir." He sniffed, loudly. "Your personal hygiene could stand improvement," he said, blandly. He gestured toward the exam table. "Please, have a seat." The table was quite high, and she was naked, with an audience this time. Acutely self-conscious, she scrambled onto the table more awkwardly than before, the stiff paper again rustling beneath her. Dr. Maxim took the stethoscope from around his neck. "To begin with, just breathe normally." He put the stethoscope disc right between her breasts. She flinched. He moved it here and there. It was cold -- and it tickled. "Please try to control yourself, Connie. Don't hyperventilate and don't bounce around. You may be over-sexed and easily stimulated, but this is not the time or place for that." "I-I'm sorry, sir, b-but I'm not...." "Not...what, Connie? Not a randy little tart -- to put it in layman's terms -- who's showing all the signs of extreme arousal? As I said before, 'I am THE doctor.' And when I ask you a question, you will not only answer me out loud, but also answer truthfully." "I'm s-sorry, sir." "Well, try to do better in future." "Yes, sir." "And now I want you to breathe deeply and slowly, in...out...in...out." She obeyed him, inhaling and exhaling slowly and deeply, as ordered, her breasts jiggling, marking time. At last he seemed to be satisfied with what he was hearing. He went on to do a series of routine checks -- pulse, blood pressure, eyes, ears, nose, and throat -- each time making noncommittal noises and jotting down a few notes. At last he said, "Okay, you can stand up now." He flipped a switch on an electronic thermometer next to the table. "Stand right here and bend over the table, Connie." Then he went to one of the cabinets and took out a tube of something. She looked over and read the label: KY...." At first, she wondered, "Kentucky"? Then, cursing her own naiveté, she realized that it was a lubricant. And a moment later, when she guessed what it was for, she began blushing again. "Oral or aural, makes no difference. All those other thermometers are rubbish. The rectal method is by far the best." "But...." He chuckled. "Yes, 'butt' is exactly right. Now bend over and lift your bottom up, really high.... No, higher. Get up on your tiptoes, with your feet about 18 inches apart." After lubing up the index finger of his gloved right hand, he spread her butt-cheeks with his left. He slowly inserted his greasy finger, paused, thrust it deep, and then backed it out. "Aaah...aah." She murmured. "You must be properly lubricated...." He squeezed out another dollop of lubricant...on two fingers this time...and goosed her again. She tried, but it was almost impossible to stay loose. It was like taking a shit in reverse, and her asshole instinctively tightened up. But why was a man's finger up her ass not entirely unpleasant? She mewed and shook her head. She was breathing heavily by the time the lube job was complete. "Now the thermometer," he said, matter-of-factly. "Relax." She got a death-grip on the sides of the table as the thermometer slid home. It was cold and thick and...oh, god.... But the doctor was still asking questions. "Have you ever had anal intercourse?" "No...no, of course not!" "But you are...or have been...sexually active?" "Well, I was married...." "But divorced now for several years. How many men have you been intimate with, all told?" "I certainly don't think these questions are necessary, Doctor." "Never mind trying to figure out the reasons, Connie. Just answer me...promptly and accurately. Now, how many?" "Um...s-ssix." "And how many women? "N-n-n...t-t-t-two.... Roommates in school, you know...experimenting." "Hmmm. And you masturbate. How often?" "V-very seldom...." "You can't seriously expect me to believe that. How many times yesterday, for example? The truth, now." "Y...y-yes-terday...oh, god...ahhh...f-f-fi-ive...." "And how many times so far today?" "I...um...s-six...." "And how many orgasms each time?" "None...." "Eleven times in less than...36 hours. Hmmm." More notes. She just stood there, draped over the table, jacked up on tiptoes, answering humiliatingly personal questions with that damn thermometer deep in her guts, and trying not to think about "anal intercourse." It went on seemingly forever, until the wretched thing finally emitted a beep. Maxim removed the thermometer, but had her remain in position while he made more notes. Suddenly, someone pulled the door curtain aside. "Yes?" Dr. Maxim said, with raised eyebrows. "It's Dr. Suarez," a man's voice said. "I've brought the trainees." Connie was overcome with embarrassment to see a short, greasy Latino and a gaggle of 5 young men and 2 young women, all in lab coats. After the group filed into the exam room, Dr. Maxim at last closed the curtain across the doorway. But, while it was open, Connie could see that everyone in the waiting room was staring at her. She cringed. Things were happening too rapidly for her to sort out intellectually. The one thing that she was absolutely sure of was that she couldn't bail...she had to see this through. "Hacker" had made that perfectly clear. ****************************** Part 2 "Good morning, all," Dr. Maxim chirped, turning to the group. "This is Connie Hoover, our test patient," he announced. "You all will be observing -- and participating in -- a most thorough physical examination. Yes, most thorough." As she forced herself to look at the new arrivals, Connie saw a familiar face...and almost fainted. His name was Leon Folger, an intelligent, but short, scrawny, geeky type who had been one of Connie's students. He'd apparently have had a crush on her all throughout high school. She had even caught him sneaking into the gym and trying to steal her panties from her locker. She'd threatened to inform the school, his parents, and the police unless he stopped stalking her. That had seemed to work, and she hadn't seen or thought about him in several years. ("Omigod.... Please," she thought. "Please don't recognize me.") It was a vain hope. He obviously did recognize her. That much was clear in the sly look he gave her. Dr. Maxim cleared his throat. "Now then, I have already done the routine tests -- the basic things that you can easily pick up just by reading your texts -- and everything so far seems to be normal. Her temperature is 1.3 degrees higher than it should be, but I'm inclined to put that down to sexual excitement, the symptoms of which she has exhibited from the outset of the exam (and which, I'm beginning to suspect, is chronic). "I've questioned her to an extent." He indicated the chart on his clipboard. "She's promiscuous and bisexual. We'll have to run a full screen for STDs. "But next, I want you all to make a visual inspection of the patient's body and report on its overall condition. After that, I'll let you get some practice checking her respiration under stress." This was greeted by a gentle murmur from the trainees. "Okay, Connie," Maxim said. "Come out here in the middle so everyone can have a good look at you." Connie pushed herself up from her bent position and, eyes down, shuffled reluctantly to the center of the room, all the while trying to cover herself with her hands. "Hands at your sides, Connie," Maxim ordered. "You know better than that." She lowered her hands. There was not a shred of concealment now. She practically cowered as the students eyed her -- some with apparent detachment and others with obvious lust. "Comments? Anyone?" "She appears to be...um...healthy," a tall black girl offered. "No obvious scars," a short, swarthy fellow added. "Probably never been pregnant," Leon said. "No stretch-marks or C-section scars, nipples still pink...." The other girl, a small Asian, peered through her stylish, wire-rimmed glasses. "Monica Chi. Her breasts are relatively small, in view of her frame and the fact that she's...Caucasian." She said the last word with something of a sneer. "Firm and without the incipient sagging that one might expect, given her age. And the symmetry is well within average tolerances." "Well done, Monica," Dr. Maxim said. "Okay, Connie, over here now." He made her stand up against a light blue, blank wall, as she was, while he took a series of "posture" photos -- front and back and both profiles, one set all full-length and another in closeup. After the pictures, Maxim once again had Connie present herself, front and center. "Next, we'll give one of you a chance to demonstrate the proper technique for examining a woman's breasts.... Yes, young man?" "Leon Folger, doctor. Well, you see, the patient and I are acquainted -- and I just thought that it might be easier for her if someone she knew performed the exam...." "Hmmm.... Very well, go ahead...Leon, is it?" Having been given the green light, Leon snapped on a pair of exam gloves and adopted an officious attitude. He nodded at the exam table. "Okay, Connie, take a seat." Even more self-conscious now and blushing furiously, she took three tries before she was able to lever herself back up onto the table. "Now, now, girl -- don't dawdle," Leon prompted. At that point, she finally lost it. She swiveled around and glared at him. "Leon Folger, you perverted little toad...." "Connie!" Dr. Maxim cut in. "You WILL give this man the respect he is due as a medical professional. You will comply with his orders, and you will call him 'sir.' Now apologize to him for your outburst." "I-I'm sorry, Leon...SIR.... I w-won't be 'difficult.'" Leon gave her a patronizing little nod and, smirking, proceeded to perform a prolonged breast exam -- pinching, prodding, and squeezing -- "palpating," he called it. And he seemed to pay particular attention to her erect nipples, much to her embarrassment. "Are your nipples always this hard, Connie?" he asked, superciliously. "Or are you just particularly aroused by being handled, nude, in front of a sizeable audience?" "I am...aroused...sir...." She practically gasped out the obvious. "Um-hmm. Now, lie down here on your back, hands behind your head." He then performed a slightly abbreviated version of the breast exam. At length, he straightened up and announced his findings. "Texture is firm. There are no lumps or other abnormalities and no discharge from the nipples. I'd say she passes." "Excellent, in both technique and summary, Leon," Dr. Maxim announced. "Now, I'm going to take a short break and give each of you a chance to check Connie's normal pulse and respiration." ****************************** A few minutes passed, during which the students all put their shiny new stethoscopes to extensive use (though some did introduce them into relatively unconventional areas of Connie's body). Then Dr. Maxim called them to order again. "Before we proceed to the internal exams, I want you to repeat your checks, but this time on Connie's elevated respiration and pulse rate. To get things percolating, as it were, therefore, she must perform some brisk exercises. Let's see some jumping jacks, Connie." She blinked, a bit surprised. "NOW, Connie! One...two...one...two...." She began tentatively. "Faster! One-two-one-two-one-two...." She quickened the pace, and he kept her at it until she was gasping and bedraggled and running with sweat. Then she had to make the rounds and give everybody a brief listen, before standing against the wall again -- now much worse for wear -- while Maxim took more pictures. All the while, in her peripheral vision, she could see the steel stirrups jutting ominously from the foot of the exam table. "Have a seat on the table, Connie," the doctor commanded. She staggered to the wretched table, climbed onto it, and sat, smelling of old sweat and repeated arousal, while Dr. Maxim briefly used his stethoscope again, before he stepped back to watch each of the trainees in turn do likewise. ****************************** When each of the students had had a listen, Maxim stepped up again. "Now we'll go on to consider vaginal and rectal exams." Catalina Dobbs, the tall, slender black trainee, unconsciously licked her lips at that announcement. She was itching for more class participation ("hands-on" training, as it were), in this phase of the exam. She was getting wet already at just the prospect of "examining" this attractive, slightly older, well-to-do white woman.... "First, the rectal," Maxim said. "Okay, Connie, get up on your hands and knees...." He smiled. "You know: 'doggie position'...and spread your legs nice and wide for us." Connie did assume the position, for she knew delaying wouldn't help -- and could possibly make things worse. But she kept herself rigid, from stem to stern...clenched from jaws to buttocks. Obviously, this was not what the doctor wanted. He delivered a stinging slap to Connie's right butt cheek and another, backhanded, to her left. "Loosen up, Missy," he ordered. "I've had just about enough of your acting up...." She forced herself to relax somewhat...enough, anyway. Maxim adjusted a table-side light so that it shone brightly onto Connie's upturned butt. He then used both hands to spread her buttocks apart and peered closely at the area around her asshole. "Alright, class, gather around here and get a good look." Connie was devastated at the idea that everyone else in the room (nine people!) was staring at her exposed asshole. "Externally, she looks fine, but we also need to check her internally, of course. Normally, at this point, I would lubricate her. And, although she's already been thoroughly greased up, there's no reason why we can't repeat the process.... Just then, moving around the table, he stumbled over the plastic crate with Connie's things. "Somebody take this damn box and put it somewhere, will you?" "I'll do it, doctor," Leon quickly spoke up and sashayed from the room with the crate. ("Goddamn brown-nose toady," Connie thought. But, an instant later, she shivered, wondering where he was going to take her clothes...and what she might have to do to get them back....) "As I was saying, the subject must first be lubricated...." Maxim squirted some more gel onto his gloved fingers. "Connie, reach back and spread your cheeks." Connie whimpered as she obeyed him. "Wider...." At that moment, Leon came bustling back and self-importantly reclaimed his front row position. "Now just relax until I get my fingertip inside you, and then press down as if you're trying to crap," Dr. Maxim said. "Don't tell me that none of your many lovers has ever done this to you." He tickled her asshole, then slithered his finger in deep. "Well?" "N-no, sir...only y-you...." Two fingers. "Oh, god," she whimpered. Three fingers, three THICK fingers, corkscrewing in and out, over and over.... "Oh...oh...oh...oh.... Please, sir, please." Maxim winked at the trainees. "I think the little minx likes this." While he worked away at Connie's asshole, Catalina Dobbs was practically pissing herself; Monica Chi was regarding Connie with scorn; Leon was sporting a textbook leer; and the other five were apparently adjusting themselves under their lab coats. After groping around for a couple of minutes, Maxim finally pulled out, stepped back, regarded his fingers, then stripped off and discarded his gloves. "Leon," he said. "Why don't you go next?" The smarmy little trainee smirked, nodded, put on exam gloves, and stepped closer to the table. "Okay, now, imagine that she's in a normal state and, therefore, that I'm going to have to lubricate her." He pantomimed greasing his fingers. "This'll be easy if you relax, Connie. Be a good girl, now, and do as you're told." Connie was livid at being talked down to by a worm. "No, Connie...." Leon slapped her ass in imitation of his mentor. "Your sphincter's like a knot. Loosen up!" "Or else!" Dr. Maxim added. "I-I'm trying...s-sir. I'm s-sorry...." "Spread your cheeks. Wider. That'll open it up. Ah, good." Leon slid his finger slowly into her. Deep. He paused, dramatically, and then began to MOVE it...in ways that made Connie gasp. Maxim had been all about thickness and mechanical relentlessness. Leon was different: more subtle and serpentine, insinuating rather than reaming. By the time he was through, Connie had been aroused to such an extent that she found coherent thought almost impossible. And, in the end, Leon found no "internal anomalies." Each of the trainees got a chance to probe her. Connie just crouched there, her asshole burning. She silently counted them off. Monica Chi gave her a vigorous, heartless probing. Catalina, in contrast, was much gentler -- quite thorough, but also quite sensual. Connie liked that, in spite of herself. After everyone had had a turn, the doctor handed Connie a box of tissues and told her to wipe herself. Leon smirked and wondered -- out loud! -- how long it would take for her asshole to resume, more or less, its normal size. "Now, Connie, it's time for your vaginal examination," Maxim said, putting on a new pair of exam gloves. "Turn over onto your back and put your feet up into the stirrups. Your legs will necessarily be quite widely spread, with your knees bent. Do you think you can lie there without a fuss while we all examine you digitally?" "I...I d-don't know...s-sir." Connie was terribly conflicted: on the one hand, being ordered about, displayed, treated like a whore, subjected to unspeakable indignities, finger-fucked repeatedly, made to assist in her own degradation -- and before a mixed audience, too -- all of this was devastating to her pride and self-esteem. On the other hand, these very same things were so wonderfully exciting, her fantasies made flesh. "Then perhaps you should be...restrained," he said. "As a protection for yourself and others." Connie nodded, not trusting herself to speak. So they strapped her down -- her feet in the stirrups and her hands at the sides of the table. As Dr. Maxim touched her cunt, Connie squirmed a bit, her gaze shifting about randomly. And then she was mortified to see that she was in full view of all the people in the waiting room, through the doorway. Leon must have left the curtain open. "Oh, god, Doctor...," she began. "Connie, don't interrupt me. You do NOT want me to lose my temper with you." She looked out into the waiting room again. Most of those people had actually rearranged their chairs to get a better view. A couple of the young guys seemed to be drooling. "B-but...." "That's quite enough, young lady," Maxim snorted. He reached into a nearby drawer and fetched out a chromed metal device with movable jaws that were opened and closed by means of a handle on the side. "A dental gag," he said. "Open wide." Connie rebelled, briefly, shaking her head. But, when Maxim reached out for her nostrils, she gave up and opened her mouth. Thereupon, he slipped the gag into place between her upper and lower teeth, and squeezed the handle. Her mouth was forced wide open -- and held that way. "She can still make some meaningless noises," he told the class. "But this device seems to have a particular moderating effect." Connie writhed and moaned. Her pussy was going to be played with for everybody to see. And she was helpless. How humiliating! How thrilling! Now and then she sneaked a peek into the waiting room, where everyone was staring at her -- all the males grinning and most of the females frowning. Despite the coolness of the room, she was sweating. Dr. Maxim, free of the possibility of further interruption by Connie, proceeded with his demonstration. "As you can see, both sets of labia appear to be well-formed and at least normally responsive. Observe how extremely well-developed the clitoris is. There is, you will notice, some evidence of hypertrophy -- common enough in compulsive masturbators." He tickled it with his fingertip, and she stiffened, making an odd sort of throaty hiss. "Very responsive, too," he chuckled. "Now we'll proceed into the interior. Note that she is thoughtfully providing her own lubrication." That comment drew a nice laugh from the onlookers. (A few snickers even came drifting in from the waiting room.) Maxim slid his forefinger up to the hilt into her. She made desperate, strangled sounds. He probed around in her cunt, first with one finger and then with two. She was breathing hard and sweating heavily. A heady odor rolled off her, a musky blend of unwashed body and inflamed cunt, as she writhed on his impaling fingers. Though Maxim was rather ham-handed, he was pushing many of the right buttons, and she was getting closer and closer to orgasm when he suddenly pulled his fingers out and left her trembling on the brink. She whimpered. "Satisfactory," Maxim announced. "But now.... Miss Dobbs...Catalina, why don't you try your hand...as it were?" Catalina was overjoyed at getting her chance to have another go at Connie, but (unlike Monica Chi) was not entirely unsympathetic toward her victim. "Um...Dr. Maxim...the door curtain?" she ventured. Maxim looked toward the doorway, snorted, and waved his hand impatiently. One of the trainees scurried over and closed the curtain. (Disappointed noises came from the waiting room.) Satisfied that she had done her good deed for the day, Catalina re-focused on the important stuff. She put on a pair of surgical gloves and smiled to herself as she realized she was quickly becoming as aroused as Connie. Catalina took a deep breath and was reaching for that ripe, pink cunt, when Maxim asked, "What about lubrication?" "Oh, I...I don't think...um...artificial lubrication is necessary at this point, sir," Catalina said. "But what if she weren't as...um...juicy?" Maxim interjected, pompously. Catalina held up the tube of KY. "And what if you had none of that? How would you improvise?" "Well, any sterile, non-allergenic oily or greasy substance...." "'Hypoallergenic' is a more accurate term. Show me an example." Catalina nodded and rummaged around in the large wall-mounted cabinet for a moment, paused, and slowly smiled. "This would do. It's mainly for sore muscles and contains menthol and wintergreen, so it would sting some, but, if there were nothing else...." "Demonstrate. And don't worry, her natural lubrication will dilute it." Catalina spread Connie's labia and began to toy with her clitoris. Between the manual stimulation and the itching-burning of the ointment, the clit (which was already inflamed) was fully engorged and throbbing almost instantly. "Exterior okay. Now we'll see about the interior." Catalina inserted two fingers, covered with burning goo, deep into Connie's super-sensitive cunt. Connie bucked and moaned helplessly as Catalina skillfully played with her. She tormented Connie's swollen G-spot with her fingertips and teased her clitoris with her thumb. All the trainees seemed mesmerized by Catalina's demonstration, but only Monica Chi had the wit to deduce what was actually happening. (And Monica began to develop an increased respect for her black colleague.) Connie's pussy spasmed around Catalina's fingers, and she couldn't restrain herself any longer. She stiffened and voiced a string of nonsense syllables and started cumming...and cumming...and cumming.... Everyone in the room seemed to be thoroughly entranced as they watched Connie bounce and moan, apparently in the grip of a cataclysmic, serial orgasm. After an age, she began coming down and eventually bottomed out, physically exhausted and mentally disoriented. As her eyes slowly cleared and her mind came back from whatever screaming purgatory it had fled to, Connie looked up into the faces of her audience, whose expressions ranged from awestruck to smirk. She cringed. "Well," Maxim announced with a grin, "at least we know that she's not frigid.... Now each of you can have a turn at her...and, once that's done, it'll be time to break for lunch. After lunch, I'll demonstrate the Foley catheter and collect a urine sample. Then we'll go on to a series of stimulus/response tests, using a TENS unit and an Anderson Pulsator MK2." He smiled, benignly. "Students always enjoy observing those." ****************************** Forty minutes later, Maxim sent Suarez and the trainees off to lunch. He sat for a while, relaxing and re-playing the first part of the exam in his head. At last he got up, stretched, and glanced at Connie, gagged and naked and semi-conscious, still secured to the exam table. As he left for lunch himself, he wondered idly if the janitors, Willie and Luis, were due to clean up in here during the break. He shrugged. Patting the thick sheaf of bills in his jacket pocket, he smiled. Better pay and better hours than summer stock or dinner theatre, he thought, and MUCH better perks....