The rubber of the table under her was pliable and warm as she was pushed down onto it, the full glare of the surgical lights above blinding her. Hands, so many hands, holding her shoulders still and strapping her forehead down, restraining her arms out to her side with heavy cuffs, restraining her legs apart at the ankles and at the knees. She couldn’t even find her voice to protest in her terror, in her shock at what was happening, at what her father was permitting to happen to her.
She managed to croak out a ‘Stop.’
Instead of heeding her, someone she couldn’t see against the light used the opportunity to slip cold metal into her mouth and over her teeth and then she couldn’t even close her mouth. Her jaw was pulled apart until she could feel the antiseptic bite of the air in the back of her throat. She wanted to scream. Tried to scream. No sound came out.
She tried to pull her arms from the restraints, tried to kick. Couldn’t. Couldn’t.
Something sharp in the crook of her elbow, sharp and pushing. She tried to see what it was, but could only see a figure leaning over her arm. All of a sudden a cold liquid sensation shot up her veins.
‘Emma,’ a voice said from behind her head. She strained her eyes upward to see Dr Smith leaning over her, ‘I’m afraid neither your father nor I have been quite truthful with you. Sadly I’m unable to tell you the exact purpose of what is happening to you, but let me assure you that your father is fully aware and has given his permission for this to happen to you.’
She tried to struggle again. She was an adult and they couldn’t override her consent like this!
‘No harm will come to you in my facility, Emma,’ Dr Smith continued. ‘I’m sure in time you will be happy that your father arranged this for you.’
He stepped out of her field of vision, and she could hear him and her father converse in low tones. She couldn’t make out the words, even straining to hear.
There were no hands on her now, the people surrounding her had all melted away. Frantically, she tried to take in what little she could see of her surroundings. Aside from the surgical lights above, all she could see was a monitor beside her head, maybe the gleam of a metal cart at her side. How could anyone ever suggest that she could be happy that this would happen?
She lay there for what might have been seconds, or minutes, or hours, she had no idea. Every nerve ending was alight and the thump of her pulse in her ears was all-consuming.
Dr Smith stood above her again. ‘Emma we’re now going to examine you and do some simple investigations. I need you to be as calm and still as possible - ‘
Emma almost wants to laugh. Calm?
‘And so we will be administering a mild sedative into the IV we have placed in your arm. You will be conscious, let me assure you.’
The shoulders of the hospital gown were being pulled down and away and off and suddenly she’s naked. No warning, no permission asked for. Burning shame, and rage at them for doing this to her… she barely groans in objection around the dental gag in her mouth before something sweet and burning is slipping through her veins.
‘Nice and still and relaxed now for me Emma,’ Dr Smith is saying.
Everything very very slowly gets liquid and soft. Her heart doesn’t thud quite so hard. Her nerve endings don’t feel so electric.
‘Good girl,’ Dr Smith says.
Then his hands are palpating her neck, not roughly, but deeply. It’s uncomfortable but she can’t even pull away.
‘Very good girl, Emma. You’re doing so well,’ Dr Smith says as he fits a stethoscope to his ears. He’s leaning over her and there’s cold metal on her chest, being placed again and again and again.
‘We’ll echo her after the preliminary assessment,’ he says to someone standing at my feet. ‘There’s a soft systolic murmur. It’s probably just a flow murmur but best to be sure.’
From far away there’s an agreement.
He palpates her breasts in little circles, around and around, and then under her arms. Its uncomfortable, and when he pinches her nipples between his thumb and forefinger she gasps in pain.
Moving down the table, he begins to press onto her abdomen, superficially, then deeper and deeper until every touch is an ache. He presses on her bladder so firmy that she realised that she really, really needs to urinate.
‘An abdominal ultrasound as well. I can’t really feel her kidneys. We’ll do that first, while her bladder is full.’
He steps around the table to her feet. There’s a mechanical buzz, and her legs are being pulled apart, her knees bending. She tried to fight against it, but the movement in inexorable and her muscles feel like syrup..
His gloved hands are on the inside of her thighs, then higher, on her vulva, pulling apart her labia. She wants to scream, wants to twist away. Can’t.
The smooth latex of his gloves, the distant warmth of his fingers, is palpating and pressing all around her, his fingertips running down her around her, almost inside of her. She wanted to cry out, to scream at him. When his thumb strokes over her clitoris she jerks at the sensation.
It felt like he was never going to remove his hands from between her legs, but finally he did. She could have cried with relief.
But before she could even take a single breath, his hands were back. Fingers of one hand holding apart her labia and pushing something cold and metallic inside her with no hesitation, deeper and deeper until it felt like it couldn’t possibly go any deeper… then is feels like she is being pulled apart as it widens and widens inside her. She groans against the gag.
‘You’re doing so well Emma,’ Dr Smith says, ‘Just a little more.’
The speculum pulls her apart even more. She can feel Dr Smith’s hand on her thigh, the other making tiny adjustments to the instrument inside her, pushes and tugs that feel huge but which must be mere millimeters.
She can feel cool air inside her like she never has before. A quick, harsh, horrible scraping like nothing she ever wants to experience again…
‘Well done Emma,’ Dr Smith says, pulling the metal bills out of her. ‘Just my fingers inside you now.’
Pressure, then she feels so full. A hand on her lower abdomen, pressing, pressing. And fingers inside of her, pressing all around her. Pressing up to meet the hand pressing down. Vague nausea settled over her, and she felt lightheaded…. Darkness around the edges of her vision… and suddenly the fullness, the nausea, the dizziness… was gone.
‘Beautiful, Emma. Lovely,’ Dr Smith says. ‘Just a few scans now and you can have a rest.’
Almost instantly there’s cold jelly on her tummy, just below her ribs pressing hard, pushing down and down and then on the other side and right down the side of her belly button and then right over her bladder. She almost lost control… clenched so hard. So hard.
So hard that she barely heard Dr Smith say ‘yes, the vaginal probe please.’
She didn’t really have time to tense up before a cold, slick probe was forced into her, pushed and pulled every which way. Sick sweat came over her again as she was invaded… it never seemed to end, went on for days and weeks and years…
‘Good girl, Emma. You’re being such a good girl,’ Dr Smith said as he removed the prove from her. ‘One more scan and you can have a rest.’
Just in her field of vision,she saw another probe being handed to the doctor, before it was placed in the centre of her chest. Before it was moved all around her chest, pressed hard into her ribs. Before her left breast was palmed out of the way Dr Smiths thumb resting on, stroking her nipple, and the probe pushed into the taut skin. She could feel the tears running down her face into the table beneath her. She didn’t understand why this was happening, why her daddy was letting this happen to her.
“Alright Emma, well done. You’ve done so well,’ Dr Smith said as he removed the probe from her chest. “We will start again tomorrow.’
So obviously this is a totally perfect fantasy: intense medical examination with no control, and a touch of cardiophilia.