Medical Dummy, Dripping Data

I walk into the consulting room. Nothing major, just a quick check-up. That's what I keep telling myself, anyway.

The lights are too bright. The room smells like antiseptic, like every other doctor's room ever. Clean but... sharp. I hate that smell. I sit on the edge of the table, and the paper under me crackles way too loudly. My palms are already sweating, which is ridiculous; he's not even here yet.

The door opens. Dr. Evans comes in dressed in his neatly pressed white coat. His expression is stereotypical--blank, but sort of polite. Behind him? Trainees file in. Five of them. Three guys, two girls, all in matching scrubs, holding clipboards and pretending not to stare too hard.

"These are my trainees," Dr. Evans says. "They're here to observe a full examination. You'll be their subject today."

Wait--full? My stomach does this little drop. Like when you miss a step on the stairs. I nod. Stupid. But what am I supposed to say? 'No'? Make a fuss? It's a free clinic and I don't have spare change lying around.

I swallow and try not to look at any of them. My throat's suddenly dry.

"Remove all your clothing," he says, already half turned away. Tone flat and detached. He nods toward a gown folded on the exam bed. "Put that on."

He starts talking to the students immediately, something about protocol, barely audible. Like I'm not standing right here, peeling myself out of my clothes behind a short privacy screen. Privacy screen my ass, it's barely tall enough and doesn't cover mid-thigh down.

Blouse first. Then the bra. I hesitate at my skirt, but there's no real pause. What's the point? I just get on with it. Panties last. The air hits me cold, and I swear I can feel every damn eye in the room on me.

Five of them. Just standing there, watching. Clipboards held like props, not shields.

I grab the gown and fumble it on, arms through the wrong holes first, then redoing it. It's thin. Paper-thin. Doesn't even close properly in the back. I sit back down with my hands in my lap, knees together. The paper under me crackles again.

Dr. Evans walks over, pulling on gloves. Snap. That sharp latex sound. He doesn't look at me, not really.

"We'll start with the breast exam," he says, pushing me back into the bed with gentle intent. Without waiting, he unties the gown and just pulls it down. My breasts are out, just like that. A fresh wave of cold hits me first, then the heat, rushing up the back of my neck.

My nipples are already hard. Probably the cold, but I know what it looks like.

The students step closer.

His hands are professional. That's the worst part. No hesitation, no second glances. Just fingers pressing, shifting, assessing. "Note the tissue consistency," he says. Like I'm a sample. A diagram.

Then: "You may examine her now."

I freeze.

The first guy steps forward. No name. Just hands. Too rough, no warning. He grabs more than he examines. I flinch.

"Gently!" Dr. Evans barks. "Precision, not force."

The guy laughs under his breath and softens his grip. Barely. His fingers stay longer than they should.

The next is a girl. Her hands are lighter. More careful. But one finger brushes my nipple--slow, deliberate. She doesn't look at me. None of them do.

I glance up. One of the other guys is shifting awkwardly. There's tension at the front of his pants. He's not hiding it.

My face burns. I try to keep still, but I feel them seeing me--all of me. And I can't unread the hunger in some of their eyes.

Dr. Evans pulls the gown off entirely and drapes it over the clothes hanger. "It's unnecessary," he says. "They need full visibility for learning."

I'm naked now. Totally bare. Lying back on the exam bed, my skin prickling like it's screaming. I can't look up. I won't. But I feel them--all their eyes digging into me.

He steps closer. Gloves still on. That snap from earlier still echoes in my head. "Pelvic exam next," he says, loud and flat. He parts my thighs with a smooth, practiced motion, no hesitation and lifts my legs into the stirrups.

The students shuffle in. Too close. Shoes squeak on the floor. I catch the girls shifting, their thighs brushing together, restless. My stomach twists so hard I might puke.

Dr. Evans slides a finger down me--down there. Quick. Cold. He holds it up, wet and shiny under the lights. "Observe the natural lubrication... the arousal indicators," he says, like it's nothing. Like I'm not dying inside. Arousal? No. That's not--I can't--

"You may assess," he says. And before I can even think, one of the guys dives in. His fingers shove deep in. I gasp--loud, stupid--and my whole body jerks.

"Careful!" Dr. Evans snaps. "This isn't a game! Feel, don't maul!" The guy, grinning like an asshole, pulls his finger out and tries again, gentler but twice. "Is he trying to stimulate me? Oh God, I groan, way too loud.

Another one steps up. Spreads me wider than he needs to. "She's soaked," he mutters, low but clear. My chest tightens. I want to melt into the exam bed and disappear.

The girls move in now. One pries me open with her fingers. She whispers, "Look at that clit," to the others. Right in front of me. Jeez, I'm right here.

My face is burning. Hotter than before. I glance up--can't help it--and see one of the guys adjusting himself. Pants tight. Obvious. He doesn't care who notices.

Dr. Evans picks up the speculum. He inserts it with a steady hand and God, it's freezing, and I nearly jump off the table. He cranks it open. I feel it stretch me wide. "Full view of the cervix," he says, flicking on a light. They're all staring right into my private of parts.

He nods. "Assess internally." The male student from earlier slips fingers in beside the speculum, too rough again. I flinch, hard. "Enough!" Dr. Evans cuts in. "Controlled movements only."

Too late. I clench. I can't stop it and they all see. My breath catches, stuck in my throat.

He removes the speculum with the same calm precision. Then presses a finger to my clit. Rubs it in tight, mechanical circles. "Clitoral stimulation response," he says, voice flat as ever. "Watch the physical signs."

My hips twitch. I don't mean them to. The students lean in closer. One girl bites her lip. The guys breathe heavier and louder than they should.

"Feel it," he says. They take turns. One guy's thick fingers slide inside. Another strokes my clit--too eager, too fast. Dr. Evans sighs. "Precision, not enthusiasm! Focus!"

But I'm losing it. Breath hitching, ragged. Shame floods me - hot and heavy - as my body starts doing things I can't control. He presses harder, relentless, until I cum. A stifled cry slips out. Did I seriously just do that in front of six people? My chest and pussy flush red. They're all staring, eyes wide, soaking it in.

Dr. Evans steps back. Wipes his hands. "Textbook response," he says, like my humiliation's just a footnote. "Questions?"

They murmur, still gawking. Some shift awkwardly, turned on, obvious about it. I'm just lying here - exposed, shaking, nowhere to hide.

The room's buzzing, thick with something I can't name. I'm still lying there, legs spread wide in those damn stirrups, skin hot and raw from what Dr. Evans just dragged out of me.

The students won't stop staring. I can't look at them--my eyes dart to the ceiling, the wall, anywhere else.

The girl with short hair tilts her head. "What does her pussy feel like now, post-orgasm?" she asks. Her voice is curious, but it's edged with something else.

Dr. Evans glances at her. His expression indifferent. "Feel for yourself," he says, nodding toward me. "It's the best way to learn."

She steps up. Her fingers brush my inner thigh, and I flinch. I'm still buzzing, too sensitive, every touch like a shock. She slides her fingers in, slow but firm, and I gasp. My hips jerk before I can stop them. "It's... tighter, wetter than I thought," she murmurs, pushing deeper. I squirm, can't help it. Her touch is everywhere, and I hate how it feels--or do I really hate it?

Dr. Evans nods. "Taste it," he says, matter-of-factly. "Understand the physiology." I figure she'll just lick her fingers, but no--she drops down, tongue pressing hard against me, lapping at my humiliation.

I yelp, shocked, my hands gripping the table as she pulls back, grinning. "I thought it'd be sharper... bitter, maybe. It's sweet. Slightly salty. I like it." The others shift, leaning in, too interested.

One of the guys steps up. Tall, dark hair, pants straining around his crotch. He licks his lips. "I want to taste too," he says, voice low and thick.

I shake my head, words tripping out. "No, please, that's enough--" But Dr. Evans cuts me off. "They must learn. You chose a teaching hospital. A free clinic. This is part of it. Don't complain now."

The students snicker. My face burns hotter, and my humiliation sinks deeper. The guy kneels, breath hot against me, then his tongue's there, rough, splitting my lips. Then he's sucking at my clit, and I whimper.

I whimper. Too much, too soon. My body shakes, betraying me again, and he groans, "Fuck, that's good." I see it twitch, and my stomach flips again.

The quieter girl with glasses steps up. Her cheeks are pink, but her eyes are locked on me, steady. "Can I try getting her to orgasm again?" she asks, flicking a look at Dr. Evans. "Women can cum multiple times, right? I didn't see it clear last time. I want to feel it, understand how it feels on her."

He nods. "Go ahead. Observe closely."

She moves in. Her fingers start soft, brushing my clit, then slide inside, curling in me experimentally. I'm panting already. Mortified--God, I can't stop the tension building again, and I hate it, maybe... hate them watching like I'm some medical doll to do anything they want to.

She speeds up, focused now. "I can feel it tightening," she mutters, and my thighs shake under her hands. The short-haired girl pipes up, "Make her loud this time." The guys edge closer. One's adjusting himself shamelessly.

Her fingers hit just right, over and over, ignoring my whimpers. I cum again--louder, a sharp cry I can't hold back. My whole body clenches around her hand. She pulls out, staring at her wet fingers. "It was pulsing... amazing," she says, half to herself.

The others murmur, nodding. The girls shift, restless. The guys are hard, and I can't unsee it. All of them staring, fixated on my heat, my drips, while my body burns red. I sink further into the bed. Dr. Evans just stands there, blank. "Satisfactory," he says.

I'm wrecked. Lying there, chest heaving, no way out.

The air's heavy now, thick with their curiosity and my lingering shame. Dr. Evans steps back, adjusting his gloves. "Further questions?" he asks, voice flat, like this is just another lecture.

The tall guy clears his throat. His pants are somehow even tighter. "What about anal response?" he says, half like a doctor, half like he's craving the experiment. "Can we examine that too?"

My stomach drops. I open my mouth--"No, wait"--but Dr. Evans lifts a hand, calm as ever. "Valid inquiry. A complete exam includes all systems. Proceed."

Dr. Evans motions for me to turn over. My face is already burning, and I freeze--God, do I have to? But the students' stares, all eager and unblinking, shove me into it. I shift onto my knees, ass up, head pressed to the table. Exposed doesn't even cover it. I'm wide open.

He hands the tall guy a tube of lube. "Use this and be gentle," he says. The guy slicks his fingers, and I tense up hard as he presses one against me. A slow rub at first, then he's in deep, moving fast. I whimper, can't stop it.

"Precision, not aggression!" Dr. Evans snaps. "Note the resistance." The guy eases off, sliding in and out now, muttering, "It's tight as hell!" His grip on my hip tightens, his excitement's obvious, and I hate that I can tell.

The short-haired girl pipes up. "Can we compare reactions? Stimulate both at once?" Dr. Evans nods, cool as ever. "A useful contrast. Go ahead."

She slips her fingers back into me. I'm still soaked, still so sensitive. I gasp, overwhelmed, my body caught between discomfort and a humiliating rush.

The girl with glasses watches intently. "Can I try something?" She picks up a little vibrator from the tray... kinda clinical-looking, but it buzzes when she flips it on. "To test clitoral sensitivity after multiple orgasms," she says, pressing it against me. I jolt, a sharp moan rips out before I can choke it back.

"Good initiative," Dr. Evans says. "Observe the involuntary response."

It's everything at once--fingers inside me, in my ass, that humming thing on my clit. I can't hold it together. My chest and face burn red, hips bucking even though I'm screaming at them to stop in my head.

The quieter guy steps up now. "What about vocalization? Can we make her louder to study it?" Dr. Evans tilts his head. "Encourage it. The sound is data."

He leans in close, breath hot on my ear and growls, "Scream for us," pinching my nipple hard. I do. A ragged cry tears out of me as another orgasm slams through, body shaking, wetness dripping down my thighs.

They pull back, breathing heavy. The girls swap flushed glances. The guys tug at their scrubs, trying to adjust. I'm still panting, chest tight, mortified under their stares.

Dr. Evans doesn't move. Just scribbles something. "Adequate demonstration," he says. "Anything else?"

The short-haired girl smirks, wiping her hand on her scrubs. "Can we keep her for the next session?" Laughter ripples through them. My face burns hotter, I can't believe I have orgasm'd this many times in front of a group, their eyes still digging into me. Dr. Evans' indifference cuts worse than their words.

He looks at her, expression as icy as ever. "Yes," he says, sharp and clipped. "She's an excellent subject for studying multiple orgasms. Very responsive, durable." He nods. "We'll continue."

Wait what? Durable? God that is making my skin burn, nothing more than a part to be experimented on. I'm still shaking from the last orgasms. I want to say no, scream it, but his voice shuts that down. No room for me to protest.

The students perk up. They're not even hiding it now; eyes too eager. Ready to push me to my limits physically and in humiliation.

The tall guy steps forward, rubbing his hands. His pants are still tight--always tight. "What about temperature play? How's that affect her sensitivity?"

Dr. Evans nods. "Reasonable hypothesis. Test it."

The guy picks up a metal probe from the tray. It's sleek, cold as hell. He runs it along my inner thigh, and I shiver--can't stop it. Then he presses it to my clit. The chill biting into my overheated skin, and I gasp, squirming under it.

He grins, sliding it lower, teasing me open. "She's clenching already," he says, voice thick. Then he swaps it for a warmed wand and the sudden heat floods me, and a moan slips out.

"Monitor the physical response," Dr. Evans cuts in, "but don't overdo it." Doesn't matter; he's already switching, cold then hot, pushing me right to the edge again.

The girl with glasses shifts, eyes narrowing like she's onto something. "What about pressure points?" she asks. "Can we trigger something specific?"

Dr. Evans nods, gestures approvingly. "Explore it. Focus on erogenous zones."

She kneels next to me. Her fingers press into my lower back, then slide up to my neck--firm, too sure. I twitch when she hits this spot behind my ear. God, it's like a shock straight down me. She moves her other hand between my legs, rubbing my clit in time, and I groan.

"It's amplifying," she says, all fascinated, while I feel myself tighten again. I hate how she sounds so thrilled about it.

The quieter guy pipes up, bolder now. "Can we test endurance? How many times she can cum before she's done?" The others hum, excited, shifting closer.

"A valid endurance study. Proceed systematically." Dr. Evans nods.

The guy grabs the vibrator, flips it to a pulsing beat, and hands it to the short-haired girl. She presses it in me hard, no mercy while the tall guy slips fingers back into my ass, matching her rhythm. The glasses girl keeps pressing my neck, and the combined effort is all too much. I'm panting, begging, "Please, it's too much--"

"No, it's data," Dr. Evans interrupts. "Keep going."

My body betrays me again. Another orgasm rips through--loud, hoarse, humiliating. Their cheers are quiet "yes!" smug bastards, and I want to disappear.

The second girl steps up now, the one who'd just watched before. "What about toys? Bigger ones? To see how she adapts?"

Dr. Evans hands her a thick, curved dildo from the tray, clinical as ever. "Measure the reaction," he says.

She slicks it with lube, slides it in slow but deep; stretching me 'til I'm gasping, hips jerking on their own. The others take turns--one holds it steady, another tugs at my nipples, twisting hard, pushing every damn limit I've got left.

I'm a wreck. Face red, dripping everywhere, chest heaving while they stare. They keep adjusting themselves. Others whisper--something about my "capacity." I catch it and want to curl up and die.

Dr. Evans doesn't blink. Just scribbles on his clipboard. "She's holding up well," he says, flat like it's nothing... and my face burns. "Propose your next test."

Their eyes light up, sparking with ideas. I'm stuck--there's no way out, just their endless poking and my humiliating collapse.

He stands there, clipboard steady, all cold and unshaken while the students hum with excitement. "She's holding up well," he says again, voice dead. "Propose your next test."

The short-haired girl steps up, lips still wet from before, a glint in her eye. "Let's try a thicker dildo and a butt plug," she says, flicking a look at the tray. "See how she takes dual penetration and stretch." The others nod, too eagerly, and Dr. Evans clips out, "Approved. Measure her adaptation."

Approved like I'm cattle, fuck, how did this go from a routine checkup to this?

She picks up a dildo; thicker than before, stupidly wide. She slicks it with lube, hands steady. The tall guy grabs a butt plug--medium but heavy--grinning as he coats it too. I'm still on my knees, ass up, face smashed against the table, body screaming, too raw.

"Please," I mumble, barely a sound, but Dr. Evans shuts it down. "This is for their education. Stay still," he says, icy and final.

She kneels between my legs. Nudges the dildo against me; teasing, then slow, pushing it in. It's huge, stretching me 'til I groan, walls gripping it as she slides deeper. "Look at that," she mutters, half to herself, "she's taking it. Tight but willing."

Fuck, willing? Have I become willing for my next orgasm at their hands?

The guy moves in. Presses the butt plug against my ass; cold, hard. He twists it, forces it past the resistance, and I whimper as it pops in, filling me. Both holes stuffed, pressure crushing me, breath coming in short, shaky gasps.

Dr. Evans steps closer, looking over their shoulders. "Note the physical signs--flushing, muscle tension," he says, voice clinical while my chest and thighs turn red--God, they can all see it.

The glasses girl reaches out. Fingers brush my lower back, then she presses the dildo deeper--too deep. "Can we move them?" she asks, voice steady now. Dr. Evans nods. "Test the response to motion."

The short-haired girl starts thrusting it... slow, firm, in control. The tall guy tugs the plug out a bit, then shoves it back, matching her. I moan louder; my body rocking between them, shame burning hotter than my skin.

The quieter guy leans in, all in now. "Can we speed it up? See if she cums faster this way?" Dr. Evans says, "A reasonable variable. Proceed." Like I'm a fucking equation.

She slams the dildo harder, faster. The guy twists and pumps the plug, their hands syncing up. It's too much; they're stretching, filling me 'til I can't think. My clit's throbbing, untouched, and then the glasses girl notices. "She's close already," she says, flicking it with her thumb.

I cry out sharp, echoing... and it hits. Orgasm tears through me, pussy and ass clenching the toys as I shake. Wetness pools under me, and I want to vanish.

They pull back, breathing hard. The girls swap wide-eyed stares. The dildo and plug stay in, keeping me split open, and Dr. Evans scribbles something. "Effective response," he says, cool as ever. "She's proving highly adaptable. Next suggestion?"

The tall guy smirks, eyeing me like meat. "Bigger ones?" Soft laughs ripple through them, their excitement loud, and I'm panting, stuffed, terrified of what's next under Dr. Evans' dead stare.

The glasses girl shifts, cheeks pink, fidgeting. "Um," she mumbles, "what about spanking? Hand or paddle... or both? To see if she reacts?" The others blink at her, caught off guard, but Dr. Evans doesn't twitch. "A valid test of sensory response," he says, cold and detached. "We'll proceed. But this is the final experiment today. She's served her purpose well."

My stomach flips--relief, dread, all twisted up. I'm raw, done, but it's not over yet.

The glasses girl hesitates, then picks up a paddle from the tray. It's flat, wooden and looks weirdly clinical. The tall guy cracks his knuckles, itching to use his hand. Dr. Evans nods. "Begin with the hand, then the paddle. Observe her reactions closely."

I'm still on my knees, dildo and plug stretching me. The guy steps up, smacks my ass hard--sharp, stinging. I yelp. God, it hurts!... and he grins smugly, hitting again, harder. "She's tensing," he says, while I clench around the dildo without meaning to.

The glasses girl goes next. Taps the paddle light at first, timid, then swings it - the crack echoes, and I moan.

I'm utterly mortified by the heat pooling between my legs again.

"Alternate," Dr. Evans says, calm as ever. They do--hand, paddle, hand, paddle--building this rhythm that's got my ass red, their eyes glued. The short-haired girl smirks. "She's wetter now, look!" I feel it, the slickness dripping down my thighs.

The pain mixes with the fullness--it shoves me over. I cum again, a choked cry slipping out as I shake. The tall guy groans, fumbling at his scrubs. I see him shudder, cumming right there, wet spot spreading. He's red-faced, grinning, and the others snicker. My shame spikes. They all saw that too.

Dr. Evans slides the dildo out, drops it on the tray slick, shiny with my wetness. He grips the plug, tugs it free, and the sudden pull yanks one last orgasm out of me--sharp, unwanted. I gasp, face slamming into my hands, burning up.

He steps back, peeling off his gloves with a snap. "That's sufficient," he says, flat, done. "Experiment concluded. Get dressed." He points at my clothes, piled up--no towel, no wipes, nothing.

I'm dripping still--dildo and plug out, but my thighs are coated, ass stinging as I stumble up. Panties stick to me, gross and wet, then skirt, top; every move clumsy under their stares. "Sign out at reception," he adds, already flipping through his notes, like I'm gone.

I shuffle out, legs wobbly, into a packed waiting room. Heads snap my way--patients, staff, all staring. Some smirk, some whisper. Thin walls and they heard it all, my moans, the slaps, their laughs. A guy snickers loud in the corner. A woman's eyebrow quirks, lips twitching.

My face burns hotter than ever. The receptionist slides forms over, that knowing look in her eyes. I scribble my name, hands shaking, dampness still there, screaming at me as I bolt for the door. Their stares follow, snickers ringing in my ears.