Zip-It!

In this story, you attend an appointment with a salesman at the Young & Montgomery Medical Innovations center regarding their ZIP-IT technology: a safe and reversible procedure that seals the vulva shut, preventing access to both vagina and clitoris. The story is told in second person; other characters in the story perceive the reader as a woman. 5k words, very dark story rating. (Please read warnings - I almost rated this one erotic horror.)

Content Warnings/Tags: implied systemic/paternalistic subjugation of women; dubious or coerced consent for (reversible) unnecessary/cosmetic medical procedures; dubious or coerced consent for exhibitionism and for sex tapes filmed for promotional purposes; clit torture (electric shocks); emotional abuse by an authority figure.

ZIP-IT!, reads the top of the brochure in a jazzy font, with a little trademark symbol. THE EASY, NO-MESS SOLUTION TO MATURE FEMALE HEALTH AND CONTRACEPTION! KEEP YOUR WIFE EAGER, KEEP YOUR MARRIAGE BED LIVELY!

You flip through the brochure, for lack of anything else to do, as you adjust your weight on the unusually comfortable seat. Though perhaps you shouldn't be so surprised; for as much as this procedure costs--and you have looked up the cost--they can certainly afford to spring for nice chairs in their waiting room.

The brochure doesn't have any new information for you. The diagrams are all the same as those on the website, showing faux-watercolor illustrations of female anatomy being sealed from the inside with their trademarked technology: a nano-controlled, skin-safe fastening system that grips just inside the labia majora and zips it shut, turning the female sex into a tastefully sealed seam.

The brochure is bulleted throughout with the same marketing for the device that you've already seen:

-Avoid "oopsie" pregnancies - cheaper than a spay operation!

-Prevent unseemly behaviors like masturbation, unfaithfulness!

-Encourage her to be more receptive to anal sex!

-Maintain control over mature, strong-headed wives!

A line at the bottom reads: "ZIP-IT is fully reversible and is also appropriate for: spinster or widowed women suspected of loose behaviors or inappropriate relationships; young women (18+ only) whose marriage must be delayed for any reason; unmarried female employees who are underperforming due to sexual dalliances; and more! Talk to a Young & Montgomery representative today about your unique challenges and how ZIP-IT can help!"

The next page provides a brief overview of the optional add-ons: a lock for the required catheter, preventing the wearer from urinating except as authorized, or on a schedule maintained by the nano-bots controlling the device; a small but powerful internal device installed prior to the "zipper", allowing for remote stimulation inside the otherwise inaccessible vagina; and a second device which can be installed at the base of the clitoris, allowing for stimulation there as well--"as desired, for reward, encouragement, or punishment," the brochure states.

You start to review the medical advisories included under the catheter lock section--but you're interrupted by the receptionist, who catches your attention with a wave and an, "Excuse me?"

When you approach the counter, she smiles and stands. She's dressed very neatly, in an attractively-cut nurse-style uniform with a short skirt that shows off her thigh-high stockings--more ornamental than practical. "Mr. McGinty is still finishing up with his last appointment, but he's let me know that the office is ready for you--I can show you in now if you like?"

You follow her out of the lobby, through a door that she needs to scan her thumbprint to unlock. Even the hallway beyond is finely outfitted, painted in soothing blues and greens, with real stone tile underfoot--but it's hard to hide the bones of the building: the hallway is narrow, a bit too brightly-lit, with bolting locks and red security lights visible on some of the doors that the receptionist leads you past.

This is a medical facility, and one that patients are not allowed to come and go from as they please.

The room you're led to is comfortable, though, with a sturdy wooden desk and plush chairs. The receptionist waves you into one of the chairs and says, "Have a seat, please. Would you like anything to drink? A water?" When you decline, she gestures to a screen installed on the desk. "How about something to watch while you wait? Mr. McGinty should only be five or ten minutes."

That sounds fine to you, so the receptionist turns the screen on and then leaves the room.

Of course, it's a promotional video for the facility and their services.

"Here at Young & Montgomery Medical Innovations, our goal has always been to offer only the highest quality medical care to you and your family," a man in a suit says on the screen. "That's why we're proud to be pioneering the newest technology in custodial feminine health and wellness through our ZIP-IT program. The procedure is non-invasive and virtually risk-free, with a quick recovery and excellent long-term results for female health and behavior. But don't take it from me--here are just a few of our success stories."

A stock fade-out effect vanishes the man, replacing him with a middle-aged couple sitting on a small sofa. The man holds his wife's hand; they're both smiling. A title scrolls across the screen: ZIP-IT FOR THE MARRIED WOMAN.

"Well, it just seemed like the obvious decision once the kids were out of the house," the man says, as if he's answering a question asked by someone off-camera. "As empty nesters, we were ready to re-discover our relationship to each other--but we didn't want to risk any little surprises. It was hard on her, too, seeing the kids go, and the procedure helped. Isn't that right, dear?"

The woman nods; her smile is bashful. "I'm afraid my behavior was a bit--erratic, for a while, once the kids left the house. I was really at loose ends. I had these hare-brained ideas about getting a job." She laughs self-deprecatingly. "Frank was so patient with me. The procedure put things into perspective again. Now I can focus on what's important: a happy marriage."

The video cuts to a different camera, to what is clearly footage from another portion of the same interview. The man and the woman both look a bit more serious now.

"Well," the man says, shrugging, "The basic package was really the best fit for our lives, I think--and our finances. I did make that decision assuming that she'd learn to orgasm easily from anal penetration alone, but it's been pretty infrequent that she's managed it. That's been its own gift, in a way."

The woman's smile this time is tight as she nods her agreement. "Mutual orgasm as a goal in the bedroom was really a source of stress for us in the past. Focusing on his pleasure reminds me of my role in our partnership."

"And these days, when she does get there--look out!" the man jokes, laughing. "Just the other week, for example, I had to stop and pull out, because she was about to--"

The interview cuts off there, a jazzy little piano riff playing as the scene transitions to another angle of the same room--this time top-down, looking directly down at the man and woman as the woman climbs into the man's lap, reaching under the skirt of her dress. Another title appears before fading out again: DEMONSTRATION OF THE SOLUTION IN USE: ANAL SEX.

There's no audio for this clip aside from the instrumental piano music which continues to play faintly in the background, but it's clear that the woman is moaning loudly when she gets the man's cock into her. It's visible on her face as she tilts her head back, mouth gaping open, and in the way her sides heave under the clinging material of her dress.

The woman rides her husband's cock with a visible urgency and no apparent shyness, despite the cameras. In fact, it's easy to believe that she's entirely forgotten that she's being filmed; her eyes, when they're not squeezed shut, are rolled back, unseeing and unfocused. Her hands grip and knead at her husband's shoulders, fingers spasming in a sort of rictus that mimics the tension visible in her thighs as her dress rides up from the movement.

There are a couple of cross-fades to different angles, which might include time-skips, but you get the impression that the entire encounter lasts perhaps less than two minutes before the man finishes. It's quite obvious when he does: his face creases in pleasure and flushes brick-red as he grips his wife's hips and holds her tight to finish deep inside her rectum.

He ignores the way she shakes her head; her frantic attempts to continue fucking herself on him; the begging "please" that you can read on her lips.

The clip turns to an up-close shot between the woman's spread legs, demonstrating that--aside from the smear of lube and semen leaking from her anus--there's very little to clean up. Though the tight seam of her pussy visibly twitches as her husband pulls her panties aside for the camera, it remains dry, all wetness contained behind the seal.

LESS MESS THAN USING A MASTURBATORY AID! announces the title text scrolling across the screen.

The piano music cuts out a bit prematurely, and is replaced for a half-second by a tremulous, half-voiced cry from the woman as her husband gives her sealed sex a proprietary pat--and then the video clip ends.

The screen fades to black for a second, and then a new image fades in: a similar room, this time with a taupe-colored wall rather than navy blue--or perhaps it's the same room, and they just change out a backdrop. The sofa certainly appears to be the same. The man seated on it this time is older, with three young women standing behind him, all dressed in professional-looking blouses and pencil skirts.

The title that appears on the screen reads: ZIP-IT FOR THE WORKING WOMAN.

"It's been an incredibly lucrative investment for the company," the man on the couch says with a dry self-satisfaction. "Especially with the savings offered by the corporate package--female health check-ups are included, too, which is a real bonus for the girls, isn't that right?"

"Yes, Mr. Hall," the three women agree in a scattered unison.

"We used to lose at least one girl a year from the agency to unplanned pregnancy and the necessary marriage. Not any more," the man says, miming a zipping motion and winking at the camera. "And we're the preferred temp agency for all our clients now. It's just good for peace of mind, knowing your temps aren't up to any slovenly personal behavior in their off-time--and plenty of our clients are happy to pay a premium to take control of the girls' devices during work hours."

The angle changes, and the man is nodding seriously to someone behind the camera. "Oh, yes, we got the full package, and that's what we offer our clients. Catheter, vaginal device, clitoral device--they can have complete control, if they pay for it. It's a fantastic set of motivators. Our clients say they see a real increase in productivity."

He grins, showing glaring white, too-straight teeth that look like they've been recently done over with veneers. "When the girl has to ask for permission to use the bathroom, you know she's not sneaking in there to play on her phone, eh?"

Another angle change, and the man is shaking his head dismissively. "No, no. Well--they can always come ask me, of course, if they really think they need an orgasm. But I'm a firm believer in self-control. Sexual pleasure is for procreative activities only, if you ask me. Of course, if the client wants to give a girl an orgasm as a reward, that's their business--but we stick to edging, just routinely, to make sure everything's still working down there. Or that ruin setting, that's very handy if we get a complaint about a girl's conduct, very excellent deterrent."

The piano music returns, as well as the top-down camera: one of the young women is now laid out on the couch, the man standing beside her, phone in hand. The ZIP-IT logo is visible on his phone screen as he navigates through the corresponding app.

DEMONSTRATION OF THE SOLUTION IN USE: HANDS-FREE CLITORAL EDGING, says the scrolling text that appears over the video.

Even without the audio, and with the woman fully clothed, it's very obvious when her boss turns on the device. Her entire body goes taut, like a fish on a string, and her hips lift provocatively, her heels slipping against the arm-rest at the other end of the couch.

One of her hands rubs down along her thighs and then between them, pressing against her sex beneath the fabric--but the man doesn't like that; he pats her on the shoulder until she yanks her hand away and drops it to grip at the cushion of the couch instead, her nails digging in tight.

This time, a small timer appears on the screen, helping you to track how long the edging routine lasts even as the camera fades between angles and skips time.

By the time the timer reaches two minutes, the woman is a mess, her clothing tugged askew from her squirming on the couch, the curls of her hair frizzing up from rubbing against the fabric beneath her head.

By three, she appears entirely unaware of the world around her, her eyes squeezed shut tightly and her hips rolling in a continuous motion of pure sexual instinct and desire.

The timer reaches four minutes and blinks, indicating that the routine has stopped.

The woman grits her teeth and smacks her hand against the couch cushion, the jerking of her hips becoming more erratic for a second as if she's trying to spur the device into continuing to pleasure her, and then she gives up and goes limp.

Text appears on the screen once again as the piano music cuts out: ADAPTIVE NANOTECHNOLOGY PROVIDES COMPLETE CONTROL! NO ACCIDENTAL ORGASMS!

The audio in the background this time is just the woman's heavy, tremulous panting, and the man beginning to say chastisingly, "Now, pull yourself toge--" before it cuts out and the screen fades to black once more.

It returns to the same room again, and now you are certain it is the same room with different backdrops. Two women sit on the sofa this time: a middle-aged woman who glares into the camera with a pinched, irritable expression; and a young woman, no more than twenty, who stares down at her hands folded tightly over her knees.

ZIP-IT SUPPORTING UNIQUE FAMILY ARRANGEMENTS, reads the title.

"Well, we had to do something with her, didn't we?" the older woman snaps. "After my husband found her touching herself... down there. We agreed to take in a ward of the state, not to house a whore."

Another stitched-in edit, and the woman sniffs. "Well, of course she was trying to seduce him. Practicing to get herself knocked up by some well-off man, I'm sure. The state won't let us spay her--reversible procedures only, they said, as if anyone will ever want to marry her. I suppose we'll be stuck with her for life."

She directs an uncharitable look at the younger woman, who continues to stare down at her own hands.

"But at least she won't be showing up pregnant, and we've put a stop to that nasty masturbation habit. The doctor warned us she might still try to touch even with it sealed shut, or might try to go through the back-door--so we picked a program that gives her a nice little shock if she attempts any kind of deviant behavior."

"It's v-very effective," the young woman agrees quietly when prompted, her face flushing red. "Although, s-sometimes... in the shower--"

Her stammering explanation of how the punishment program creates troubles when washing herself is interrupted by the sound of the door opening behind you.

A man enters the room sporting a slightly mis-sized suit and a wide salesman's smile. "Greg McGinty," he introduces himself, squeezing your hand a bit too hard. He nods to the video and says, "Great little film, isn't it?"

The young woman on the screen appears distressed now, tears welling in her eyes, as she grips firmly at the couch and keeps her legs spread wide to avoid triggering the anti-masturbation measures. DEMONSTRATION OF THE SOLUTION: EDGING AS PUNISHMENT reads text on the screen.

As you watch, she loses her battle and twitches her hips, grinding down into the seat of the couch. Almost immediately, she's wincing and crying out in pain, although the audio only plays that bland piano music.

"Very educational," you agree.

Greg turns off the screen and then circles around the desk to sit around across from you, slapping down a pen and a notebook. "Now, I have to admit I'm very curious. It's not often that we get a woman scheduling an appointment here--not many women have the funds for it, of course, not without their husband signing the checks, but I can't help but notice the card you used to pay for the booking fee is in your own name?"

He waits for a second, maybe hoping for an explanation--a sob story about being widowed, perhaps, or a story about a savvy and doting father setting up a trust.

When you remain silent, he clears his throat and moves on. "But that's all neither here nor there. The real question--the material question, right now--is what you're looking for. What problem can Young & Montgomery solve for you today?"

"I'd rather not get into too much detail just yet," you confess. "Not while I still haven't decided."

"No problem, no problem!" Greg taps his pen against the paper. "We don't have to talk details, but can you give me some general idea? Is this a family member you're considering the procedure for--maybe an adult daughter, a spinster aunt?"

"No, not family."

"Sure, alright. How about an employee--the maid or the nanny? No?" He considers you for a second, a faintly uneasy expression crossing his face. "Say... you're not here to see about getting it for yourself, are you? Not that--I mean, there's nothing wrong--it'd just be very... unusual."

"I'd really rather not say."

"Okay. Yeah, I hear you." He stares at you for another second, then says, "Well, look. I need to know what you want to see, as far as one-on-ones with the patients--that's the next step, you know. You get to talk to one yourself, find out how the device works on a real person. We have a few different girls you can talk to, based on what you need to know, and I'd usually decide who to introduce you to based on what you're looking for..."

"What are the options?"

"Well." He taps the pen against the paper, then flips through to a printed sheet he's stuck in the back. "Well, that's a good question. Today we have... Ettie, she's one of our own nurses. We equip them all, you know. Usually she works the front desk, but they each do a few days a month on rotation as model girls, answering questions and so on. She's the one to talk to if you're considering the procedure for custodial sort of arrangements or employment situations, that kind of thing."

You nod, and he continues, scanning down his list. "And then we have... Ingrid. She and her husband took a reduced cost package, and in return, she's serving as a model and interview subject for us for a few months. She's able to demonstrate more... interpersonal applications of the procedure."

"I'd like to speak to Ingrid, then."

Greg gives you another look, but then he shows his teeth in another slick grin and nods. "Sure, sure! Just need you to sign this paperwork first--this here is the interview fee," he points to a four-digit number, "We'll charge that to the card you put on file, minus the deposit you already made, of course--great, thanks."

There are a few more waivers to sign after that, and a code of conduct as well, which instructs you not to film any portion of the interview; this feels a bit redundant, as Greg also asks you to leave your phone and any other personal effects on the desk.

"There are security cameras all through here, I promise it'll all be right where you left it," he assures you. "Just can't be too careful, you know? No videos leaking on my watch."

Once you've deposited your things, he leads you back out into the hallway and then deeper into the building. You pass a number of doors; many have windows, but the glass is frosted, making it hard to see anything except the occasional dark shadows of people moving beyond. Each door must be well-soundproofed, because no voices or other sounds drift out to the hallway.

Most of them are locked with heavy metal bolts and print-scanners.

Greg finally stops and scans his thumbprint on a blandly opaque door, which pops open for him. He pulls it wide and waves you through.

The room you step into is smaller than you expected, only just large enough to fit yourself and Greg, as well as a couple of chairs matching those from the office you just came from--and a control panel set on a slanting plane against the opposite wall, below a large black screen.

"This is how we do the live interviews, for the safety of the models," Greg explains, a little apologetically. "Too many problems when we let people be in the same room, with physical contact. Let me just turn on the screen here, and... ah, there she is."

The screen flickers to life, and you're looking at a young woman, maybe in her early twenties. The room she's in appears not much larger than where you are, but a fair bit more utilitarian, with a metal chair bolted to the wall and a small, bare cot that the woman is seated on.

"It looks like she's in a jail cell," you comment.

Greg laughs, like you're making a joke. "Oh, no--I mean, she is locked in during the interview, can't have her walking away when you're, er, talking to her--but that's just part of her job. It's not as if she sleeps there, I promise she goes home to her husband every night."

The woman is looking at the camera now, or at something just above it. "Hello?" she says, her voice coming clearly through the speakers set on either side of the screen. "Is there, um, is there someone there?" She tugs nervously at the hem of her loose cotton dress.

"She can't see you, but there's a light telling her she's being observed," Greg explains. "You can hold the button here and speak into the microphone to talk to her. The other buttons are all pretty self-explanatory, I think, but ask me if you have any questions."

The main buttons are, indeed, labeled quite clearly, for the most part: STIM and EDGE are easily understood, and while you're initially confused by the fact that there are two of each button, you puzzle out why once you see the (V) and (C) next to each--Ingrid must have the version of the implant allowing for both vaginal and clitoral stimulation. There are also two buttons for (V) ORGASM and (C) ORGASM, but they're sealed under a domed plexiglass cover.

Another set of buttons, though, is more mysterious to you: they're in their own grid, with labels like THRUST, SPEED UP, SPEED DN, and VIBE.

Out of curiosity, you hit the THRUST button.

A mechanical sound comes over the speakers, and Ingrid looks away from the camera and towards the chair in the corner of her room--where a silicone sex toy has begun slowly extending and retracting from a hole that had previously not been visible in the seat.

The toy has a very specific shape to it, as if it were modeled after a real man's penis; you wonder if it was made to resemble her husband.

"Oh," Ingrid stammers, glancing from the chair to the camera. "Do you, um--did you want me to g-get on it?"

Well, you hadn't known that that was what the button would do, but you don't see any reason why not to carry on now that you've started the thing moving.

You hold down the button next to the microphone and say, "Yes, Ingrid. Sit on the toy."

Ingrid flushes and stands from the cot. She doesn't take her dress off, but she pulls it up enough that you can easily see she's wearing nothing underneath it--more of a modesty cover than clothing--and then she carefully lowers herself onto the seat.

When the pumping toy enters her anus, her entire face flickers briefly to an expression of open lust, before she bites her lip and re-focuses on the camera.

"Do you enjoy that?" you ask, curious, still holding down the button.

Ingrid looks embarrassed by the question, but she nods. "Yes, I--I find I enjoy anal much more now that--um, after the procedure--oh!" she squeaks when you hit the button that says SPEED UP. "Oh, that--mm..."

"Do you have anal sex with your husband frequently?" you ask.

She nods again, looking distracted now, her gaze slowly drifting away from the camera as she grips the edge of the chair and twitches her hips in little movements to meet the thrusts of the toy.

"Do you come from it? What do orgasms feel like with the device?"

"From--from anal? Um, no. I haven't..." she bites her lip and shudders, her thighs visibly flexing as she arches into the toy penetrating her. "I can't, from anal. I mean--I haven't yet, my husband says... anyway, he wants me to k-keep trying, so... we haven't used the device for that either, yet."

"How long ago did you have the procedure?"

"A month... no, six weeks now," she corrects herself.

You hit another button next, the one reading (V) STIM.

Ingrid sucks in a loud, stuttering breath, and then moans, squirming in the seat. A bar at the top of the control panel lights up, indicating at the lower end of the scale--there are numbers, a little hard to read, but you think it's reading two out of ten.

"What does that feel like? The vaginal stimulation? Is it a vibration?" you ask.

She shakes her head. "It's like... like when h-he used to get just the right angle, and..." she squirms again, pressing her thighs together, and whimpers. "It's... oh... pressing..." She lifts her hand to her mouth and bites down on one of her knuckles.

"You haven't had a single orgasm in the past six weeks?" you ask, for clarity.

The next sound she makes is more like a sob. "I can't. I can't t-touch my clit, and the anal just... it just... oh God, oh... OH!"

The louder sound comes when you hit the (V) EDGE button. A countdown appears on the corner of the screen, indicating that the device will edge her for three minutes, and the light indicator begins to slowly creep up the bar.

Ingrid shifts forward in the chair, almost coming off the toy for a moment, and then slams herself back down and groans as she grips tightly at her knees.

"It's--please--!" she cries, her muscles all tightening in preparation for orgasm. The light has only reached halfway on the bar, but she's clearly close to finishing regardless--and then she groans and kicks a heel against the floor, her hips jolting, as the light abruptly goes out. "Ohh..."

"Are the vaginal edges more or less intense than clitoral edges?" you ask.

"More," she groans, then takes a few quick breaths as the light flicks on and begins creeping slowly up the scale again. "It's so deep--mmm, hnn..."

"Are you getting the chair wet?"

Ingrid doesn't answer immediately; she's distracted by the sensations inside her, by grinding and humping down onto the toy as she pursues the only source of pleasure that she can control. As the indicator creeps slowly up and hits the halfway point, she goes tense again, her body trembling in anticipation--and then relaxes with a groan as the device once again stops before she can finish.

"Wet?... It all s-stays inside," she says finally, breathing hard around the words, and lifts the skirt of her dress so you can see how dry the chair is.

Then she inhales and tosses her head back as the device starts in on another edge.

It's clear that she won't be of much use for the remaining two minutes, so you lift your finger off the button and address Greg. "What about those two locked buttons?"

"Oh, you want to try out the orgasm function? Sure, we can definitely do that--but there are additional charges, just so you know, on top of the interview fee. Five hundred for me to unlock the cover, and then another two-fifty each time you hit one of the buttons." He pauses and flips through his notebook to the printed paper again. "And we can only demonstrate ruined orgasms with Ingrid--part of our agreement with her husband."

You consider the buttons. "Does she know that?"

Greg opens his mouth, then pauses to consider the question. "Well... I guess that depends on whether her husband told her. I don't think anyone's paid to demonstrate that feature on her just yet."

"Unlock the cover."

As Greg scans his thumbprint on the cover over the two buttons, you watch Ingrid.

She's trying to breathe through the edges now, alternately chewing at her knuckle to quiet herself and then giving up to let out a series of needy whimpering sounds as she rubs and massages at her thighs and knees. Her dress has ridden up so far now that you can easily see the sealed, null slit of her sex, obscenely dry considering the visible sexual frustration in her movements.

You hit the VIBE button for the toy.

Ingrid makes a sound like she's been punched. Her eyes roll drunkenly in her head. One hand goes between her legs, then grips at her thigh again when she finds nothing but nearly-seamless skin, and she lets out a long groan of desperation.

"Are you getting very wet inside the seal? Can you feel it?" you ask, curious, holding down the button again.

Ingrid nods haltingly. She's holding her breath, weathering another edge--the last one, as the timer is about to run out.

When it hits zero and the light flicks off, she releases the air in a long breath.

"Did you agree to the procedure?" you ask her.

"Yes," she admits, sounding incredibly tormented by her decision. "My husband said... well, I just thought--he always knows best, you know, and we don't want to have children yet, and he was tired of condoms..."

"Do you miss coming?"

"Yes," she says emphatically, then gasps when you hit the (V) ORGASM button.

She looks resigned at first--she's expecting another edging session, maybe--but as her body tenses and strains, and as the light hits halfway on the bar and continues to creep up, her expression becomes vulnerable and hopeful.

"It's--it's--oh, it's going to--I'm--" she stammers, the words tumbling frantically out of her in tight, breathless gasps as her back arches and her feet scramble against the floor, trying to brace herself. "I--yes, please--!"

She throws her head back, and then silence falls for a moment--not just from her, you realize, but the quiet background hum and churn of the machine fucking her has gone quiet as well. Her hips jolt in violent little spasms, her hands gripping so tightly onto the arm of the chair and on her own knee that her knuckles turn white.

The light indicator is flashing, going dark and then briefly lighting up at just over the halfway point.

You imagine what that must feel like: flashes of powerful stimulation against her g-spot, there and then gone again, as she dangles on the edge of release. You had had some doubts that even such an advanced device would be able to guarantee a ruined orgasm, but this seems like the way to do it.

"No," she manages to whimper, weak and winded. "No, it's--I'm almost, I'm gonna--please, please, make it h-harder--"

Then, finally, after almost thirty seconds of hang time that looks fairly torturous to Ingrid, she lets out a low, unmistakeable cry.

The indicator goes dark entirely. Another one lights up beside it, this one labeled with words: ORGASM DETECTED.

"No," Ingrid sobs, squirming and thrashing in the chair, first grasping at her sealed sex as if trying to find a way to provide herself more stimulation, then leaning forward and shoving fingers into her back end--the toy has retracted entirely into the seat, you realize. "No, no, why? Why? Oh God, oh God, I--I needed it, why--?"

She dissolves into tears and slides off the chair to her knees on the floor, frantically thrusting her fingers into her own anus in an attempt to eke some pleasure or relief from the ruined orgasm. Based on her disappointed cries, it doesn't seem that she's very successful.

You watch her for a moment, then turn to look at Greg.

He's looking at you a bit strangely again, almost nervously, but manages another smile. "So... what do you think? You like what you see?"

"Yes. I'd like to review your financial packages, please."

"You would? I mean--yeah, absolutely!" He hits a button, and the screen goes dark, silencing Ingrid's sobs. "I just want to be sure you understand first, uh... Let's say that, hypothetically, a woman chooses to self-fund the procedure. We still don't grant control over the device to her. It's a custodial aid, you understand--we really prefer to give control to a male custodian, a female custodian in a pinch, but in no circumstances do we give it to the patient. So, in that--hypothetical situation--this woman, ah, she wouldn't--"

"Yes, I understand perfectly," you interrupt him to assure. "You said Ingrid and her husband received a discount on the procedure in exchange for her modeling the device?"

"Er." He stares at you for another moment, then clears his throat. "That... yes. How long of a modeling contract would you be considering?"

"As long as you offer."

"Oh," he smiles. "I mean, we offer an in perpetuity contract for complete subsidization of the procedure, but--"

"Yes, I'd be interested in that."

The smile falls off his face and he stares at you again.

When he seems to have decided that you're serious, he nods slowly. "I see. Let me go get my manager, then, and he'll work out the details with you."

"That would be perfect, Greg. Thank you."

***END***