Work Text:
After her 15-year-old boyfriend Ethan had broken up with her via a three-word text, plus all the other shit he'd put her through, she'd called her friend's older sister Jessica, a nurse at the clinic. Together, they hatched a plan of revenge. But unknown to Sarah, Jessica was a member of SNAKPHOB, and she saw this as opportunity to make some additional money. Enough to put a serious dent in her student loans or even pay them off entirely depending on how well it went. That possibility put her devious creativity into overdrive.
The Fertility First clinic had a wing they rarely used for its original purpose, a fact that made it perfect for what Jessica had in mind. It was typically used for gynecological exams, complete with stirrups and all, which Jessica had already rigged up with hidden camera and special microphones. As they hatched the plan, Jessica assured her that it would provide an "unparalleled view" for the audience that would be hidden behind a specially set up floor-to-ceiling curtain (another item she'd bought within the Curator's general budget allowance). It was made from a fabric that was see-through from the darkened part of the room where they were, but brightly lit on the other side, making it opaque from that other side unless you were right up against it.
"There wasn't time to set up cameras," Jessica lied to the group of Sarah's friends, and a few of Ethan's enemies, as she hurried them into the back entrance mid-morning on a Saturday when the clinic was closed. "Now turn off your phones. That will prevent any alarms or rings from giving you away. Also, you have to promise me not to use your phones or any other recording devices. Sarah will be watching you all carefully."
"Why?" one of them asked.
"Because Ethan's fifteen. Underage. So any recording, even just audio, could technically be considered..." She let the word hang. "You want to explain that to a judge? Plus, I'm already risking my job. If this gets out, and they find a recording, I'll get fired for sure and possibly arraigned as an accomplice. If that happens, I will fucking kill you." She paused for a moment to let that sink in. "Sarah's getting payback and you all get to witness an epic prank. Surely that's enough, yea?"
The reasons she gave them were only part of the story. Another major reason was because the Curator insisted that they have the only copy. The penalties for violating that rule were severe, worse than prison. She'd learned that as part of the, admittedly bizarre, orientation she'd been a part of.
She made eye contact with each of the students and waited for a nod or an agreement to be sure they understood.
"Good," she smiled, cheeriness returning. "Anyway, we have something that's basically just as good. Two days ago, I sent him a mandatory 'Pre-Interview Questionnaire' to fill out at home. The results are... enlightening. The idiot was too honest. I'll be walking through some of his answers with him today. You're going to love just how humiliating they are, a nice bonus on top of all the other humiliating things we have planned for him." A nervous, excited titter ran through the crowd of six students as they settled in. "Yes, they're going to make you laugh at times. So get it all out now and do whatever you have to in order to keep quiet. One sound could give this whole thing away. If you do that, you'll have to deal with me, and with Sarah." They both smiled wickedly.
Ethan arrived at the clinic for his appointed time feeling a mix of adolescent swagger and genuine nervousness. The promise of $1,000 for 1-2 hours of his time to participate in a fertility study seemed too good to be true. But the $100 advance to fill out the forms, and a phone call from the nurse to confirm the time and place, made it seem legit.
He'd filled out the bizarrely invasive online questionnaire, reassured by the "Total Confidentiality" watermark on every page. He'd also followed the "Mandatory Wardrobe" instructions to the letter, wearing just a pair of loose gray sweatpants and a t-shirt, no underwear. The whole ride over, he'd felt hyper-aware of the soft fabric brushing against him, giving him a nearly constant semi, a weird reminder of what was coming. He signed the forms she'd given him at the clinic without a second thought, his eyes scanning for the dollar amount and missing the fine print about "educational observation."
She'd used her keys and alarm code to allow him to come today when the clinic was normally closed, ensuring they'd have privacy. The fact that no-one else was there except himself and the nurse didn't register in the boy's mind.
Jessica led him to the prepared space, where the other teens were hidden behind the curtain. "We're using this room for its specialized equipment," she explained with a reassuring smile.
The room was cold and sterile. "Alright, Ethan, if you could please remove your clothing and place it in the bin here," Jessica said, gesturing to a small hamper. "We'll be taking some baseline measurements before we begin." She said this right way, hoping to distract him from looking around the room, and especially from looking too closely at the curtain covering one wall. It worked.
Ethan's heart thumped in his chest. He shucked his sneakers and socks, pulled his t-shirt over his head, then slid his sweatpants down, his face already heating up. He stood there in his nakedness, and to his absolute horror, he was already getting hard from being naked in a room with this good-looking woman. He tried to discreetly cover himself with his hands.
"No need for that," Jessica said, her voice all business. She then walked over to a small console on the wall and pressed a button. A small red light on a microphone next to the examination table blinked on. "Activating audio recording for observation log," she said, her voice now slightly amplified in the quiet room. "This is just for my notes, and the recording will be destroyed." It was actually a dummy, set up to help sell the story of this being a medical study. Afterwards, she'd make up an excuse about how the audio system had corrupted the file if anyone of the other teenagers asked. The real audio was being captured by high-quality mics hidden throughout the room along with the cameras.
"We'll start by taking some measurements." She picked up a small, sterile measuring tape and a pair of metal calipers. With a detached efficiency, she took hold of his erect penis. He flinched at the cold, clinical touch. "Subject is presenting with an erection. Measuring now. Length... three and one-quarter inches. Girth... two inches." She jotted it down on her clipboard, her voice flat, but he detected a tiny, almost imperceptible smirk at the corner of her mouth. The derision was subtle, but it landed like a punch to the gut. She's laughing at me. Oh god, she's trying not to laugh. Three and one-quarter inches? That's it? I thought it was bigger than that.
"Alright," she said, putting the calipers away. "Now for the Follicular Decontamination Protocol. We need to eliminate all potential contaminants from the collection area. For optimal access, I'll need you in the stirrups."
"The... the stirrups?" Ethan stammered, his eyes wide with alarm.
"It's just for positioning," she said, her tone was patient but firm. "It makes the prep work much easier. Believe me."
He let her place his feet in the cold metal stirrups of what had once been a gynecological gurney, his legs spread wide and elevated. He had never felt so on-display in his life. A draft found the place he'd never shown anyone. His whole body tensed. She can see everything. Oh god, my butt is just... open. She's staring right at it. This is the most embarrassing thing I've ever done. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to pretend he was anywhere else.
Jessica began with the electric razor. The sound was loud in the quiet room. Each stroke left him looking more like a kid. Which was exactly the point, though he didn't realize it. The other kids behind the curtain were already giddy with anticipation. This was really happening! They'd suckered him in.
"There," Jessica said with satisfaction as she wiped away the last of the shaving cream after finishing with the safety razor. "All smooth. Now, just to establish a thermal retraction baseline." She picked up a folded, sterile cold compress. "I'm just going to apply this cold compress to your genitals for a moment." She placed the freezing pack directly onto his penis and testicles. The shock was immediate and intense. A sharp, sucking gasp escaped his lips, and his whole body jerked against the restraints of the stirrups. The cold was a deep, biting ache that seemed to seize him from the inside out, and his erection vanished in an instant.
"Note: Subject exhibits a strong pelvic floor contraction in response to thermal stimulus," Jessica said aloud, her voice crisp for the recording. She waited a full thirty seconds, then removed the compress and quickly re-measured. "And... post-cold compress length: approximately three-quarters of an inch. Girth is significantly lower as well. A dramatic retraction. Excellent data." The clinical recitation of his shrinkage was utterly mortifying. In the observation room, the crowd was silently losing their minds. Three-quarters of an inch? Seriously? Worse than the first measurement. Somehow worse. He wanted to argue, to say the cold had made it worse. But he couldn't make himself speak.
Outwardly she stayed neutral, but Jessica knew exactly how humiliating that statement would sound.
"There," Jessica said, finally putting the measuring tools away and releasing his feet from the stirrups. "Now, I just need to get a couple of things from the supply closet. Why don't you get started on your own, and I'll be back in a couple of minutes to check on your progress?" She handed him a small tube of lubricant before exiting, leaving him alone with his thoughts and his newly smooth genitals.
In the observation room, a wave of silent excitement rippled through the crowd. This was already going well, and they were about to get a private show.
Ethan, alone at last, felt a strange mix of relief and lingering shame. He knew that a sperm sample would be part of this, and was resigned to jacking it in a strange place. But he'd figured they'd have porn or something.
He squeezed a blob of the cold, clear lube into his hand and began to stroke himself while also teasing his balls. The feeling was totally different without any hair. It was like touching someone else. To his surprise, he got hard quickly. As his hand moved, his mind began to wander, and words started to slip out, unbidden, painting a picture of the power he desperately wished he had.
"Yeah... just like that," he murmured to himself, his eyes closed. "Take it all. Take that whole huge cock down your throat." He imagined Sarah on her knees, her eyes watering as she struggled. "You like that, don't you? Tell me you like it."
In the observation room, Emily had to clap a hand over her mouth to keep from howling with laughter. Her shoulders shook with violent, silent mirth. Next to her, Kevin was grinning from ear to ear. This was pure, pathetic gold. They now all knew he was barely three-quarters of an inch soft (maybe a little bigger normally because of the cold) and barely over three inches hard. Hearing him demand a girl swallow his "huge cock" after they'd just heard his measurements was the funniest thing they had heard in a while.
Ethan continued, lost in his fantasy. "Tell me" he demanded, his voice a low, desperate growl. "Tell me you like taking my huge cock. Say it. Say you love how big I am."
The silent laughter in the observation room was reaching a fever pitch. They were struggling to breathe, their bodies shaking with mirth they couldn't release. The contrast between his fantasy and their reality was hilarious.
Just as Ethan was getting really into it, his dick feeling hard and hot in his hand, the door clicked open. Jessica walked back in, and his eyes flew open, his fantasy shattering. She glanced down at his erect penis.
"Making good progress, I see," she said, her voice casual. "So, just to confirm the file, how old are you, Ethan?"
"I'm fifteen," he said, a little confused by the question.
Jessica tilted her head, a thoughtful, almost pitying expression on her face. "Oh, really? I would have guessed twelve." She gestured vaguely at his smooth groin and his rigid-but-unimpressive penis. "Sorry... it's just... you know, without the pubic hair and with that size. It makes you look a lot younger. No offense."
The words hit him like a physical blow. His face burned with a fresh, deeper wave of humiliation. She thinks I'm hung like a little kid, his mind screamed. Oh god, she thinks my dick is tiny! He looked down at himself, and almost immediately, it was gone. His erection vanished as if it had never been there, shrinking away until all that was left was his little mushroom, barely an inch long. The shame was overwhelming, a hot wave that made him want to disappear. She saw this train of thought run through his face and inwardly congratulated herself. She'd chosen her words specifically to have that desired effect. It's what she needed for later.
"Oh," Jessica said, her tone shifting to one of clinical, detached sympathy. "Well, that's a shame. Don't worry about it, though. It happens all the time. Plenty of boys in this study have had performance anxiety." She picked up her tablet. "Actually, since we have this pause, let's go over your pre-interview questionnaire to establish some baselines."
"Wait," he said, his voice tight with fear. "I thought that was confidential."
"Oh, it is," Jessica said, her tone perfectly soothing, she saw and heard the fear and it made her even more excited to do this next part. "Your anonymity is guaranteed. Nobody else will know it's you. This is just for me today, so I can confirm and clarify the data. And I've done so many of these I quickly forget what name went to what form. We just need to review a few points." In the observation room, a silent wave of anticipation went through the audience.
"Okay..." she began, tapping the screen. "Okay, so..." She tapped the screen, scrolling. "Question four, you rated your confidence in your, uh, size. A two out of ten." She glanced up. "That's pretty low. Want to tell me why?"
Ethan's face burned. "I... I just... I know it's small." Please stop, please stop talking about this.
"Right. And question seven..." She cleared her throat. "Daily frequency, technique, et cetera. You wrote two to three times a day, and I'm quoting here, 'rubbing the tip with my thumb and one finger because my whole hand is too big.'" She didn't look up. "So that's... that's what you do? Because that's what I saw when I came back in."
Ethan wanted the floor to swallow him whole. He'd never had to say it out loud. He just nodded, his face on fire. Oh god, why did I write that? Now she thinks I can't even jerk off right.
"Understandable," Jessica said, making a note. "And Question 11: 'Have you ever compared your erect penis to another male's (in person or online)?' You answered, 'Yes, I look online all the time. I feel a mix of jealousy and... excitement.' Can you elaborate on that excitement? What specifically about seeing a larger penis do you find exciting?"
He felt his throat close up. "I... I don't know. It's just... they look so... powerful." I can't believe I'm telling her this. I sound like such a freak.
"Oh, I see. It's not that you are excited by other men's penises," Jessica clarified, her tone a mix of clinical and sarcastic. "It's that you like the feeling of power that you imagine would come from a large penis. That's an illuminating distinction. You're not attracted to them; you're attracted to the power they represent." She put a bit of skepticism in her voice.
The clarification somehow made it worse, boiling down his complex insecurity into a simple, pathetic desire for power he didn't have. Either that, or she didn't believe him, and she thought he was gay.
The teens on the other side of curtain were almost dying of laughter now. Some were biting fingers or arms, hoping the pain would distract them. But still, they managed to remain quiet.
"Right. Question twelve." She hesitated, not out of discomfort, but for effect. "Anal play. Receiving. You said yes." Finally she looked at him. "What exactly have you used?"
Another wave of humiliation, even stronger now. He was trapped. He swallowed hard, his voice barely a whisper. "I've... it's, um..." He couldn't look at her. "A hairbrush. The handle." Oh no. Why did I write that? Now she knows. She will definitely think I'm gay!
Jessica nodded, her expression unreadable. "I see. That's not uncommon, you know. Exploration like that is completely normal. That's actually a typical starter object. Note, it's important to use smooth objects that are well lubricated for anal play, to avoid micro-tears." She paused, her tone still perfectly clinical. "As you explore further, you might consider carrots or cucumbers. They provide a more uniform shape and are easily sanitized."
Ethan's mind went blank with horror. She was giving him advice? "I'm not gay. I... I don't... I'm not planning on doing that," he stammered, his voice cracking.
"Oh? Ok then," Jessica replied, her tone dripping with a cynical disbelief that made his stomach clench. "But just in case, it's good to have the facts." Her tone said that she clearly didn't believe him, and the implication that this was just the beginning of his "exploration" was mortifying. Plenty of straight guys were into pegging, but no need to tell him that. The goal here was humiliation, not a psychology lesson.
"Let's move on," she said, scrolling. "Question 18: 'Describe your most prominent sexual fantasy.' You wrote, and I'm quoting here, 'Having a huge cock, like eight or nine inches, and having a girl choke on it when she tries to give me head.' That's... a very common fantasy for many boys, especially those who are... well, who are insecure about their size." She looked up from the tablet, her eyes locked with his. She could see the continued effect these comments were having on him and smiled inwardly, pleased with how much she could humiliate him, even before the big reveal that was waiting for him at the end of all this. "Do you think this fantasy stems directly from your feelings about having so small a penis?"
The question was a scalpel, dissecting his psyche. He couldn't answer. She knows. She knows everything. She knows I'm freakishly small and she knows I wish I wasn't. The watching crowd almost choked with laughter, again, but managed to keep silent. He just stared at the ceiling, dying of shame.
"That's OK, we can stop there," Jessica said, putting the tablet down. "Why don't you try to get started again? We'll still need a sample."
He took his limp penis in his hand and started to stroke. He closed his eyes, trying to summon the fantasy again, but the humiliation was too fresh. He still could hear Jessica's voice in his head, calling out the measurements. After a couple of minutes of frantic, useless tugging, it was clear he couldn't get hard again. He stopped, defeated. "I... I can't," he mumbled.
"That's alright," Jessica said smoothly. "We have alternative methods and I can give you some help." She was almost certain the humiliation would prevent him from getting hard again on his own. So far so good, the plan was working well.
"Have you ever seen the movie Road Trip? Remember the scene in the sperm bank? "
Ethan looked up, confused. "Uh, yeah."
Jessica smiled. "It'll be like kind of like that." And how she pitched her voice to sound just like the nurse in that scene as she quoted the line verbatim. "I'm going to perform a procedure on you called milking the prostate, it's an anally induced ejaculation." She paused for a moment, enjoying the look of shock on his face.
Is she serious?
Ignoring it, she kept on. "However, much like porn is different from real sex, this will be a bit different from that movie. Anyway... I'll need you in the stirrups again for optimal access."
He let her place his feet back in the cold metal stirrups, his legs spread wide and elevated. The vulnerability washed over him anew.
"Perfect," Jessica said, patting his thigh. "Now, just relax."
Her fingers were cold as they entered him. He tensed, the sensation invasive and strange. It felt like he was pooping backwards. "My, you're very good at relaxing," Jessica lied, saying it idly as her finger slid inside him. "That will be helpful for you in the future." The implication hung in the air, and Ethan's mind raced. In the future? What does she mean? Is she saying I'm going to be doing this again? That I'm going to be... putting things in my butt? He was just about to open his mouth to object, to tell her he wasn't like that, when she spoke again.
"Hmm," she said aloud, her voice clear supposedly for the recording, but actually for the hidden audience. "It seems I'm having trouble locating the prostate. Sometimes the angle is tricky. You know, it might be more efficient if you could help guide me. You'll feel a distinct pleasure when I'm in the right spot. Just tell me when I've found it. Can you do that for me, Ethan?"
Ethan wanted to refuse, to die right there on the table. But the thought of this lasting even longer was unbearable. "Yes. OK. Uh.... a... a little higher I think," he choked out, his voice barely a whisper. I can't believe I'm telling her how to finger my butt.
"Like this?" Jessica asked, pressing her fingers against his rectal wall, deliberately avoiding that spot so as to draw this out.
"No, no... to the left... my left... now more towards my... my front," he stammered, his face burning with shame.
"Here?" she pressed again. A jolt of pleasure shot through him, a weird, deep tingle that made his own dick twitch. "Oh God," he moaned, his body arching involuntarily. "Yes! Right there!" Wow! That's... SO MUCH BETTER than with the hairbrush. I didn't know it could feel so amazing!
"Good," Jessica said, her voice maintaining its clinical calm. "So I should continue stimulating this area? You want me to keep going?"
Yes, beg for it, you little shit, she thought, her fingers beginning a slow, deliberate rhythm against his gland. Give them something to really laugh about. This is where I give you even more rope to hang yourself with.
"Yes," Ethan gasped. "Don't stop." What am I saying? Stop saying that! But it feels... so good. I've never felt anything this good. It's so wrong, but it feels so right.
Behind the curtain, Kevin was now squatting in fetal position on the floor, silently convulsing with laughter, his face buried in his knees. The rest of them were in similar hysterics. When Jessica reviewed the camera footage of them later, their reactions would make her laugh out loud more than once.
Come on, let's get you to really commit to it, Jessica thought, her internal monologue gleeful as she pressed a little harder. Tell everyone how much you love having your ass played with. Jessica worked him expertly, her fingers massaging his prostate with a maddening, rhythmic pressure. She was pressing directly on that spongy spot, sending waves of intense pleasure through him. His small dick was now fully hard again, twitching and leaking pre-cum onto his stomach. The feeling was building, a deep, internal pressure that was more intense than anything he'd ever felt from just jerking off. It was a pleasure that was happening inside him, and the strangeness of it was almost as powerful as the sensation itself.
"It feels... it feels so good," Ethan panted, his hips moving involuntarily. "I... I like it. I like you fingering my ass." Oh my god, I said it. I actually said it. What is wrong with me? But it's true! I do like it.
"How about now, Ethan?" she asked periodically. "Does this still feel good? Should I keep going?"
"Yes... God, yes... please don't stop," he whimpered, his voice growing more desperate, more shameless, as the pleasure built. He was completely lost in the sensation, forgetting everything but the need for her to continue. His hips were rocking back against her hand now, trying to get her fingers deeper. I shouldn't be doing this. But... I can't help it. It just feels too good! I don't care if it's weird. I don't care if she's watching. I need more.
That's it, let it all out, Jessica thought at the same time, her fingers never ceasing their relentless stimulation. Tell them everything. This is going to make for some excellent footage for the Curator.
"You know, Ethan," she said aloud, her voice shifting to a tone of clinical praise. "For someone with such underdeveloped external genitalia, your internal responsiveness is remarkably... mature. It's like your body overcompensated internally for what it lacks externally. You should be proud of that."
The backhanded compliment also felt like a diagnosis, a clinical explanation for his pathetic nature. He wasn't just a freak; now he was a medically documented freak.
"Almost there," Jessica said. "To ensure we don't lose any of the sample, we need to optimize the angle of expulsion. I'm going to reposition you." She withdrew and forcefully flipped him over on the table, positioning him on his hands and knees. His ass was now pushed up in the air, completely exposed. "This position uses gravity to assist in collection," she explained. It was complete bullshit, but it was embarrassing and he was too brain-fogged to question it. It also paused the stimulation, prolonging the time until his orgasm.
His ass was in the air, being displayed, his exposure absolute. His humiliation grew, though he didn't think that was possible.
Jessica began working his prostate with renewed intensity, her fingers finding that perfect rhythm again. His small dick twitched. As she massaged him, she paused and slowly, deliberately, added a third finger, stretching him wider. A sharp, surprised gasp escaped Ethan's lips.
"I'm now using three fingers," she said, narrating the action for those listening, just in case they couldn't see that level of detail through the curtain. "Tell me, Ethan, is this an improvement?"
The new fullness was overwhelming, a deep, internal pressure that eclipsed the previous sensation. "Y-yes... god, yes..." he stammered, his hips already pushing back to meet her hand.
"Are you sure? Let's confirm." Jessica smirked and, with clinical precision, withdrew one finger, returning to just two, but also deliberately doing little to stimulate his prostate now. The sudden emptiness and lack of prostate contact was a tangible loss. "Is this as good as when I had three inside you? Compare the sensations for the log."
"No... no, it's not the same," Ethan panted immediately, his body betraying his desperate need. "The three... having three felt better. Fuller."
Jessica added the third finger again, slowly this time, making him feel every millimeter of the stretch. "So you want more? You want me to use three fingers to fill you up more completely?"
"Yes... please... I want three fingers," he whimpered, his shame dissolving in the rising tide of pleasure.
"Note for the logs: subject, when given the option, explicitly opts for a slightly wider anal stretch and greater rectal fullness of three fingers stimulating him rather than two." Hearing this some of Ethan's embarrassment returned and his face flushed red again with renewed humiliation at hearing it laid out so matter-of-factly.
Perfect, Jessica's thoughts continued, a thrill running through her. He's so pliable when he's aroused. The audience behind the curtain is surely loving this. I'm getting him to humiliate himself in ways he never would have if he just knew they were there. She was growing more confident that this would net her a bonus payment from the Curator.
She had stopped fingering him as she gave her dictation and his frustration mounted as his arousal built without release - he was being edged perfectly by her, kept right on that precipice without being allowed to fall. His small cock was rock hard and leaking a steady stream of pre-cum onto the sterile paper beneath him, now forming a sizable wet spot.
"You know, Ethan," Jessica said idly, her fingers still moving inside him. "I'm just thinking back to your questionnaire. You mentioned using a hairbrush." She paused, letting the words hang in the air. "This phase we're in now... with three fingers inside... would you say that this is bigger, smaller, or about the same as the hairbrush you've used?"
The question cut through his pleasure-fogged mind. He was trapped. He couldn't lie, not with her fingers buried in him, not with the promise of that incredible feeling dangling just out of reach. He swallowed hard. "Bigger." The word came out before he could stop it. "Your fingers, I mean. Three of them is... yeah. Definitely bigger."
"I thought so. A hairbrush handle is usually quite narrow. You seem to be responding very well to this increased girth. Tell me something else Ethan," she continued, her voice turning speculative, "how long have you been using that hairbrush? Since you were about twelve, perhaps?"
Ethan froze, his body tensing around her fingers. "How... how did you know that?" he asked, his voice tight with alarm and disbelief, not realizing that he'd just unwittingly confirmed it.
Jessica smiled inwardly. It was just a guess, a shot in the dark based on his obvious immaturity, but it had hit its mark, and the fool had admitted as much. "It's just a common thing then," she said smoothly, her voice a perfect blend of clinical authority and gentle reassurance despite this being a total fabrication on her part. "Boys often start experimenting around that time. It's when curiosity really begins to blossom. It's nothing to be ashamed of."
Oh, this is just too perfect, Jessica thought. He's actually confirmed it, just admitted to sticking things in his ass for three years! The audience must be eating this up. I'm getting him to admit so much more than he intended. Each question strips away another layer of his dignity, and he's so lost in the pleasure he doesn't even realize how much he's revealing.
"This makes me wonder," she continued, her voice turning speculative as she slowly pumped her three fingers in and out, "if you might... reconsider my earlier advice. About exploring with different objects?"
Ethan's mind flashed to her suggesting carrots and cucumbers. The humiliation of that moment returned, but it was tangled with the undeniable pleasure he was feeling now.
"Now that you know how good this can feel," her fingers curling slightly to emphasize her point, "how much better this is than a hairbrush? Do you think you might use things larger than the hairbrush going forward? Be honest."
The admission was torn from him. "Maybe," he whispered, his face burning with shame even as his body craved more. "I... I might." It was an obviously lie. Of COURSE I'm going to use larger things now, he thought. This felt way too good to let go of. What would be the harm anyway?
"I figured as much," she said, her voice dripping with satisfaction. "You know, it makes sense. When you started at twelve, your body was much smaller. The small hairbrush handle was probably a good choice for you then, especially since..." She paused, letting the implication hang in the air. "Well, since it was probably close to your penis size then."
The observation was a new kind of poison. It wasn't just an insult; it was a diagnosis, a clinical explanation for why he felt this way.
"But you're fifteen now," she continued, her voice taking on a tone of mock-sympathetic explanation. "Your body has grown. You're taller, broader. Your frame has matured. It's only natural that your... internal capacity... would have grown as well. Even if," she added, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "your penis hasn't grown as much as rest of you has. It's only logical that you'd need to increase the size of your anal stimulation toys to match your body's growth."
There was nowhere to hide. She was telling him he'd outgrown his toy. That something else hadn't kept up. He was being told, in the most clinical and humiliating way possible, that he was now too big for the hairbrush in his ass, but still too small where it mattered most.
"Let's see if we can explore that a bit more right now," Jessica said, pulling her fingers free with a wet schlick sound. She reached into the tray and pulled out an object: a 6-inch flesh-colored silicone dildo with a solid girth, already liberally coated in lubricant.
Ethan whose forehead was resting on his arms, had kept his eyes shut and didn't see what was happening. What did she mean? What is she doing?
"No, wait," he protested as the realization struck him when she pressed it against his hole and started to press it inside. "That's too big. I can't... I've never... not with something that big."
She didn't listen. She pushed. The resistance gave way to a stretch that bordered on pain.
"Wait wait wait," he pleaded before his voice failed him. But she kept pushing until the entire thing, all six inches of it, was inside him.
A few moments later the sting he felt morphed into a fullness that was undeniable. Ethan's protests died, replaced by gentle breathing to help him relax. He could feel his small cock throbbing again. He wasn't fighting it anymore.
"That's a six-inch dildo I've put inside you," he said, again narrating for her audience, the one Ethan still had no idea was in the room with them. "Can you describe the sensation?"
"It's... it's in," he breathed, his face burning with a mix of shame and a weird satisfaction. "It's actually... it's all the way in. Feels so... so big..."
"Does it feel better than my three fingers?" Jessica asked, starting a slow, rhythmic thrust.
Of course it feels better. How could it not? But saying it... telling her that a toy is better than her fingers... how can I say that? I can feel her judging me. But... we've already done so much.
"If not, I can take it back out," she began to slowly withdraw it.
"No!" he replied quickly, then blushed again when he realized what he'd done.
She's filling me up. It's so weird. But it feels so good. She knows. I've just admitted it feels better than her fingers. I'm actually saying it out loud. It sounds like I love it. And it's true. It's so much better.
"OK," she said, pushing it back in. "Now, just so you know, you can get this same feeling at home pretty easily. A cucumber can give you the same experience."
A cucumber? She's mocking me. She thinks I'm going to go home and immediately shove a vegetable up my ass. This is so embarrassing. But the thought of feeling this wonderful fullness again made him pause.
"A cucumber?" Ethan asked, confused. "Really?"
"Yes. A cucumber is fine for both this girth and depth," Jessica said with a smirk. "It's cheap, sanitary, and you can fit it up your ass just like this is right now." She gave him a moment to process that. "However, there's one thing a cucumber can't do." She pressed a button on the base of the dildo. Vrrrrmm. The entire flesh colored toy began to buzz and hum, a low, aggressive vibration seemed to transfer directly into his insides.
"OH MY GOD!" Ethan cried, grunting in pleasure.
It's vibrating. It's actually vibrating inside me. It's hitting every nerve ending. I can't control my body. I can't stay silent. It feels so good!
Jessica kept the vibration on for a moment, watching him writhe, then turned it off. The silence was jarring. Ethan whimpered, his body arching pathetically, chasing the missing sensation.
"Please," he whispered, his voice trembling.
Please. Please turn it back on. I need it. I need that vibration. Please don't stop NOW. It's making me crazy. I want to be filled. Please, Jessica.
"Please what?" Jessica asked, her voice dripping with false innocence. "Just keep using the dildo inside you? Or do you want the vibration? Be specific, Ethan, so that I can be sure what you want."
Again, this was mostly for the benefit of the audience, but also to heighten his eventual humiliation when he learned they were there. Another few shovels of dirt in the grave he was digging for himself.
I have to say it. I have to tell her I want the vibrating dildo. This is the most embarrassing thing I've ever done. I want her to use it on me. I need to come.
Ethan's face was a mask of pure humiliation and need. "Please." His voice cracked. "Just... turn it back on. The, um... the vibration. I want... can you just... He couldn't finish. "Please. I need it."
Jessica smiled, a triumphant, cruel expression. "Sure, since you say you need it." She turned it back on and rammed the buzzing shaft back into him, knowing the exact spot to press it against as she fucked him with it.
He screamed as the pressure built, the vibration acting as the final key to unlock his release. He came hard, his body clamping down around the buzzing intruder, completely owned by the device and his tormentor. He couldn't breathe. He was gasping, his mouth open, his eyes rolling back in his head.
"I'm coming!" he cried out, his voice a raw, desperate sob. "Oh god, I'm coming! I'm coming from a dildo in my ass!" The disbelief in his own voice was palpable, a final, humiliating testament to the strangeness of this situation as he ejaculated into the collection container Jessica held ready. It felt like it lasted forever, his whole body clenching and releasing as he emptied his balls.
He collapsed onto the table, panting and spent, ass still in the air. Jessica turned off the vibration and held the container up to the light. "Excellent sample," she noted clinically. "Now, Ethan, how would you rate the intensity of that orgasm?"
He was too worn out to lie. He just lay there, his chest heaving. "It... it was one of the best I've ever had," he admitted, his voice a ragged whisper.
"Note," Jessica said, her voice crisp and clear for the recording and the audience, "the subject achieved a very powerful orgasm, indicating that it was one of the most pleasurable he's ever had. Important note: this was achieved without penile contact, entirely through anal stimulation. A rare thing in heterosexual males." Again, a total lie, but he didn't know that. The obvious cynicism in her voice was a final, crushing blow. She wasn't really saying it was rare; she was implying he wasn't actually heterosexual, and that his intense, hands-free orgasm was proof. This humiliated him further, a new, deeper layer of shame that settled over him like a shroud.
But it wasn't over. There was another element to spring on him before the final step. Jessica's clinical voice cut through his hazy mind as he rode the wave of pleasure. "Now for the final part of the procedure: the post-orgasmic sensitivity test."
Without giving him any time to recover, she resumed vigorously massaging his prostate with the dildo, leaving the vibration function off to better hear his torture. Then, with her other hand, she took his now-limp but still very slick cock and began to jerk it firmly.
The sensations were not pleasurable. They were agonizing. A raw, nerve-shredding over-stimulation that made his entire body seize up. The dual stimulation was too much. It was a sensory overload of pure, unadulterated agony.
A white-hot, electric shock of pain shot up his spine, bypassing his brain and hijacking his nervous system. His body locked up, every muscle seizing in a rigid, agonizing arc. His mouth was open in a silent scream, his eyes wide with a primal, animalistic terror. He was trying to beg, to scream, to do something, but the signals from his brain were being shredded by the overwhelming sensory input. He was trapped in his own body, a prisoner of sensation, completely and utterly paralyzed.
Oh, this is one of the best parts, Jessica thought. She watched him squirm and allowed herself a small smile. She saw the silent scream, the frozen stiffness of his limbs, and felt his ring clamp down on the dildo. She knew exactly what she was doing, the perfect storm of over-stimulation, but she kept her voice perfectly innocent, a mask of clinical research, pretending not to know. "How does this compare to before, Ethan?" she asked, her voice a gentle, probing contrast to the sexual torture she was inflicting with her hands. "Be specific. I need to know if it's just the pleasure diminishing or if pain is becoming the primary sensation. Can you describe it for me?"
He couldn't answer. All that came out was a strangled, guttural grunt. "Nnnngh! AAAH!"
She maintained her rhythm, one hand relentlessly massaging his prostate with the dildo while the other continued its firm, punishing strokes on his hyper-sensitive shaft. "No verbal response?" she noted aloud for the microphone. "That's interesting. It seems the subject might be experiencing a neurological shutdown in response to overwhelming stimuli. I'll continue to monitor."
But her internal monologue was a stark contrast with her outward placidity. Look at him. He can't even speak. I've literally fucked the words right out of him. This is perfect!
His body was trembling uncontrollably now, a fine sheen of sweat coating his skin. His breath came in ragged, hitching gasps. He felt like he was being electrocuted from the inside out. He tried to form the word 'stop,' but his tongue felt thick and useless, a dead weight in his mouth. The only sound he could make was a pathetic, whimpering keen.
"I see you're trying to say something, Ethan," Jessica said, her voice dripping with false sympathy as she leaned closer, her fingers never ceasing their cruel work. "It's alright. Take as much time as you need." She continued stroking. "Is it the penile stimulation or the prostate massage that's causing the most intense sensations? Or is it the combination? Your data is very important here." She knew damn well it would be caused by either one alone, never mind both together.
She watched his contorted face, a canvas of pure, unadulterated torment. A single tear escaped the corner of his eye and traced a path through the sweat on his cheek. There it is, she thought with a surge of satisfaction. The physical proof of his complete and utter breakdown. This is better than I could have ever planned.
"Alright, one more data point," she said, her voice maddeningly calm. "I'm going to increase the pressure on the glans while maintaining the internal rhythm. Let me know if you feel a... qualitative change in the sensation." As she spoke, she tightened her grip slightly, her thumb digging into the ultra-sensitive tip of his penis.
This time, a sound did escape him. A high-pitched, ragged, desperate whine, like a wounded animal. It was the only protest his broken body could manage. It was the sound of a boy being systematically unmade by pleasure now twisted into pain, and it was music to Jessica's ears. Finally, she released his cock but left the dildo inside him.
"Note: Subject produced a high-frequency vocalization indicative of extreme distress," she narrated for the recording, a triumphant smirk hidden behind her professional mask. "The sensitivity peak is significant. This concludes the post-orgasmic test."
Ethan just lay on the table, a sobbing, broken mess, his body trembling from the lingering pain and the overwhelming shame as he tried to recover.
For a long moment, there was only the sound of his own ragged breathing and the muffled hitches of suppressed groans from muscle aches that were only now rising to conscious levels. He had been in several, rather awkward, positions for too long. He lay there, utterly spent, nerve on his cock and inside him screaming from the overload. The cold table pressed against his cheek, a stark contrast to the feverish heat of his skin. His mind was a numb, white void, punctuated only by the phantom echoes of pain and the crushing weight of his own degradation and everything he had admitted to. He could feel the slick mess on his stomach, the raw tenderness between his legs, the deep, bruised ache inside him. In that suspended silence, he thought the nightmare finally was over.
But then Jessica flicked a switch on the
wall and a whirring sound began.
His eyes flew open and he tilted his head towards the sound. The curtain was gliding
open, revealing a small group of his classmates and his ex-girlfriend on the
other side. As they came into view additional sounds joined the whirring:
laughter and applause. Sarah stood at the front, her face triumphant.
It hit him like a wave, no, like a wall, knowing what they were seeing: a panting, sweating, mess, ass in the air, with a dildo still inside him. That would have been totally mortifying just on its own.
But he quickly realized that they also must have heard him. They've been there the whole time, his mind screamed, a cold, sickening realization dawning. The whole time! Since I was brought in here and took my pants off. They heard her measure me. They heard her say I was three-quarters of an inch soft. They heard me jerking off and talking about my 'huge cock.' Oh god. They heard everything!
They'd heard his questionnaire conversation. They'd heard him admit to using a hairbrush on himself. They'd heard his pathetic fantasy about having a big dick. They'd heard him direct her fingers inside him. They'd heard him whimper and moan and confess, in his own words, that he liked it. They'd heard ask for more fingers and the even the dildo. They'd heard him admit his orgasm was intense, that he'd cum without touching himself. And it was all recorded on audio for the study! Wait! Was the study even real?!
One look at Jessica's smirk answered that question, and his dejection was absolute. It was fake. Of course it was fake!
"Nice show, Ethan!" Kevin shouted, his voice booming with mock admiration. "So stuff up the ass is a big turn-on for you! First a hairbrush and now a big ole dildo it seems!"
"Two-finger technique! Three-quarters of an inch! That's it?" a girl named Chloe called out. "Your body really does overcompensate, doesn't it? All that sensitivity packed into such a... compact package!"
"Tell her again, Ethan!" Emily taunted. "Tell her how good it feels! Tell her you like it inside you! We all heard it, but I want to hear it again just so I can remember the tone!"
His face felt so hot he felt it should be melting off. He scrambled to get off the table, his fingers shaking so badly he could barely support his own weight. Each laugh felt like a physical blow, a confirmation of his worst fears. He wasn't just humiliated; he had humiliated himself, eagerly and vocally, for an audience he never knew was there.
"Look at him, he's all shaved smooth!" another boy, Jake, yelled. "Did you get that, guys? He looks like a little kid! Does your mommy still have to help you wash in the bath, Ethan?"
The taunts were a relentless barrage. "Prostate boy!" "Tiny Ethan!" "Is that why you're so good at taking it up the ass?" "I can't believe he actually said 'I want the vibrating dildo!'" "He sounded like a puppy!"
Ethan's mind was a chaos of echoes. They heard me say it was the best orgasm I've ever had. They heard me say I was coming from just anal. They heard me grunt like an animal when she was torturing me. They heard me admit I've used a hairbrush since I was 12. They saw my little cock. Heard me talk about it. He couldn't look at any of them. He wanted to cover himself, but what was the point? They'd already seen everything.
He finally managed to slide off the table, his legs feeling like jelly. The movement was abrupt, fueled by pure panic. As he scrambled to his feet, a sudden, slick pressure released inside him. Before he could process it, the flesh-colored silicone dildo slid out of him with a wet, unmistakable plop and hit the linoleum floor.
It bounced once, with a soft, rubbery thud, then spun in a wobbly circle before coming to rest at Chloe's feet.
A dead silence fell over the room for a split second, broken only by Ethan's ragged breathing. Then, the laughter erupted anew, louder and more derisive than before.
Chloe looked down at the toy, then back up at Ethan, her face splitting into a wide, cruel grin. "Whoops! Forgot something, Ethan?" she sneered, kicking it gently with her toe. It skidded a few inches across the floor towards Jake.
"Looks well-used," Jake snorted, not touching it but nudging it further with his foot as if it were something foul. "You wanna take it home with you? For later?"
"I think he's done with it," Kevin crowed, blocking Ethan's path to the pile of his clothes. "Looks like he got everything he needed out of it. Right, Prostate Boy?"
The object, glistening under the bright clinic lights, was a grotesque, undeniable testament to everything that had just happened. There was no lying about it, no dismissing it as a story. It was physical evidence, lying on the floor between him and his escape.
Their words were like another humiliating punch in the gut. He fumbled with his sweatpants, his hands clumsy and useless with shame, finally managing to pull them up over his still-bare, slick groin. He pushed past Kevin, towards his t-shirt and sneakers, but the other kids just formed a tighter circle, forcing him to step around the dildo on the floor.
"Where ya goin?" Sarah said, her voice sweetly mocking. "Aren't you going to clean up your mess?" She pointed at the dildo on the floor. "Or is that the nurse's job too?"
He couldn't even look at it. He snatched his t-shirt, not bothering to put it on, and grabbed his sneakers. He'd carry them. He just had to get out. He pushed past the first few students, but they reformed the circle, herding him.
"Not so fast," Kevin said, grabbing his arm again. "The party's just getting started. Let's do a recap. My personal favorite? When you were helping her find the spot. 'A little higher... to the left... right there!' You're a natural navigator, buddy! But I guess we know what you're navigating now, huh?" He glanced pointedly at the dildo on the floor.
"Let me go!" Ethan choked out, his voice cracking.
"Not until you answer one question," Sarah said, stepping forward. "Is it true what you said? About the hairbrush? Is it the handle or the bristle side?" The question was so specific, so mortifyingly intimate, that it broke something inside him. He just stood there, mute and trembling, tears of shame and rage stinging his eyes.
The words echoed in his mind, a cruel soundtrack to his utter ruin. His most private vulnerabilities, his body, his pleasure, his pain, his shame had all been a spectacle, narrated by his own desperate voice and recorded for posterity. He finally shoved past them, stumbling out of the room and into the hallway. The taunts followed him, echoing off the sterile white walls. "Prostate boy!" "Tiny Ethan!" "Go buy a cucumber!"
As he ran from the clinic into the bright, unforgiving daylight, he wondered if he could ever show his face at school again. His life was over. And somewhere, in the back of his shattered mind, a tiny, traitorous part of him could still feel the ghost of that intense, shattering pleasure, a memory now tainted by the sound of their laughter.
The reputational disaster that Ethan had braced for never arrived. In the days following
the clinic, he moved through the halls of his high school like a ghost,
expecting pointed fingers, howls of laughter, the whispered chorus of "Prostate
Boy" or "Tiny Ethan." But it never came. A few rumors swirled, of course,
sparked by Sarah and her inner circle, stories of some humiliating medical
study, of him being measured, of bizarre questions asked. But to his stunned
relief, few people actually believed them.
The general consensus of the student body was ruthlessly pragmatic. Sarah was known to be viciously vindictive after the breakup. In an age where every moment of potential humiliation was captured, uploaded, and meme'd within seconds, the complete absence of proof was damning. No grainy video, no audio clip of him whimpering, not even a suspicious photo of him entering the clinic. "If it really happened," the general consensus went, "there'd be a video, or something. Kevin or Jake would have posted it instantly." The story was dismissed as an elaborate, if particularly graphic, piece of fiction crafted by a scorned ex-girlfriend. His reputation was bruised, marked by the faint stigma of being the butt of a weird and elaborate story, but it was not the total ruin he had feared. He was pitied more than mocked.
In a sleek, minimalist office that smelled of sandalwood and ozone, The Curator reviewed the final cut. Multiple angles played on a bank of monitors: the wide shot from behind the curtain, the close-up on Ethan's face as he was measured, the low angle from beneath the stirrups, the perfect profile shot as Jessica pressed the cold compress to his groin. The footage was crisp, professional, and deeply invasive.
The star of the show, however, was the series of shots capturing Ethan's face during the dildo sequence. One camera, hidden in a wall socket, had caught the perfect view: his eyes squeezed shut in panic as she pressed it against him, then the moment of surrender, his mouth forming a silent 'O' as the width breached him, his features cycling from shame to shock to a helpless, dazed pleasure as the vibration began. The cut to the reaction shot of the hidden audience, their hands clamped over their mouths, eyes wide with hysterical disbelief, was pure cinematic gold.
A notification chimed on Jessica's phone. The transfer was substantial, far exceeding the base fee. Attached was a message from The Curator:
'Exceptional work. Strategic camera placement yielded optimal coverage. Subject's expressive range was fully captured, particularly during the instrumental penetration sequence (see Asset File #47). The shift from resistance to solicitation was a masterclass in coercive narrative. Performance bonus has been issued. Your creativity continues to impress. Contact us again with any future targets, and continue to exercise the utmost caution to prevent the involvement of law enforcement."
Jessica smiled, a real one this time, devoid of the performative kindness she'd shown Ethan. She leaned back in her chair, scrolling through the images on her secure tablet one last time. She paused on Asset #47. There it was, frozen in high definition: Ethan's face in the moments after the dildo was fully seated. His face showed everything. Fear. Want. Shame. All of it at once. It was, as The Curator noted, priceless.
She closed the file, her access to it now severed as per protocol. The master copy belonged solely to The Curator. She consoled herself with the personal reminder that her student loan balance was now significantly lighter.
Privately, however, the experience had rewired Ethan. The memory of that shattering, hands-free climax became a ghost that haunted his own hands. Weeks later, alone in his bathroom, pubic hair now regrown, he found himself staring at a peeled and now lubricated cucumber from the refrigerator. Jessica's clinical suggestion echoed in his mind, now twisted into a compulsion. 'It's cheap, sanitary, and you can fit it up your ass.' With a trembling heart and burning shame, he did. It was awkward and cold and nothing like her skilled fingers or that vibrating instrument, but it was a connection to that depth of feeling, to the full-ness that had overwhelmed him. He used it once, then again, chasing a phantom sensation.
He went through several. Though pleasurable, they weren't enough. They were blunt, imperfect tools. Within a month, using an anonymous prepaid card bought with cash, he ordered a dildo online. Not just any dildo. He scrolled past the modest, beginner-sized ones, his cursor hovering over replicas that matched or slightly exceeded the length Jessica had used. He finally selected one that was longer, slightly thicker, and boasted a more pronounced curve. When it arrived in discreet packaging, he felt a strange excitement, not shame. That night, he used it. And the night after. And the next morning because it was Saturday. It was a secret, shameful ritual, a testament to a violation that had, perversely, become a part of him.
What Ethan could never know was that his privacy was a fiction. The Curator's reach was extensive. A sophisticated, polymorphic malware package had been bundled with the "Pre-Interview Questionnaire" PDF he had downloaded. It had rooted itself deep in his laptop and his phone, creating a hidden, encrypted tunnel. It logged his keystrokes, captured his screen, and accessed his cameras and microphones as well.
The Curator's analysts watched his digital pilgrimage with detached amusement. They saw the grocery store receipt for the cucumbers appear in a scanned photo. They captured the frantic, shame-filled incognito browser searches for "anal toys discreet shipping." They logged the order confirmation for the 8-inch, dual-density silicone dildo. They even harvested a series of blurred, frantic selfies from his camera roll, taken in the mirror after use, his face showing pure pleasure and at scratching that itch, finally.
For The Curator, this was the proverbial cherry on top. The initial footage was a masterpiece of orchestrated humiliation. But this, this was the unintended, beautiful sequel. It was the proof of concept. They hadn't just broken him publicly; they had reprogrammed him privately. The boy was now willingly, secretly, reenacting the very same penetration they had forced upon him, hunting a new sensation they had awakened. The data was archived alongside the clinic footage, a perfect coda to the piece. Ethan believed his explorations were a dark, lonely secret.
The boy thought his ordeal was over, a private horror he could bury, and he was basically right. Though he had no idea he was now a permanent part of a collection. The most humiliating moment of his youth, perhaps his whole life, preserved forever, not for schoolyard gossip, but for a far more discerning, and wealthy, audience. He would never know the truth: they were part of a dossier in The Curator's growing collection.