Chapter 7: Vulvar Mapping
The sound of her own desperate screams still echoed in the speakers as Dr. Ashton, his fingers dripping with her spend, calmly increased the voltage on the electrostim unit, sending a fresh, punishing throb into her clamped nipples. “The ejaculatory response was anticipated, but the volume exceeded our parameters,” he stated, his voice almost lost beneath the renewed audio of her guttural cries. He replaced his fingers with the chilled glass dilator, its brutal, familiar intrusion now a welcome anchor as her over-sensitized cunt fluttered around the freezing girth. “We need a deeper baseline,” he said, his other hand moving to a small monitor that displayed a live, internal ultrasound feed, the grainy image showing the glass bulb pressing against her dilated cervix. Moira could only watch the screen, her own biology a haunting, black-and-white testament to her complete surrender.
His thumb circled the control dial, the electrical current swelling into a relentless buzz that made her clench around the cold glass inside her. “Your cervical os is still beautifully dilated from the last measurement,” he noted, his voice a low murmur beside her ear as his gloved hand, slick with her own fluids, withdrew the dilator with a slow, twisting pull that drew a whimper from her throat. He slid two fingers back into her dripping cunt, then three, stretching her with a practiced, steady pressure that made her gasp. “Now, let’s see how deep the somatic memory goes,” he said, his voice detached as his four fingers curled into a tight wedge, the broad knuckles pushing insistently against her resisting rim. He fists deeper, his entire hand a brutal, stretching intrusion that she feels in her throat, in her gut, a stunning fullness that obliterates every thought except the raw, splitting reality of his knuckles breaching her.
Her body screamed, a ragged sound lost beneath the speakers’ relentless playback of her own prior cries, as his entire fist sank to the wrist inside her convulsing cunt, the stretch a white-hot eclipse of pure feeling. The electrostim unit on her nipples buzzed like a live wire dropped into water, its current syncing with the brutal, full-depth pulses of his embedded hand. Her orgasm wasn’t a wave but a structural failure, a seismic surrender that ripped through her uterus and hollowed her out, leaving her a shuddering vessel for the violation. Every muscle from her core to her throat locked in a final, silent scream as her vision bleached white, the world dissolving into pure, unthinking sensation. ORGASMIC COLLAPSE.