Chapter 6: The Instrumentation
The cold of the examination table seared into her bare back. Evelyn stared at the fluorescent panels overhead, their sterile light bleaching all color from the room. The air smelled of bleach and something else, a faint, clean ozone from the humming machinery. Her wrists were secured with wide, padded straps to the sides of the table. Her ankles were locked in the stirrups, knees bent and splayed wide, exposing everything to the chill air and his impartial gaze.
He moved into her line of sight, still in his dark suit, though he’d removed his jacket and rolled his sleeves up to his elbows. The wedding band gleamed under the lights. His expression was one of detached assessment, like a technician reviewing a complex set of data.
“You followed instructions,” he said, his voice a flat monotone. His eyes traveled the length of her body, from her trembling thighs to her breasts, pebbled tight from the cold. “Empty. And hungry. Good.”
He turned to the wheeled cart. It was stainless steel, glinting, arrayed with a series of objects that made the toys from her weekend look like cheap novelties. They were silicone and polished metal, in varying shades of flesh and gunmetal grey, all purposefully shaped. He selected one: a long, smooth shaft, easily a foot in length, but relatively narrow. It had a subtle curve and a rounded, probing tip.
He squeezed a clear gel onto his fingers, not looking at her. “This is a sound. It’s for depth.”
Evelyn’s breath hitched. She knew what it was meant to find. The deepest part.
He didn’t bother with preamble. The cold, lubed tip pressed against her entrance, already loose and slick from anticipation. He pushed. It slid in with shocking ease, a slow, penetrating invasion that travelled deeper than anything she’d ever felt. There was no stretching burn, just an impossible, internal journey. She felt it moving through her canal, a foreign presence mapping her interior. Deeper. Deeper still.
A soft, choked whimper escaped her. Her fingers clawed at the padded straps.
The tip met resistance. A profound, deep pressure that wasn’t pain, but a profound, organic stop. Her cervix. He pressed the sound against it, a steady, unyielding force. The sensation was bizarre, deeply intrusive, and it sent a bizarre shockwave of arousal straight to her clit, which throbbed against the cold air.
“There,” he said, almost to himself. He held it there for a long moment, letting her feel the absolute depth of her own penetration. Then he withdrew it, inch by slow inch, the long shaft glistening as it emerged from her well-used cunt.
He placed the sound on a clean towel and picked up a different toy. This one was shorter, but obscenely thick, the diameter of a large man’s fist. Its surface was textured with subtle ridges.
“Now for width,” he stated.
The broad, blunt head pressed against her. This was the stretch she remembered, the burning ring. He applied pressure. Her body resisted, the muscle clenching tight reflexively.
“Breathe out,” he commanded, his voice leaving no room for hesitation.
She exhaled in a rush, and he pushed. The head popped past her entrance with a brutal, burning give. A ragged cry tore from her throat. It was too much, a searing fullness that obliterated all other thought. He didn’t stop. He worked the massive toy into her, a relentless, twisting motion, burying it to the hilt. She was split open, stretched around a grotesque thickness. She could feel every ridge, every imperfection in the silicone.
He left it lodged inside her, a heavy, stretching plug, and walked back to the cart.
“Please,” she heard herself gasp, not knowing what she was begging for—mercy, or more.
He ignored her, selecting a third item. This one was molded. A flared, mushroom-like head, a thick, veined shaft with a pronounced medial ring. The shape was unmistakably animal. It was a deep, opaque black.
“This one is for remembrance,” he said, his gray eyes finally flicking to hers. There was no warmth in them. Only a clinical interest. “You’ll feel this tomorrow. You’ll feel it when you sit in your meetings.”
He gripped the fist-thick toy and pulled it from her in one smooth, wet movement. Her cunt gaped, loose and throbbing, a rush of fluid following the toy’s exit. Before she could even process the sudden emptiness, he pressed the flared head of the new toy against her ravaged entrance.
It wouldn’t go. The head was too wide, even after the stretch. He pushed, harder. A sharp, tearing sensation made her cry out.
“Relax your cunt, Evelyn. It’s just a toy. Take it.”
He used his thumb to press against her clit, a rough, circling motion that was less about pleasure and more about brutal override. Pain and sharp, unwanted arousal mixed. Her body betrayed her, softening, yielding. The huge, flared head popped inside, and she screamed, a raw, unfiltered sound that echoed off the white walls.
He began to fuck her with it.
The stretch was beyond anything. The pronounced veins and the thick medial ring dragged against her oversensitive inner walls with every thrust. The flared head stretched her entrance to its absolute limit on each outward stroke, the burn a constant, punishing fire. The rhythm was mechanical, deep, and devastating. He wasn’t trying to please her. He was testing a capacity. Documenting a response.
Her body, however, had become a separate, traitorous entity. The overwhelming sensation short-circuited her brain. Pleasure built not in spite of the pain, but woven through it, a bright, terrifying wire of ecstasy. Her hips jerked, trying to meet the thrusts, craving the brutal fullness.
“Look at you,” he muttered, his breath even, his suit pants still perfectly pressed. “A well-bred whore, gagging for a fake horse cock. Your cunt is making obscene noises. Listen.”
She could hear it. The wet, squelching slap of each thrust, the sound of her own body being used like a socket. Shame flooded her, hot and immediate, but it was incinerated an instant later by a tidal wave of pure, animal need. The pressure in her core coiled, tight and unbearable.
“I’m… I’m gonna…”
“Come,” he said, not a permission, but an order. “Come all over this thing. Make a mess of my table.”
It broke her. Her orgasm was a violent seizure, a screaming, convulsing release that felt less like pleasure and more like a systemic collapse. Her cunt clenched and fluttered wildly around the monstrous toy, and a hot gush of fluid erupted from her, soaking her ass and the table beneath with a sound like pouring water. He didn’t stop. He kept pistoning the toy into her through the contractions, each movement wringing a shattered sob from her chest, prolonging the agony and the ecstasy until they were indistinguishable.
Finally, he stopped. He pulled the toy out. The sound it made—a wet, sucking pop—was utterly degenerate.
She lay there, wrecked, strapped down, fluids cooling on her skin. The empty, stretched feeling was a vast, aching void. She was raw. Used. His specimen.
He leaned over her, blotting her face with a clean, white towel. It was a strangely gentle act amidst the violence. His gray eyes studied her.
“The hunger is the point, Evelyn,” he said quietly, his voice for the first time holding a whisper of something like intimacy. “It never goes away. It just gets deeper.”
He released the straps on her wrists and ankles. The skin beneath was marked with red pressure lines. He handed her a bundle of her clothes.
“Get dressed. The experiment is concluded for today.”
As she shuffled into her underwear, her body felt foreign, every movement a reminder of the stretch. He was already at a sink, washing the toys with methodical care. The laboratory hummed. She dressed in a daze, the soft wool of her trousers an absurd contrast to what had just happened.
At the door, she paused, her hand on the frame. She looked back at him. He was drying the black, animal-shaped toy, examining it under the light.
“When?” she asked, her voice hoarse from screaming.
He didn’t look up. “You’ll know.”
She stepped out into the bland hallway, the door clicking shut behind her. The corporate carpet was quiet under her feet. She walked toward the elevator, each step a faint, echoing ache. The hunger, as he promised, was still there. It wasn’t quieter. It was just… different. It had roots now. It had a shape. And it was deeper than ever.