The next morning, Gretel was escorted to a different part of the clinic, a suite that was less sterile and more like an office, with plush carpeting and a large mahogany desk. This was where she would meet with Dr. Pantos, the psychiatrist who was to guide her through the emotional maelstrom of her treatment.

Her heart raced as she entered the room, her cheeks flushing at the sight of him. Dr. Pantos was a man in his early forties, with a gentle demeanor and eyes that seemed to see straight through to her soul. He was dressed in a crisp white lab coat.

"Good morning, Miss Gretel," he said, gesturing to a chair opposite his desk. "Please, take a seat."

Gretel sat, her hands automatically moving to cover her breasts and pubic area, a reflex from years of modesty. Dr. Pantos noticed her discomfort and leaned back in his chair, his gaze thoughtful.

"Why do you hide your body, Miss Gretel?" he asked, his voice soothing despite the probing nature of his question.

Her eyes darted to the floor, avoiding his gaze. "It's just... I'm not used to it," she mumbled, her voice barely audible.

"But here, in the clinic, there is no need for shame," he said. "Your body is a temple, and we are here to worship at its altar of pleasure."

The words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. Gretel felt a twitch of something within her, an echo of the pleasure she'd felt during her examinations. She took a deep breath and slowly lowered her hands, exposing herself once more.

"That's better," Dr. Pantos said, his tone gentle. "Now, let's begin."

He opened a folder and took out a clipboard with a questionnaire attached. "We need to understand your emotional relationship with your body and sexuality," he explained. "This will help us tailor your treatment plan."

Gretel nodded, her eyes fixed on the questions before her. They ranged from the mundane—what was her favorite color—to the deeply personal—describe her first sexual experience. Each question was a probe into her psyche, a key that might unlock the door to her pleasure.

As she worked through the survey, Dr. Pantos made occasional notes, his pen scratching against the paper. His eyes never left her face, as if he could read her answers in the subtle shifts of her expression.

Finally, she reached the last question: What is your ultimate sexual fantasy? Gretel paused, her mind racing with the images that had haunted her lonely nights. She took a deep breath and wrote, "To be used and pleasured by multiple men at once."

The words on the page seemed to pulse with life, a dark secret laid bare. She handed the clipboard back to Dr. Pantos, her heart hammering in her chest. He studied it, his expression unreadable.

"This is a common fantasy," he said, placing the clipboard aside. "One that we can explore if it will bring you closer to the pleasure you seek."

The room grew quiet, the air thick with unspoken understanding. Gretel felt a flicker of hope—perhaps this place could truly offer her what she'd been missing.

"Now, let's discuss your feelings of embarrassment," Dr. Pantos said, his tone shifting to one of professional curiosity. "Your discomfort with nudity is something we'll need to address if you're to fully embrace the treatments."

Gretel nodded, her eyes flicking to the floor. "I don't know," she admitted. "It's just always been something I've kept private."

"Well," Dr. Pantos said, leaning forward, "that's something we're going to change. Here, in this clinic, you're free from judgment. Your body is a canvas for us to explore, to learn from."

Gretel's stomach clenched as she met his gaze. "How?" she asked, her voice a tremor.

"By facing your fears," he replied, his eyes never leaving hers. "By embracing your body and allowing others to appreciate it, you'll learn to appreciate it yourself."

The next part of her treatment was unlike anything she'd ever imagined. She was led to a room that was less clinical and more... theatrical. There was a raised platform in the center, surrounded by a circle of chairs. The walls were lined with mirrors, reflecting everything back at her like a diamond with too many facets. The floor was covered in a plush carpet, a stark contrast to the cold chrome of the exam room.

Her heart raced as the panel filed in—Dr. Clary, Dr. Castellanos, Dr. Leclair, Dr. Hathaway, Sisters Clara and Agnes, Timothy and Marcus, and several other men she didn't recognize. They were all dressed in the same white coats and scrubs, their faces a mix of anticipation and professional detachment.

"Miss Gretel," Dr. Pantos said, gesturing to the platform, "please, assume the position."

Her legs trembled as she climbed onto the platform, feeling the eyes of every man in the room on her. The instructions that followed were explicit, each one designed to strip away another layer of her modesty. She placed her hands on her head, her elbows pointing out like the wings of a bird. She felt the cool air kiss her exposed breasts and the heat of her own blush.

The men began to speak, their voices low and measured. "Your breasts are beautiful," one murmured. "Your hips curve in the most exquisite way." Gretel's cheeks burned, but she didn't dare look up.

"Now, spread your legs," Dr. Pantos instructed. She obeyed, her knees trembling. The men leaned in closer, their eyes raking over her exposed sex. "Your labia are so delicate," another said. "Your clit, so... responsive."

The comments grew more personal, more intimate. "Your asshole looks so tight," a man said, his voice thick with desire. "I'd love to see it stretched."

The words were like a brand, searing through her embarrassment to the core of her arousal. She felt her body betray her, her breath growing shallow, her pussy growing slick.

"Now, bend over," Dr. Pantos said, his voice a command that sent a shiver down her spine. She bent at the waist, her ass in the air. The men's gazes lingered on her, their voices hushed with awe.

"Your ass is so round, so firm," someone whispered. "Your pussy, glistening like a pearl."

The room grew quiet, the only sound the rustle of fabric as the men adjusted their positions. Gretel felt like a creature on display, every inch of her scrutinized and commented on.

"Now, I'd like each of you to take a moment and express one thing you do not find pleasing about Miss Gretel's body," Dr. Pantos said.

The room grew still, the tension palpable. Gretel braced herself for the onslaught of criticism. But what followed was a strange mix of honesty and admiration.

"Your breasts are a bit small," one of the orderlies said, his voice tentative. "But they're perky, which is nice."

"Your stomach isn't completely flat," Dr. Castellanos observed, her voice clinical. "But it has a softness that's quite appealing."

The men took turns, pointing out imperfections that Gretel had always seen as flaws. Yet, there was no malice in their words, only an appreciation for the reality of the female form.

"Your labia are a bit asymmetrical," Dr. Leclair said, his eyes lingering. "But that only makes you more unique."

Each critique was followed by a compliment, a balancing act that left Gretel feeling both humiliated and desired. By the end of the exercise, she found herself more comfortable in her own skin, more accepting of the imperfections she'd always hidden.

"Now, Miss Gretel," Dr. Pantos said, his voice a gentle coax, "can you tell us how that made you feel?"

Gretel took a deep breath, her cheeks still flushed. "It was... strange," she admitted. "But I think I understand now. I've spent so much time worrying about what's wrong with me, but here, you're all looking at me like..."

Her voice trailed off, unable to find the words.

"Like you're perfect," Sister Clara filled in, a hint of warmth in her usually stern tone.

Gretel nodded, feeling a sense of relief wash over her. She looked around the room, meeting the eyes of the men who had just dissected her body. They held her gaze, no judgment, only curiosity and a shared understanding.

"You should feel less nervous about remaining nude in front of us," Dr. Pantos said, his eyes piercing. "We are here to help you, not to judge."

Gretel nodded again, feeling a sense of liberation. "I do," she murmured. "Thank you."

The psychiatrist nodded, his expression solemn. "Good. That's progress."