The porcelain was cold, a stark contrast to the heat blooming in Jillian Benson’s cheeks. At nineteen, Jillian moved through the world like a creature made of fine lace and quiet whispers. To her, the human body was a private, mysterious thing—something to be covered in modest fabrics and spoken of only in the most clinical, detached terms. But today, her body was a heavy, stubborn traitor.

She sat in the dim light of her bathroom, her knuckles white as she gripped the edge of the counter. There was a pressure, a terrifyingly solid weight low in her abdomen that made every breath feel shallow. She wanted to push, to end the dull ache that had been building for days, but her own prudishness acted like a physical barrier. The very idea of forcing something so private, of acknowledging the mechanics of her own anatomy, felt like a violation of her own soul.

"It will pass," she whispered to the empty room, her voice trembling. "It’s just… a slow day."

But as she stood up, the sheer weight of the impaction made her dizzy. She caught her reflection in the mirror: a dainty, slim silhouette with curves that she often tried to hide under oversized sweaters. Today, she looked pale, her wide eyes filled with a primal sort of dread. She had her yearly exam at the Medical Center in an hour, and the thought of anyone—especially a doctor—getting close to her "problem" made her stomach do somersaults.

The lobby of the clinic smelled of antiseptic and expensive floor wax. Jillian sat on the edge of the vinyl chair, her knees pressed tightly together. When the door opened and a tall, striking woman in a designer lab coat stepped out, Jillian felt her heart hammer against her ribs.

"Jillian Benson?"

Dr. Miri Lewis. Miri was a vision of silver-haired elegance, a woman in her mid-sixties who carried herself with the confidence of a queen and the warmth of a mother. Her lab coat was impeccably white, and she smelled of expensive Chanel No. 5.

"Right this way, darling," Miri said, her voice a smooth, low purr.

In the exam room, the air felt thin. Miri leaned against the counter, watching Jillian with a gaze that seemed to see right through the girl’s modest floral dress. Jillian moved with the frantic energy of a trapped bird. She shed her blouse, her skirt, and finally—with a sob of pure mortification—her lace-trimmed undergarments. She felt utterly exposed, her slim, curvaceous figure shivering in the air-conditioned chill. There was no gown, just truth that was unspoken. "Where's the gown?" Jillian asked. Miri shook her head, that predatory smirk over her face.

Miri pulled the curtain back. She didn't look away; instead, she guided Jillian into position with firm, cool hands. "Lace and modesty are fine for the street, Jillian, but here, we deal with the truth."

She walked over and placed a hand on Jillian’s shoulder. "You look a bit peaked. Are we feeling alright?"

"I'm fine," Jillian lied instantly, her voice trembling. "Just... just nervous."

"Any trouble with your movements? Going to the restroom regularly?" Miri asked, her eyes searching Jillian’s face.

"Oh, yes! Every day. Multiple times!" Jillian’s lie was desperate.

Miri hummed, a knowing sound. "Well, let’s have a look, shall we? Lay on the table, honey. On your side, knees to your chest." The sharp snap of latex sounded as Miri felt her hands through the fingers of the glove. She snapped it again to adjust the collar of the wrist before she clicked over to the back of Jillian. With a resounding squelch of lubricant that sent a cold shiver through Jillian's spine, Miri caught the rosebud with the cool gel and slid her finger in without warning.

"Oh, my," Miri murmured, her voice losing its seductive playfulness for a moment of clinical concern. "Jillian, honey... why did you lie to me?"

"I... I didn't..." Jillian sobbed.

"Darling, you are crowning," Miri said gently. "The stool is right there, completely impacted. It’s no wonder you’re in pain. You’re backed up quite severely."

Jillian wanted the floor to open up and swallow her. "Please," she whispered. "I'll go home. I'll try harder."

"I'm afraid it's past that, Jillian," Miri said, her voice assertive now, though still filled with that unbearable kindness. "If we don't clear this manually, you could end up in surgery. I'll get the boys. We’re going to have to perform a manual disimpaction."

The walls of the examination room seemed to shrink, the stark white tiles turning into a blur of clinical indifference as Jillian’s world collapsed. She felt the cool air of the vent hitting her exposed skin—skin she usually kept veiled under layers of cotton and wool. To be naked was a nightmare; to be naked and failing in such a base, physical way was a soul-crushing agony.

"No," Jillian gasped, her voice cracking as she clutched the edges of the paper-covered table. "Please, Dr. Lewis. Not 'the boys.' Please! I’ll do anything. I’ll take medicine, I’ll drink a gallon of water... just please don’t let anyone else in here. Not like this."

Miri stepped around to the side of the table, her presence commanding and fragrant. She placed a hand on Jillian’s trembling hip, her touch firm—the touch of a woman who was used to getting exactly what she wanted. "Now, now, Jillian. Don't be a silly girl. You’re far beyond the point of a simple laxative. That little rosebud of yours is under immense strain, and if we don't assist you, you're going to tear. You wouldn't want that, would you?"

"I'll... I'll do it myself!" Jillian pleaded, a sob racking her dainty frame. The curves she usually hid were on full display, her hips flaring out from her slim waist, a silhouette that would have been beautiful if it weren't for the horrific circumstances. "I can go home and try..."

"You’ve been 'trying' for days, darling, and all you’ve done is lie to me," Miri said, her tone shifting into a seductive, motherly authority. She reached over and pressed a button on the wall intercom. "Gavin, Axel? Room four. We have a severe impaction that needs immediate manual intervention. Bring the heavy-duty lubricant and the basin."

Jillian let out a low, mournful wail, burying her face in her hands. Her heart was a frantic bird against her ribs. Gavin. Dr. Gavin Warner was the man she had spent months dreaming about—the man with the steady hands and the kind, chocolate-brown eyes. She had imagined him seeing her in a pretty dress, perhaps at a coffee shop. Not like this. Never like this.

The door clicked open.

Jillian’s eyes flew open, filled with a primal, wide-eyed terror. Walking in first was Axel Cryer, the resident. He was tall, with a messy shock of hair and a smirk that suggested he knew exactly how much fun he was going to have with this situation. Behind him was Gavin. He looked professional, his blue scrubs crisp, his face set in a mask of calm, clinical focus.

"Well, well," Axel chirped, his eyes sweeping over Jillian’s exposed, trembling form. He didn't look away; instead, he seemed to take in every curve of her pale, shivering body. "Looks like our little flower is a bit plugged up, huh?"

"Axel, keep it professional," Gavin said softly, though his eyes lingered for a split second on Jillian’s mortified face. He walked to the side of the table. "Jillian. I’m sorry we have to meet under these circumstances. But Dr. Lewis is right. You’re in a dangerous position."

"Gavin, please," Jillian whispered, her face turning a shade of crimson so deep it looked painful. "Don't look. Please go away. I’m so embarrassed... I want to die."

"There’s no room for death in my clinic, honey," Miri purred, stepping back to let the men take their positions. "Only relief. Axel, take the left cheek. Gavin, you’re on extraction duty. Let’s get this poor girl some room to breathe."

The sound of the first latex glove snapping against a wrist echoed like a gunshot in the quiet room. Snap. Then another. Snap. Jillian flinched at each one. She felt Axel move to the foot of the table.

"Alright, Jillian," Axel said, his voice a mix of a smart-aleck grin and clinical instruction. "I’m going to need you to relax. Hard to do, I know, when I’m about to give the world a front-row seat to your business, but the tighter you squeeze, the longer this takes."

Before Jillian could even protest, she felt Axel’s hands—warm and strong—grasp her buttocks. With a firm, unapologetic motion, he pulled her cheeks wide apart. The exposure was absolute. Jillian felt the cool air hit the very center of her shame, the place she had spent nineteen years pretending didn't exist.

"Oh, wow," Axel muttered, leaning in. "She wasn't kidding, Gavin. She's practically crowning a brick. You’re going to have to really dig for this one."

Jillian let out a strangled cry, her eyes snapping shut. "Please! Stop! It’s too much!"

"Shh, Jillian," Gavin said, his voice dropping into that assertive, gentle register that usually made her melt, but now only made her want to vanish. "I need you to take a deep breath for me. I’m going to apply the lubricant now."

Jillian heard the heavy thwack of a large tube being squeezed. Then came the sound—a wet, thick squelch as a massive glob of clear, surgical lubricant was dolloped onto Gavin’s gloved fingers. The sound alone was enough to make Jillian feel like she was losing her mind. It was so visceral, so undeniable.

She felt the slick, cold slide of the gel against her skin. Gavin wasn't being tentative; he was being thorough. He spread the lubricant around the taut, strained opening of her anatomy, his fingers moving with a practiced, clinical rhythm that felt horrifyingly intimate.

"It’s very tight, Miri," Gavin reported, his voice steady. "She’s been holding this in out of sheer willpower. The muscle is exhausted."

"That’s why you’re here, Gavin," Miri said, standing by Jillian’s head, stroking her hair with a predatory sort of comfort. "Break her down. Open her up."

"No, no, no," Jillian sobbed, her fingers digging into the vinyl of the table.

"Going in," Gavin announced.

Jillian felt the pressure first—a blunt, inescapable force pushing against her. Then, the slide. She felt his gloved finger slip past the threshold, entering the most private part of her being. The sensation was overwhelming; it was a fullness that bordered on agony, a violation of every modest instinct she possessed.

Squelch. Slide. Squish.

The sounds of the lubricant working were amplified in her ears. She could hear the friction of the latex against her internal walls. Gavin’s hand moved deeper, his knuckles pressing against her exterior as he reached the impaction.

"I’ve got the first one," Gavin said. "It’s as hard as stone, Jillian. I’m going to have to break it up."

Jillian's breath hitched. She felt him hook his finger, a sharp, internal tug that made her hips jerk.

"Steady, girl," Axel said, his grip on her cheeks tightening. "Don't buck on us now. We’re just getting started. You’ve got a whole coal mine up here."

Gavin began the extraction. It was a slow, methodical process of "hook and pull." Jillian felt the passage stretching, the agonizing sensation of the impacted feces being dragged downward. Then came the sound—a wet, heavy plop as the first piece hit the metal basin Axel was holding underneath her.

Plop.

Jillian’s sob was one of pure, unadulterated humiliation. "I'm so sorry... I'm so sorry..."

"Don't apologize for being human, darling," Miri whispered in her ear, her breath smelling of mint and expensive wine. "Look at how much better you'll feel. Gavin is doing such a wonderful job. He’s so deep inside you, isn't he? Clearing out all those nasty secrets you tried to keep from us."

Gavin didn't stop. He went back in, the squelch of the lube even louder now. His hand was a constant, rhythmic intrusion. He was pulling out pieces by the dozen now—small, hard, dark stones of waste that had been poisoning her system.

Plop. Plop. Squish. Plop.

"You're doing great, Jillian," Gavin said, his voice assertive. "I can feel the blockage starting to shift. There’s a lot more behind this. Axel, get a fresh basin ready. This is going to be a long afternoon."

"You got it, Doc," Axel said, his eyes dancing with a mix of amusement and professional interest. "Man, Jillian, for such a dainty girl, you sure are full of it. I bet you feel like a new woman with every inch Gavin clears out."

Jillian couldn't even find the words to insult him. She was a broken thing, splayed out between her crush and a smart-aleck, while a seductive matriarch watched over the whole scene. She felt every movement of Gavin’s hand, the way he had to stretch her to get the larger pieces out, the way the lubricant made everything slide with a sickeningly wet ease.

"I can't... I can't do this anymore," Jillian moaned, her head rolling on the table.

"Yes, you can," Miri said, her voice turning firm. "We aren't stopping until you're empty, Jillian. Not until every bit of that filth is out of your beautiful body. Gavin, don't be shy. Get in there. Reach as far as you need to."

Gavin nodded, his jaw set. He used his other hand to press down on Jillian’s lower abdomen, pushing the impaction toward his waiting fingers. The dual pressure—from above and below—was almost too much to bear. Jillian felt like a tube of toothpaste being squeezed.

"There we go," Gavin muttered. "This is the main mass. Big breath, Jillian. Push against me just a little."

"No!"

"Do it, Jillian," Miri commanded. "Push for Gavin. Show him how much you've been hiding."

Driven by a mix of pain and the strange, hypnotic power of Miri’s voice, Jillian gave a small, desperate push.

The sound was unmistakable. A massive, wet schlop as a large, continuous section of the impaction finally gave way under Gavin’s guidance. It slid out of her, a heavy, dragging sensation that left her feeling hollow and violated, followed by the resounding thud of it hitting the basin.

Jillian collapsed into the table, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She felt the warmth of tears streaming down her face, mixing with the sweat on her brow.

"There," Gavin said, his voice softening. He slowly withdrew his hand. The sound of the latex exiting her body was a final, wet pop. "That’s the worst of it. The rest should be able to pass with a simple enema now that the 'plug' is gone."

Axel let go of her cheeks, though he stayed close, looking down at the basin with a whistle. "Impressive work, Gavin. Jillian, you really outdid yourself. That was a record-breaker for sure."

Jillian tried to pull her legs together, but she was too weak, her muscles trembling from the strain and the shock. She felt utterly ruined. Gavin stood over her, his gloves covered in the evidence of her "problem," his expression one of calm, professional satisfaction.

Miri leaned down and kissed Jillian’s forehead. "See? That wasn't so bad, was it? You’re empty now, darling. Or at least, empty enough for the next stage. Axel, take that away. Gavin, stay with her. I think she needs a moment to process her... liberation."

As Miri and Axel moved away, Gavin reached for a warm cloth. He began to wipe the excess lubricant and filth from her skin with a tenderness that was almost more painful than the procedure itself.

"I'm so sorry you saw me like this," Jillian whispered, her eyes fixed on the wall.

Gavin paused, his hand resting gently on her hip. "Jillian, I'm a doctor. I've seen everything. But I have to admit... I've never seen anyone handle something that difficult with as much grace as you just did. Even if you did try to lie to us."

Jillian closed her eyes. The humiliation was still there, a burning ember in her chest, but beneath it was a strange, terrifying sense of relief. The pressure was gone. The secret was out.

"We're not done yet, though," Gavin said, his voice regaining that assertive edge. "We still need to do the flush to make sure you're completely clear. But I'll stay right here. I've already seen your most private self, Jillian. There’s nothing left to be afraid of."

The relief Jillian felt was short-lived, a mere heartbeat of stillness before the clinical machinery of the room hummed back to life. She lay there, shivering and hollow, the scent of Chanel No. 5 and antiseptic swirling around her like a thick fog.

"You did so well for the boys, darling," Miri purred, her hand trailing down Jillian’s spine, a touch that felt both comforting and terrifyingly possessive. "But as Gavin said, we aren’t quite finished. That manual work only cleared the gate. Now, we need to scrub the halls."

Jillian’s eyes widened, her pale skin flushing again. "The... the flush? Please, can't I just take a pill at home? I'll be so good, I promise."

"No more lies, Jillian," Gavin said, his voice dropping into a stern, assertive register. He was already snapping on a fresh pair of gloves—that rhythmic thwack of latex against skin sending a fresh jolt of adrenaline through her. "You lied to us about your health, and you put your body at risk. Because you weren't honest, we have to be thorough. Very, very thorough."

"Axel, help our little flower into position," Miri commanded.

Axel stepped forward with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "You heard the boss. Up you get, Jillian. On your hands and knees. Head down, bottom up. Let’s make it easy for Gavin to see what he’s doing."

"No, please!" Jillian sobbed, her voice muffled by the paper lining the table as Axel firmly guided her. He was surprisingly strong, his hands unyielding as he forced her into a submissive, all-fours position.

Her slim, curvaceous figure was now completely arched, her heavy, rounded hips thrust into the air. She felt like an animal, stripped of her lace and her dignity, her most private anatomy centered under the harsh, buzzing surgical lights.

"Look at her," Axel remarked, his voice a playful drawl as he stood behind her. "So modest on the outside, but look at how much she can actually take. She’s built for this, isn't she, Doc?"

Gavin didn't answer with words. Instead, Jillian heard the heavy thunk of a gallon-sized enema bag being hung on the IV pole. Then came the sound of the nozzle being prepped—the thick, viscous squelch of surgical lubricant.

"I'm using a lot of lube, Jillian," Gavin said, his voice coming from directly behind her. She could feel his breath on her skin. "This nozzle is thick, and since you’re already so irritated and stretched from the impaction, I want it to slide in... but it’s going to be a very full sensation."

"Please, Gavin, no," she wailed, her forehead pressed against the cold vinyl.

She felt it then—the cold, slick tip of the large nozzle pressing against her opening. It was much larger than his finger had been.

"Open up," Gavin commanded.

With a slow, relentless pressure, he pushed. Jillian let out a high-pitched cry as the nozzle breached her, the plastic stretching her sensitive tissues to their absolute limit. It felt like she was being filled with a solid rod.

"There we go," Gavin murmured. He turned the valve.

The sensation was immediate and horrifying. A rush of warm, soapy water began to flood into her. It wasn't just a trickle; it was a torrent. Jillian felt her lower abdomen begin to bloat, the liquid searching out every hidden corner of her intestines, heavy and cramping.

"It hurts! It’s too much! Stop it, please!" she screamed, her hips beginning to shake.

"Hold still!" Axel barked, placing his heavy hands on her lower back to pin her down. "This is the price for lying, Jillian. You wanted to keep it all inside? Well, now you're going to keep this in until Dr. Lewis says you're allowed to let go."

"I can't... I’m going to burst!"

Miri walked around to the front, leaning down so her face was inches from Jillian’s tear-streaked one. "You’ll hold it, darling. You’ll hold every drop. It’s a lesson in honesty. If you can’t tell the truth, we have to force the truth out of you."

The bag emptied, but the pressure didn't stop. Jillian was gasping, her stomach distended and hard as a drum. She felt the desperate, primal urge to purge, her muscles convulsing against the nozzle.

"She’s fighting it," Gavin observed coolly. "She’s going to try to leak. We need the plug."

Jillian’s heart stopped. "The... the what?"

She heard a drawer open. Clink. The sound of heavy medical grade silicone hitting a metal tray.

"This," Gavin said, held up a massive, flared anal plug. It was thick, shaped like a teardrop, designed to create a perfect, inescapable seal. He began to coat it in so much lubricant that it made a wet, slurping sound in his hands. "This is going to stay in for twenty minutes. You are going to hold that soapy solution until it breaks down every last bit of waste."

"No! It’s too big! You'll break me!" Jillian shrieked, her modesty forgotten in the face of pure physical terror.

"Hush, little bird," Miri whispered, stroking Jillian’s burning cheek. "It’s only as big as the secrets you kept. Take it, Jillian."

Gavin pulled the nozzle out with a wet pop, and before Jillian could even exhale in relief, he replaced it with the head of the plug.

The stretch was unlike anything she had ever felt. It was an agonizing, wide sensation that felt like she was being split open. She wailed, a long, guttural sound of pain as Gavin used his palm to drive the widest part of the plug through her sphincter.

Squelch. Schlop.

The plug seated itself with a firm, final thud against her skin. The seal was perfect. The soapy water was trapped, churning inside her, while the plug kept her anatomy stretched to an extreme, punishing diameter.

"There," Gavin said, stepping back and stripping off his soiled gloves. Snap. "Twenty minutes, Jillian. If you move, if you try to push it out, Axel will hold you down and we’ll start the whole process over. Do you understand?"

Jillian couldn't speak. She could only sob, her body trembling on all fours, her bottom burning and stretched, her stomach cramped with the weight of the water. She felt utterly exposed, utterly conquered by the three doctors.

"She looks so pretty like this, doesn't she?" Axel mocked, leaning against the counter and checking his watch. "All that lace and 'I'm so shy' talk, and here she is, plugged up like a bottle of wine. I think the silence suits her."

Miri smiled, a predatory, beautiful expression. "She’s learning, Axel. She’s learning that in this room, there is no such thing as a secret."

Jillian stayed there, the minutes ticking by like hours, the heat of her shame radiating off her naked body, while the two men she admired and the woman she feared watched her every shudder.

The twenty-minute timer on the wall hummed with a low, mechanical buzz—the only sound in the room besides Jillian’s frantic, shallow breathing. She was still on all fours, her slim arms shaking with the effort of supporting her weight, her curvaceous hips trembling as she fought the internal war against the soapy flood and the massive, stretching presence of the plug.

"She’s losing her focus, Gavin," Miri noted, her voice a silky, dangerous purr. She leaned against the exam table, her designer lab coat shifting to reveal a glimpse of her own formidable presence. "Look at those muscles twitching. I think our little liar needs a reminder of who is in control of her body right now."

Gavin stepped forward, his expression firm and clinical. "You're right, Miri. She hasn't quite learned the gravity of her deception yet."

Without warning, Gavin’s large, heavy hand swung through the air.

CRACK.

The sound of his palm meeting Jillian’s pale, stretched-out bottom echoed like a whip-crack. The skin, already flushed from the procedure, instantly flared a bright, angry crimson. Jillian let out a high-pitched shriek, her back arching as the shock of the blow rippled through her.

"That’s for the first day you lied to us, Jillian," Gavin said sternly.

CRACK.

Axel joined in from the other side, his strike swifter and stinging. "And that’s for the second day."

The room became a rhythmic cacophony of stinging slaps. Crack, slap, thud. Jillian wailed, her head tossing from side to side, her dainty frame jolting with every blow. The physical sting was intense, but the psychological weight of being spanked by her crush and his arrogant colleague while Miri watched with that predatory smirk was almost more than her prudish mind could handle.

"Please! Oh, please, stop! I'll be good!" Jillian sobbed, the soapy water churning violently inside her as her muscles spasmed.

"Consistency, Jillian. That’s what we value here," Miri said, her voice dripping with mock sympathy. She reached out and gave a sharp, stinging slap to the center of Jillian’s hip. "If you can’t be consistent with the truth, we’ll be consistent with the discipline."

After several minutes of the relentless barrage, Jillian’s bottom was a vibrant, pulsing red, the heat of the spanking radiating against the cold air of the clinic.

"Time is up," Gavin announced, checking the clock. He reached down, his gloved fingers finding the base of the massive plug. "Now, Jillian, listen very carefully. You are going to release this impaction and the water into the basin Axel is holding. If so much as a single drop of this filth touches my floor, there will be consequences far beyond a simple spanking. Do you understand?"

"I... I understand," Jillian whimpered, her voice broken.

Axel slid the metal basin directly beneath her, the cold rim brushing against her inner thighs. "Don't miss, sweetheart. I just had these floors waxed."

Gavin gripped the handle of the plug. With a sudden, wet SCHLOP, he yanked it out.

The relief was a violent, tidal wave. Jillian’s body betrayed her instantly. The pressure of the gallons of soapy water and the remaining liquid waste was too great for her exhausted muscles to contain. She tried to aim, tried to hold back enough to be neat, but as the first torrent hit the metal basin with a deafening CLANG, the sheer force of the release caused her to jerk.

A spray of soapy, brown-tinged water splashed over the side of the basin, painting a dark, messy streak across the pristine white floor tiles.

The room went deathly silent.

Jillian gasped, looking down in horror at the mess. "I... I didn't mean... it was too much..."

Miri’s face hardened, her seductive warmth replaced by a cold, clinical iron. "Gavin. Axel. It seems Miss Benson hasn't learned the value of precision. Or respect."

"I told you the floor was clean, Jillian," Axel said, his voice losing its playful edge. "Now you’ve made extra work for everyone."

"To the surgical bed," Gavin commanded, his voice like flint. "Now."

Jillian tried to scramble away, but they were on her instantly. They didn't just guide her this time; they handled her like a piece of equipment. She was hauled off the exam table and carried into the adjacent room, where a heavy, stainless-steel surgical bed stood under a massive halo of LED lights.

"No! Please! I'm sorry! I'll clean it up with my own hands!" she begged, but her cries fell on deaf ears.

They forced her onto the bed on all fours. This time, there were restraints. Thick, padded leather straps were cinched around her wrists and ankles, spread wide and bolted to the frame. She was held in a permanent, exaggerated arch, her bottom thrust high into the air, her face pressed into a padded headrest that smelled of lavender and fear.

"Since you can’t control your anatomy, we will control it for you," Miri said, standing at the head of the bed, her fingers interlaced.

Gavin approached with a device that made Jillian’s blood run cold. It was a mechanical cheek spreader—a series of metal arms designed to be inserted and then cranked open.

"We need a clear view for the deep probe," Gavin explained, his tone devoid of his earlier softness. "We need to ensure there is zero residual impaction near the sigmoid colon."

He applied a massive amount of thick, clear lubricant to the device. The squelch-squelch sound was rhythmic and terrifying. He stepped between her spread legs. Jillian felt the cold metal touch her, and then the intrusion.

Crank. Crank. Crank.

Jillian shrieked as the mechanical arms began to spread. It wasn't just a stretch; it was a total, forced dilation. Her anatomy was pulled wider than she ever thought possible, leaving her feeling utterly hollowed out and displayed. The light from the surgical halo shone directly into her, illuminating every inch of her internal shame.

"Now, the proctoscope," Miri ordered.

Axel handed Gavin a long, clear tube. It was thick, at least two inches in diameter. Gavin didn't hesitate. He drove the proctoscope through the metal spreaders, the plastic sliding against her with a sickeningly wet slurp.

"It’s... it’s too big!" Jillian wailed, her voice echoing in the sterile room. "Please, Gavin! Stop!"

"I'm not finished," Gavin said. He picked up the "probe"—a heavy, vibrating medical device used for deep-tissue stimulation and breaking up high-level blockages. It was a solid, uncompromising cylinder.

He smothered the probe in a fresh layer of gel. The sound was a wet, heavy squish as he prepared the instrument.

"Hold her steady, Axel," Gavin muttered.

Axel leaned his weight onto Jillian’s lower back, his hands gripping the handles of the surgical bed to keep her pinned. "Don't move, Jillian. If you fight the probe, the metal spreaders will bite into you."

Gavin inserted the probe into the proctoscope. Because the scope was already stretching her, the addition of the thick probe felt like being filled with solid lead. It moved deeper and deeper, bypassng the areas they had already cleared, pushing into the sensitive, untouched depths of her colon.

Squelch. Slide. Thud.

Jillian’s eyes rolled back in her head as the probe hit the deepest point. She felt a sensation of absolute, overwhelming fullness—a pressure so intense it felt like her body was being rewritten from the inside out.

"The vibration, Axel," Miri prompted.

Gavin clicked a switch on the base of the probe. A low, powerful hum began to vibrate through Jillian’s entire pelvic floor. It wasn't pleasant; it was a deep, rattling sensation that shook her bones and sent waves of cramping through her abdomen.

"We’re going to leave this in place while we run the final diagnostic," Miri said, walking around to look Jillian in the eye. "Every time you feel that vibration, I want you to remember the mess you made on my floor. Every time you feel the stretch of those metal arms, remember the lies you told me."

Jillian lay there, a dainty girl of nineteen, stripped, bound, and mechanically displayed. The two men she had once thought of with romantic curiosity were now her clinical masters, and Miri was the architect of her total submission.

The hum of the deep-tissue probe was a constant, bone-shaking vibration that seemed to vibrate Jillian’s very soul. She was suspended in a state of absolute, clinical vulnerability, her curvaceous hips locked into the air by the leather restraints, the metal cheek-spreaders holding her open in a way that felt like a permanent violation of her privacy.

Miri stood at a monitor, her silver hair shimmering under the surgical LEDs. She adjusted a dial, her eyes tracking the internal imaging provided by the proctoscope. "The vibration is loosening the upper mucosal lining, Gavin, but I see a stubborn pocket of gas and residual matter tucked behind the rectal shelf. The probe isn't angled right to reach it."

Gavin nodded, his face a mask of stern, professional concentration. He looked over at Axel, who was leaning against the wall, snapping a fresh pair of heavy-duty, extra-long latex gloves onto his hands. Snap. Snap.

"Axel," Gavin said, his voice dropping into a low, commanding tone. "The mechanical instruments aren't providing the tactile feedback we need for that pocket. I need you to perform a manual deep-tissue manipulation. Get in there and clear that shelf."

Jillian’s head whipped around as much as the padded headrest would allow, her wide, tear-filled eyes fixated on Axel. "No... no, please," she whimpered, her voice a thin thread of desperation. "Not a hand. Gavin, please, you said the probe was the last thing! I can't take any more stretching!"

Axel didn't say a word at first. He simply walked to the counter and picked up a large tub of medical-grade lubricant. The sound of him plunging his gloved hand into the gel was a wet, heavy thwack-squelch that made Jillian’s stomach turn. He began to coat his entire right hand and forearm, the clear slime dripping onto the tray with a rhythmic splat.

"Mercy is for patients who tell the truth, Jillian," Axel said, his smart-aleck grin replaced by a look of intense, clinical focus. "Right now, you’re just a project that needs finishing."

"Position yourself, Axel," Miri commanded, her voice a seductive purr of authority. "Jillian, be a good girl and relax those muscles. If you fight him, you’ll only make the stretch more permanent."

Axel stepped between Jillian’s restrained legs. The light caught the slick, shimmering surface of his lubricated fist. He reached out and clicked the release on the proctoscope, sliding the clear tube and the vibrating probe out of her with a long, wet SCHLOP.

Jillian let out a gasp of momentary relief, but it was instantly replaced by a fresh wave of terror. Without the tube, the metal cheek-spreaders were the only thing keeping her open, revealing the raw, pulsing depth of her anatomy.

"Here we go," Axel muttered.

He didn't start with a finger. He gathered his fingers into a tight, pointed cone and pressed them against the opening. Jillian’s breath hitched. "Please! Axel, wait—"

He didn't wait. With a slow, relentless surge of power, he pushed.

The sensation was unlike anything Jillian had ever experienced. It wasn't the cold, sterile feeling of a tool; it was the heat and mass of a human hand. She felt her sphincter stretch past the breaking point, the knuckles of Axel’s hand forcing their way into her narrow passage.

"Ah! Oh, God! Stop! It’s too big!" she wailed, her body bucking against the leather straps.

"Steady," Gavin barked, moving to the side of the bed to pin her hips down. "Don't let her shift, Axel. Drive it home."

Axel leaned his weight into the movement. With a sickeningly wet squish-thud, his entire fist slid past the threshold. Jillian’s scream was guttural, a primal sound of a woman being completely overtaken. Her slim waist looked even smaller in comparison to the massive intrusion at her hips.

"I'm in," Axel reported, his voice tight with effort. "Man, she’s tight. It’s like a vice in here."

"Go deeper," Miri directed, her eyes fixed on the internal monitor. "You need to reach past the second bend. Fold your hand and massage the wall."

Jillian’s moans turned into a rhythmic, sobbing chant. "Please... please mercy... I’m sorry I lied... I'll never lie again... just take it out..."

Axel ignored her pleas. He began to move his hand deeper, his forearm disappearing into her inch by inch. The sound was a constant, wet squelch-slurp of the lubricant working against her internal walls. He began to rotate his fist, his knuckles grinding against the sensitive, hidden tissues of her colon to break up the "pocket" Miri had seen.

"Oh, I see what you mean, Miri," Axel said, his breath hitching as he worked. "There’s a massive amount of tension here. It’s like she’s trying to swallow my whole arm."

"Work it out, Axel," Gavin said, reaching down to stroke Jillian’s burning, sweat-slicked thigh. It was a gesture that was half-comforting, half-possessive. "You're doing so well, Jillian. Just a little more. Let Axel clear out the last of your pride."

The feeling of a fist moving inside her was an agonizing, overwhelming fullness. Jillian felt like her entire lower body was being rearranged. Every time Axel rotated his wrist or pushed deeper, she felt a fresh wave of cramping and a sharp, stretching heat.

"I can't... I’m breaking..." she sobbed, her head rolling against the headrest.

"You aren't breaking, darling," Miri whispered, walking to the foot of the bed to watch Axel’s hand vanish into Jillian’s curvaceous frame. "You’re being perfected. Look at how much you can hold when you stop pretending to be a porcelain doll."

Axel gave one final, deep thrust, his hand reaching the very limit of her capacity. He found the pocket of gas and matter and began to knead it, his fingers moving inside her like a heavy, rhythmic pulse.

"Got it," he grunted.

The release was internal—a sudden, hot shift of pressure that made Jillian gasp. Axel began the slow, agonizing process of withdrawing. If the entry was a surge, the exit was a crawl. He dragged his fist back through the narrow passage, the friction and suction creating a series of loud, wet pops and squelches.

When his hand finally exited with a final, massive SCHLOP, Jillian collapsed into the restraints, her body limp and spent. She was a ruin of sweat, tears, and surgical lubricant, her anatomy left wide and pulsing in the wake of the intrusion.

"Diagnostic complete," Miri announced with a satisfied smile. "She’s finally, truly empty."

Axel stripped off the heavily soiled glove, his arm glistening with the evidence of the procedure. He looked down at the shivering, broken girl on the bed and smirked. "Told you I'd get it all out, Jillian. You just had to be forced to be honest."

The surgical theater remained heavy with the scent of latex and the thick, floral musk of Miri’s perfume, a cloying contrast to the clinical reality of the room. Jillian lay paralyzed in her restraints, her body a map of tremors. The metal cheek-spreaders were still cranked wide, keeping her narrow, curvaceous hips locked in a state of permanent, agonizing invitation.

Miri walked around the bed, her heels clicking rhythmically on the tile. She stopped at the edge of the floor where the spilled soapy water had dried into a dull, tacky film. She sighed, a sound of disappointment that cut through Jillian more sharply than any blade.

"You know, Gavin, Axel," Miri said, her voice smooth as velvet, "I find that even after a deep cleansing, the mind often retains the urge to be stubborn. Jillian has been emptied, yes. She has been examined, yes. But she hasn't quite learned how to carry herself as a woman who belongs to this clinic."

Gavin looked up from the sink where he was scrubbing his forearms. He dried his hands and walked toward the supply cabinet, his eyes fixed on Jillian’s flushed, tear-stained face. "She’s still too reactive," he agreed, his voice assertive. "Her body still tries to fight the inevitable. We need a way to ensure she remains 'open' to our instructions, even when we aren't actively working on her."

"A permanent reminder of her station," Axel added, leaning against the bed frame and looking down at Jillian’s exposed form with a playful, yet chilling, smirk.

Jillian’s eyes went wide, her voice a mere croak. "Please... no more. I’m empty... I’m good now. I’ll be so good..."

"Oh, darling," Miri whispered, leaning down to stroke Jillian’s damp hair. "We know you'll try. But we’re going to help you stay that way. We’ve decided on a final stabilization. Think of it as a clinical cork for a very leaky, very dishonest little bottle."

Gavin returned from the cabinet holding a heavy, stainless steel case. He set it on the tray and flipped the latches. Inside sat a device that looked more like a piece of industrial machinery than a medical tool. It was an Inflatable Hydraulic Speculum-Plug, a specialized instrument designed for long-term dilation therapy. The core was a thick, textured obsidian-colored shaft, but it was rigged with a series of expanding internal rings and a heavy, weighted base.

"This," Gavin announced, "is the 'Truth-Bearer.' It’s designed to stay in place for the next four hours while you’re in recovery. It will expand to the exact diameter of the proctoscope, ensuring your muscles don't try to hide anything from us again today."

"And the best part?" Axel chimed in, picking up a large, industrial-sized tub of thick, blue-tinted lubricant. "It’s weighted. Every time you try to shift or squeeze, the weight will pull, reminding you exactly what happens to girls who lie to their doctors."

Jillian began to wail, her dainty frame straining against the leather straps. "No! I can't hold that! It’ll stretch me forever! Gavin, please, not that!"

"Hold her, Axel," Gavin commanded.

Axel moved to the foot of the bed, his strong hands grasping Jillian’s thighs and pinning them against the restraints. "Open wide for the doctors, Jillian. Last one of the day, I promise. Unless you make a mess again."

Gavin scooped a massive, wet glob of the blue lubricant into his palm. The squelch was louder this time, a thick, heavy sound as he slathered the Truth-Bearer until it was glistening and dripping. He stepped into the "V" of her legs.

"Deep breath, Jillian. This is going to be the most 'honest' you’ve ever felt."

He pressed the head of the device against her raw, pulsing opening. The metal cheek-spreaders were still in place, so there was no barrier—just the immediate, overwhelming intrusion of the cold, heavy shaft.

Jillian’s scream was muffled by the headrest as Gavin drove the device home. It was thicker than the fist, more uncompromising than the probe. She felt her internal walls being forced back, the textured surface of the plug grinding against her as it slid deeper and deeper.

Squelch. Slide. THUD.

The weighted base hit her skin with a finality that made her entire body go limp. But Gavin wasn't finished. He reached for a small hand-pump attached to a tube at the base of the plug.

"Expanding the rings now," he said.

Puff. Puff. Puff.

With every squeeze of the pump, Jillian felt the device inside her grow. It wasn't just a fullness; it was a mechanical, outward pressure that felt like it was trying to reshape her pelvis. She felt herself being stretched to the absolute limit of her curvaceous frame, her anatomy forced into a perfect, unyielding circle around the cold metal.

"Look at that," Miri murmured, stepping in to inspect the work. She reached out and flicked the weighted base of the plug. The device swayed, and Jillian let out a choked sob as the weight pulled on her internal tissues. "She’s perfectly displayed. A true masterpiece of clinical honesty."

"Now for the final humiliation," Gavin said. He took a long, thin lace ribbon—ironically similar to the lace Jillian loved to wear—and tied it from the base of the plug to a hook on the surgical bed, tensioning it so that Jillian had to keep her back arched and her bottom thrust out just to keep the weight from dragging.

"You will stay like this, Jillian," Miri said, her voice firm and motherly. "In this room, under these lights, with the door open just a crack so the passing nurses can see the result of a patient who tries to lie to Dr. Lewis."

"I'm... I'm so sorry," Jillian whispered, her spirit finally, completely broken.

"We know you are, honey," Axel said, patting her hip one last time. "And by the time we take that out, you'll be the most honest girl in the city."

The three doctors turned and walked toward the door, their shadows stretching long across the floor. Gavin paused at the light switch.

"Sleep if you can, Jillian," he said, his voice regaining a hint of that kind, gentle tone that she had once found so charming. "But don't try to squeeze. The Truth-Bearer doesn't like it when you fight back."

The lights dimmed to a low, clinical blue, leaving Jillian alone in the silence. She was a writer who had lost her story, a prudish girl who had lost her privacy, and a patient who had finally, through the most humiliating means possible, been cured of her secrets.

She lay there, the weight of the plug a constant, heavy reminder of her vulnerability, waiting for the hours to pass, knowing that when she finally left this room, she would never look at a doctor—or herself—the same way again.