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The clipboard’s edge was cool against my thigh as I leaned against the observation glass. Through the one-way mirror, Sarah was already on the table, naked, her feet in the stirrups like a sacrifice laid out for my approval. The new shave job had left her skin pink and raw, the light above catching every goosebump that rippled across her thighs.

She was early. Twenty minutes early. Which meant she was eager. Which meant she was desperate. Both of those things made my mouth water.

The room smelled of antiseptic and the faint, copper tang of blood from the morning’s other procedures. I pushed off the glass and walked in, letting the door hiss shut behind me. Sarah’s head snapped up, and those dark eyes — all pupils, no fight left in them — tracked me across the white tile.

“You’re punctual,” I said, letting the words hang. “I like that.”

Her mouth opened, but I held up a finger. “Don’t speak. Just breathe.”

Her chest rose and fell too fast. Those fat tits heaving under the exam light. I let my gaze travel down her body slowly, deliberately, the way I’d done on her first day. The hourglass curves had only gotten more pronounced since we started pumping her full of hormones and vitamins. Her waist looked impossibly small against the flare of her hips. The big-ass on the table, still rounded and plush even lying down, had earned her the nickname “Hourglass” in the break room.

I wasn’t the only one who’d noticed.

The cart beside the table held the day’s tools. I ran my gloved fingers over the needles, the swabs, the tube attachments. Sarah’s breath hitched when she saw the collection device — the clear reservoir for the night’s test.

“You know what tonight is, right?”

She nodded, a single jerk of her chin. Her long curly hair spilled around her shoulders, dark and tangled from the shower she’d taken in our private facility. We required it. Immaculate clean, every single day. I’d made the shower part of the ritual, watching through the CCTV in the corner as she scrubbed herself pink.

“Say it.”

“Tonight’s… the fourteen-day calibration.” Her voice cracked on the last word.

“And what happens in a calibration?”

Another hesitation. Her thighs pressed together, an involuntary reaction. “I’m not allowed to come until you say I can.”

The flutter in my own cunt was immediate. I stepped closer, between her spread legs, letting her see the way my scrubs hugged my own hips. “That’s right. And do you know what happens if you break that rule?”

“I’m out.” The whisper was barely audible.

“You’re out,” I confirmed. “Back to the bookstore. Back to flipping burgers. Back to that shithole apartment with the stray cat that doesn’t even like you.”

A tear slipped down her cheek. God, it was beautiful. I reached out and caught it on my fingertip, then let it smear into her skin as I cupped her jaw. Her skin was warm, flushed. Mine wasn’t.

“But you won’t break the rule, will you, Sarah?”

“No, Dr. Voss.”

“Good girl.”

The word good made her shiver. Her nipples hardened to tight points under the lamp. I’d noticed, over the weeks, that she responded to praise the way other women responded to touch. A flicker of approval and her whole body turned to liquid.

I picked up the antiseptic swab. The sharp alcohol sting made her hiss as I dragged it over her clit, already swollen from two weeks of forced pleasure. Her inner lips looked plump, almost bruised — from the needles, from the constant hypersensitivity we’d cultivated. The nerve clusters we’d been waking up were close to the surface now, glowing like live wires under her skin.

“Spread wider.”

Her feet slid further apart in the stirrups. I watched her body obey, the way her ankles bent, the way her cunt opened just slightly under the motion. The labia parted, showing the darker, wetter slit inside. She was already slick, just from anticipation. Just from me standing here.

“You’re dripping,” I said, not unkindly. Just noting the fact. “You get wet when you’re scared, don’t you?”

A tiny nod. Her teeth sank into her bottom lip. That beautiful, full mouth made for screaming and sucking both.

“Tell me what you’re feeling right now.”

“I’m…” She paused, swallowed. Her tongue appeared, wetting her lip. “I’m scared I’m going to come before you put the needles in.”

“And why is that scary?”

“Because you said I can’t.”

“And if you did?”

Her breath shuddered out. “You’d cancel my payment for the day. And tomorrow.”

“That’s right.” I leaned in, my face inches from hers. Her curls brushed my cheek. “You’re worth money only when you follow the rules. When you’re a good, obedient little whore who takes the needles and the pain and the pleasure exactly as I order. And when you break the rules, you’re worth nothing. Just a useless, broke nobody who can’t even pay her rent.”

Her eyes glazed. The pupils blew wide. She let out a small, wet moan — and I watched her cunt pulse, a single convulsive squeeze that leaked a strand of clear slick onto the paper beneath her.

“You almost came just from that,” I said, delighted. “You’re further along than I thought.”

Her face burned red. Her hands, lying flat on the table, curled into fists. But she didn’t deny it.

The control I had over her was obscene. And it had only accelerated in the last few weeks. I had her body so tuned to my voice, my presence, that just a few well-chosen words could push her to the edge. The hormone cocktail we’d been feeding her had rewired her arousal pathways. She was a raw, exposed nerve, connected to the part of her brain that craved food and shelter and safety. We’d fused the two.

She couldn’t tell anymore where hunger ended and lust began.

I turned to the cart and picked up the first needle. It was a thin, flexible catheter, tipped with gold. The children’s hospital down the road had helped us source the micro-injection tech. They thought we were developing a chronic pain treatment for vets.

They didn’t know we were building a machine that could make a broke girl cum on command.

“Lift your hips.”

She did. Her ass rose from the table, that full, plump curve trembling with effort. The flexible needle glinted in the light. I guided it toward her clit, relishing the way her eyes tracked the metal, the way her breath fasted into short, shallow pants.

“You’ve already had the nerve block,” I said. “So you won’t feel the insertion. Just the electricity afterward. Do you remember what that feels like?”

“It hurts,” she whispered. “It burns. It feels like… like I’m going to die.”

“But you don’t die, do you?”

“No.”

“You just come.”

Her mouth opened. A wet, desperate sound escaped. Her cunt clenched again, another leak of slick running down toward the paper.

The needle touched her clit. She flinched, a tiny twitch that would have been imperceptible if I hadn’t been watching for it. I pressed, confident and slow, and the catheter slid under the skin with a resistance that gave way to a wet, soft give. Her eyes went wide. Her jaw dropped. The nerve block kept the physical pain at bay, but her body still knew something was there, something foreign, pushing into the most sensitive folds of her flesh.

“There,” I said. “One down.”

I stepped back to the cart for the second needle. This one was longer, designed to reach the deeper cluster near her cervix. The one that, when we got the voltage right, made her whole body convulse like a fish on a hook.

“I’m going to insert this one deep,” I said matter-of-factly. “You’re going to feel pressure. You might feel like you need to pee. That’s normal. Try not to.”

Her thighs shook. I could see the muscles trembling all the way up her calves. Her hands had found the edge of the table, gripping it so hard her knuckles had gone white.

“Breathe out,” I ordered.

She did. I slid the catheter in, watching the gold tip disappear into her hot, wet cunt. Her walls clamped around it instinctively, trying to push it out. I let it sit for a moment, let the warmth settle, then pushed another half-inch deeper. Her eyes rolled.

“That’s it,” I cooed. “You’re doing so well, Sarah. Taking it all. Just like a good girl.”

A tear slid down her temple. But so did another pulse of slick from her cunt.

The third and fourth needles were smaller, targetting the nerve bundles near her labia. I inserted them with quick, practiced jabs. Her hips bucked twice but she didn’t cry out. By now her body had learned. It knew what was coming. It knew the pain was the price of the pleasure that followed.

I stepped back and picked up the fourth needle — no, wait, I stilled myself. I had placed three of the four. The fourth was thinner, meant for the urethral ridge, the place where the electric current would trigger the involuntary release that had made us all so delighted on that first night. That night when she’d flooded the table with hot piss and we’d cheered.

I’d been high for the rest of the week.

“Last one,” I said, stroking her thigh with my free hand. Her skin was soft, almost silky. The muscle beneath was taut. “You know where this one goes.”

“No,” she moaned. “Please, Dr. Voss. That one hurts the most.”

“I know it does, baby. That’s why I’m saving it for last.” I smiled. “Now spread a little wider. Let me see.”

She cried out — a real, wet sob of humiliation — but her legs opened wider. Those long, shapely thighs falling apart in the stirrups. The weight of her full hips settling forward, offering her cunt and the delicate flesh beneath to me.

The urethral needle slid in with a burning accusation. She screamed, a raw, tearing sound that bounced off the sterile walls. Her body bucked, hard, and I planted a hand on her stomach to hold her still. The muscles under my palm contracted rhythmically, trying to expel the metal.

“Shh, shh,” I hummed. “Almost done. You’re doing so good.”

She was crying in earnest now. Tears streaming from those dark, curly-framed eyes. But beneath the pain, I could see it — the flush creeping up her chest, the tight, hard points of her nipples, the way her hips had started to grind against the air, searching for something to rub against.

Her body was already primed. The needles were already singing.

“Let’s let stimulation settle,” I said, stepping back, wiping my gloves clean. “Then we’ll start the first sequence. You have movie privileges today, remember? You brought headphones.”

She blinked, dazed. “I… I thought today was calibration. No movie.”

“Today is calibration,” I agreed. “But I think you’ve earned a little comfort before I destroy you. So put them in.”

Her hand, shaky, reached for the small bag at the side of the table. She pulled out the tiny wireless earbuds — a gift from an early session, a small kindness that made the rest of the brutality more palatable. She clicked them into her ears. Her eyes closed, and I watched her shoulders soften as music filled her head.

I walked to the wall and adjusted the dial on the control panel. The room’s ambient hum changed — a slight rise in pitch. Sarah’s eyes flew open.

“Now the fun begins,” I said.

I dialed the current up. Just a little. A taste.

Her back arched. Her mouth opened in a silent O. The needles in her cunt glowed faintly through the thin skin, the gold tips catching the light. Her hips jerked, erratic, as if she were being ridden by invisible hands.

“Hurts, doesn’t it?”

She nodded frantically. Her hands fisted in her hair, pulling those long curls taut.

“Good. That’s good. The burning means you’re awake.”

I dialed it up again, steady increments. Her thighs started to tremble violently. The tendons stood out in her neck. A sound escaped around the music, a thin, high keen that cut through the hum.

“Do not come,” I said, loud enough to be heard over her earbuds. “You are not allowed to come yet.”

Her head shook in short, violent jerks. No, no, no. The willpower it took made her sweat gleam on her chest, between her breasts.

“You’re still empty,” I said, savoring the words. “I haven’t filled you yet. You’re going to need to stay on the edge for another twenty minutes before I give you something to hold onto.”

Her eyes rolled. She was so close. I could see the delicate tremble at the opening of her cunt, a clench-and-release that begged for release.

I turned the dial down.

Her whole body slacked. A sob of relief — and frustration — poured out of her. The edge receded, leaving her shaking and soaked, her skin flushed so deep pink she looked sunburned.

“Good girl,” I murmured. “You held it. Just like I asked.”

Under the music, I saw her mouth shape the words thank you . Her body had already been trained to thank me for the pain I gave her.

I moved to the side table, picking up the collection device — the clear tube, curved, with a soft bell-shaped opening that fitted over her clit. I pumped a small amount of warmed synthetic lube around the rim, the heat a shock against her sensitive skin as I pressed it into place.

She looked down at the tube, then up at me. A question in her eyes.

“Tonight’s goal is a full vial,” I said. “You’ve been producing quite a lot for us lately, and the analysis team is very excited about the hormone profile. They think you might be the first one to fill it.”

Sarah’s mouth worked. “What happens if I fill it?”

“If you fill it,” I said, letting the promise coat my voice, “I’ll let you have the full-voltage session tomorrow. No limits. No holding back. You can come as many times as you want.”

The flare of desperate hope in her eyes was almost too much to bear.

“But if you don’t,” I added, “I’m going to order you to edge alone for an hour in the observation room while we all watch. And you won’t be allowed to finish. You’ll just have to walk home with that ache inside you, and come back tomorrow and try again.”

Her throat bobbed as she swallowed. The terror and the longing fought over her face, and the longing won.

The dial clicked under my finger.

“Let’s begin.”