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The echo of another of the words—restraints—came into my mind, because I felt the doctor fastening a webbing strap around my waist and making it secure with its strong Velcro fastening. Too late I tried to writhe away, and so feebly that the major could quell me with a gentle, degrading left hand placed atop my pussy to hold me down while the doctor also fastened cuffs around my wrists to keep them fixed to the belt.
I heard a beep, and a soft buzzing, and between my raised and spread thighs I saw Major Harrow bring the razor close to my private parts.
My cunny.How could he call it that? As a woman whose skillful use of language represented an enormous part of her career, I had thought from time to time, always with a little heat in my cheeks, about the amazing survival of the c-word as the final speech taboo, at least in the polite society of the Fourth Millennium. Thinking about that harsh, degrading sound, even for a woman raised in a proudly egalitarian culture, always made me feel fluttery in my tummy. I had female friends who used the word defiantly, but no man I knew ever did.
But I didn’t know any Magisterians. Major Harrow, my new guardian, had the right to touch me there now, and he had the right to call it anything he wanted. I felt certain that when he talked to other men, he would tell them not about my cunny but about my cunt.
About his little slut’s adorable cunt. About the sweet cunt he had just started to shave.
I had never used a heat razor. I had only even seen one once—the technology made use of an isotope of gravitium that made them impossibly expensive for anyone but Magisterians to possess them. I shaved my armpits the ancient way, and dealt with the irritation and the nicks. I had never thought about grooming down there.
No,I told the soft voice in my head, from somewhere underneath my logical retelling of my previous thoughts, unexpectedly pushing back against my brain’s version.No, I’ve never thought about it.
I bit my lip as I watched the device move slowly up and down. It felt much too warm and much too pleasant. I could see a little of the top of its silver surface, and a tiny bit of the pink cleft Major Harrow had started to expose.
No,my rational brain insisted.I’ve never thought about it… least of all about amandoing it, forcing the humiliation of it on me… on my pussy.
I looked up into my guardian’s face. His gaze had fixed itself downward, and the knowledge that he could see the intimate parts of me I couldn’t see myself sent a wave of heat to my cheeks. My blush amplified as I found in his dark eyes the extent of the care he intended to take baring me between my thighs.
The extent of the pleasure he takes in doing it… the pleasure hemeansto take in the… the cunny he’s shaving.
I could just barely feel the golden curls falling effortlessly away at the warm touch of the razor. I felt, a little more intensely, the cooling of my exposed private lips, and how oddly sensitive I had become down there.
“Oh, no,” I whispered, hardly even realizing I spoke.
Major Harrow’s eyes rose to meet mine, though, for a brief moment before he lowered them again to my pussy.
“Yes, my dear,” he said softly and almost meditatively. “This is a very important moment for you. Knowing that your guardian has prepared you here as he wishes to have you will change the way you think about your cunny, won’t it?”
I let out a little sob as I felt a shudder go through my whole body. The terrible, wanton little arch of my back and thrust of my hips happened again, restrained now by the stout webbing around my waist. That feeling of constriction, bringing with it the knowledge that the doctor had strapped me down for the convenience of my guardian, seemed to magnify the mortifying warmth the razor conveyed.
Major Harrow went on in a gentle murmur, the flow of his lightly but beautifully accented speech seeming to enfold me as I watched him observe his work with the razor.
“Now your bottom, Sara,” he said, and he moved the razor to match his words.
No.I couldn’t bear to see his eyes, knowing where they must just have focused their attention. I shut mine, feeling my forehead crease almost painfully.No, please. Not… not there.
The warmth moved down, the sensation becoming so utterly degrading that I started to feel faint.
Please don’t say…I thought desperately, though I couldn’t even name all the degrading things I silently pleaded with my new guardian not to say.
But his soft voice kept speaking.
“Yes, my dear. You probably like to think you’re already nice and smooth around this little hole, but you know it’s not true.” His murmuring tone seemed to swirl his words around me in a warm mist. I could feel the lingering soreness from the horrid paddle, still very vivid, in the cheeks between which the sleek razor moved, baring that secret, hidden place. “You had some adorable little curly hairs here, but now you’re all tidy. I know you know exactly why I want you bare here, around your bottom-hole, and I know you find it embarrassing and even frightening, but…”
No… no… no.The razor’s warmth left me. Major Harrow had pulled it away. I opened my eyes.
“There we go.” He turned to the doctor. “Doctor, I’m sure you’re going tell Sara something about what she’ll experience in the anal element of her training.”
The major turned his gaze back to my face, and I saw him take in my hot blush and smile to see it.
“Of course,” said Doctor Greenway, “though much of it will be up to your guardian, Sara. Let’s get started with your exam. Major, would you do me a favor and hold the hand mirror that’s there on the table? It will be best if she can see herself while I carry out the measurements and procedures.”
My lips parted and my breath began to speed up. My eyes darted from one man to the other, each of their actions seeming more terrifying than the last. Major Harrow picked up the hand mirror, made of white plastic with a silvered face about the size of a salad plate. Doctor Greenway rolled a stool up to the chair and sat down in it, then donned a headband that positioned a bright light on his forehead.
“I’m going to put some wireless calibrators on your areolae, Sara,” the doctor said, reaching out between my legs with a little white and silver button-ish device in each of his hands.
I gave a little cry of alarm, and then I shivered at the coldness of the plastic and metal on my nipples, which instantly stiffened to involuntary arousal, though at least the calibrators—whatever else they did—covered over that embarrassing fact.
