Subject Sixteen

Your heart is pounding as the orderlies escort you to the operating theatre. The amphitheater is quiet except for a faint murmuring that stops once you arrive.

You shed your clothing and give it to one of the attendants. Gone are your sweater and jeans. You remove your bra and panties, not looking at the person who takes it, blushing of embarrassment already.

You look around the theatre. The audience's faces are all in shadow, impossible to make out. A thought passes through your head, wondering if you know any of them. Co-workers? Friends? No. He wouldn't dare to bring them here. That wouldn't be right. That wouldn't be safe. This is one of the rare times when it would be better to be around strangers than friends.

Calming yourself, you lie down on the operating table and left your legs into the stirrups. The table is softer than you thought and your body eases onto it softly. It's not cold, like you expect, but warm. Someone's been here, you realize. You lay back against the headrest and draw in a deep breath. Amidst the harsh smell of antiseptic chemicals and perfumed soap, you smell a familiar scent. His scent. Not the smell of cologne or shampoo, but the scent that is shared by being with someone for so long, by experiencing the deepest of bonds. You know he's here, and that even though you're exposed and scared shitless, everything will be alright.

You hope so, at least.

The door to the theatre opens, and your heart begins to pound even more, this time in anticipation. You lift your head and look forward and see him. Long white coat. Hair slicked back. Coal-black slacks. Glasses.

You smile at him. He catches that smile, but does not smile back. Your heart begins to pound a little faster now. Why didn't he smile back? Is he mad? No, he can't be mad—you didn't do anything? Did you? Quick, think. Remember.

He walks to the front of the theatre and begins to address the audience.

I link my hands behind my back and nod to the unseen observers. "Ladies and gentlemen. Honoured guests. Thank you for coming to today's session, during which I will be doing a prolonged examination of a woman who is," he brings up his hands and curls his first two fingers on each hand in a "quote mark" fashion " 'suffering' from a form of hypersexuality."

The crowd elicits a slight chuckle at the word "suffering".

"There is little concensus among professionals as to what hypersexuality consists of. Some believe it is a disorder, a malady that needs to be cured with surgery, pills, or—god forbid-abstinence; while others believe the diagnosis is a relic of a more repressed society, one that did not believe in the freedom of sexuality."

He points at you. "Subject Sixteen's diagnosis lies in line with the latter. She currently has-" he pauses, having forgotten. He looks down at your body, naked and fully exposed. You close your eyes in response to his gaze. He places his palm on your forehead. Gently, tenderly. You can't help but jump at his touch.

"Subject Sixteen," he says, smiling as you start. "How many lovers do you currently have?"

Colour rushes to your cheeks as he asks this personal question. "F-four, Doctor." You say.

"Are all of your lovers aware of your non-monogamy?" He asks, right on the heels of your response. His hand slides from your forehead to your cheek. His gentleness tempering the detachment of his questioning. You sigh in pleasure at his touch.

"Yes," you reply.

"Are you exclusive to your lovers, or do you go out and find new ones? Say, to clubs, or personal ads?"

You shake your head. "No. I met one of them through a personal ad, but I don't go fucking around." You swallow, pressing your cheek against his hand. "I only sleep with those four."

His thumb strokes your cheek. "So you would say you have a... relationship with each of your lovers. It is not merely about sex?"

You nod, focusing on his touch, centering yourself on it, using it to chase all fear and nervousness from your mind. "Sex is part of it, sure. But we're not just always... fucking, if that's what you're asking."

His hand leaves your cheek and once again he speaks to the unknown people around him. "As you have heard, Subject Sixteen says she has a relationship with each of her lovers. A relationship. Not just 'fucking', as she says, but an actual relationship. In past interviews I've asked about this, and she's said that oftentimes she and a lover will just talk, or lie together and watch television." He raises his voice. "Does this sound like the actions of a sex addict? A nymphomaniac?"

Assorted murmurs from the audience.

"No. It sounds like a well-adjusted woman who does not believe that they should be shackled to one person. It sounds like a person who has moved beyond what the world believes is 'moral' and 'right' and has gone to a new place, where love, kindness, and yes, sex, should be given out at will, not guarded like a scarce resource."

You smile. He's always had a way with words, especially when it comes to you.

"However," he says, "there is the issue of her sex drive. Subject Sixteen, on a scale of one to ten, how aroused are you right now?"

The question takes you by surprise. Going from speaking glowingly of you, proudly of you, to clinical and detached. It sends shivers down your spine, down to the warmth between your spread legs.

At once you remember that you're fully exposed to dozens of people you don't know. Your legs spread, your pussy visible to everyone. It's frightening and thrilling at the same time. Part of you wants to shy away, to close your eyes and legs, but you can't. The futility of this awakens another part of you, one that doesn't care if people see. One that wants people to see you as who you are. Who you think you are, who you want to be. This part of you revels in the exposure, the eyes on you. This part of you doesn't care if you're being judged by them. You want to show them what you are, what you want.

You surrender to that empowered feeling. Your breathing starts to increase, nerves all over your body awaken, the initial itch and your mounting desire causing you to unconsciously grind and gyrate your hips against the table. A cool breeze brushes against your now-wet crotch, and another shiver slides up your spine into your head.

"E.. eight," you stammer. "Oh god, eight."

"And why eight? No one has touched you, I have been nothing but clinical in my line of questioning. Why so aroused?"

You explain your arousal in halting breaths. "You touched me," you say. "And your voice. And being exposed like this. Being unable to move or close my legs."

"So being exposed in front of an audience arouses you?"

You feel a flush upon your face. "Yes." You say breathlessly. "Yes. I want everyone to see."

"Is this something you would normally do on your own?"

"No. This.. this sort of thing is new to me. I've f.. fantasized about it, but never tried it."

You feel something on your closed eyes and realize that he's putting a blindfold on you. As he lifts your head to secure the elastic band he whispers "So far you've been a very good girl." You moan in response.

"And now?" he asks, standing up. "How aroused are you?"

You open your eyes and can't see. You can't see him, you can't see the audience. You can feel the cool air of the room on your skin now, can hear the creak of wood as someone shifts in their seat. Is it because they're aroused at seeing you like this? Did they move because their stiff cock was uncomfortable at that time?

"Ten." You say quickly. Oh god.

"Does that mean you want to be fucked now?"

His usage of the word fuck surprises you and makes you groan. Whatever pretense he had was slowly fading, and you're glad. He's not yours when he's all prim and proper. You know what he's like. What he wants, what he desires.

He's like you.

"Yes." You whisper. "God yes."

He raises his voice. "Louder. Subject Sixteen. I don't think they heard you."

You gulp down a breath. "Yes!" you say, a bit louder than you wanted to, but you don't care. "Yes, I want to be fucked."

You hear footsteps beside you, know that it's him, moving to between your legs. You can feel the heat from his body as he stands before you. "Everyone, observe Subject Sixteen's breathing—deep and shallow. Observe her nipples, fully erect. Classic signs of arousal." Without warning, you feel two fingers enter you. You gasp, arch your back, and moan. The fingers leave. "She is, as they say, fucking wet." He slides his fingers along your upper lip. You reflexively open them to take them in your mouth as you've done many times before, but he doesn't put them in. Instead he wipes his fingers just under your nose. Your scent fills your nostrils.

Again, the fingers enter you and slowly pull out, then in, then out. "Is this how you want to be fucked, Subject Sixteen?"

Your body answers before your mouth does. It matches the rhythm of his fingers, trying to meet his thrust with your own. Your mouth drops open in a halted gasp, a grunted "God..." everything feels so good. The absence of sight, the feel of the table beneath you, the stirrups on your legs. Your brain is alight with lust. You try to speak, try to answer him but nothing articulate comes out. Your hands grip the sides of the table, forcing you to concentrate, to take your mind off the desire in your head long enough to answer...

... but he removes his fingers. "SUBJECT SIXTEEN." He yells. "Answer me. Is that the way you wish to be fucked?"

You cry out as he leaves you, gasp-sigh as your cunt empties, leaving you with nothing but burning need. Your hips still pump once or twice, hoping for his fingers again.

"Please," you beg. "Please, I need to be fucked. Please."

"With my fingers?"

"I don't.. I don't care. Fingers, a cock, a dildo, I don't fucking care. Just fill my cunt, Doctor. Please."

His fingers return to your pussy, not entering it, but teasing it. Sliding up and down your wet slit, twirling around your clit before sliding back down to your asshole, then back up. He addresses the crowd, and you know he has a smile on his lips.

"Healthy sex drive, I would say." He grins.

He teases you with his fingers, while his other hand goes to your mouth and this time he presses them into your mouth, where you suck on them eagerly, greedily. You grab his wrist and hold it with both hands, moving it in and out of your mouth like a cock. Like a cock you want so badly. His cock. Any cock. Please.

He notices this and slides his fingers in deeper into your mouth, pressing against the back of your throat while he slides his fingers fully into your pussy again and then begins ramming it against your crotch. The wet slapping echoes through the operating theatre, as does your gagging. Your hands return to the sides of the table as you gag on his fingers, as your throat clenches on them, before he finally removes them.

At the same time, he removes his fingers from your sopping pussy. You feel a line of spittle going from your mouth to his fingers, and a similar line from your cunt to his other fingers. Again, you are empty. Again, you want to be filled, but you take pleasure in him showing everyone just how wet you are.

"You took my fingers greedily into your mouth, Subject Sixteen." He says, a light growl in his voice. "Almost as if you want to be fucked in there, too. Would that be a fair assessment?"

You nod eagerly. "Yes, please. Please, let me suck your cock, Doctor. Please." Your words begin to run together as you regain control of yourself. "I want you to cum in my mouth. Please. Fuck me. I need to be fucked, I don't care where or how. Please."

"Now Subject Sixteen. It would be very unprofessional of me to do that, especially in front of all these people. However," he snaps his fingers, and you hear another set of footsteps as murmurs and gasps run through the audience. "That doesn't mean that someone else's cock can't fulfill that need."

Before his words register in your brain, you feel a movement beneath the headrest and then it's gone. Your head is no longer supported. Instead it lies over the edge of the table. Your legs still in stirrups, your crotch still fully exposed. You moan when you realize what's about to happen.

"Subject Four, if you would."

Your mouth is filled with cock. He slides it in quickly, sliding it down your throat then back out. Four holds your head as he slowly fucks your mouth, getting it covered with your spit.

You can barely breathe through your nose, his cock is so thick. He begins to thrust faster now, actively fucking your face, occasionally sliding it all the way down your throat, feeling your throat spasm around it, and then pulls it out. Every time you constrict around it, he gasps in pleasure.

You grip the sides of the table as he fucks your face. You try your best to lick his cock when it's in his mouth, to suck on it as best you can before it surges forward into your throat.

You gasp around the dick as you feel something press against your clit. Something warm and metallic. Suddenly vibrations fill your body as a small vibratoris turned on. Your gasps turn into cries, but Four does not stop. In fact, if anything, your sounds egg him on further. He grabs your breasts, rubs his thumbs along your nipples, holding onto you for support as he slowly slides his cock in and out of you.

The vibrator makes you open your mouth wide to cry out, loudly, around Four's dick as an orgasm shoots through you. Your cries turn into whimpers as Four begins to pump harder against you and all you can think of is please please please cum inside me someone fuck me I need a cock in my cunt please Doctor just fuck me I want your cock oh god please.

All sounds seem to be far away. All that matters right now is cumming and that dick in your mouth. All that matters is the pleasure filling your body. You don't even hear him ask his audience if he should fuck you. You don't hear them unanimously say yes.

You do feel his cock enter into you, though. You know it's his cock, too. You've felt it so many times, you know exactly how it feels. You love it's hardness, it's length, it's thickness. Everything about it is home to you and you greedily start to fuck it before he starts to fuck you.

You're filled now. And being filled is what you love. Your hands go to Four's ass, pulling him deeper into your throat. The Doctor pulls on your nipples as he fucks you, growling to you to take both these dicks into you like a good girl. Like a good slut. Like a good sex addict. Like a good nympho. Tears form at the corners of your eyes as he says these things. You're his now, again. His Subject. His toy. This whole thing was for him, to fuck you and to see you being fucked.

You greedily suck on Four's dick, eager for his load. The Doctor holds your legs up as he pumps inside you, grunting and gasping. You pull Four's dick out for a second to look at the man between your legs and to tell him to fuck you, to fucking cum on you before returning to Four's dick.

You take control of Four's cock now. No longer fucking your face, you're eagerly sucking his dick, swirling your tongue around his head, his shaft. You feel a growl in your own throat as primal lust takes control and you slam his cock into your mouth over and over. You feel his legs tremble and know he's close.

The other man is slamming your cunt hard, sweat dripping down his face while he fucks you. The fucking sends a rhythmic slap slap slap sound throughout the auditorium and that sound makes you spread your legs wider, wanting more of it. He's calling you a bitch now, a fucking slut, saying he's going to come and he's not going to come inside you because sluts only get cum on, not cum in. You pull Four's dick out of your mouth and start to jack him, saying yes please cum on your slut. Please you need to feel his hot cum.

Four cums before he does. He cums on your face, warm and sticky. You almost cum yourself from it, you wanted it so bad.

He pulls out and cums on you as well, shooting well onto your breasts with a loud roar, telling you to take it. Telling the slut to take it, take all of it like the fucking whore she is.

Then it's over. Four leaves. The blindfold is removed. You see their work and gasp in renewed lust. You want to be fucked again.

Panting, he turns to the audience. "See? Perfectly normal sex drive."