Chapter 7
Ryan
I sat in my home office, staring at the Selecta Solutions portal on my laptop screen. The house felt impossibly quiet without Heather—no sound of her moving around upstairs, no background noise from the TV she always left on. Just silence and the weight of what I’d done.
The monitoring system dashboard showed a live feed indicator from the facility. My cursor hovered over the link. Mrs. Chen had mentioned I could observe Heather’s initial assessment if I chose to, that many husbands found it helpful to understand their wives’ true nature.
I clicked the link before I could second-guess myself.
The video feed opened to show a sterile medical examination room.
My breath caught in my throat as I saw Heather on the examination table, naked and restrained, her legs spread wide in stirrups.
A man in a white coat—Dr. Hamelin, according to the caption—was positioned between her legs, holding something that it took me a long moment to recognize, simply because it seemed so out of keeping with the clinical situation.
The low hum coming from that direction, easily perceptible over the excellent audio feed, made the device’s nature undeniable, though.
It was a small vibrator. The doctor had begun to stimulate Heather’s pussy, which I now registered for the first time as having been shaved.
My cock gave a leap along my thigh at the lewd sight of my wife’s private parts, bare and spread; the kind of view of her I’d always craved, but she’d always professed herself too modest to allow.
“Jesus,” I whispered, my hand moving instinctively to cover my mouth. This wasn’t what I’d expected. This wasn’t couples counseling or communication therapy. This was something else entirely.
I had absolutely no urge to look away, though. My rational mind had shrunk back a little, simply out of my instinctive regard for convention. The deeper, more authentic part of me—the part I’d been trying to suppress for months—was transfixed.
More, the essential rightness of Heather’s vulnerable, exposed position became more apparent to me by the second.
Her lovely face had grown flushed with obvious arousal despite her clear distress at being revealed that way.
I could even see the way her hips moved against the restraints, as if her shaven pussy were desperate for more.
“Tell me what you really want, Heather,” Dr. Hamelin’s voice came through the speakers, calm and authoritative. “Tell me what you think about in that shower every morning. Ask me to give it to you.”
My cock hardened further, until I had to shift in my chair, as I watched my wife struggle against the examination table.
The sound she made when the vibrator touched her—a desperate, needy whimper—sent heat straight to my balls.
I’d never heard her make that sound before, not in all our months of marriage.
“I don’t—” Heather’s voice was breathless, strained. “I don’t want anything.”
“Your body says otherwise,” Dr. Hamelin replied, and I watched him adjust the vibrator’s position. Heather’s back arched, a cry escaping her lips that was part protest, part pleasure.
I found myself leaning closer to the screen, my breath coming faster.
A stray thought tried to work its way into my brain—that this was wrong, that I should stop watching, should call them and tell them to stop.
But I didn’t move, didn’t tear my eyes away from the sight of my wife being systematically broken in for my pleasure.
“Please,” Heather gasped, and I saw tears streaming down her face. “I can’t—”
“You don’t think you can,” Dr. Hamelin said firmly. “But I know differently. Your husband wants to see who you really are, Heather. He deserves to know what kind of woman he married. And you deserve to enjoy the pleasure your body was made for.”
Heather
I squeezed my eyes shut as tightly as I could, willing the whole scene into nonexistence.
The vibrator’s insistent buzzing against my clit made it impossible to think straight.
As my backside squirmed desperately, and I whimpered with helpless pleasure, I found my mind drifted back to my wedding night.
Ryan had been so gentle, so careful as he’d undressed me in the soft lamplight of our hotel room. His hands had trembled slightly as he’d traced the curves of my body, and when he’d looked into my eyes, I’d seen nothing but love and nervous anticipation.
“Have you… I mean, is this your first time?” he’d asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
It had been the perfect moment to tell him everything. About Chad, about the things I’d done, about the way my body craved rough treatment and degradation. But when I’d opened my mouth, looking at his sweet, earnest face, I’d chickened out completely.
“I’ve had sex before,” I’d said, my voice small and ashamed. “But it wasn’t… it wasn’t good. It didn’t mean anything.”
The relief in his eyes had been immediate, as if he’d been worried about hurting me or not knowing what to do. “I’ll make it good for you,” he’d promised, kissing me softly. “I’ll take care of you.”
And he had tried. God, he’d tried so hard to be gentle and kind as he’d made love to me that night. His touches had been reverent, worshipful, everything a new bride should want. But as he’d moved inside me with careful, measured strokes, I’d felt nothing but frustration building in my chest.
“Oh, God,” I whimpered now as Dr. Hamelin increased the vibrator’s intensity, the memory of that night mixing with the overwhelming sensations between my legs.
I’d faked my orgasm that night, moaning and arching beneath Ryan the way I thought I should, but inside I’d been screaming for him to be rougher, to take me harder, to use me the way Chad had.
“Does that feel good, Heather?” Dr. Hamelin’s voice cut through my memories. “Your body is responding beautifully.”
I bit my lip and shook my head, trying to block out both his words and the helpless arousal building inside me. But the vibrator was relentless, and I could feel my resistance crumbling with each passing second.
On our wedding night, after Ryan had collapsed beside me with a satisfied sigh, I’d stared at the ceiling and wondered if this was what the rest of my life would be like.
Gentle, loving sex that left me empty and wanting.
I’d told myself I could learn to enjoy it, that I could train my body to respond to tenderness instead of domination.
But I’d been lying to myself, just like I’d been lying to Ryan.
I’d wondered if maybe he was holding back, if he wanted to be more controlling with me, but was too polite to ask for that—let alone just to take it, the way Chad had done.
But I’d decided I was just imagining it, projecting my own twisted desires onto my gentle husband.
I’d thought I would get used to it, that missionary position sex would eventually satisfy me.
Since then we’d had sex once a week on Saturday night.
I could tell Ryan definitely wanted more sex, at least in terms of quantity.
I’d see the way he looked at me sometimes, the hunger in his eyes when I bent over to pick something up or when I came out of the shower.
But I couldn’t bring myself to offer it, because that felt immodest, and I felt like when Ryan asked at other times, I should modestly pretend I didn’t want to.
The vibrator’s intensity increased, and I gasped as a memory from the previous month flooded back.
Ryan had been getting my pussy ready for sex, his fingers gentle and careful as always, when he’d accidentally brushed against my anus.
The sensation had been electric, sending shockwaves through my entire body, and I’d moaned before I could stop myself.
“Sorry,” he’d whispered, starting to pull his hand away.
“No, that’s off limits,” I’d said quickly, my face burning with shame and arousal. The words had tumbled out before I could think, because the touch had felt so good, so much like what Chad used to do to me. I’d had to shut it down before I begged him to do it again.
Ryan had looked confused and a little hurt, but he’d nodded and moved his hand away. “Of course. I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s fine,” I’d lied, even as my body screamed for more. “Just… not there.”
Now, with the vibrator buzzing against my clit and my body on fire with need, I couldn’t hold back anymore. The memories, the sensations, the desperate ache between my legs—they all crashed together in a wave of overwhelming desire.
“Please,” I gasped, my hips bucking against the restraints. “Please, I need—”
“What do you need, Heather?” Dr. Hamelin’s voice was steady, professional.
“I need you to fuck me.” The words tore from my throat in a desperate sob. “Please, I can’t take it anymore. I need your cock inside me. Please fuck me, please—”
“No,” Dr. Hamelin said calmly, not even pausing in his ministrations with the vibrator. “That’s not what this is about.”
The rejection made searing heat flash into my cheeks. I’d finally broken, finally admitted what I truly wanted, and he was denying me. “But I begged,” I whimpered, tears streaming down my face. “I thought you said… I thought you said Ryan gave permission! I did what you wanted—”
“Your husband did give permission for your trainers to fuck you, Heather,” he replied. “But that’s not what’s going to happen now. And this isn’t about what I want.”
I felt the vibrator’s position shift, and a fresh surge of sensation crashed over me. My body had begun to betray me completely, responding to his touch in ways that made me want to die of shame.
“This is about teaching you to understand yourself,” Dr. Hamelin continued, his voice maddeningly calm as I writhed against the restraints. “About helping you recognize what kind of girl you truly are, so you can be honest with your husband for the first time in your marriage.”
“I don’t understand,” I sobbed, my hips bucking desperately against the vibrator. The pleasure was building to an unbearable peak, and I could feel my orgasm approaching like a freight train. “What do you want from me?”
Dr. Hamelin didn’t answer me directly. Instead, he turned to Nurse Simmons and asked, “How are the biometric readings looking?”
“The perineal sensor I installed when I shaved her is working perfectly,” Nurse Simmons replied, consulting her tablet. “We’re getting excellent data on her arousal patterns.”
I tried to process what she’d said through the haze of sensation. “What… what perineal sensor?” I gasped, my voice barely coherent.
Then suddenly, a sharp beeping sound filled the room. Nurse Simmons looked up from her tablet with a knowing smile. “She’s about to climax,” she announced.
Before I could even register what was happening, Dr. Hamelin pulled the vibrator away from my clit. The sudden absence of stimulation left me gasping and writhing against the restraints, my body screaming for release that had been snatched away at the last possible second.
“No!” I cried out, my hips bucking desperately against nothing. “Please, I was so close…”
“I know exactly how close you were,” Dr. Hamelin said, setting the vibrator aside. “That’s the point of the sensor.”
My mind reeled as I tried to understand what he was telling me. “What sensor?” I demanded again, my voice cracking with desperation and confusion. “What did you do to me?”
Dr. Hamelin adjusted his glasses and looked at me with the same detached professionalism he might show a lab mouse. “The perineal sensor is a microscopic device we placed between your vagina and anus during your preparation. It allows us to monitor your arousal levels with perfect accuracy.”
The words hit me like ice water. They’d put something inside me. Some kind of device that could read my body’s responses, that could tell them exactly when I was about to come. The violation felt complete, total.
“We told you your body doesn’t lie, Heather,” Dr. Hamelin continued, pulling off his latex gloves.
“And as we’ve also already told you, your arousal is organized around your need to submit to masculine domination.
The sensor confirms what we already knew about your nature, but it also gives us a valuable, fine-grained way to help you learn to please your husband as you should. ”
I stared at him in horror, my chest heaving as I tried to process what he was saying. “You can’t… you can’t just put things inside me without my consent—”
“Your husband’s consent is all that’s required,” he replied matter-of-factly. “And he’s given us complete authority over your body and your training.”
Dr. Hamelin moved toward the door, and panic flooded through me. “Wait!” I called out. “You can’t just leave me like this! I need—”
“You need to learn patience,” he said, pausing at the doorway. “I’ll see you soon, Heather. Your real training begins tomorrow, after you’ve settled in a little.”