Chapter 6 A Visit from an Imperial Doctor, Eve #2
“Of course not. That would introduce errors.” He readies a device.
“This is a medical stimulator. It is fitted with an injector that releases a dilation rod, which will be calibrated to your vaginal canal and create the perfect girth size for your optimal pleasure. As the rod penetrates you, the stimulator will target your clitoral bundle with precision pulses, ensuring orgasm is achieved swiftly but not prematurely. When climax is reached, the rod will release a neurofluid into your vaginal walls, flooding your system with relaxing hormones. This is the best and most natural way for a woman to reset and restore balance to her system.”
Seeing the hesitation in my eyes, he adds, “This is superior to sedatives or chemical dampeners. It is science, and it is what your body craves, even if your mind resists for cultural reasons.”
The bed shifts beneath me as I lie back.
My mind is protesting, but my body refuses to listen.
This definitely isn't what I expected when he said naturally.
But part of me, a part I never gave permission to exist, wants to know what it's like to be touched this way by someone who doesn't ask questions and who doesn't care if I'm turned on or ashamed, only if my cortisol levels drop and my neural patterns normalize.
“Remove her clothing,” the doctor says.
The young assistant hesitates only for a second before obeying. His hands are cold against my skin as he tugs at my skirt, sliding it down slowly. My stockings follow, and then, finally, he hooks trembling fingers into my underwear and drags them down, exposing my sex to both of them.
The young man lingers a beat too long before stepping back. He’s trying to copy the doctor’s detachment, but he isn’t practiced at it. His eyes roam over me hungrily, despite his effort to appear clinical.
I burn with shame with every inch of me on display for these aliens.
The doctor doesn’t look at my face, only between my thighs, as though I’m nothing but a body to be studied. “Activate the restraints,” the doctor orders.
Before I can protest, metal cuffs slide out from the bed’s frame with a mechanical hiss, locking around my wrists and ankles. And the sudden confinement pins me flat, helpless and displayed.
“We must limit your movements during the procedure,” the doctor explains as though binding me half naked were simply standard practice.
I close my eyes, trying to think of this only as a medical procedure.
The doctor switches on the device, and it begins to hum.
A moment later, the stimulator cups over my clit, and I jolt.
It’s too much. Too precise. I don’t think I can do this.
Three strong emotions are passing through me on rotation: humiliation, curiosity, and desire.
My mind is telling me I’m wrong to want this, but my body is screaming with delight, “Yes, fuck me with these medical instruments.” It’s as if Satan himself were here, pleasing me with this technology that knows my body better than I do, knowing exactly where the pulses should coax me wetter, softer, and make me more open.
And just when I think I can’t spread my thighs any wider, I feel the press of the rod, sliding into my wet sex with mechanical certainty.
And it feels so good. I have never experienced anything like this before, and to my shame, I moan like a Jezebel, and in my mind, I’m thinking, Yes, fuck me, Doctor.
Then, I open my eyes and look at the alien men watching me, and I can’t help but wonder if they’ll masturbate later thinking about me like this. It turns me on to think that they will. Does that make me a sinner?
The device shifts inside me, expanding subtly, adjusting in increments, and I close my eyes, letting the pleasure take over.
“Good,” the doctor says. “Your vaginal canal measures longer than the average human baseline. You also respond well to increased girth. That is a favorable combination. Most Imperial males have larger organs than their human counterparts. You will be able to accept them without tearing. Perhaps even enjoy the sensation of being stretched so wide.”
He adjusts the rod’s settings by a fraction, increasing the girth to stretch my vagina even further.
“Yes, your body enjoys larger penises. So you will probably also enjoy their greater volumes of semen. I will not replicate the average amount ejaculated with this device as it would be redundant, but it is relevant for you to know. If you have sex with an Imperial man, you will feel the weight of his semen filling you to your limits and then spilling out onto your thighs. In my experience, most human women enjoy the extra.”
I want to tell him that I didn’t accept this promotion to have sex. But saying that in this position seems a bit hypocritical, so I say nothing.
“I’m increasing the pressure, and the rod will begin to move faster inside of you.”
The added pressure is blunt and unforgiving.
My body begins to convulse around the rod, and I let out a small moan before I can stop it.
Heat floods my face as shame courses through me, humiliated by how wanton I must look tied to the bed and twitching like a whore with his device inside of me.
But another part of me wants to be a whore, and if I can do this without anyone else knowing or judging me, I will come back to this doctor again and again for this kind of full-body rejuvenation “reset.”
“This is standard anxiety relief. Sexual stimulation increases oxytocin and dopamine and lowers amygdala activity.
It's very efficient. Most women require less than three minutes for complete reset. But since you are incredibly anxious, I think we should go for the maximum, so I will continue. Just relax and let your body take over for a few minutes.”
I try to speak, to protest, or thank him; I don’t know which.
But as the erotic pressure continues to build, the sound I make isn't even a word; it’s another low moan.
Then my thighs shake and my mouth turns dry.
I have an urge to clutch my breasts and pull on my nipples, but I can’t; my hands are strapped down.
“You're close to a complete reset,” the doctor says. “Do you want my assistant to add sensation to your breasts?”
“Yes,” I breathe, not questioning how he knew that.
“Unbutton her shirt and apply the nipple sensors,” the doctor instructs.
The young man steps close, his fingers skillfully unbuttoning my shirt. Then he pushes my bra down, baring my breasts. His fingers pinch my nipples hard, forcing them to stand tall. Then he slides two silver thimbles over the peaks, and I feel the sting of cold metal clamping down on them.
A moment later, electric pulses shot through both nipples, making me arch my back against the restraints like a cat. A cry escapes me before I can bite it back. “Oh God! Yes!”
“Good,” the doctor says. “The sensors are online.”
Another strong pulse fires, this one longer, and I jerk again, a low moan firing out of my throat. My nipples feel swollen inside the thimbles, and the sensations are painfully sumptuous.
“Your nipple response is strong.”
I barely register his words. My body is only pleasure. Nothing else matters.
“Now, orgasm in your own time, Eve.”
I should hate this. I should feel violated. But I don't. This is science.
When my orgasm finally comes, it rips through me without warning, mercy, or shame.
My body seizes, every nerve screaming so violently I think I might have a heart attack or my lungs might stop taking in air.
My half-naked body bucks against the bed, and I see midnight black and stars through my eyelids.
I feel like my soul has left my body and then been slammed back in, raw and shaking. I now know why they call it a reset.
“Excellent,” the doctor says and pats the wet hair between my legs. “The neurofluid has dispersed properly into your vaginal canal. You will feel lighter now. Restored.”
The stimulator goes silent.
I should feel embarrassed, but I don’t. I just lie on the bed naked and relaxed, staring at the ceiling. I’m definitely not in Kansas anymore.
“You responded very well.” Then, the doctor instructs his assistant to undo the restraints and dress me.
I let the young man’s fingers wrap me back up in my clothing while the aftershocks of the orgasm are still running through my muscles with tiny spasms.
“Is this something you offer to all women onboard?” I ask when I finally find my voice again.
“Only when it’s appropriate. Most species express stress through aggression. Humans, particularly human females, tend toward internal dysfunction. We treat what the body needs,” he says as his assistant packs up their pastel equipment.
With a respectful nod, he turns toward the door. Just before it opens, he adds, without looking back, “If you ever need regulation again, you may request it.”
Then the door closes behind him and his assistant.
I don’t know how to feel. Physically, I feel like a puzzle piece has just been clicked back into place and has put everything back into alignment like I’ve never felt before.
But, my mind and body are still in disagreement as to whether or not that natural remedy was truly beneficial.
It feels like it should be a sin. I’m sure any man-made religion on Earth would see it as a sin.
But, what frightens me most isn’t what he did; it’s how quickly my body cooperated.
The few times I have had sex, my experiences were not very pleasurable.
The men I was with either didn’t care about my pleasure or didn’t know how to pleasure me.
Or possibly a combination of both. But now, after seeing the Imperial doctor, I know what my romance novels have been talking about when they describe real orgasms. I’m shocked that first, they aren’t a myth, and second, that I, Eve Eden, can experience them.
But also disappointed because now that I know, how can I ever accept anything less?
As I think about what just happened with the doctor more, I realize that it’s not the mind-blowing orgasm I didn’t know I could have, the technology, or the alien doctor that’s really bothering me.
It’s what this means for me. How will I function in an alien society that doesn’t question how pleasure comes, just as long as it does come? (Pun intended.)
And if I’m not on Earth, does sin still exist? In the Bible, there is no mention of aliens or other planets, so I assume that means any sins I commit off Earth don’t count.
So if I can have an alien doctor “reset” me, naturally, without any negative societal implications, why should I restrict my health because of what human men have said about sin on Earth?