Page 11 of Exposed
Electricity surges from between my thighs down to my toes. I’m not actually an exhibitionist. I suggested using it as a “reason” for Benji’s fake concerns about my sexual behavior. But a tiny part of me wonders if itistrue. Do I want to be seen like this? Maybe I do.
But I don’t want to be seen by Dr. Ambrose.
As I stare at the decaying ceiling, I console myself.I chose to be here,I think.The acid is right under us. Follow the rules. Get close to him. Then kill the motherfucker.
“Do I need to repeat myself?” Dr. Ambrose grunts. “Move. Your. Hips. Down.”
Follow the rules. Get close to him. Then kill.
I quickly force myself down to the edge of the table, not giving myself a chance to question why Dr. Ambrose wants to see my pussy up close. The assistant removes an attached flashlight from the side of the exam table, and a spotlight shines between my legs right as Dr. Ambrose’s icy fingers pull my lower lips apart.
I gasp. Don’t most gynecologists warm their hands before an exam like this?
“You’re freezing!” I shriek and jerk up. “Dr. Ambrose?—”
“Hush now,” he says.
His filthy nails dig into my hips and push me down on the table. He’s not even wearing gloves! The pressure of his grip on me increases. I flinch. It’s like he has violent talons; one wrong move, and he could shred me.
“Lie down and be quiet, or youwillface consequences,” he says.
Be quiet?
Seething, I lift my head. We scrutinize each other, each of us daring the other to back down. I will “face consequences,” huh? Does he think I’m a damn child? I’ll showhimthe consequence of getting acid in his eyes and a fucking stool lodged into the back of his skull!
Sharp tendons angle in his jaw, and my lips part. Everything about him is sinewy and strong, an appearance of indestructibility. Like he’ll make me do this whether I like it or not.
My mouth goes dry. I look away. My body is on fire, and I have no idea why. What is going on?
“Be good for me,” Dr. Ambrose murmurs. “Lie down, sweet one.”
A grimace shakes through me, but I flatten myself against the bed. The paper lining crunches under my back. Heat pounces my thighs, which I do my best to ignore. On the ceiling, there are patches of rot, like a pipe has been leaking for years, and that’s what my brain feels like: Dr. Ambrose is breaking something inside of me, and I’m beginning to rot.
I’m following orders because I have to obey him,I tell myself.This has nothing to do with me and everything to do with killing him. It only feels like I’m on fire because?—
Because I?—
He picks through my folds, moving my lower lips in each direction, his inspection warming my insides. His acidic odor crowds me. I want to gag, and at the same time, my pussy scorches with need.
He spreads my pussy lips again like petals beingplucked from a rose. His fingers are the same temperature as me now, or maybe I’m the same as him. I don’t know. I’m an animal in a testing lab, a prisoner restrained in a cage. I hate that he’s doing this to me. I hate that I’m?—
“Growing moist already,” Dr. Ambrose says, his voice full of gravel. Chills worm down my back. He nods to his assistant. “This may be the quickest duration from standard moisture to lubricated arousal we’ve seen in decades. Take note of the time, Oliver.”
“Yes, Dr. Ambrose,” the assistant says.
Did he say “decades”? Does that mean he’s talking about my mother?And arousal?
I’mnotaroused. Dr. Ambrose is lying. Even if I am technically wet, it’s not about him. Attention like this probably turns most people on, and for fuck’s sake, he hasnothingto compare my current moisture level to; he’s just making random observations. He’s not even a real doctor!
According to my research, the asylum records claim he attended certain universities to get his degrees, but those schools don’t have any evidence of his attendance. I even bribed one of the university clerks; nothing came up. No Alicks. No Ambroses.
I don’t knowhowDr. Ambrose got his position as head of the Department of Intellectual Training, but he’snota doctor. He’s using the title to increase his power over people. Over his patients.
Over me.
Dr. Ambrose leans closer, his head between my knees as he examines me like a beetle pinned to a board. Pressure increases in my pussy muscles. My mound is raw. Sweat beads my forehead, and my thighs grow clammy. He’s a heat lamp, and I’m going to burn.
The flashlight beaming on me is hot. That’s what this is. I’mnotaroused.
