Page 8 of UnTrained: Volume One
Fear coils in my stomach. I hope I haven’t messed up already.
I hold my breath, waiting.
“Stand,” the blue-eyed man says.
I obey. His voice is soothing in its rough, commanding tone. Kindness is usually a trap. But harsh instructions? They’re comforting, in a way.
Nothing to interpret. No hidden meaning.
All I need to do is obey.
It’s what got me into this situation in the first place. A kink club was supposed to be a safe place to explore this dynamic of Dom/sub, or Master/slave. And it was, I suppose. But I must have felt too safe, because I didn’t question that flyer in the entryway.
“Come.” The man turns and walks toward a doorway, one I didn’t see before.
I follow him without hesitation, my bare feet padding across the cold concrete. The hallway beyond the warehouse door is brighter, with white walls and recessed fluorescent lighting. It feels cold and sterile, almost clinical.
He pauses at a door that seems no different from the others and pushes it open. “Go in. Remove your clothing.”
I step past him into another room of white walls and fluorescent lighting. But before I can start to pull off my clothing, the object in the center of the room stops me, and I hesitate.
It’s an exam table. The kind gynecologists use.
The door slams behind me.
My hands freeze at the hem of my gray uniform. I know better than to look back, but from the footsteps, I know both men are in the room.
The exam table looms before me, metal stirrups gleaming under the harsh lights.
“Clothes, 127.”
I force my fingers to move, pulling the rough fabric over my head. The air is cold against my skin, raising goosebumps along my arms. I fold the uniform carefully and set it on a small metal stool beside the door, my movements automatic after months of conditioning.
"On the table," he says, in the same commanding voice.
The other man is silent. He offered kind words, but the very fact that he’s here, watching as I obey every command, tells me that I was right. It was a trap, and I’m lucky that I didn’t fall for it.
I climb onto the vinyl surface, the material sticking slightly to my skin. The position makes me feel more exposed than standing naked did. Vulnerable in a way that sends panic skittering up my spine.
"Lie back."
My back touches the cold vinyl as I follow his instructions. I stare at the ceiling tiles above me. White squares with tiny perforations, like a thousand empty eyes looking down. I count them to keep my mind occupied, to stop myself from thinking about what comes next.
"Feet in the stirrups."
I slide my heels into the cold metal supports. My knees fall apart automatically, exposing me completely. I've learned not to tense against this position, not to fight the vulnerability. Fighting only makes everything worse.
The blue-eyed man moves to the side of the table. I can see him in my peripheral vision, but I keep my gaze fixed upward. Twenty-seven ceiling tiles. I count them again to be sure.
"We’re going to do a medical examination," he says, his voice still rough but somehow different. "To make sure you haven't been injured. Do you understand?"
I nod, not trusting my voice. Medical examination. That's what they called it at the facility too, before they decided I was "ready." The memory makes my stomach clench.
"Answer me, 127." There’s something in his eyes that I can’t quite read.
"Yes, Master." The words come out as barely a whisper.
“Aiden.”
