Page 8 of Exposed (The Wellard Asylum #1)

I breathe as slowly as I can and push the pain away. Follow the rules. Obey. Soon, I’ll ? —

A metal gear churns; the speculum’s mouth widens with every twist of Dr. Ambrose’s fingers. Spasms charge through me.

He’s going to rip me in half.

As I whimper, the assistant looks over his shoulder between my thighs. Dr. Ambrose fixes the bolt into place, then leers at my pussy hole. My clit throbs. I’m so wide, I’m positive he can see my cervix.

Dr. Ambrose stretches my pussy lips hugging the speculum even further apart. My clit pulsates; each throb travels to my head, making it so I can barely think. Why am I doing this?

I’m here for a reason, I think. I’m here because of him. He has to ? —

“Quite elastic,” Dr. Ambrose says. “Don’t you agree, Oliver?”

“The muscles are strong,” the assistant says. “Potentially due to daily use.”

Dr. Ambrose chuckles. “It seems the body wants more. I’ll move on with the internal examination.”

How is this not the internal examination?

The speculum is yanked from me; the widest part dredges my pelvic bone, and a cry slashes through my throat. I writhe in agony; the assistant’s bodyweight keeps me in place .

I whimper. Dr. Ambrose didn’t even close the speculum first.

Wetness spills from my pussy, and I shake my head. Even if I kick their tools, they won’t let me go.

I’m doing this for a reason, I repeat internally. I’m doing this for my mother. I’m doing this so I can kill Dr. Ambrose and end his torment. I don’t like this. I’m not doing this for me. I can’t ? —

The assistant adjusts his position, using only his hands to keep me down. Then he twists his neck, as if to ogle my gaping pussy. I blush and look away.

Right then, Dr. Ambrose rams two fingers in me; his nails scrape my bruised tissue. Discomfort, pain, and pleasure ripple through me. I squirm as much as I can, but the assistant has a firm grip on my shoulders.

Dr. Ambrose uses his other hand to circle my clit, simultaneously fingering me and manipulating my bundle of nerves. Warmness waves through me; my hips push forward.

I see a glimpse of Dr. Ambrose’s fingers on my clit. His fingernails are filthy; he’s the last person I’d want to finger-fuck me, and yet my body itches, and my pussy clenches his fingers, like I want more. More of being forced. More of these sensations. More of everything.

“Not as tight as one would expect for a twenty-five-year-old,” Dr. Ambrose says as he adds a third finger. I wiggle. I’m sensitive all over. Dr. Ambrose addresses his assistant. “Your thoughts?”

“In most cases, one would expect the overuse of the vaginal canal to eventually lead to a wider diameter.”

It’s like they’re discussing a medical essay .

“Your fucked-up heads have a wider diameter!” I shout.

They ignore me.

“Ah, one would think that, but the vagina is quite elastic,” Dr. Ambrose says to his assistant. “Perhaps the patient has a wide vagina due to her heredity.”

My mother.

“You fucking assholes,” I scream. “You?—”

Dr. Ambrose removes his fingers and licks them. His eyes roll to the back of his head, like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted.

My jaw drops. Did he just taste me?

He offers his hand to his assistant. “Taste it,” he says. The assistant licks the offering in one long stroke. Dr. Ambrose turns to me. “Rotten, isn’t it?” he murmurs. “It’s the only way to describe it. The cunt is putrid to the core.”

“I agree, Doctor,” the assistant says.

I hide under my hands. It reminds me of my earlier thoughts about Dr. Ambrose breaking something in me, how I’m decaying from the inside out.

I’m supposed to do something, right? I have to?—

Dr. Ambrose locks onto my gaze. My belly simmers.

As he licks his hand clean, his free hand caresses his groin through his pants.

His tongue carefully swims between each finger, refusing to let a single drop go to waste.

His erection fully tents his pants, and my jaw unhinges, dropping to the floor.

His bulge is the same length as the clipboard. It’s monstrous.

And he likes doing this to me.

Dr. Ambrose inserts four fingers into me this time. The pressure pulls me apart and fills me with unbearable heat.

“Disgusting, isn’t it? A cunt who can’t be satisfied by a loving, normal boyfriend,” Dr. Ambrose says. The assistant chuckles, and Dr. Ambrose sneers. “No wonder he brought you in.”

My lips are parched. He’s talking about Benji. Benji never said I was a freak, but I could tell he thought I was strange, and now, Dr. Ambrose thinks I am too.

But Dr. Ambrose’s mouth is open and wet, and his erection pokes his pants. Arousal ravages his eyes, his intensity aimed at me.

Every part of me aches. I’m strange, and I’m a freak. And Dr. Ambrose still wants me.

“My assistant barely has to hold you down now,” Dr. Ambrose says.

The two men exchange a glance, and I whimper. Damn it. Why does the assistant have to be here? If he wasn’t here, I could kill Dr. Ambrose right now. Acid in his eyes. The stool in the back of his head. As soon as he was done inserting his fingers, I would?—

Dr. Ambrose pulls out his fingers rapidly, and their sudden absence steals the air from my lungs. He spits into his palm, then rubs the saliva over his hands.

“The patient obviously doesn’t need the extra lubrication. Regardless, we must test for arousal due to saliva,” Dr. Ambrose murmurs. “You see, Oliver? Her mouth dropped open with this simple gesture. Imagine what she’d do if I spit on her nasty twat.”

I smash my lips closed. Every fiber in my body tenses.

My fingers contort. My heart races. Dr. Ambrose is driving my pussy—and my mind —insane.

He said my pussy smells strongly, that I was too loose for a twenty-five-year-old, and that my pussy juices tasted rancid, and somehow, he’s aroused by doing this to me. Why don’t I want him to stop?

Then my mind spins.

Saliva.

Lubrication.

He’s going to put his fifth finger inside of me.

I can’t fit his fist!