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"Oi! Is this really necessary?" Sarah struggles against Rudy's strong grasp. She's been drugged, and her movements are sluggish and clumsy. To add insult to injury, they've forced her to change into a backless hospital smock. They're in one of the labs, white plastic sheets covering the walls. An exam table sits in the middle of the room, menacing enough on its own, but the trays with neatly arranged medical instruments, gleaming and sterile, add to the atmosphere of malice. There's also a countertop with a few cabinets and a sink.
"Yes," Coady says, not looking up from the manila folder in her hand. Dr. Silva stands at her side, bent over a tray of instruments. "Your reproductive biology is of interest to us. A standard gynecological exam will help us better understand what's going on with you. You're unique, Sarah. And I want to know why."
"You know what I think? I think you can go to hell," Sarah says.
Coady ignores the jab, and pulled on a pair of powder blue nitrile exam gloves with a rubbery snap. "Rudy, get her up on the table."
Sarah fights, for all the good it does. Her limbs feel heavy, and though the drug hasn't rendered her completely unconscious, it makes her slow and dulls her reflexes. Eventually, Rudy and Silva wrestle her onto the exam table, strapping her down.
"Get her legs into the stirrups. I want to get this done. I don't have all day," Coady says, pulling the stirrups out from the end of the exam table and locking them into place. Sarah kicks and shouts, tries to claw her way out of her restraints, tries to hit any of her captors, but she's too weak, and they're far too strong. Coady forces her legs into the stirrups, strapping them into place, then forcing her legs apart so that her most intimate areas are exposed.
"I will begin by visually examining the external genitalia," Coady says, and Silva notes something down on a clipboard. "I do not see any structural abnormalities, and I do not see any discharge. When was your last menstrual period?"
"Fuck off."
"Are you sexually active?"
Sarah glares.
"Any chance you might be pregnant?"
"…No."
"And your sexual orientation?"
"None of your business."
"Are your partners usually male or female? Or both?"
"Fuck off."
Coady grabs a tube of lubricant from one of the trays, coating two fingers. "I'll begin with a bimanual exam."
She slides two fingers inside Sarah, pressing down on her abdomen with her free hand. The lube is cold and the latex gloves add the clinical, detached feel of the exam. It's as if Sarah isn't so much a person as a specimen to be studied and examined, pinned down like a taxidermized butterfly, spread open like a preserved frog beneath a dissecting microscope.
"I don't feel anything abnormal," Coady says, and she curls her fingers inside of Sarah, fingers running over a spot that feels good, and Sarah screws her eyes shut, cheeks burning with shame. Coady pulls her hand out, then grabs something from one of the trays. The clinical lighting glints off the metal speculum, and Sarah freezes. Coady slicks it with lubricant, then starts sliding the insturment into Sarah. There's some pressure when she opens it up, but it doesn't really hurt— her movements are gentle, a stark contrast to the predatory way she's eyeing Sarah.
"I can visualize the cervix, and all looks to be normal," Coady says, and Silva notes it down. She pulls the speculum out, setting it aside.
"I will now proceed with a rectovaginal exam."
"Recto— what?" Sarah struggled against her restraints. "There's no way that's necessary!"
"I need to be thorough. Your biology could be the key to curing my boys. Please try to relax, and don't fight me. This is a standard exam." Coady lubes up both her hands, sliding two fingers back into Sarah's vagina.
"You're— you're medically raping me! That's not standard procedure anywhere."
"Don't be dramatic. This is for the good of all of us. Now, you'll feel some pressure," She presses her finger into Sarah's ass, easing it in slowly. It doesn't hurt, at least, and Sarah is grateful that she's seen fit to use copious amounts of lube. She feels around, both hands working in tandem. Again, she strokes the spot deep inside of Sarah. Sarah can't tell if the stimulation is accidental or purposeful.
Coady hits the spot again, and Sarah finds herself bucking her hips against Coady's hands. Coady looks at her, and the look in her eyes makes Sarah's blood run cold. She hits the spot again, and this time Sarah is almost certain that it's on purpose. There's a sinister gleam in the older woman's eyes, although her voice remains clinical as she speaks.
"I feel no abnormalities. The subject's uterus and ovaries feel normal, and I do not feel anything of concern in the anus or vagina."
She curls her fingers again, and Sarah gasps. Dr. Silva looks slightly uncomfortable, but continues to take notes on his clipboard. Rudy watches with undisguised arousal, his pants tenting with an obvious erection.
"Rudy, please come and assist with a breast exam," Coady says, her thumb migrating to Sarah's clit, rubbing circles around it, and Sarah can feel herself getting wet. Rudy pulls on a pair of gloves, the nitrile squeaking.
"He's definitely not a doctor!" Sarah protests, but then Rudy's hands are rucking up her gown, planted firmly on her chest, pressing and squeezing, then stopping briefly to pinch at her nipples.
"No lumps," Rudy says, grinning. "Better be thorough, though." He continues to rub at her chest. It feels wrong, not just because of the obvious reasons, but because he's genetically her brother.
Coady keeps rubbing at Sarah's clit. Silva mutters something under his breath, then leaves the room. Sarah's attention is all on Coady, now, even though Rudy continues to play with her breasts, the nitrile gloves proving all sorts of interesting sensations on her skin, smooth and yet slightly tacky, sticking to her skin. Coady's eyes are cold and hard, without kindness, without mercy.
Sarah moans, despite herself. Pleasure radiates through her body, as Coady rubs at her clit, fingers deft. Her body shudders, hips jerking up to meet Coady's hands. She doesn't want this, but her traitorous body responds to the sensations in a very physical way. She's getting closer, and Coady seems to know it, because she increases her speed. Sarah pants, gripping the table, desperate and needy noises escaping against her will.
Then, she comes, hard, explosively, even, clamping down on Coady's fingers, electric sparks running through her entire body. Sarah arches her back, then collapses back down onto the table, gasping for breah.
Coady pulls her fingers out with a wet squelching sound, then tugs off her gloves, throwing them away and turning to wash her hands in the sink. "Subject had an orgasm after clitoral stimulation. Tell me, Sarah— how do you feel?"
"Piss off," Sarah mumbles, orgasm drunk and too tired to think of anything better to say.
"Still with the attitude," Coady says, shaking her head. "I though I made it clear that I wasn't someone you could fight. Be honest with me. You enjoyed that, didn't you?"
Sarah glares.
Coady laughs. "I thought so. Let's get you cleaned up." She grabs a wipe from one of the side tables, cleaning the excess lube from Sarah's cunt and thighs, and the bare skin of her wrist brushes against Sarah's thigh, making her shiver. Whether from fear or pleasure, Sarah can't be sure.