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  • Writer's picturedonnylaja

getting shaved

Lab 5 now contained a gynecologist’s table, complete with extended stirrups. McMasters was waiting for her there, along with an older man who looked more like a dentist than a doctor, wearing a short white shirt. To one side sat Mr. Zipkin. Tami sighed. Weren’t there any women working here? Just men. Not that it would make it any less shaming.

“Hope you had a good rest, Tami,” McMasters said. “Everyone was very impressed, and of course we owe it all to you.”

Tami ignored the irony of being thanked, and stood naked in front of these men, resisting the urge to cover herself with her hands, an urge which she hoped by now would have been suppressed. She could think of several sarcastic remarks but knew she had to play it straight. “You’re welcome,” she said deadpan.

“We still have an hour left on your schedule for today, so we are going to try on the retainer and the bristle bra,” McMasters said, taking a large box from Mr. Zipkin and putting it on the rear of the gyno table. Tami wanted to clench her buttocks and close her legs; she didn’t want anything else being shoved into her today. And what did this guy want to do, wear me out? She tried to remember what the electronic counter said. What was it? 14 orgasms? Are they trying to make me come to death? Was that possible?

Tami’s thoughts were stopped cold when McMasters then said, “Of course, to prevent chafing, your pubic hair will have to be removed.”

Tami’s hand automatically went to her pubic bush and she touched some of her lower curls. “W - what?”

“Your hair will just get in the way. Mr. Redl here is a prep assistant. It’s his job to shave people about to go in for surgery. Don’t worry, he’s an expert. Just get up on the table and put your feet in the stirrups. It will only take about five minutes.”

Tami looked at the gyno table with alarm, then glanced at Mr. Redl’s kindly, wrinkled face, then back at the table. What had already been done to her today had been bad, but she at least had been told about it in advance. This was a total surprise. Shaving off all her pussy hair? She had read of such a thing, maybe in a magazine somewhere, and remembered it sounded grotesque. Even when Jen talked her into having her pubic hair trimmed before the Black Formal last winter, it was strange and a shocking suggestion. Then Tami thought: can they do this to me? She remembered the agreement she had signed. It didn’t say anything about shaving my pussy hair off . . .

“Miss Smithers, please, get up on the table,” McMasters said, a little impatient. Then, detecting Tami’s hesitation, he said, “Is there a problem?”

“Well, I . . . “

McMasters said in a dark tone that was unusual for him, “Is it that you want to stay . . . covered?”

Could she take a chance and say no? Of course McMasters would report her refusal to the Dean. Was this a sign of modesty?

“Miss Smithers, if you want your vaginal area to remain outside of people’s view, I will of course coordinate with the Dean.” McMasters was speaking in code, maybe so Mr. Redl wouldn’t detect anything odd. But to Tami his message was very clear. She gulped and got onto the table, saying in a quivering voice, “It -- I just forgot, that’s all.”

Mr. Redl had gentle, soft hands, and it was hard to object even though he was extending Tami’s legs wide, wide, wider, finally inserting each bare foot into its respective stirrup. The stirrups were set at maximum spread, far more than would be necessary for a normal gynecological exam. Tami was almost doing a split, like that time in the dorm lounge, helping Professor Congi with that workshop on sexual health. Then Mr. Zipkin took out a little backrest, like part of a chair, from under the table and pushed it against Tami’s back. It fastened to the sides of the table. Tami was now sitting almost straight up, her legs up and out, each stirrup just two feet or so to each side of her face, a limber position possible only for trained gymnasts like her. She tried not to look down but couldn’t help it, as Mr. Redl got out scissors and a cup of water and shaving cream. And a little plastic razor, like she used to use to shave her legs, back when she had such amenities.

For a second the only sound in the room was the snipping of scissors. Tami watched with desolation as her lush curls fell away bit by bit. At least they would grow back.

McMasters was back to his old, courtly self. “Miss Smithers, can I get you a coffee? You could probably use one, after what you’ve experienced.”

Now that he mentioned it, coffee was exactly what Tami wanted. Also, it was something normal. She wanted to do something normal. “Yes, please,” she said, looking forward to a few minutes from now, when she could come down from this spread-open position and drink coffee like a normal person, or at least like a normal naked person.

But in a minute McMasters returned with coffee and gave it to her as she remained extended up on the table. She looked uncertainly down at Mr. Redl, who had clipped her hair down to a buzz cut and was applying the shaving cream, the hot wetness of which made Tami flinch. McMasters told her, “Go ahead.” Tami found herself sipping coffee casually while her pubic hair was being shaved off.

“Hi, I thought you’d be here,” a familiar old voice said. It was Dr. Harridance, coming in with a coffee of his own. “Good to see you, Tami. How are things?”

The three men, Harridance, McMasters and Zipkin, were standing casually in front of Tami, chatting with her as if the three were co-workers on a coffee break instead of one of them being naked, spread wide on a gyno table as her pussy was being shaved. Tami was so disoriented by the unreality of this situation that she said the first thing that popped into her head. “Well, for someone who’s just had fourteen orgasms, I’m all right.” Which caused all the men, even Mr. Redl, to laugh, and Tami to blush. Did I really say that?

“I’m afraid you’ll have a few more today, I hope you won’t mind,” McMasters responded jovially.

Tami took a sip and shook her head. Then Dr. Harridance asked about her classes, and Tami found herself actually engaging in small talk. She chatted with Harridance and McMasters about the weather, they told her about the great impression she had made at the Chalfont Banquet, about the article by Harridance that was about to be published, then she talked about the academic format of citing articles she had learned in her extra credit math research . . . all the while the men stood facing her, idly glancing at her spread pussy as shaving cream disappeared under the gentle scraping of the razor. Finally Mr. Redl wiped the excess cream away and Tami was completely bare. Well, almost.

As she put her coffee cup down she followed Mr. Redl’s instructions to get up on all fours and spread her butt cheeks. The feeling of camaraderie quickly went away as shame took over. It was always horrible to show her butthole to everyone like this, and the coffee sippers looked at it, front and center in the bright light of the lab, as Mr. Redl applied one more bit of shaving cream to remove the few remaining hairs at the bottom of Tami’s pussy, next to her perineum.

After he finished there he got Tami’s feet back into the stirrups for the final once-over with a wet cloth. Miss Tami Smithers now had a totally smooth, hairless pussy. She looked down in spite of trying not to. It looked like she was eight years old again. This was an uncomfortable, creepy feeling. The newly uncovered skin was very sensitive and she could feel tiny drafts in the room. As well as the stares of the three men, and then of Mr. Redl, who got up and stood right in front of Tami, hands in his pockets, looking at her pussy appraisingly.

Satisfied with his work, Mr. Redl acknowledged McMasters’s thanks and gathered his equipment and left. For a moment there was an air of expectation as the naked girl continued to sit up there with her legs stretched up and out. Tami figured it was time to get down but she knew she had to wait for someone to tell her.

Instead, Dr. Harridance said, “Fine specimen, Zipkin. Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

Zipkin nodded, and said, “I think they’re in now.”

Then, to Tami’s horror, McMasters got behind the table and let loose some kind of brake. The table was on wheels, and he was pushing it outside into the hall! Zipkin opened the big double doors and Dr. Harridance, leading the way, said in his amiable voice, “Tami, if you don’t mind, we’d like the ob-gyn committee to see this. You would make a great demonstration model.”

As the table went out into the light and hustle and bustle of the hall, displaying the naked girl with her legs splayed out and up, the students passing by turned and froze into a sea of staring eyes. The gyno table was big and the hall was narrow, so students had to move out of the way, which they did reluctantly. It was certainly one of the oddest sights ever seen in the Chalfont Institute, as Harridance walked alongside, telling people to make way, and Zipkin and McMasters pushed from behind.

The naked girl’s mouth was open in shock and she couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t believe this. The urge to cover her pussy with her hands was intense, but she knew to do that would be sudden death. Instead she grabbed the sides of the table next to her hips with a white-knuckled grip, her eyes unable to completely hide her feelings of shame and shock. To the newly naked sensitive skin of her pussy the drafts of the hall felt like arctic blasts, and she knew without looking that her lower lips were widely parted as she felt the drafts shoot inside her and curl around, chilling her most secret place.

The strange convoy turned a corner into another hall and Tami met with the astonished looks of more students, white-coated geeks all, who quickly trained their eyes right at her gaping hole, looking right up inside her. Then the naked girl was rolled out into the main lobby, and for a horrible moment she thought they were going to roll her outside and parade her around campus. She had an image of her leading a parade down a main street, people cheering her opened pussy, taking snapshots of it, with a big picture of it on the front page of the next day’s newspaper . . .

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