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  • Writer's picturedonnylaja

secrets of the bottom

After another brief pause and a glance at his colleague Dr. Abu Jamal then said, “If you would, Miss Smithers, please get up on all fours facing away from us.”

Tami knew from having to expose herself in the past that even more humiliating than showing her spread pussy was showing her butthole. Maybe it was because she associated it with being dirty. In the shower she had been careful to keep her anal area very clean; these days she never knew when she would be unexpectedly forced to spread her cheeks and display this most private spot.

She briefly thought of that advice, “Always wear clean panties. You never know when you might be in an automobile accident.” Ruefully she imagined that for her the advice would be, “Tami Smithers, always keep your butthole clean. You never know when you might be called on to display it.”

Tami turned around and planted herself on all fours, like a dog, her knees and toes and palms on the cold metal of the table, trying to numb herself to what was happening. Because of her recent sexual arousal she no longer felt cold. Glancing briefly down, she saw her hanging breasts with the still-erect nipples; then past that, the tuft of her pussy hair. Between her legs she could see the lab coats of the two men as they moved in for a close look. The metal of the table reflected her naked front almost like a mirror. She could see the reflection of her concave belly as it breathed in and out.

The naked teenager tried to take her mind off her shame by looking up across the room at the far wall, where there was a row of glass cabinets. They were filled with jars of what must be chemicals. She was afraid she would see ghastly things like hearts or small animals suspended in liquid, but fortunately there was nothing that looked like that.

She shook a bit when one of the two doctors behind her gently squeezed one of her butt cheeks. Again there was jabbering in Pakistani. Then she heard Dr. Harridance say, “Miss Smithers, if you could lower the front of your body to the table so we could have a better angle.”

With a sigh of resignation Tami rested her head on her hands, which she crossed flat on top of the cold table. Offering up her butt like this, now she was like a dog begging to be fucked. She turned her head and stared out the far windows, which as it happened looked out onto the soccer field.

Her toes flexed nervously as Dr. Abu Jamal spread her butt cheeks. Tami was spared having to look but she knew what was happening. The two doctors were discussing the size and shape of her anal sphincter. They must have been leaning pretty close because she could feel their breath on the sensitive brown skin that surrounded her butthole. Of course, everyone knows about my ring of brown skin, she told herself in desolation. Half the campus has gotten a good look at my butthole by now. They’d might as well post pictures of it in the Campus Center. In four years I’ll look in the yearbook and instead of my face over my name there’ll be a picture of my butthole . . .

“Miss Smithers,” Dr. Abu Jamal said, “Have you ever engaged in anal intercourse?”

Tami was jolted by this question and then made a face which, perhaps fortunately, the two men couldn’t see. Yuck. She had heard that buttfucking was very painful, and besides, the idea was icky. She said, “No,” which led to more discussion between the two doctors.

The naked girl’s eyes widened as she heard entering footsteps and a third man join in the jabbering. Is everyone at this Institute a Pakistani? Tami knew these were educated doctors but, listening to these dark-skinned men chatting in a foreign language, she imagined that she was in some African or Arabian country . . . she was about to be sold as a sex slave and these men were auctioneers appraising her sexual parts to see how much money she would bring.

She heard the shifting of shoes -- how she wished she had shoes again! -- and knew that there were now three men looking closely at her anus. More jabbering, and then she felt her butt cheeks being stretched apart this way and that as the men jostled to get a better view. What were they talking about? What were they proposing to do? Tami desperately wanted to know, and yet didn’t want to know.

​ She looked out the windows again. Out on the soccer field a squad of girls in matching sweatshirts was slowly jogging across. It was the women’s track team. Tami wished she could be allowed the life of a normal girl. There they are, in nice warm sweatshirts and sneakers, doing normal girl things together and probably engaging in normal girl talk. Here I am, forbidden to ever wear any clothes, stark naked as always, on a stainless steel table in a freezing lab, being probed and stared at by these grown men. As they talk I can feel their breath on the sensitive skin of my butthole! As the girls jogged out of view Tami almost wept with longing, thinking of the normal life she was denied.

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