the bottom: full disclosure

“Unnnh! . . .”

They had driven into Omaha, a medium size, clean-looking city, or so it seemed to Tami, who was used to the dingy crowdedness and tired dankness of old factory towns like Pawtucket and Worcester. The medical center was clean and new too. They went in a back way and up through a special elevator. Tami’s nakedness was acknowledged only casually by the few doctors and nurses they passed along the way. McMasters then took Wanda and Tami into a small library where he opened his suitcase on the table. And then went into a short explanation of these gadgets and how they worked. In other words, what was to be done to the naked girl. Upon hearing the explanation she bit her lip and held her breath.

As she entered the big round room she noticed it was like a more modern version of the upstairs lab at Chalfont. There was a steel table in the middle and chairs placed around the perimeter. As always in such medical surroundings the naked girl felt chilly and ill at ease. Yet it was not entirely antiseptic and clinical; there was a table set up with refreshments. Doctors strolled in bit by bit and joined McMasters and the two girls near the refreshments table. Tami was hungry, having been instructed not to eat for the past day, and it was agony to watch everyone else stuffing their faces with pretzels and potato chips. And wearing clothes. But she gritted her teeth and had to content herself with a cup of soda.

“This is Dr. Bishop, head of the urology department,” McMasters said, introducing a kindly little bald man in a white lab coat. Dr. Bishop extended a clammy hand. “Quite a nice specimen you are, Miss. You will be demonstrating some very improved equipment which I was hoping we would order, if the residents are suitably impressed.” Holding a soda in one hand, Tami was conscious of his frank stare at her breasts and then down below. Then she blushed as her stomach growled so loudly that the man certainly heard it, though he pretended not to. “I’m glad you shave your pudendum, it makes the demonstration much easier. Your labia majora are nicely tanned, too. I hear you never wear any clothes, being a radical nudist.”

Looking down in a blush, Tami was also conscious of everyone else looking at her from all around; she almost felt goose bumps on her bare butt cheeks, felt her nipples stiffen. She saw the contrast of her bare feet on a cold tile floor which was crowded all around with expensive hosiery and shoes. A naked specimen in a room full of clothed persons, to be stared at and exhibited, like an alien being from a race with no covering. Like she was the only one there with breasts and genitals and toes and everyone was looking at these strange features with scientific curiosity.

She looked up again at this kindly little man and said, “I don’t have any clothes at all. I don’t own any.” He wrinkled his chin, somehow impressed. Tami thought: “Radical nudist”; that is a good way to describe me, or what I’m supposed to be.

A short time later, she suppressed a blush as she followed McMasters’s instruction and got up on the table on all fours. Thus began two hours of display, poking and prodding deep inside the naked girl in ways she had not thus far experienced.

“Note this improved anoscope,” McMasters said from somewhere behind her, as Tami gasped quietly from the feel of Wanda’s cold latex-gloved hand smearing lubricant between her spread ass cheeks. “The shaft is sectioned so as to allow both greater penetration but, more importantly, a greater aperture upon full distension.” Tami sensed the doctors gathering behind her and leaning closer over her rear end. Then her flat tummy jerked as she felt the long cold metal instrument inserted into her butthole and begin its journey into her rectum. “I will now turn on the light attachment,” McMasters said, and she could swear she felt some heat up in there. Her knees did a little jerk as she felt the tip gently press against the upper wall. “I will now begin to distend . . .” Wanda, of course, had walked around to face Tami. Tami didn’t give her the satisfaction of making eye contact but knew that Wanda was closely watching her wince as the metal cylinder opened her anus wide, wide, wider . . .

She could only imagine what the interior of her rectum looked like in the harsh light, but she heard a voice behind say, “She has fine pinkness inside, a very healthy rectal lining.” “We are now at two and half inches, full extension,” McMasters said. “Naturally with a typical patient this width will not be necessary or even possible, but Miss Smithers is trained to accept large objects and her sphincter is very pliable.”

Indeed. Two and a half inches! None of the dildos had been that wide. Yet this was not really painful, just uncomfortable. Tami felt more opened up than ever before. As the doctors leaned closer she could feel their breath curl up inside her most private cavity as they talked. “Look at the articulation with the sigmoid colon . . . Very good illumination . . . Most impressive . . .” A couple of them pushed on her butt cheeks with cold thumbs so as to move the instrument more in their direction, causing McMasters to say, “A healthy rectum like Tami’s is fairly hardy. If you want to see better the anoscope itself can be moved from side to side to some degree.”

“Yes . . . that way the entire proximal surface can be visualized,” a stern-sounding female voice said as the tip plowed and circled and pushed around the entire area of Tami’s insides. She was glad that this was a select professional audience, not like the crowd of lewd gawkers at the St. Louis “Sexpo”. Yet she felt so opened up that it was like her lower half had been turned inside out to create a big wind tunnel. She was hollow down there, an empty receptacle.

Suddenly her whole lower body jerked. Ick! McMasters had just inserted one of his special specimen swabs, a long thin stick about a foot long with a cotton tip. “Note how easy it is to get a sample, with her inner rectal field so accessible,” he said, and she grimaced as he noodled the swab around and around against her tender inner surface, so sensitive that though he was exerting the merest touch it was almost painful for the naked, opened-up girl.

After that there were more swabs poked in by various doctors. Tami buried her face in her hands and tried to control her breathing. Being poked by these things way up in there made her squirm. It made her toes flex and unflex individually in a complicated random rhythm. Then she gasped as one swab was slipped forward up into her colon, as someone said, “A healthy articulation.” What a strange feeling! Like being butt-fucked within being fucked in an inner butthole!

The swab siege was then lifted. Though Tami didn’t want to look, she couldn’t help notice the TV monitor placed to one side. “Now the colonoscope,” McMasters said. After some fussing around back there, during which Tami felt breaths and lights being bounced around inside her rectum, she gasped again as another intrusion, smaller and pointier this time, slipped into her -- should she call it her “inner butthole”? Was she truly unique now in having such a vocabulary for herself? -- and wiggled and squirmed its way in and in and around and around.

She remembered one time back home, when she was a little girl, the kitchen sink was clogged up and her father had called the plumber in who used a long stiff metal wire to push into the pipe. It was real long, maybe ten feet, yet the plumber got it all down there, then he began to rotate it around and around with a handle on the end. He told Tami this tool was called a “snake” and it was meant to unclog the part of the pipe down in the basement. Now she felt exactly like McMasters was using another “snake” and it was turning around and around way inside her . . .

“You can see that we have reached the end of the large intestine, over forty inches of penetration,” McMasters said. Tami’s eyes widened. Forty inches inside me! And the camera on the end, the eyes of the snake. She bit her lip at the unpleasant thought. “Note the improved camera angle,” McMasters continued, “and the resolution on the image.” “Remarkable!” said one of the doctors, an old guy with an English accent.

Tami could not resist looking at the TV monitor. The image was like someone shining a flashlight into a cave, a cave that was mostly gray but also strangely tinged with red. And the cave had rough walls, like little pebbles were embedded in them. Tami momentarily forgot the feeling of the snake inside her and raised her head in wonder. Her words were spontaneous. “Wow . . . That’s me!”

A sprinkle of laughter and the naked, invaded girl blushed and smiled and bent her head down again. In her shame she involuntarily clenched her butt muscles, a degraded and vestigial effort to cover herself, and that caused the anoscope to shift and the camera at the end of the long snake, forty inches up, to move and rub her insides.

“Now,” McMasters said from behind, with a voice that indicated he was some distance away, “we will crook the leading segment and proceed further.” Tami’s eyes popped open as she felt something under her stomach get prodded to the side and the snake’s little head pushed up even further. Its movements were slower and more subtle now.

“Nnnh!” The first of many tiny grunts during this yet deeper stage of her penetration. And her mind began to wander. She thought of yesterday, of the long ride to this place, looking out across the corn fields . . .