If there was one insecurity in my life that plagued me like no other, it was my chest. I hated it. My breasts, if you could call them that, never grew in. Instead of the soft, firm, round or perky mounds that other women took for granted, I had only the barest of bumps behind each tiny, flat nipple. I spent my college years, normally a time of sexual discovery, hiding on the sidelines, concealing my chest with padded bras and baggy clothes, feigning disinterest in any boy who approached me, convinced they would find my true appearance repulsive.
Perhaps this was not the healthiest of attitudes. Perhaps I should have worked harder to love my body as it was. Nonetheless, when I saw the ad for the Fairbridge Clinic in the same week I landed my first decently-paying job, my heart leapt. It was a sign, I was certain of it. A proven, non-invasive and permanent method of breast enlargement, the ad had said. It sounded too good to be true.
Before I knew it, I was standing at their reception desk, signing the waiver. The waiver was long and the language dense and impenetrable. Maybe if I had read it more carefully I would have taken pause at some of the wording peppered throughout the legalese. Maybe I would have had some inkling of what was to come. But would I have acted differently? Truthfully, no, I don't believe I would have. As it was, I paid my rather hefty down payment and left, blissfully unaware of what I had consented to.
I eagerly anticipated my the day of my first appointment, nervous as I was at the thought of anyone seeing my chest that I had carefully hidden for so long. I arrived rested and well-hydrated as per the pre-appointment instructions. The receptionist took my payment and led me through to the treatment room, and there I perceived for the first time that I may have signed up to more than I'd bargained for. In the center of the room was a leather padded table, with breakaway arm and leg rests. Thick, sturdy-looking straps hung from it, the sight of which caused me to freeze in alarm. A bank of machines stood behind the table, covered in various tubes, wires, connectors and displays, inscrutable in their purpose. At the foot end of the examination table, a bespectacled, dark-haired young man in a lab coat sat at what appeared to be a control panel. And at the head of the table, a blonde woman was rising from her padded stool to approach me.
"Hello, Kari," she said, and smiled warmly. "I am Dr Ellen Fairbridge, and I will be administering your treatment today." She looked to be in her early forties, with subtle lines just beginning to show at the corners of her eyes and mouth. She wore her hair in a low-maintenance chin-length bob. She waited for the door to close behind the receptionist, then said "Would you kindly remove your clothes?"
Still bewildered by what I was looking at, I fumbled with my blouse, fingers slipping on the buttons. Finally, I managed to remove it.
"And my bra?"
"Yes, Kari, and your bra."
Another moment of fumbling with the clasp. I realized as I removed my bra that I had stuffed them out of habit with extra foam padding. I blushed deeply with embarrassment. Would she find that pathetic? The feeling of cool air on my bare, flat chest made my skin prickle. I fought the urge to cover myself and began walking toward the table.
"And your bottoms too, Kari."
I froze. I hadn't expected this. "Y-you mean my pants?" I managed to say, pulling clumsily at the top button.
"I mean your pants and your underwear. Everything."
Everything. My heart pounded in my chest. Had this been in the pre-appointment information? I had to remove my shoes to get my pants past my ankles, and when I pushed them off my socks came with them. I hesitated, then slid my panties down and stepped out. Now I was completely naked before these two strangers.
"Good," said Dr Fairbridge, as she picked up my clothes and placed them neatly on a trolley by the table. "Now let's get you on the table."
Panicked thoughts swirled in my head as I gingerly climbed onto the padded table. Why did I need to be naked? Somehow, I was afraid to ask, as if acknowledging my situation would make it real. The cool leather against my skin made me jump. I had never felt more vulnerable or exposed. Dr Fairbridge took a seat back on her stool behind my head.
"Kari, before we start, I'm going to make some baseline assessments. That means I'll be touching your breasts and applying monitoring" I nodded nervously. She reached into a set of drawers by the bed and retrieved a series of electrodes, placing one over each of my nipples and a series of smaller ones over my chest and arms. Unexpectedly, the assistant seated at the foot of the table also rose and took several items from the drawer. My mild surprise turned to alarm as I felt his fingers touch my labial folds, then part them.
Seeing my reaction, Dr Fairbridge gave me a reassuring smile. "My assistant Andreas will be applying some similar monitoring to your genitals, as well as inserting a vaginal probe to assess depth and responsivity." She paused. "That part may be a little uncomfortable, but it won't take long."
"W-what?" I finally managed to say. "Why do you need to do all that?"
A small frown crossed Dr Fairbridge's face, but quickly passed. "Ah. Perhaps you haven't fully read the patient information. I do try to have reception go over it with patients, but it can take a while for new hires to get over their... prudishness. I understand you are here primarily because you are unhappy with the size of your breasts. But the important thing to understand is that the core concern of this clinic is not breast augmentation, it is sexual function. Physical appearance is meaningless without the appropriate accompanying function. I'm talking about sensitivity and responsiveness. Are you following?"
"I guess," I lied. I had no idea what she was talking about. All I knew was that I was naked on a table in front of two strangers, one of whom was about to violate me with a probe. As if on cue, I felt the lubricated rod slide into me.
"Nngh." I failed to suppress a moan. The rod stretched me unpleasantly, as did everything else I had ever attempted to put in there. Before I could attempt to adjust to the intrusion, I felt Andreas' gloved thumb begin to massage my clitoris, slowly and methodically. I stiffened on the table. I had never been sensitive down there, but being touched so casually like this by a stranger made my head swim with humiliation. After what felt like an eternity, the manipulation stopped. I felt movement between my legs and realized the assistant was placing more monitoring electrodes on my clit, vulva and inner thighs.
"Kari, do you masturbate?" asked Dr Fairbridge as she flipped a switch on a box next to the table. Suddenly, I felt a tingling sensation in my breasts, clit and inside my vagina, causing an involuntary squeak to escape my lips.
