Mil Barn Horror

BOOKING EXAMINATION

As they climb the unpainted porch steps, Tracy sees in the distance between dark buildings a blazing fire. Its light outlines a tall grain silo. Silhouettes of men small against the flames. On the fitful breeze comes a most delicious aroma of charred meat.

Inside, the bunkhouse is outfitted somewhat as a police station, with a desk sergeant and closed interrogation room doors on the sides. Open alcoves are hung with curtains on metal rods. Inside can be seen paper-covered exam tables and white metal cabinets with medical equipment. The girls are led to the desk sergeant.

"Name," he says, looking at Tracy's round breasts in the sweater shirt.

The highway cop hands over their ID and car registration. The desk sergeant waves the cop away, he turns to leave. Doctor Phere stays, still gripping River's bicep.

As the cop slams the precinct station door behind him, a tow truck drives past the building. Tracy's little car is hooked on back. The driver waves at the cop as he goes by.

The tow truck picks its way through the haphazard maze of derelict buildings and into a yard where many dusty cars stand empty. He lowers the shiny little car and unhooks it. He spends a few minutes rifling through the girls' luggage, pockets a few things. He finds their phones and removes the batteries, stomps the lifeless things into the dirt with his heel.

When he drives away, the little car's doors and trunk stand open. Two suitcases and a few small bags lie in the dust, contents spilled out. The wind tugs aimlessly at a lacy garment.

Inside the precinct station, the desk sergeant continues methodically filling out paperwork. A cowboy comes in, stands in the open doorway looking at the two handcuffed women, and grins. He takes a seat off to one side.

"Mmmm," the desk sergeant says. "Just smell that barbecue. I love Saturday nights."

"Yep," the cowboy says. "Saturday night."

The sergeant pushes a button on his desk, stands and removes Tracy's and River's wrist cuffs. A small older woman appears at a side door in a white lab smock.

"These two are ready for processing. You can take this one back now." The jowly desk sergeant makes a chin gesture at River.

The woman takes River by the elbow and guides her through the doorway. River looks over her shoulder at Tracy as if to say, we'll get through, babe. The door slams with a forlorn sound.

"Alright Miss Ransom," the doctor says. "Please step into the exam room here." He points to one of the curtained alcoves. Tracy walks obediently in, the doctor at her heels.

Doctor Phere pulls the curtain closed. The curtain rod makes a sharp metallic swish.

"Alright, everything off." He is turned away from Tracy, removing instruments from a drawer.

Tracy is aghast. "Did you say everything? This is just a simple DNA swab that you can do on the inner cheek."

"Our County laws are very strict, Miss. We require a vaginal swab. Procedure in the precinct station here is different than roadside tests. I'll need you completely undressed."

Doctor Phere's smile is warm and reassuring. Tracy does not feel reassured. Their trip home, at the outset so bright and happy, has gone black. Their families are waiting! How did the sun go down so fast?

Vaguely Tracy hears cars drive by outside. The blare of a top 40 station fades in the distance.

Doctor Phere waits with an expectant look. "Well, are we on the same page here, or do I need to summon assistance?"

"What kind of assistance?" Tracy glances toward the curtain, which is not quite closed. The fabric leaves a large gap at the bottom.

"We are authorized to immobilize suspects as necessary in order to complete these tests." His smile remains warm. "Please, my child, you'll let me do my job, won't you?"

Tracy searches his face. This is not about you, old man. I am a suspect?

Finally she relents. "You'll promise to get this over quickly, won't you? Our families expected us this afternoon."

Doctor Phere lets out an avuncular chuckle. "Certainly, my dear. We will speed you through here. Ezekiel's wife did invite you both for supper. It's up to you. She is a very good cook."

Tracy turns away, lifts a foot to remove her polished flats. She thinks dinner might be okay, if everyone is as nice as the doctor. That whiff of barbecue made her tummy growl.

Tracy places her shoes neatly together beneath a chair. Glances over her shoulder. Doctor Phere is arranging medical instruments on the side counter. She pulls her sweater shirt over her head, barefoot in bra and skirt. Taking a deep breath, she reaches back to unhook the bra. Her breasts fall free, full and warm. That's when she notices it is cool in the room. Her nipples harden in the center of her russet aureoles. Doctor Phere ignores her. She unzips her skirt and steps out of it.

Now wearing only her black thong, Tracy is worried. Crossed arms cover soft breasts, breasts so full and round they form vertical cleavage between them.

"Doctor Phere?"

"Yes my dear." She is relieved he does not turn around.

"Is there a gown?"

"Yes certainly." He reaches into a drawer and pulls out a pale yellow square of folded cloth. He hands it to her without looking.

Quickly Tracy ties the fastener in a bow behind her neck. There is no fastener at the waist. She is chagrined to notice that the back does not come together, leaving her protuberant butt cheeks showing, outlined by the narrow straps of the thong.

She faces Doctor Phere, arms protectively cover her. "I'm ready, sir."

He stands. "Very good my dear, please jump up here." He pats the corner of the tissue-covered exam table. Tracy parks her derriere on the crinkly paper. The gown does not cover her butt.

Doctor Phere stands in front of her, looking at the lovely girl's arctic-green eyes, the unlined face of smooth skin and open, symmetric features. Her long fall of blonde hair. A tall hot blonde indeed.

"Thank you for your understanding, my dear. Now you know the purpose of this exam is to get a DNA sample. It will be back from the lab in just a few minutes. While we're waiting, I'll have time to ask you some general health questions and things like that." His smile is calm.

Tracy studies his eyes. And things like what?

"Umm, okay, I guess. The quicker the better."

Doctor Phere smiles broadly. "Fine, then I just need for you to scoot back on the table so you can lie down for me."

Tracy positions herself on the table, keeping control of the thin yellow gown, the hem of which comes barely below her pubes.

"Fine. Now if you will allow me, I know this is embarrassing with a doctor you don't know, but I need you to lift your knees."

Slowly, watching his eyes warily, Tracy pulls her feet up toward her fanny. The doctor at the foot of the exam table is delighted to see the secret curves of Tracy's bottom come into view. She is a remarkable specimen. But he frowns seeing the black thong that barely covers her.

Tracy holds the gown in her lap, watching where his eyes go. She blushes hot scarlet.

"Thank you Miss Ransom. Now please, and I know this is shameful for such a proper young lady, but I must ask you to remove your thong. When I said everything off, I meant that too." His voice has an edge of ice.

Blushing, Tracy pulls the skimpy thong down her hips. She must lift her rump to get it under her round bottom, which raises her hips into Doctor Phere's view. The worst is when she jackknifes her knees to pull the stripper buttfloss off her ankles. She quickly lowers her legs and smooths the gown, blushes hot. The doctor holds a clear baggie in front of her.

"For your things."

Humiliated, Tracy puts the garment in the bag.

"Thank you my dear. Now lift your feet to your fanny and let your knees flop open. I'll take care of this and we'll have you out of here."

Tracy looks away in shame. Slowly, she allows her knees to part, giving the doctor a grand view as her smooth thighs open wide, revealing a pelt of curly blonde hair that covers everywhere between her smooth thighs.

"Please place your hands at your sides, my dear. That's it."

The doctor takes the hem of the gown and pulls it upward, revealing her curly-haired snatch and smooth belly. Tracy's brain is in shock as cool air floods her bare skin. Here she is, bare naked on an exam table in an old farmhouse, legs spread for a fat country doctor. She puts her hands over her face. The gown picks that moment to slither from her body. The fabric hangs to the floor like a bizarre necktie.

Too shocked to move, she is completely naked on the doctor's examination table, separated by the thinnest curtain from the main room of a police station where cops and cowboys come and go in heavy boots. The doctor picks up an instrument from the side counter.

"This will be warm and a little gooey," he says professionally. "It takes thirty seconds to collect the sample."

"Please hurry," Tracy says. She wants to jump into her clothes and run. She is too frozen with shame to think.

The device in his hand has a four-inch curved probe on it. He snaps on latex gloves and with a finger glops the black probe with KY. He rolls a stool to the end of the table and sits on it. Now that he's at eye level with Tracy's bush, he is very happy indeed about the lovely view. The girl is perfection. Tracy herself is mortified, with his leering face breathing on her twat.

He touches the probe to the opening of her vagina. She jerks.

"Please relax dear girl, we're almost done here."

The doctor wiggles the dark plastic at the mouth of her flushed opening, spreading the lube around. Gently he slides it in. When it's in all the way, he waits. Tracy takes a deep breath and relaxes. The doctor slowly withdraws the probe, waits, circles it at her outer lips a number of times. When her hips lift, he inserts it fully.

Tracy grunts, tries to ease away, but the doctor's hand follows with the probe.

"It will make a little noise," he says softly, peering at the divine parting of her curly-haired womanhood. He flicks a switch on the small device, which begins to hum and vibrate softly. Tracy is beside herself with shame. The damn thing feels like my vibe!

Under cover of the pulsing hum, the doctor allows one finger to slide alongside the greased black probe, to slip unnoticed into her vagina. Tracy does notice, but thinks it's just a corner of the probe's housing.

At that moment, the curtain slides back. Tracy whips her head toward the opening, both hands scrabble for the fallen gown. She hurries to cover herself, at least so far as a girl can with legs spread wide and a tool up her. The white-coated woman stands there. Behind her is a view of the decrepit precinct station. People sitting idly, doing small tasks. No one bothers to look up.

"Doctor Phere, we have an issue."

"Yes?" He rotates the vibrating probe inside the transfixed girl. Tracy jerks her hips, cringes in shame. The white-coated woman watches the doctor masturbate the girl on the table. "Only a few more seconds, Miss Ransom." Tracy's hips shudder. She closes her eyes.

"Doc, a patient is refusing the probe," the medical tech says.

"I'll be along shortly, thank you."

The woman closes the drape with a metallic rasp. The doctor hums along with his machine. "One thing I should tell you, my dear. You appear to have some serious hemorrhoids. I can take care of those for you in a jiffy if you would like."

Tracy cringes. She had been avoiding seeing her doctor up at school about that.

"What will it cost? Do you take my insurance?"

"It will be our little secret, my dear." He gives a friendly wink.

"Okay then, fine."

He switches off the humming tool. As he slowly extracts it, he notices how the girl's golden ass humps after the greasy probe.

"Please lie on your left side, with your fanny close to the edge of the table for me. I'll take care of these nasty hemorrhoids for you."

The doctor turns away, giving Tracy time to scoot over and adjust her gown.

"Fine. Please draw your right leg to your chest. Higher, yes." Tracy is aware he can see her kitty lips plainly in this rear view.

With a latex glove, Doctor Phere lifts Tracy's ass cheek, smears a glob of lubricant on her little starfish. He is happy to see it's almost the same golden color as her butt. Her hips twitch as his finger massages around the opening.

"Ready? You'll need to hold still. This goes in rather deep."

Unseen by the girl, the doctor holds a translucent suppository. The thing is three inches long and an inch wide. Tracy feels pressure on her back door as the tapered end opens her sphincter. The doctor rotates the load to work it in. She gasps as the fat thing stretches her. The doctor stops halfway in, appreciating the view of her stretched orifice. Finally he pushes it the rest of the way, following up with two twisted fingers to prod it through the second sphincter above her rectum. Tracy can't suppress a shocked gasp, squeezes her eyes tight in shame. He keeps his fingers up her for about half a minute, feeling her warm grip. When he withdraws, Tracy grunts.

"There, that wasn't so bad, now. Lie as you are, don't move for five minutes. I'll be back soon."

The doctor exits the cubicle. Tracy puts a hand on her behind, assessing how much the doctor was able to see. Her crease is completely on view back there, and goopy with lube junk. She lies still, her vision whirls as in a soft breeze. The afternoon was already unreal, beginning after she and River took that fateful leak in the bushes.

Suddenly it all seems funny to the doped-up girl. Her sense of reality is now under attack by the ménage of drugs and hormones the doctor shafted into her funky interior. Her body's entire pattern of responses is falling under control of the hormones steroids and sedatives now melting within her.

When Doctor Phere gets back, Tracy is humming. The gown has drifted from her control, and again dangles over the side of the exam table. Doctor Phere smiles. The girl's green eyes have a bovine glaze.

"Hello, my dear. Looks like we won't be needing that gown any more." He reaches behind her to untie it, and wads it into a plastic bag with the thong. A golden-limbed goddess lies draped upon his table. He picks up the shiny new flats Tracy placed neatly beneath the chair, dumps them in the bag. Her skirt and sweater follow.

He calls out to the desk sergeant to send in the wax girl. In a few minutes Tracy lies on her back with legs splayed out while long-haired Natalie, wearing only a black thong and high-heeled leather boots, applies hot wax to Tracy's crotch. A black leather collar cinches the wax girl's graceful neck.

The woozy one on the table absent-mindedly twirls both nipples. Her nerves are humming.

Natalie is professional. In only five painful rips, she reduces Tracy's golden pubic curls to sleek girl-flesh, a reddened yet ultra-smooth area of graceful curves and gentle hollows.

Tracy's fingers brush the area and she tries to sit up, but she lacks the muscular control to manage that. Instead she glides her fingers over the delicate flesh. Doctor Phere notes how stiff the girl's fat nipples have grown, makes a notation on her chart.

"Now, my dear, this young lady here is going to take you for a little walk. Please sit up for me."

Doctor Phere helps Tracy to sit on the edge of the table. Her full breasts slope to the russet aureoles, the nipples point straight ahead and slightly upward. The wax girl holds Tracy's long hair away. The doctor places a black leather collar around her neck, fastens two buckles, and tests it. Tight but not enough to choke. He clips a black leash to a metal D-ring on the collar, hands it to the bare-breasted wax witch.

"Alright, down you go. Just go with Natalie here, Miss Ransom."

Tracy steps to the floor. The wax girl sweeps open the privacy curtain, tugs on the leash, dragging Tracy, who is naked, waxed, leashed and collared, into the bright main room of the precinct station.