trouble either.” As he moves away again, I
notice for the first time that he is limping. The doctor grunts as
he makes his way towards his naked male subject, moving quickly
despite his limp.
“ You, Owen! Lift your arms!” Dr. Rolin
points a shaky finger at the young man. “I need to take some
measurements.”
Owen's emerald eyes flash at the sharp command.
Very slowly and deliberately, he lifts his arms and
locks his palms behind his head.
His eyes continue staring at me, challenging me,
taunting me. I narrow my eyes at him, staring defiantly back at his
harsh, rugged features. His lips are drawn in a tight line and the
veins on his neck are throbbing with his heartbeat.
“ Zoey, have you finished undressing? I want you
on the table in half a minute. Or I'll buzz the guards in.”
The doctor tilts his head at me, peering at me over his thick
glasses. I spot a red scar over his left eye that I hadn't noticed
earlier. It seems the doctor is just as damaged as the hapless
bodies he is examining.
Owen is standing with his arms up, legs planted wide
apart. The doctor is busy measuring Owen's neck, chest, waist, hips,
legs, mumbling and scribbling as he works the tape measure. But it
is hard to ignore the bulge between his legs. That bulge is
certainly keeping the doctor busy. The doctor is taking his time to
measure the girth and length, measuring and re-measuring to make
sure.
But Owen pays the doctor no heed at all. He is staring
straight at me, the corner of his lips curling.
I raise a hand to the button on my overalls, and glance
up.
He doesn't even have the decency to look away.
Your choice .
He is daring me, challenging me, waiting for me.
What are my choices?
Undress myself, or have the guards strip me forcibly.
Gritting my teeth, I turn my back to those unblinking
green eyes and force my trembling hands to work steadily at my
buttons and zips.
My heart is hammering wildly in my chest, but I refuse
to let my fear and mortification show. I shove my overalls and
panties down my legs and step out of them. Unbuttoning my torn
shirt, I shrug out of it and unclasp my thin, cotton bra. I let my
bra slide down my arms and drop at my feet.
I can hear my own rapid breathing as I wrap my arms
around myself and hunch.
“ Get on the table,” I hear Dr. Rolin call
out behind me.
I push myself up on the steel table and muffle a yelp at
the coldness of the metal against my bare thighs and buttocks. I sit
with my legs hanging over the side, and try to squeeze into a tight
ball. I can feel his eyes on my back but I drop my head between my
shoulders and don't look back.
I can bear the doctor's uneven footsteps, followed by
the clicking of a keyboard to my side. From the corner of my eye, I
see the doctor typing in front of a screen, muttering to himself as
he checks his notes.
“ All right. You're done.” Dr. Rolin looks
up momentarily from the keyboard. “Owen Vesparr, you've been
checked and certified. Get dressed and get out of here.”
I hear movement behind me, a rustling of cloth and
approaching footsteps. The breathing becomes heavier and louder, and
I know that Owen is standing just behind me, at the other side of the
steel table.
He walks past me, and I peer at him from between the
strands of hair falling over my face. Owen is dressed in nothing
more than a loin cloth. Or not even that. That piece of rag is so
thin and small it barely covers his behind. As he walks past me
towards the door, his eyes rake down my naked body, lingering at my
hands which are clamped over my bare breasts. He moves his gaze down
between my legs, staring at the mound between my thighs. His lips
part and his breathing becomes heavier. “Zoey,” he says
in a low, rough voice as he stands in front of me. I glare at him
from between the lines of my matted hair, scrutinizing him, judging
him, just like he is judging me, mocking me with his angry, devouring
eyes. My arms wrap tightly across my chest. I cross my
notice for the first time that he is limping. The doctor grunts as
he makes his way towards his naked male subject, moving quickly
despite his limp.
“ You, Owen! Lift your arms!” Dr. Rolin
points a shaky finger at the young man. “I need to take some
measurements.”
Owen's emerald eyes flash at the sharp command.
Very slowly and deliberately, he lifts his arms and
locks his palms behind his head.
His eyes continue staring at me, challenging me,
taunting me. I narrow my eyes at him, staring defiantly back at his
harsh, rugged features. His lips are drawn in a tight line and the
veins on his neck are throbbing with his heartbeat.
“ Zoey, have you finished undressing? I want you
on the table in half a minute. Or I'll buzz the guards in.”
The doctor tilts his head at me, peering at me over his thick
glasses. I spot a red scar over his left eye that I hadn't noticed
earlier. It seems the doctor is just as damaged as the hapless
bodies he is examining.
Owen is standing with his arms up, legs planted wide
apart. The doctor is busy measuring Owen's neck, chest, waist, hips,
legs, mumbling and scribbling as he works the tape measure. But it
is hard to ignore the bulge between his legs. That bulge is
certainly keeping the doctor busy. The doctor is taking his time to
measure the girth and length, measuring and re-measuring to make
sure.
But Owen pays the doctor no heed at all. He is staring
straight at me, the corner of his lips curling.
I raise a hand to the button on my overalls, and glance
up.
He doesn't even have the decency to look away.
Your choice .
He is daring me, challenging me, waiting for me.
What are my choices?
Undress myself, or have the guards strip me forcibly.
Gritting my teeth, I turn my back to those unblinking
green eyes and force my trembling hands to work steadily at my
buttons and zips.
My heart is hammering wildly in my chest, but I refuse
to let my fear and mortification show. I shove my overalls and
panties down my legs and step out of them. Unbuttoning my torn
shirt, I shrug out of it and unclasp my thin, cotton bra. I let my
bra slide down my arms and drop at my feet.
I can hear my own rapid breathing as I wrap my arms
around myself and hunch.
“ Get on the table,” I hear Dr. Rolin call
out behind me.
I push myself up on the steel table and muffle a yelp at
the coldness of the metal against my bare thighs and buttocks. I sit
with my legs hanging over the side, and try to squeeze into a tight
ball. I can feel his eyes on my back but I drop my head between my
shoulders and don't look back.
I can bear the doctor's uneven footsteps, followed by
the clicking of a keyboard to my side. From the corner of my eye, I
see the doctor typing in front of a screen, muttering to himself as
he checks his notes.
“ All right. You're done.” Dr. Rolin looks
up momentarily from the keyboard. “Owen Vesparr, you've been
checked and certified. Get dressed and get out of here.”
I hear movement behind me, a rustling of cloth and
approaching footsteps. The breathing becomes heavier and louder, and
I know that Owen is standing just behind me, at the other side of the
steel table.
He walks past me, and I peer at him from between the
strands of hair falling over my face. Owen is dressed in nothing
more than a loin cloth. Or not even that. That piece of rag is so
thin and small it barely covers his behind. As he walks past me
towards the door, his eyes rake down my naked body, lingering at my
hands which are clamped over my bare breasts. He moves his gaze down
between my legs, staring at the mound between my thighs. His lips
part and his breathing becomes heavier. “Zoey,” he says
in a low, rough voice as he stands in front of me. I glare at him
from between the lines of my matted hair, scrutinizing him, judging
him, just like he is judging me, mocking me with his angry, devouring
eyes. My arms wrap tightly across my chest. I cross my
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