The Clinic is one of the most objectifying, humiliating, and deeply erotic places I’ve been trained to submit in. There’s no privacy, no modesty, no illusion of control. Only exposure, obedience, and being handled. In today’s session, I was strapped into a new bondage device — a high, narrow stool beneath me, legs secured up and outward on the wall, hands fastened on either side. It left me completely suspended and spread, with no way to shift or squirm. I wasn’t even allowed the dignity of eye contact or speech. Just silence, dripping, and the steady rhythm of the examination. And the doctor was… thorough. He inspected my tight little pussy, prodded, stretched, rubbed… until my hole was twitching with need. And maybe it was the sight of me restrained like that, or maybe it was how wet I got from the shame of it, but he decided that the clinical part of the exam was over. The inappropriate, filthy part had just begun. Being used in that position — no leverage, no control, just taken — is something that hits deep in my submission. There’s no illusion of “doing well.” I’m just there. Strapped open and filled. At his mercy. His fingers weren’t enough (they never are), but the reward came quickly: his cock stretching me open while I moaned into nothing. Once he finished using me, I was of course expected to finish him… sucking his cock while he calmly did paperwork, drooling a little, still strapped into pieces of the device. And finally, as always, I received my prescription for at-home care: a pair of metal loveballs, clamps for my nipples, and the wand I’ve been conditioned to squirm under. Just enough to keep my body pulsing until my next visit. These medical scenes aren’t fantasy for me, they’re training. Objectification at its most complete. Being used because I’m exposed. Being helpless and knowing my holes are only ever there to serve. And honestly? That knowledge stays with me long after the clamps come off.