Hey Professor! Ch. 04

HIPAA notification of privacy. She barely glanced at the boilerplate, her rebel grunting at the clause that said her information would only be shared with individuals she approved.

Guarantee of payment. This one basically said the club was paying for it. By signing it, she was permitting the club access to the results. She sighed.

Medical history. She got up to refill her coffee, noticing the aroma from her vag. This whole thing was turning her on so much. She needed to talk to Car!!. She brushed her finger tips across her nipples, the memory of what he'd done to her the night before sending electric tingles into her chest.

"I've got it so bad." She worked through the medical history. Luckily it was mostly easy: No to every condition they listed. She had to think about her family history -- father, mother, sisters. Anything interesting there? Nothing that fit the items on the list.

Mental health history. She shook her head. Almost the same information from the medical form, but more in-depth questions about depression, anxiety, family history of schizophrenia and other shit she didn't know about or even wanted to know about.

Personality Inventory. She scrolled through the several pages of questions and her stomach growled. "Holy fuck! What the fuck do they do with this shit?" But she had a good idea what they did with this shit, based on her psych class from last semester. She stopped to scramble an egg and make a fresh pot of coffee.

She looked at the clock. 30 minutes since she moved to the kitchen. This form alone said it would take 30-45 minutes to complete, even as it cautioned to not think about the answers. "There's no way I could get through all of these in 30 minutes!" The coffee had worked its magic and she had to take a break to relieve herself, taking the laptop with her. As she moved through the questions, she did as the instructions suggested, just answering with her first thought. Every now and again, though, a question would stop her and she'd shake her head, giggling. "I am very seldom troubled by constipation? Really? What the fuck kind of question is that?" She looked down between her legs confirming that as of this morning she wasn't afflicted with that problem. Cleaning up and returning to the kitchen she finished the inventory.

Mentally exhausted by the time she finished, she took a break. Still a couple of hours before she had to get ready and only two forms left.

Sexual history. She shook her head. He's stripping me bare even remotely. She felt her labia thicken at exposing her sexual history to him. It was all so clinical and unemotional. Like a lab animal. Her sub-self showed more images of being tied down, pulled open, inspected, begging for release. Her rebel couldn't unbury herself from the onslaught of feelings and arousal. Her fingers drifted to her nipples and then down to spread her lips. Luckily the kitchen chairs were plastic, a pool of moisture was growing in front of her open slit. "Fuckkk," she whispered and struggled to pull her fingers back to the keyboard.

Am I sexually active? Yes. Sex partners in recent months. One. In the past year. Three. Men, women, both, other. Both. Other? She thought about tommie...and Other. The form opened a table, asking for specifics about her activities with each. "Shit!" Filling in each cell sent a pulse of arousal through her spine. He'll be reading this!!

What types of sexual activities have you engaged in? Penis/vagina penetration, anal, oral. She swallowed and felt her sub-self take full control, answering in explicit detail what she'd done in the past year with Car, Jamie, tommie. It's going to give him ideas. Her rebel-self tried to surface, but it was too hard to listen. The puddle grew on the seat as she thought about him reading through her answers.

What protection have you used for STDs? She looked at the possible answers, picked a few and realized she'd not been as careful as she could have been with tommie. Who knew where they had been? The memories of their brief encounters heated up her breasts, her nipples stiffening and swelling. She shook her head. She had it really bad.

Submitting the form, it opened a second page of questions and she inhaled sharply, her hand covering her mouth. The questions here were asking for explicit details beyond what she'd already given. She squeezed her legs together, feeling the wet spot from the seat cold against the underside of her thighs.

You indicated vaginal penetration as one activity. Please review the choices below and select the largest diameter of object/penis you have had inserted into your vagina in the past year. She closed her eyes not believing she was doing this. How could she tell? tommie's "penis" wasn't very large, and Jamie hadn't been all that with her, but Car had introduced some pretty fantastic toys over the past six months. She blushed thinking about how much they'd tried to get her fist in her, but it hurt so much! One category was fist, and within it a choice of three sizes. She shook her head in disbelief, scanning other categories and choices. She finally picked a diameter for a dildo Car had bought her a couple of months ago that she'd had a lot of trouble getting inside her. The pain of it stretching her lips came back and the concern and sweetness Car had shown when she begged her to take it out sent a rush of emotion through her.

The questions continued with oral sex: what specific size of penetration (if any) had she taken in. How far did she estimate she was able to take the penetrating object? "They've got to be kidding..." but she continued, seeing she was almost done.

And then the same for anal sex, and she had to think. Car hadn't been much into it, so nothing bigger than her finger, but tommie was really into it, and their dick was bigger than Car's finger. Not to mention the toys they liked to use on her that last night they'd had together. It was hard to estimate, though. "Who are you?" She realized she was getting all clinical about it and knew she'd passed some threshold of submission to the process, and to him. She chose as best she could and submitted the form, now emotionally exhausted as well.

Statement of authenticity. It was a simple form that basically said she'd answered everything truthfully. Any errors or omissions would be addressed by her trainer. She didn't even care at this point, signing the thing and submitting it.

The site gave her a thumbs up, all done message and offered a calendar hit to put on her system. She closed it down and sat staring at her screen, her mind racing, her emotions dulled by the memories of her recent sexual encounters and the shit she'd just told him about herself.