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Lydia kept trembling and crying and wishing she was anywhere than in this demeaning situation. Some filthy beast had stripped her naked and abused and humiliated her in the most disgusting way, and now she was being assaulted all over again in sanitised rooms, with bright lights and people in uniforms and white surgical overalls, staring at her with distant gazes.
Rubber gloved hands were prying all over her bare body as beady eyes closely examined her for bruises, abrasions, and blemishes. Steel forceps had been inserted into her labia to crudely open wide her vagina, and probing swabs were taken from inside her most private parts. She could still feel the beast's sweaty hands touching her there.
No amount of their platitudes could calm or assure her. She felt dirty and defiled.
She could see a white coated figure's lips moving but she could make no sense of the questions they were asking her. When was the last time she'd had sex? Barely two hours ago, didn't they understand? Was she penetrated, in the vagina, in her mouth? "Yes, yes everywhere," she sobbed.
She no longer felt she was a human being; she was a victim, a statistic, a case to be dealt with.

About the Author »
Susan Morris began her interest in writing whilst taking a sabbatical from her career as Personal Assistant. Susan was born in Hampshire. She has travelled widely including most of Europe and the USA, and lived in Australia for several years. She now lives near the New Forest.
Email: susan@susanmorriswrites.com
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