Tell George to turn around

Rebecca reluctantly took the gown. "You can turn around, I guess."

George obediently swiveled in his chair, facing the corner of the van. In the reflection of his laptop screen, he could still make out the blurry outline of Rebecca as she began to undress. The sound of fabric rustling made his mouth water with anticipation.

"Just let me know when you're ready," he said, adjusting his erection through his pocket to make it less obvious.

"Okay," Rebecca finally said, her voice small. "I'm changed."

George turned back to find Rebecca sitting awkwardly on the examination table, the paper gown barely covering her essential areas. It was short enough that the curve of her ass was visible where it met the table, and the thin material did little to hide the outline of her breasts.

"Perfect," George said, maintaining his clinical demeanor despite the surge of lust that flooded his system. "Now, I'll need to attach these monitoring devices."

He produced several small adhesive pads connected to wires, which in turn connected to nothing but were made to look like they interfaced with his laptop. With practiced movements, he began placing them on Rebecca's body—one on her wrist to supposedly monitor pulse, another at her temple for "neural activity," and then, most crucially, two that he needed to place on her chest.

"These need to go here," he explained, pointing to the areas just beside her breasts. "They monitor your cardiovascular response to stimuli."

Rebecca clutched the gown tighter. "Can't they go somewhere else?"

"Unfortunately not," George said with rehearsed regret. "The sensors need to be in proximity to your heart for accurate readings. I am a certified professional, Rebecca. This is a standard medical procedure."

After a moment's hesitation, Rebecca reluctantly loosened her grip on the gown, allowing George to place the sensor pads. His fingers lingered longer than necessary as he positioned them, the backs of his hands "accidentally" brushing against the swell of her breasts.

"There we go," he said, stepping back to admire his handiwork. Rebecca sat rigid on the table, clutching the gown closed with one hand while various wires extended from different points on her body. "Now we begin the stimulus response assessment."

George retrieved a tablet from his desk and pulled up a series of images he'd prepared—starting with neutral photographs of landscapes, then progressing to pictures of attractive men, and finally explicit sexual images.

"I'm going to show you a series of images," he explained. "Just look at them naturally. The sensors will monitor your subconscious physiological reactions, which often reveal attraction patterns we're not even aware of consciously."

As he began showing her the images, George kept a close eye on Rebecca's face. When the pictures progressed to shirtless men, he noted the slight dilation of her pupils, the almost imperceptible catch in her breathing. By the time they reached the explicit sexual images, a faint blush had spread across her cheeks.

"Interesting," George murmured, pretending to observe readings on his laptop. "Your autonomic responses are showing some concerning patterns, Rebecca."

"What? What does that mean?" she asked, anxiety creeping into her voice.

"It means we need to proceed to the physical response verification," George explained gravely. "Your visual stimulation patterns indicate potential susceptibility to extramarital attraction, but we need to confirm with tactile response assessment."

Rebecca frowned. "Tactile...?"

"Yes. Unfortunately, the sensors can only tell us so much. For a comprehensive assessment, we need to measure your physical responses to direct stimulation." George pulled on a pair of latex gloves with a snap, adding to the clinical facade. "This is, of course, completely professional and standardized."

"I don't think—" Rebecca began, but George cut her off.

"Rebecca, I understand your hesitation. But consider the alternative—going home without knowing for certain, always wondering if you might be at risk. The tactile assessment is quick and conclusive. Wouldn't you rather know for sure?"

Rebecca bit her lip, his manipulative powers working their magic on her reasoning. "What... what does it involve exactly?"

"I simply need to apply standardized stimulation to erogenous zones while monitoring your physiological responses," George explained, moving closer to her. "It allows us to measure your susceptibility to touch from someone other than your husband. A strong response would indicate high infidelity risk."

"That sounds... inappropriate," Rebecca protested weakly.

"I assure you, it's strictly scientific," George countered. "The assessment is calibrated to measure response thresholds without crossing into inappropriate territory. All data is encrypted and confidential."

Rebecca hesitated, but the seed of doubt had taken root. What if she really was susceptible to infidelity without knowing it? Wouldn't it be better to find out now, in this controlled setting, rather than discovering it too late?

"I... I suppose if it's standard procedure," she finally conceded.

George's heart raced with triumph. "Excellent. Now, I'll need you to lie back on the examination table and try to relax. The more natural your responses, the more accurate our assessment will be."

As Rebecca gingerly reclined on the padded table, the paper gown rode up slightly, revealing more of her smooth thighs. George moved to the head of the table, standing beside her with an expression of clinical detachment that belied the raging arousal beneath his pants.

"We'll begin with baseline measurements," he explained, placing his gloved hands on her shoulders. "Just close your eyes and breathe normally."