The fitting

"Is she going to keep on bein' a problem? I don't got all day."

Rod was addressing Brand like he was the one responsible for her behavior.

Vanessa was almost in the corner, backed away from the short, beefy, bald Rod and the big, beefy, sandy-haired Brand. Her clothing lay in a crumpled heap on the floor from where she had been ordered to expose herself. She had done that, and more. Much more.

She had tried, really tried. But Rod... What he had her doing - the way he had been touching her, looking at her...!

Both white men were looking at the cowering, utterly embarrassed black executive in irritation.

"Vanessa... 'Nessa," Brand's voice was slow. Annoyed, but encouraging. Like she was a child in the doctor's office, trying to avoid some necessary procedure, embarrassing him by her noncompliance. The room looked like a little like a doctor's office, only reversed. Dark tones, leather, and concrete where it should be sterile white and beige. "You're paying extra for Rod to do this. He needs to get proper measurements, or you're not going to be comfortable with what you get back."

"Ya' could've jus' done this online if you wanted somethin' non-custom, that may or may not fit properly. That don't have all those fitted pieces you want."

Pieces? Non-custom? What was the disgusting little man talking about? He had been trying to measure the space across her fucking vagina! Top to bottom, side to side! Her... her slit!

Vanessa tore her eyes away from Rod's sneering visage. "Brand... please! He wanted to... it's too much! I don't - no clothing needs that kind of...!" Vanessa shook her head frantically, back-and-forth, back-and-forth, in an almost crazed motion of denial. She wilted further as both clothed men looked at her, ignoring her plea. Her shaking head slowly halted under their scrutiny.

Rod guffawed and looked at Brand. "She really don't know? I thought she was playin'."

Brand gave the other man a stern look, "She doesn't need to know."

There was a moment of thoughtful silence in the room. Both men turned back to Vanessa's shrinking, now-crouching form.

"It's like that, huh?"

"There's extra in it for you." Brand patted his pocket.

Rod grunted. He didn't turn away from Vanessa. His demeanor seemed to indicate no monetary incentive was worth the black woman's poor attitude towards his ridiculously invasive task.

"From her, too."

What?! Had she just been...?

Brand couldn't mean... What did he mean by that?

Rod's surly attitude remained for a moment, then broke. He laughed. A short, harsh bark. "Really? Don't look like it. But it would be worth seein' that, after all this work." The now-smiling, tattooed leprechaun shook his head, "Actin' like I ain't seen a hundred fat black asses just like hers before."

Like he should be judging anyone's appearance! And, even after maybe having just been sold off to him, the ugly little man's superficial words cut her. Vanessa wasn't at all used to revealing her body, and although it was firm her butt had widened a little more than she would have liked over the years.

"Bend over. Hands back against the wall." Rod picked up one of many measuring tools from the cart beside him. Besides the clipboard and pen on it, at least a dozen stainless steel tools for measuring, spreading, probing, and lighting stood ready to invade Vanessa.

She swallowed. The men's cold, speculative talk, Brand's 'encouragement', and a few moments crouched in the corner had settled her nerves enough... enough to...

Her mind avoiding her possible future, the dignified black woman resumed the humiliating position she had previously held. Before she had thrown off Rod's hands and scampered to the corner. Forcing herself back in place was intensely unpleasant, but doing it at least distracted her from what Brand had just said. All she had to do now was bend and -

Vanessa's naked brown buttcheeks were spread wide while she squealed in indignation. She was measured, vagina to anus. Her backside was manipulated, and she was remeasured with both tape and then calipers. Then more measuring and remeasuring - anus to waist, and around her butt to her front right at the level of her butthole. Every dimension of her winking brown star was recorded in relation to the rest of her body, from every angle.

Without warning, fingers roughly probed Vanessa's womanhood. She gasped, and unconsciously raised a foot off the ground before settling it. Rod poked her tender, engorged flower, and spread her wide open. He grunted. "You need another wipe. You're getting gooey again. We'll never get this done if I can't get a good grip on your parts."

"But," She had already been through... "Y-you already measured my..." Vanessa couldn't say it. Brand was there beside her, holding a box of wet wipes. Vanessa took one, unbelieving that her hand was even going in between her legs as she moved to clean up her own unwanted arousal. She could feel her hanging breasts sway as she wiped, back to front, and again, picking up far too much slickness with the wet towelette.

Rod snorted. "That? That was the easy one. We gotta get all those little pieces measured up too." Something disgusting twitched between her legs at Rod's mentioning her 'little pieces'... with his hand spreading her, his eyes peering into her insides. As casually as she could Vanessa folded the towelette over and completed another wipe. If she was told she was too... too 'gooey' again so soon after having cleaned herself up a moment ago...

"Here, hand me a couple. She keeps gettin' juiced up again. It's comin' back as soon as she wipes it away."

Vanessa was crushed.

She looked behind her, to see if Brand heard... of course he heard. He was looking at her, his face a mask of mock disappointment that she had gotten so wet at Rod's examination of her anus. The towelette dropped from her limp hand. A little tear rolled down her cheek, and her head hung down shamefully.

But only for a moment, her self-pity was forgotten as she raised her head, arched her back, and gritted her teeth. A bundle of wipes were crudely inserted into her vaginal cavity and scrubbed back and forth, clearing her insides and painfully angering the sensitive interior of her genitals. A groan of discomfort escaped Vanessa's clenched teeth, but she stood still at the punishing wipe down. She deserved it, wanted her insides to be clean of that stuff.

After much twisting and turning Rod finally seemed satisfied, and removed the sticky wad of soft fabric from inside Vanessa. He took a final one to wipe his fingers, and spread Vanessa right at her clitoris. Vanessa winced in discomfort but... at least she didn't feel...

Didn't feel that squishy hotness between her legs. That feeling that some small part of her was enjoying this. That was gone. Vanessa took some strange comfort in being able to fully hate this, comfort in her unequivocal discomfort.

"Mmm," Rod started measuring, right at her little pearl. Steel pinched it, measured it. Measured the area around it, its distance to her hole. Rod peeled back her hood and... Vanessa couldn't even think about it anymore. She squeezed her eyes shut and spread her legs wider, just trying to get it over with, waiting...

Rod scratched down more numbers. "And then the urethra." Rod said matter-of-factly.

What!? U-Urethra? Why...?

'Why' didn't matter. Vanessa was sure the little monster was just tormenting her now. There was no reason for this. Brand was playing one of his sick games. Getting in her head again. Rod too. Let the little sicko get it over with. Let Brand watch like the sicko he was. It, this was all she had to worry about. There was no reason for... for the measuring, the endless measuring and numbers of her intimate, private areas. Her urethra! It was just a joke, a sick joke. They were just tormenting her. That was all. A couple of sick jokesters. That thought, that this was just another of Brand's games... Vanessa clung to it. It was the only explanation. A joke...

Vanessa felt sick. She didn't feel much like laughing at the joke. She did feel Rod locate her tiny pee hole, and measure it over and over, measure its relative position, stretch her pliable female parts this way and that. Writing then going back and remeasuring... endlessly...

After ages, Rod finally seemed satisfied with his numerical recordings of Vanessa's feminine parts. She let out a breath she didn't know she had been holding. Her feet were wobbly. How... how long had she been holding that, not breathing? She felt so light headed...

Rod moved on to more reasonable measurements. Vanessa was finally allowed to stop bending over for her twisted little tailor. She straightened and turned, grateful to give him mere full frontal nudity. She presented her legs so he could measure around her thighs, and then her butt and hips. For a moment Vanessa felt relief that her privates weren't being spread and probed. Except that it called to mind that maybe, just maybe, her little fantasy that this was just a game of humiliating her wasn't, in fact, true. That she was being fitted for something that would use all those invasive measurements. Something awful. Something 'custom', that needed the exact dimensions of her loins, the placement of her anus and clitoris and... and her urethra...

Vanessa's waist was next. She breathed in and raised her arms. At least... this had to be almost over.

"Don't suck in your tummy."

"I-I'm not!" She didn't have a 'tummy'! But she was maybe... she let her midriff relax a little, and the tape expanded a short ways. Rod looked at her levelly before scratching down some more numbers.

"... Alright." A few hard stabs of his pen onto the clipboard and a shuffling reexamination of his work of the pages punctuated the finality of Rod's tone.

Done. Vanessa smiled. Just for a moment, naked and exposed before the two white men, she smiled.

They smiled back at her. Rod's hands went to the buckle of his pants.

Eyes wide in panic, Vanessa eyed the door. She opened her mouth and screamed for help.

Nothing came out. Not a peep. Just an open mouth, and silence. She didn't scream for help. She looked stupid as hell.

She sank down onto her knees. She smoothed back a strand of her hair with a trembling hand. It kept getting in her way. It was bugging her.

At least Rod was putting on a condom.