Poor, little Regina. She had been jilling herself off for months. She couldn't help herself. Once she had started, she couldn't stop.

She quivered and shook as the dourly dressed matron bent her over the stanchion and bound her wrists behind her back with a leather thong. She whined when she felt the woman's hands flip up her skirt, the mandatory, short little thing that all the 18-25 year old girls were forced to wear these days, and draw her panties to her ankles. She stepped out of them obediently and spread her legs when the matron firmly kicked at them. She began to cry as she felt them tied off. Her pussy, which she, as per instructions, had obediently shaved clean last night, was already burning and she cursed it.

Once all the 45 girls over 18 from her graduating class were lined up, the supervising matron came down the line. They were in their high school gym. Classes were out for the summer and there was nobody unrelated to today's exercise in the building.

The matron had a clipboard and called out each girl's name as she went by, checking it as the girl confirmed her presence. Another matron followed her, draping a black hood over each girl's head. The matrons were dressed in black ankle length robes as befitted the formality of the occasion. The Suitability Inspector, (SI), a practiced hand, so to speak, was kept in isolation until the testing was to begin. The girls were lined up in predetermined, random order and hooded to preserve their anonymity. There would be no favoritism here, no special consideration for the mayor's daughter or the daughter of the wealthy banker. They would be treated the same as those whose fathers were factory workers, truck drivers, street sweepers. All the girls would face the same test regardless of status, lineage, race, religion, nationality, sexual preference or wealth.

When the head matron came to Regina, she answered to her name in a tiny, pip squeak voice. No matter. All the girls were nervous, although the good girls, the pure girls, they had nothing to fear. A black hood was pulled over her head. A following matron pressed a stamp on her rump, producing the number 32 in big, black, block letters.

Originally, it had been the practice to muffle the girls' voices during the test. It was thought important since the girl's voice might give an indication as to her identity, and the gags would not stifle the truly violent moans of passion, which were considered one of the most reliable indicia of salaciousness. But Dr. Dorothy Calderon, in her groundbreaking study in what she termed gynostics, the study of the functioning of the pussy, proved indisputably that being denied the ability to freely release her passions orally was, to the truly slutty girl, an inhibitor of her lusts. Suppression of the release of these indicators tended to produce a large number of false negatives, as much as 12%. Dr. Calderon also proved incontrovertibly that even the softest moan could be a reliable indicia of the girl's lack of self-control, and for some girls, until she was actually brought to the point of orgasm, the only one.

At the start of the very next testing season, the gags came off. Dr. Calderon's Institute of Gynostic Studies in Minnesota continues to do important work, even though the doctor passed two years ago.

The final preparation took place when one of the matrons went down the line of girls from the other side and placed a strap around their pretty little necks to hold their heads down.

The signal was given for the Suitability Inspector to emerge. He was an older man, in his late fifties. He had been testing 18 year old pussies for many years and had helped develop the protocol that was now used in most states. He had grey hair, curly, was a little bit wide and had a slight paunch. He was dressed impeccably in a stylish pin stripe suit and a fashionable silk tie.

He came up to the head matron, a thick boned, quite unattractive, heavyset woman pushing 50. "Good morning matron. Is everything ready?" he asked.

The chief matron confirmed that it was. The inspector went to the head of the line. On the table there was a bottle of hand lotion. He squirted some on his right palm and rubbed his hands together. He looked down the line of 45 youthful, anxious tushies which were awaiting him. White ones, brown ones, black ones, a couple of Asian girls, but you couldn't really tell that from just the backsides. Some, belonging to the heftier girls, were round and bulging, some cute and compact, some plump and inviting and a few thin and boney ones. Every girl was mandated to go through the procedure, no matter her shape and size. If she qualified, there was a niche every one of them could fill.

He approached the first girl without ceremony. He reached his left hand between her thighs. The inspector was right handed, and you would expect that he would use his dominant hand for such an important assignment. But his right hand was in constant use and had, naturally, developed a certain lack of sensitivity. The left one, on the other hand, to coin a phrase, had nerve endings that were untrammeled. Also, using the left hand put him just a little off his routine, preparing him better for the unexpected and ensuring each girl a fair and equal evaluation.

The test commenced with a firm patting of the hairless and exposed pudenda, giving it a wakeup call. After a good 5 or 6 rhythmic pats of emphatic intensity, to get the blood flowing, he placed his hand over the delicate organ and then drew it upwards very slowly 10 times, touching it very lightly. The first girl, Anna Neubauer, who wanted to be a dental technician and was scheduled to begin her course in 2 weeks, gave a little shudder at the fifth stroke. Her reaction was not abnormal, but it wasn't a good sign.

Then he drew his finger the length of her hairless gash starting from the bottom, as it was presented to him, from just under its apex, to the top, towards her perineum. He did it several times. You had to have just the right touch. Too light and the girl might not get the full effects of it. Too heavy, and the test might have to be invalidated and repeated another time since the stimulation would have gone beyond protocol.

On the fourth stroke, the inspector heard Anna draw in her breath. This did not portend well for the girl at all, since he had just started and the test called for ten full strokes. He gave her the other six. She began weeping.

He tested her slickness. Her labia were already parted and he was able to slide a finger part way into her little opening easily, a solid indicator that the girl was in trouble. He tested it a bit, running his finger in and out until he felt the girl shudder. Her legs stiffened and her knees began to wobble. Things were not looking good for Anna.

Of course, he didn't know it was Anna. He knew her only from the thick, black '1' stenciled on her right rear cheek. In fact, she was the oldest daughter of a fellow he played golf with regularly. The man would be sorely disappointed if Anna flunked the test, but his dismay would be mollified somewhat by the commission he would earn off her services. After all, he had paid all that money to raise her and was entitled to some compensation. Fair was fair.

But Anna wasn't over the line yet. She was tottering. Some girls got this far in much worse condition but were still able to hold themselves through the final test.

The inspector gathered a dollop of Anna's moisture on his index finger and slid it down to her little nubbin. Some girls spent weeks trying to desensitize it, rubbing anesthetic ointment on it every night, standing in the shower and running ice cold water over it for long periods of time. Some girls rode in their cars on their way to the test with an ice cube on it. You could always tell those girls because their panties would be wet and the matron who had removed them would make a special note about it to him. He would make it his business to examine them with particular meticulousness and was inclined to fail them as a punishment for trying to cheat. After all, a good girl would have no reason to try and fool the test. It was only girls who were unable to control their carnal thoughts who were at risk. In this light, cheating was tantamount to a confession.

But it didn't really matter. None of these stratagems worked. Nothing really worked except cutting the damn thing off which was strictly against the law and carried very severe penalties. The girl, of course, would be immediately inducted upon discovery and shipped off to Saudi Arabia or somewhere like that where they preferred their women buttonless. The parents, whether they had anything to do with it or not, would face heavy fines and mandatory jail terms for failing to preserve her integrity. And if they had any other daughters who had not yet taken the test, they would be whisked off to a special state run residence where their nubbin would be well protected. There were nasty rumors about what went on at those residences since almost all the girls graduating from them seemed to fail the test.

The doctor, or whoever had performed the operation, would be punished very severely. And even if the girl tried to keep his or her identity a secret, they had well proven ways to make her tell; there wasn't a single girl who had ever failed to talk.

Ironically, the best defense was not to pay any attention to it at all which, unfortunately, the vast majority of girls could not do.

He stretched out his index finger and made contact with the girl's clitoris. He slid his thumb into the edge of her lubricated hole. He began rubbing her clit very lightly, lightly, lightly, in small, counterclockwise circles. He began to slowly count to 10. "One... two... three...." He counted aloud so that everyone, including the girl would know he was being fair and when the test would be up. "Four... five... six...."

It was then that poor Annie broke. Her hips gave a distinct gyration and she issued a small moan. Small or not, it counted as much as a heavy, loud one. The inspector continued the test, pressing harder and rubbing faster as protocol dictated. The rule was that every girl was entitled to a complete test, regardless of if she succumbed earlier. "Seven... eight... nine..." At this, Anna broke into a woeful wail as her knees bent and her body shuddered. The inspector never uttered '10'. Anna was way beyond that.

He began to jiggle her clit with intensity so that the girl could finish off. Unsatisfied orgasms were not healthy and the girl's sexual health was now a matter for the state. The girl groaned and moaned and wept and rotated her hips. She started to call out, "Ooouu! Ooouu! Ooouu! Ooouu!" from her hooded head. Her buttocks clenched and her thighs quivered. She was primed, but not yet over the top. There was a quick fix to that. The inspector commenced a heavy flicking of her bud with his finger and began to move his thumb in and out of her channel. Anna released a shriek and her body began to convulse. She pulled at the strap around her neck and tried to rise. Her ankles strained against their bindings. Her head waved back and forth and she called out, "Please stop! Please stop! Please stop! Ouuuu! Ouuuu! Ouuuu! Ouuuuu! Ouuuuuuuuuuuuu!"

And then she slumped down. Her breathing was heavy and she was weeping. No dental technician school for Anna. She would learn some new skills over the next few weeks, and be expected to pick them up with alacrity.

The inspector turned to the chief matron. "IR," he confirmed, although everybody already knew the result. The chief matron stamped it on her behind. Two others started to untie her feet and neck so that she could be taken away. Poor Anna. Everybody really liked her. Her boyfriend would be heartbroken. Anna had been making him wait before they consummated their relationship although he had been after her to fuck him for months. If he wanted, he could wait for her for 12 years when, hopefully, if she had been a good girl, she would be released back to the community.