I step into the doctor’s office. Heart pounding already. The questionnaire probes deep—your G-spot, sensitive triggers, exercises to unlock it. He scribbles ‘The G-Spot’ by Ladas and Whipple on a note. His eyes linger, hungry. No ordinary check-up. His gaze devours me over his glasses.
He tells me to undress. No sheet, no screen. Butterflies riot in my stomach. Heat floods my belly. Nipples harden. I hesitate, then peel off my clothes. Slowly. He watches, unashamed voyeur. ‘All of them.’ Naked now. Exposed. Shame mixes with pride—my body’s desirable curves on full display.
The Fever
On the scale. His hand on my lower back, sliding to the curve of my ass. Not innocent. A tease under stability’s guise. Warm palm lingers. Then the height measure. Cold plastic against my skin. Heels, ass, head against the wall. His eyes rake my breasts, hips, the swell of my chest rising fast. Nipples peak in the chill—or is it him?
Hand on my belly, low, brushing pubic hair. Slides up, grazing breast undersides. Fingers near my neck, caressing sensitive skin. Shiver suppressed. He stares, pulse quickening mine. Breath shallow. Gaze burns my skin.
To the exam table. Cold tile under feet. His eyes hot on my back. I climb on, legs crossed modestly. He takes blood pressure. Parts my legs, stands between them. Does he see the dampness soaking the paper? Cuff tightens. Pulse races—desire spiking it high.
Hands on my neck, sliding down. Palpating clavicles. Breath deepens, chest heaving for his view. Stethoscope cold. He leans close—his scent, heat. Deep breaths make my breasts rise, nipples erect. Heart hammers. Eyes plunge to my cleavage, belly, between thighs.
‘Lie back for breast exam.’ Arms overhead, tits spread, peaks defiant. He kneads. Firm, too firm. Pleasure sparks. Fingers circle, pinch nipples—’checking discharge.’ Shock to my core. Pussy clenches, wets. Ventre throbs.
Belly next. Low massage stirs uterus, ovaries. Heat builds.
The Blaze
‘Gynecological exam. Feet in stirrups.’ Vulnerable. Legs spread wide. He sees my glistening lips, swollen clit. Smile smirks. Preps speculum, no gloves? Fingers part labia, slide easy on slickness. Probes clit with swab—torture. Hardens under touch. Thumb rolls it. I buck.
Speculum slips in smooth. Opens me. ‘Hormones fine.’ Knows I’m dripping.
‘Touch vaginal.’ Fingers plunge bare. No lube needed—I’m soaked. Two inside, thumb on clit. Circles. Pressure builds. I grind back. This is it—crossing lines.
My hand finds his bulge. Hard, throbbing. Free his cock. Thick, pre-cum slick. Stroke it, cup balls.
He shifts between legs. Cock replaces speculum. Thrusts deep.
Body tenses. Hyperventilating. Hands maul tits. Hips buck wildly. Pussy grips him. Waves crash—orgasm rips through. He floods me. Sweat, cum, juices mingle. Consumed.
He writes prescription. I dress, skin still feverish. ‘Forgot hemorrhoids.’ ‘See my secretary—urgent next week.’ Knowing smiles. Door clicks shut. Marked forever.