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The extreme white of the tile might have blinded the eye, except that the ferns hanging in front of a long bank of glass block windows muted the intensity of the bathroom’s stark look. On one side was a long sink, and at the end of the sink, the toilet. This one had a unique design, sitting at least five inches lower than a normal commode. Beside it was a standard bidet; and on the far left was a shower and tub. What was most unexpected, however, were two devices unusual for any bathroom—an upholstered leather lounging bench and an examination table—vintage 1950—with rounded edges, enamel surfaces, and a thick vinyl pad on top.
“Will this do?” Rossi asked the doctor.
“Perfectly,” he replied, “ And would you like to stay for the exam?”
“No, I don’t think so. Gail will comply without hesitation. I have her well-trained.”
She felt like a small child, faced
with the enormity of a room that defied her comprehension—not to mention the ominous and unseemly nature of this encounter.
“Rossi, what is this about?”
“About your necessary submission.”
“And if I can’t?”
“Oh, you will,” he reassured her, holding her tightly in his grasp. “We’ve come to a point where we need to move forward and this will begin what comes next.”
“And couldn’t we have discussed this?”
“We never have before. You agreed to trust me, you have so far. Don’t let your trepidation steer you away. Dr. Dwyer is quite gentle, I assure you.” Seeing her hesitation, he pushed her toward the doctor with a decided nudge.
“Take a seat,” the Doctor told her kindly, motioning her to the lounge.
While she followed the order, Rossi left the room and the handsome doctor leaned back against the examination table as though he were casually trying to put her at ease.
The following minutes were filled with a dozen questions about medical history, which was a rather uneventful telling. He jotted a few notes, and finishing the interview, he said, “Let’s move on. You’ll need to disrobe and take care of any immediate need,” he nodded to the toilet, “five minutes?”
“Yes, I guess so,” she answered apprehensively, then waited for him to leave the room.
Those five minutes passed in tense anticipation, not the least of which was produced by her great attraction for Dr. Dwyer. She felt his smile inside her body as rich as any touch of his hand. What would happen when he touched those intimate parts of her? Would she cum on the spot? Or simply melt into his handsome features, her lust brewing more wildly?
Once alone, she followed his instructions. If this had been a doctor’s office there would have been a robe or sheet, but no such allowance for modesty was offered her. Naked, she quickly moved to pee, an act that was profoundly altered by the unusual porcelain toilet. She needed to squat deep to sit down in a position that was awkward and potentially embarrassing if there were someone to witness the rite—hopefully that wouldn’t happen, but she didn’t put anything past Rossi. The levels of his fetish for the unusual were deepening, and apparently her own as well. She was not refusing his commands.
Just when she finally settled herself on the end of the examination table, trying to look less naked—as though that were possible—Dr. Dwyer walked in.
“Ah, you’re ready.”
He seemed at ease, she was not. Despite a recent history of profoundly embarrassing punishment situations, she’d never been this blatantly exhibited. Perhaps he was a medical doctor, perhaps he viewed this as nothing more than a normal exam; unfortunately she could not. She could especially not convince her body to remain uninspired by the natural eroticism that seemed to permeate the space around them.
She tried smiling, but it seemed like such a nervous effort that she gave up and laid down against the vinyl-covered table. The cold seemed to climb inside her bones and she started to shiver.
“Relax, Gail,” her friendly doctor spoke. “This is hardly different than a normal exam. What you’ve learned from the professor in submissiveness would be good to recall now.” He had a gentle but firm manner—as erotic as Rossi’s mien could be at his most sensitive moments. He went on, ”As a yielding woman, this quiet surrender can be exceptional. Think of it that way, not your fear, since there is nothing to be afraid of.”
Moving on, Dr. Dwyer examined her breasts, circling his three fingers around the flesh and feeling the delicacy of her nipples. A slight tweak and she jerked, drawing in a breath of air. From there, his hands seemed to massage as much as inspect her for physical imperfections. Despite her earlier trepidation, her body rushed gleefully as she finally found the doctor’s attentions, as well as his verbal reassurance, all she needed to relax. Her greatest difficulty now was not telegraphing the wildness that made her move her groin as though she were seducing him. If the doctor noticed, however, he did not indicate so, but kept on, journeying downward toward her pubic mound where he conducted a routine exam of her pelvic area before proceeding to the most intimate part of the ritual.
Before continuing, he reached for surgical gloves, covering his hands with the latex snapping against his wrist. Then he pulled her legs wide, withdrew the metal stirrups from the side of the table, and instructed her to pull her ass to the edge. Unlike the equipment at her one previous pelvic exam, these stirrups fit at her knees, stabilizing the vulnerable pose more efficiently. She trembled less, though she felt as bound as she would be if there were ropes tying her into place.
The doctor began inserting two fingers into her vagina, pressing them deeply into the mass of wetness, covering his hand in the tangy brew of female cum. She could already feel little spasms starting in her belly, and was sure that her parted lips and panting breaths were noticed. Working his fingers inside her, she felt a steady pressure rising. Still, he kept a professional distance in his attitude.
“Pull your bottom forward more,” he ordered. “I’d like your legs spread wider.”
Veering away from routine form, Dr. Dwyer withdrew his two fingers only to plunge as much of his hand inside her as would go. If he could have forced his whole fist beyond the opening, he would have; though, he seemed content enough to breach her with four fingers and a thumb.
“Relax, Gail.” His voice was mellow, the whisper soothing, though the feel of his hand remained frightfully intense as he widened the orifice beyond limits she had previously known. Rossi had a generous prick, but this determined probing seemed intended to prepare her for much more.
“Very good,” he announced when he finally withdrew his fingers. He turned to the sink where a number of devices rested on a tray, and finding the one he wanted, he returned to her, sinking a thick rubber shaft where his hand had been. The fat thing opened her as wide as his fist had; but it plunged far deeper, hitting her cervix at the bottom of her channel.
