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The lamp above Dr. Blumfield’s exam table was so bright that I had to close my eyes.
“What seems to be the problem, Missus Rogers? I’m not seeing anything wrong here,” Dr. Blumfield said as he put his surgical mask into place and slid the cold steel of his scapula between my legs.
I lay back, my feet clamped into the stirrups on the exam table, a belt around my midsection that he said was ‘medically necessary’ but I didn’t believe him on that count. It did feel good though, cinched around me so tight that it pinched a little bit.
“Yeah, I see no problems. In fact,” he paused, “you’re absolutely soaked.”
Dr. Blumfield squeezed my lips between two fingers. “Mmm, so fucking wet. If I came home to you every night, this cunt would be so raw from fucking that you’d barely be able to walk.”
A latex covered finger slipped between my folds. He ran it up me, then down me all the way to my asshole. Two more lazy strokes followed and then he pulled away from me, fiddled with something by the exam room’s sink, and came back. Dr. Blumfield pushed my folds apart and drew near my body. Only the vaguest hint of breath came through his mask, but the what little came through sent a shiver up my back.
He slid a finger deep inside my sex-slicked pussy. He turned it, curled it against my front wall, shooting sparks up my spine. When I made a little whimper, he jammed it in harder and touched my puckered ring with the other fingertip.
“Doctor Blumfield, I – I’ve never – please, no – my husband...”
He stuffed another finger in my snatch and worked half of his pinky inside my ass.
“If you wanted me to stop,” he whispered, “you wouldn’t be arching your back and dripping down my wrist. You like this, don’t you, Alex? You make little moans every time I stick my finger deeper in your asshole. If you wanted me to stop, you wouldn’t be chewing your lip like that, and acting like you haven’t had a good, hard cum in years. You haven’t, have you, Alex?”
Dr. Blumfield drove all three fingers deeper. His index finger slid up my slit and ground against my clitoris. As wrong as it felt, especially when my husband Walter was waiting for me outside in the car, the doctor was right. I didn’t want him to stop. I had not felt like that since, well, ever, probably.
“Oh my, how careless of me. I’ve forgotten an important part of the procedure. Please, excuse me.” Dr. Blumfield pushed away, my asshole sucking at the finger inside it as he pulled out. He stood and walked around the table.
Sterile butcher’s paper crinkled underneath me as he pulled two armrests out from either side of the exam table, grabbed one of my wrists and bound it, motionless, with some kind of leather strap. He buckled it tight, so tight that it pinched my skin, just like the belt around my belly.
“Doctor Blumfield,” I began to protest before he clamped a hand over my mouth.
“No, no, Alex. The slave doesn’t speak.” He moved behind me. “The slave remains silent.”
Slave? What the hell is he talking about? My better sense told me to scream, to bite him, to claw at him with my free hand.
Then, I felt his hand on my cheek. Warm, soft.
My better sense did not have a chance.
I consciously calmed my breathing. He stroked me again.
“Good,” he said, “that’s good. Now, if you expect Doctor Blumfield to make a thorough examination, you need to help.”
Help? But he’s the –
Heavy, thick and hard, Dr. Blumfield pressed his cock against my cheek. He pushed his hips so that his dick moved back and forth across my lips before he worked his tip between them. Already he had a little drop of pre-cum that ran over my tongue and down my throat.
Holy shit, I’ve never felt anything like this. Certainly not from Walter.
“Yes, good, that’s good Alex.” He groaned and wrenched my head sideways with a handful of hair. “That’s right, suck it. Suck my cock. Make me nice and hard so I can stick it in and prove there’s nothing wrong with you. Do you want that? Would that make you feel better, Alexandra?”
“Alexandra Rogers? Alexandra Rogers, please come to the front desk.” The secretary’s nasal impatience startled me enough to make me jump in my seat. I checked my watch. My appointment was already thirty minutes behind schedule. Walter is going to be pissed when I get out of here.
“Fill this out, please. Insurance?”
“Um, yeah, here’s my card. State Health,” I said, taking the clipboard and returning to my seat.
