Doctor’s Orders


Doctor’s Orders

They had called it the exam room, but it didn’t look like an ordinary doctor’s office. Instead of harsh, white tile and walls, there was subdued carpeting and dark colors, and it was larger than others she had been in. The exam–table?–looked like a luxury sofa but had medical-type supports and adjustments built in, and it was warm; it apparently had some kind of heater. The gown she was wearing was a basic hospital gown, open in the back, but they had given her a plush robe to wear. The whole experience seemed designed to be reassuring.

Which was a good thing. The fact was, she was nervous. Being here was a leap of faith, if not outright desperation. Her problems were…personal. She had tried to ignore them; they seemed so trivial. She had a good job, a budding career, her own place, not bad for being in the city for just over a year. No time for relationships, but that was okay. She was doing all right.

Except that, sometimes, she didn’t feel right down there, in her private parts. She had seen her regular doctor, and her GYN, and they had pronounced her a perfectly healthy young woman. Of course, she had hedged when telling them what was wrong, so maybe they didn’t fully understand. But that her private parts sometimes got wet, and felt somehow…empty…she couldn’t very well tell them that.

It was over dinner with an office colleague that she mentioned her problem. Her friend was sympathetic, but her eyes twinkled with mirth.

“I know just what you need,” she had said. “There’s a place here in the city that takes care of problems like yours. You should call them,” she said, handing over a business card.

“How do you know about them?” She looked at the gray, gold-embossed card. “Women’s Specialist,” it read, with a phone number. Tasteful, but it told her nothing.

“Oh, I use them sometimes, and, let me tell you, it’s totally worth it.”

She had made a joke, and let it go. But, a week later, she found herself looking at the card. She was unusually wet, and it felt like it wanted to be touched, or something. That didn’t make sense, did it? So finally, she had called. And now here she was.

When she arrived, the receptionist greeted her with a warm smile. She was shown to a small waiting room, and after a few minutes two attendants–both women in tailored medical scrubs, and both stunningly beautiful–came and brought her to the exam room. They were polite but didn’t make small talk and deflected her nervous questions. They were efficient, too. They had taken her to an attached dressing room and bathroom which was well appointed, with a tub, sauna, and Hollywood-style vanity. They had helped her change and, she now realized, taken her clothes. Then they left, saying, “The Doctor will be in soon.”

She didn’t wait long. A side door opened, and a man came in wearing casual business clothes and a white lab coat. He had brown hair and glasses, a stethoscope hanging around his neck, and he carried a medical chart.

“Hello,” he said. “I’m very happy you could make it. How can I help you?” His hand, when she shook it, was warm and strong. She felt a stirring in her problem area and shifted slightly.

“I…I don’t really know,” she said. “I’m active, and I eat right, and I have a good job. It’s just, sometimes, I feel…strange…down there.” She lowered her head, blushing furiously.

“I see. And you’ve been to regular doctors, who kaçak iddaa told you everything is fine, is that right?”

She nodded. “Regular doctors?” Then what sort of doctor was this?

“Let me examine you,” he said. She looked up a moment and nodded, quickly lowering her head again. “We will see if I can determine what is wrong.” He lay his hand lightly on her shoulder. It was a friendly, nonthreatening gesture, but it sent a shock–thrill?–through her. “Take off your robe, please.”

She shrugged out of the fluffy robe, now wearing only the thin, open-back gown. It was not cold in the room, but goosebumps had broken out all over her skin.

“I am going to look you over,” he said, placing his hands on her head. “Just relax.” He rubbed his hands in her hair. It was an exquisite, tingling sensation. He ran his hands over her ears, then her forehead. He came around to the front, raised her chin, and looked into her eyes. His were a soft brown, but they held an intense confidence that mesmerized her. He shone a small flashlight in her eyes, then ears. “Say ‘aah’, please.” He looked in her mouth briefly. “Thank you.”

“I am going to listen to your heart and lungs. Take some deep breaths, please.” He held a stethoscope to her back, then to her chest, but in such a way that he cupped each breast firmly through the gown. She had never seen a doctor do that before. He seemed so casual about it, but her nipples hardened in his palm. “Your heart sounds fine,” he said, “just a little fast. Your breathing is a little uneven, but that’s understandable, I think.” He quickly felt her belly through the robe and checked the pulse in her wrists.

“In fact, you seem perfectly healthy. I don’t think your…problem…is physical in nature.” He traced his finger down her cheek, over her lips, then down to her collarbone. She gasped at the sensation.

“Do you date much? Have a boyfriend, anything like that?”

“N-no,” she stammered. “I–I’ve been with a few boys, back home, but not…since I came here.”

He had moved behind her, cupped her chin from behind in his left hand, raising her head even higher, and traced his right fingers down her spine. The tingling was so intense; the strange sensation in her private parts was stronger, almost an ache. She shifted again. “And where is your problem?”

“It…it’s down there, in my private parts.”

“And what does it feel like?”

“Not pain, and not an itch, exactly, but it feels like, it needs to be touched, or something.”

“Does it ever get wet?”


“And when it does, what do you do?”

“I don’t know. I just…wait for it to pass, I guess.”

“How does it feel now?”

“Throbbing. And very wet…down there.”

“Down there,” he repeated. “It is okay to call things by their names. It is called your pussy.”

Pussy. The word sent another thrill through her. She had heard it before, of course, but not in polite company. It sounded bold, almost vulgar, as though it were something to pet, to show off even. She stirred again.

“Lie back, please.” She did, and he spread her legs apart and raised her knees slightly. Then he folded the bottom of the gown back, exposing her below the waist. She gasped quietly. He ran his hands over her lower belly, then down her thighs. He brought one hand to the inside of one thigh and pressed the other flat just above her mound.

“Doctor, I…ooh,” she trailed off as he brought kaçak bahis his lower hand up to twirl her light brown pubic hair.

“You have very nice pubic hair, well-trimmed, but for the best results, it really should be removed. I will have my attendants handle that for you, to show you how to keep the area soft and sensitive for your treatments.”

Treatments? Her mind was a blur. His fingers were now stroking her lips lightly, setting fire to her whole lower belly.

“And so very wet, too,” he continued, spreading her lips slightly and dipping his middle finger into the pool–there was no other word for it–of wetness that had collected at the bottom of her slit.

“The boys you mentioned, back home, did they satisfy you?”

“I’m not sure what you mean. They were…all right…I guess…”

“I thought so. I know what’s wrong with this pussy. It’s not happy. Nobody is taking care of it. To stay happy, a pussy needs attention.” As he said this, he pressed his hand flat against her lips. She moaned. “But I can help you.”

She didn’t know what to do. She had never experienced anything like this…it was so powerful, so damn good. She moaned again as he stroked her lips. He spread them wider apart and used his fingers–wet with her own juices–to circle her clit. She cried out, and thrust her pelvis up, encouraging, almost begging, him to touch her harder. He did.

Holding her lips apart, he rubbed his fingers along each side of her clit, rubbing it between them, then circling it, pinching it, and again. By now it was swollen and so sensitive. He reversed his hand, placing his thumb on her clit and his fingers over her opening. Then, he slipped them inside.

It was like a bolt of lightning straight through her. Her pussy was tight but, as wet as she was, there was no resistance, and no resisting. Her pussy tightened around his fingers, and she raised her pelvis again.

“Yes, that is definitely the problem,” he said. “This pussy is lonely; it has been empty for too long. It’s needy.”

“Yesss,” was all she could moan, with her eyes half closed.

Without changing his rhythm, she sensed him changing position, moving from beside her to between her spread legs. She tried to think about how exposed–vulnerable–she was, but the thought barely penetrated the ecstasy in her head, and, to the extent that it did, it perversely made her more aroused. She felt brash, wanton; the pussy she had tried not to think about seemed to have taken over.

“To really be happy,” he now said, “a pussy needs more than just to be touched. It needs to be eaten.”

What did he just say? she thought in a panic. Her thoughts swirled away as, moving his thumb out of the way, and keeping his fingers buried in her slit, his tongue reached out and lapped over her clit. Her moans grew louder.

“Yes,” he said, “being eaten out–thoroughly–makes a pussy very happy.”

He now started to lick her clit steadily, with a mix of light, flicking motions and firmer strokes. Sometimes he would suck on it. As he did, he kept moving his fingers in and out of her. She was engulfed in waves of pleasure, her pussy was clenching tight around the fingers, and her juices were gushing over his hand. She moaned, her hands balled into fists. As the sensations strengthened, he suddenly straightened his fingers that were inside her, darting them higher into her slit, pressing upward into a spot she had never suspected illegal bahis was there.

“Oh my God!” she screamed as every muscle in her pelvis seemed to clench for a teetering moment, then the release of a thunderous orgasm–very possibly her first–broke over her. Without realizing she was doing it, she grabbed his hair with both hands and pulled him harder against her as she rode the waves of pleasure. The doctor kept his attention on her reactions, timing his movements to the waves and gradually slowing to draw them out as finely as possible.

At last she subsided, her breath shuddering. “Oh. My. God,” she repeated. She sensed him rising, gently massaging her pussy to calm it.

“Very good. You should be feeling much better. Remember, to stay happy, a pussy must be eaten regularly. But there’s more. Your pussy was very tight. To stay limber, a pussy needs to be exercised and stretched. A dildo will work, but what it really takes is a cock…a large, rock-hard cock with a man who knows how to use it.” She had been only half listening; now she opened her eyes. The doctor was standing between her legs again, naked. She hadn’t heard him take off his clothes. He leaned forward and stroked her face, then moved his hand down to her breast. There was a strange look on his face–an incongruous mixture of hunger and dispassion. She looked down. His cock was standing straight out, strong and proud. He crawled forward, supporting himself on one arm and bringing the other under her neck to grab her hair. He touched the tip of his cock to her slit and smoothly began to enter her. Her pussy was tight–much tighter than it had been around his fingers–but still so wet, and she moaned again as he moved forward. He was right, his cock–of average length but with a girth that filled her completely–was rock-hard, and as he began to push forward she yielded to him.

He began slowly, moving a little bit in then backing out, then in again, each time advancing a little deeper. It was agony. Each time he pushed forward she thought she wouldn’t be able to take it, but when he pulled back she desperately wanted more. At last she felt him in her completely and he paused, all the way in, filling her, stretching her. Then he pulled back, and started rhythmically thrusting in and out, slowly getting faster.

She gasped and panted. He was fucking her–really fucking her–in a way she had never known with any other man…boy. Suddenly, the waves of pleasure grew stronger, her pussy clenched, and even as he gave a harsh groan and gripped her tighter, flooding her with his own release, she felt another orgasm wash over her.

He collapsed on top of her for a moment, his own chest heaving, neither of them moving. Then he got up and moved aside. She lay there, spent, her mind empty. Her pussy was dripping and, she sensed, would be not a little sore tomorrow, maybe longer, but it was satisfied.

After a short time, the female attendants who had greeted her came in the room. They helped her bathe–it was like a spa service–and she dressed. Then the attendants took her back to the waiting room. The doctor was there.

“You did very well,” he said, “I think you are going to be just fine. But remember what I said, you must exercise regularly. Here is your prescription.” He handed her an oblong box. It held a pink clitoral vibrator and a glass dildo. It was like nothing she had ever seen before. She looked up.

“Practice with them to learn what feels best for you. Use them together, or one at a time. Be creative, more is better. And I want you to come back here for frequent checkups.” He smiled.

“Doctor’s orders.”

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