by Adrian Amos
“Stand up now!” she shouts. Her students take a step back, eyes wide as they feel the tension in the room.
Her anger is loud and abrasive, and my fear reflex takes over as I slide myself toward her. I put my feet down on the floor and stand up. For the first time we're both standing, and the tall blonde must be a good half-a-foot taller than me. I have to look up at her since I'm only inches from her body.
I feel small as she stands over me, and probably more so knowing that my tits are still removed from my smock. I reach up to cover myself, simultaneously looking straight ahead at the doctor's large tits in her bulging dress shirt under her lab coat. They're a size that put my own smaller ones to shame. This woman is probably my better in every way imaginable and I blush at the nagging thought.
“Turn around.”
This time I say nothing as I turn, unwilling to resist her instructions again. Just as I completely turn toward the table, she pushes my head down against the table. She lifts my gown, revealing my ass to the crowd of young girls.
She brings her hand back and smacks my ass. She does it again, switching to my other side. “You're going to listen to me from now on!”
She continues to slap my ass, sending whistling stings throughout my skin. She grabs a hunk of fat from my ass, digging her nails in, the sharp pinches adding to my aggravated skin. She pulls on it, then smacks it, doubling her effort as she shouts out to me.
“Do you understand me? Tell me you're sorry.”
“I'm sorry,” I call out. I'd never been spanked in my life. I want the pain to stop, so I'm willing to say whatever she wants. But a part of me is stuck imagining what those girls were seeing: my ass in the air, their teacher spanking me with her bare hand, probably turning my little ass red. All for asking her a question.
“Are you going to interrupt our work again?”
“No.”
“What's that?” she asks. She hits my ass hard, punishing me with the brute force of her much larger frame. I can feel my pussy get wet as I'm forced to answer her questions.
“No, I promise I won't interrupt you again.”
She grabs my ass one more time, pinching it with those same nails. “Good.”
She pulls away, leaving my gown draped over my back. I wiggle my ass, feeling the air bite into me as the sting settles in my flesh. The thought of the girls watching my punishment makes my pussy quake, and I'm not quite ready to stand up as my body aches.
I hear a singular gasp but most of the girls stay quiet. I have a feeling that they haven't seen their instructor do this before, but as I stand and turn toward them, I see a burning desire in their eyes, feasting on the scene before them. They are lusting, and most of the girls are biting their lips, swallowing, or holding themselves.
Are these girls all lesbians? Or maybe seeing something like this is exciting no matter who's participating.
Dr. Mogle puts her arms under my armpits and lift me. With no effort whatsoever, she picks my small frame up and places me on the table. “Lie back down.”
I lie down and she puts my legs back in the stirrups.
This time with no gloves, she runs her hands down my thighs and spreads my pussy lips. She swipes a finger between my lips, making me moan from the aggressive contact.
“Ladies, you see this?” She holds her finger up. “Our patient is heavily aroused. Her pussy is secreting a large amount of lubricant from the spanking she received. As I mentioned before, women respond all the same, whether they call themselves straight or gay. Our patient believes herself to be straight.”
She looks at me and I blush. She's talking about me like I'm not in the room, like I don't know myself, or like I'm not even a person, merely a curiosity for her and her students. “But straight means nothing when a woman is aroused. Even while I touch her”—she lifts her hand under and up my pussy, collecting juice in her fingers and inducing me to moan—“her body reacts and wants more.”
“She became wet from the spanking, so you can see that women can become aroused from a number of sources. This one clearly enjoys being dominated, and maybe even enjoys being humiliated, and it doesn't matter whether it's from the gender she believes she is attracted to.”
My face flames up as blood rushes to it. Do I really enjoy that?
“Domination and humiliation are common sexual cues in women. We noticed it similarly in the last case that we examined, but now we get to see it in a straight woman.”
She inserts her two fingers inside me and I grunt. I don't want to give in, but I don't think I can resist. She pushes them in and out, the sloshing of my juices audible in the room of bated breath. I look at the women standing behind her and one of them clearly has her hand rubbing on the outside of her own pants. Seeing a woman touch herself over my humiliation charges me up, and I all want is for the doctor to keep pushing me, to keep bringing that lust out of everyone in the room.
“Right now, her clit is engorged with blood, and if you look at her nipples, they're also somewhat erect. Clara, please examine her heart.”
A brunette girl sidles up next to me and places a stethoscope over my chest. The cold metal touches my skins at the same time that the girl's perfume fills my nostrils. Her fruity scent is overwhelming in this room of estrogen.
“Her heart beat is really fast,” Clara says.
“Good. I can feel her vagina heating up, but you can also hear her arousal in her chest.”
Her fingers drive into me, pleasuring my walls with light touches. I can feel juice building on my thighs and a warmth building all around my pussy.
“Remove her gown, would you?”
Two girls come to each side of me—one of them the girl who was touching herself—reach under me and pull the paper gown out. They pull it over my arms and leave me naked on the table.
I look up and a lot of beautiful, multicolored eyes are looking back at me, looking into my eyes as they bite their lips, or staring at my breasts as they heave from the exposure. My small body is trapped on the table between all these women, and I feel like they have complete control over me now. I have to do what they say.
“Let's see if we can get a straight virgin to orgasm just like a mature lesbian.”
The girls on each side of me grabs my tits, twisting and pinching my nipples. Their warm, soft fingers are delicate yet rough, treating my body like a piece of meat, pulling my nipples as they pull moans from me.
“Touch her legs.”
A few girls come around and start caressing my inner thighs. I feel like I'm being tortured with powerful sensations hitting me from so many hands touching so many parts of my body at once.
“Her throat,” Dr. Mogle says, “She'd probably like the rough stuff just like the last one.”
The girl who had been touching herself—and was now pinching my nipple—took the opportunity to place her other hand around my throat. She is a gorgeous brunette in a ponytail—Cheryl from her name tag—and she's taking great pleasure in groping my body. She clamps around my throat and squeezes, causing me to lean my head back as the force cuts off my air slightly.
I believe my own excitement is far beyond hers, though, and I can't help but want to reciprocate. So while her hands are occupied with my nipple and my throat and she's leaning over me, I sneak my hand down her pants, and my fingers cross over her own soaking pussy. Her wetness is surprising: probably as explosive as mine from mostly watching me. She looks into my eyes and moans, squeezing her hold on me harder as her own urges build.
I don't think anyone notices that I'm sliding my finger in her pussy until she leans down and kisses my mouth. Her soft lips meld with mine, a taste of cherry gloss coating her, and her tongue enters my mouth. Her taste is sweet and she bites my lip as she tweaks my nipple.
I hear snickering from the other girls and I can't hold it anymore. My body convulses and I scream out, silenced by Cheryl's mouth over mine. I wrack on the table as my muscles spasm, the 8 hands in and on me working my body over, wrenching every last bit of energy from me as my body
As my body dies down, the hands leave me, and Dr. Mogle heads to the sink to wash her hands. “An orgasm is an orgasm ladies. It can be pulled by force if necessary, even by people the patient is not attracted to.”
She looks over toward Cheryl. “Nice touch by the way, Cheryl. Never had someone become that interested in our work.”
The girls laugh and Cheryl blushes as she places her notebook over her soaked pants.
All I can think about are their eyes—blue, green, brown—watching me with an intensity and curiosity that I can't forget.
It's the only way I ever want to be examined again.
* * *
I've watched men stroke their dicks and women rub their pussies. It's the only way I allow them to watch online. If they want to see me, I need to see them. I need to see their eyes as they watch me come for them.
But the most fun I have is when I go to big exhibition parties. When it isn't one on one, but it's a dozen, two dozen, maybe 50 people watching me touch myself, watching me get played with, watching me degrade myself for money. I've had everyone and everything inside me, from fingers to dicks to dildos to hooks, from my mouth to my pussy to my ass. Everything is open for viewing and that's exactly how I like it.
Tonight I invited a special guest. It's not hard to do when you mention how much money you make doing it. Girls are more than willing to expose themselves when the money is right, even when they're a doctor.
But Cheryl is not just a doctor: she's a girl after my own heart. She enjoys watching humiliation, and the only way I think she enjoys it is if she imagines herself experiencing it.
As she sees me outside the club, she's embarrassed at what we had together.
From the moment she touched me to the moment I slicked in her pussy, she was trapped in a world of submission and control, and if she's anything like me, it's the only thing in the world that can get her off now.
She doesn't say much. When she heard what I did and that I wanted her to come see it, her excitement was palpable. She wanted to experience it all over again.
She thinks she's here to watch me, but as I pull her inside and lead her to the stage, her eyes widen at the revelation that it isn't that simple. It's the dark and dank world of exhibitionism, and you don't get to enjoy it until you're really a part of it.
I lay her on the table and give her a deep kiss, much like the one she gave me that one fateful day. Her lips hunger for mine and her tongue searches my mouth for the truth.
The only truth is the strap I wrap and tighten around her wrist.
“You're turn.”
She's scared, but so was I, and under that layer of fear, is the need to be seen. I reach into her pants and feel a warm and soaking pussy, stimulated by a desire to be controlled by nothing more than an audience.
All eyes are on her.
- - -
Conquered by my Boyfriend's Ex-Girlfriend
She looks killer in her short gray dress and thigh-high, black, stiletto heels.
The only problem is that she shouldn't be here. No girlfriend invites her boyfriend's ex-girlfriend to his surprise birthday party. I sure as hell didn't.
Coolly I approach her, a glass of champagne in my hand. I'm focusing on her, fazing out the music and the commotion of party goers yelling over one another. I don't want to make a scene—and I feel that she doesn't either—but I have no choice but to accost her. “Stacy, what are you doing here?”
She smiles, a snaky, snide little twist to her lips. Jordan and I have been together just over a year, and he always refers to Stacy as 'boss bitch' because she is controlling and manipulative.
“I thought I'd come and reminisce with Jordan and his friends,” she oozes out.
How she heard about the party, or where I live for that matter, is worrisome to say the least. But I'm not about to give her the pleasure of seeing me shake in my boots. Standing up to her is the only option.
“You're not supposed to be here. Jordan and you are done. He wants nothing to do with you.”
My voice wavers at that last part and she must have noticed. “Hmm,” she says, feigning as if she didn't hear me.
“I think you should leave.”
She eyes me. “Dear Rachel,” she says, making me shiver as she tries to sound friendly, “Jordan would be very happy to see me. I know it. Are you afraid of having me around?”
She and I both know that Jordan isn't exactly done with her, whether he wants to admit it or not.
It isn't just that I don't like her, or that she's a cruel, horrible person, or that I don't want her here. A big part is that I'm afraid Jordan might fall for her again. And it would be hard to blame him.
I've always thought of myself as pretty; like, lucky in the pretty department. I'm slim and my breasts are a good size, and I wear my hair swept back and down to my shoulders. I've been told I could model if I wanted to. I've never felt inadequate or worried that my boyfriends might stray.
But Stacy is another beast all together. Her short gray dress and long heels add to her already indomitable look. Her black bun, large black belt, and thick rimmed glasses give her the look of a stern school tyrant, and her breasts are so large and perfectly round, I actually feel inadequate for once. I feel like a mouse next to an exotic tigress.
It isn't just the looks. Jordan may call her 'boss bitch', but I know that he's got a thing for her. He escaped once but that doesn't mean he doesn't regret his decision. He talks about her more than you would think for someone who clearly sees her as a monster. He sees exactly what she is and what she can do.
I think that's what makes me the perfect girlfriend. I may not have the magnetic sex appeal that she does, but I take care of Jordan. I cook for him, I clean, I talk to him about his day. I think I'm the perfect girlfriend. I mean, I'm even throwing a party for Jordan; no one's ever done that for him. Especially not Stacy. All she did was take and never lifted a finger for him.
But even then, there's always the tint to his voice that I know means he's still pines for her. It's like she's a drug he's successfully dropped, but if he's put in the position again, there might be no stopping him.
I have to get rid of her before he shows up.
“If you don't leave, I'm going to have to call the police.”
She purses her lips and turns them to the side. “Fine, I'm leaving.” I haven't had to call the cops on her before, but based on the way her demeanor soured quickly, I have a feeling it isn't the first time the threat has been made and followed through.
She turns, looks my apartment over one more time, smiles, and shakes her hips toward the door.
Not soon after she leaves, Jordan arrives. Of course he's surprised: it's not like he had any of his other girlfriend's spend weeks setting up a party for him. I got his friends and his family all together for his thirtieth birthday party. It was a feat that should have been difficult to manage, but I pulled it off swimmingly.
I should be happy, but I can't snap out of the thought of Stacy lurking around, tormenting us, making it so I doubt everything between Jordan and me.
The party flies by and most of the people help me clean up before they head out. As the party is almost at it's end, it's at this point I flash Jordan his last present: four tickets to the baseball game tonight. Luckily, I didn't have to pay for all of them: it was split between his college buddies. After all, they were the ones going with him, which was a relief that I got to avoid having to bear through that. I usher him out with his friends and tell him to have a good time and that I'll see him later.
At least I get to rest tonight after such a hectic party.
I strip down and change into some white cotton panties and a lacy tank top. I want to be ready for when Jordan get back. I might just have one more gift for him!
But he's not going to be home for another four hours, so I have some time to kill. I plop down in the living room and watch some TV. Still, every so often, my thoughts wander back to Stacy. She is such a gorgeous woman. I don't understand for the life of me why she can't let Jordan go, why she's got to cause trouble for us. And it would have been big trouble if he had come home any earlier. The woman's a menace.
I hear a noise coming from my room. Everyone's gone, so it sets my heart aflutter.
“Hello?” I call out. Nothing makes a sound.
I walk into my bedroom and turn on the light. The window is open, and the curtains are caught in the breeze. It's cold out, so I shut the window and lock it. It was getting a little hot in here during the party. Someone must have opened in to let the air in.
I shake it off and go back to watching TV.
After a few hours, I decide to get ready for bed. Jordan's still not due back for a couple hours, but I'm a light sleeper and I know the second he walks into the room, he'll wake me up, so I know I won't miss the chance to give him his gift. But I'm not willing to stay up any longer and wait it out.
So after I brush my teeth and shut everything off, I shimmy into bed, the sheets instantly relaxing me from the stressful day. Nothing like lying on cool silk to settle the nerves.
I begin drifting off almost immediately, until I hear a door open.
He's back already? Did I fall asleep and not notice?
It doesn't matter. I shift a little to loosen the covers, allowing me more maneuverability. I'm turned away from him on my side, but I can hear Jordan taking his clothes off, undoing his belt, and dropping his shoes on the floor. When he climbs into bed, I can feel my pussy moisten at the thought of what's about to happen.
I decide to lie still like I'm asleep, waiting for him to get comfortable before I make my move.
But he makes a move first.
I feel his hand curve over my bare side and onto my stomach. He pulls slightly and I acquiesce, turning toward him and onto my back. His hand feels delicate and soft as it runs over my stomach and belly button, lighting me up with his caresses. Slowly, his fingers glide up under my shirt, landing on my nipple, pinching it between his two fingers.
I swallow hard and, though I try to stifle it, let out a light moan. Now he has to know I'm a wake.
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