I was his baby girl, and he was my billionaire.
THE END
The Dirty Exam
~A Secret Baby Medical Romance~
© 2017
By Katie Ford
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DEDICATION
To all the dirty girls who love check-ups.
This book’s for you!
CHAPTER ONE
Jane
I didn’t want to step into that doctor’s office.
I wanted to be anywhere but here.
My finger hovered over the “Call” button on my phone’s screen, tempted to cancel the appointment altogether. The horror stories came crashing down in my brain.
It’ll hurt.
There’s pain deep inside, where you’ve never felt before.
They use all these metal instruments, straight out of a medieval torture scene.
My sister Martha had explained in great detail how the exam would work. They squeeze your breasts hard. They put their hands all over your supple body. The more she talked about it, the more nervous I became. She described a long, hard, cold metal scapula as the weapon of choice by these merciless gynecologists, and it’d be pushed all the way into my most private spaces.
What?
I’ve never had anything up there before!
Not dildos, not tampons, not even my finger.
I’m a virgin.
So how was this going to work?
Just thinking about it made me squirm as my thighs squeezed together, desperately trying to protect my innocent body from these violent invaders. All this in the name of health and medicine? How could it be so brutal?
But right. This was about health and safety, not fun and games.
Because every single woman in my family has been diagnosed with breast cancer. Even my sister, who isn’t even that much older than me. It’s probably the same gene that runs in Angelina Jolie’s family, BRCA something or other. I’ve never been tested out of fear more than anything else. Sometimes, it’s better not to know, especially when you’re expecting the worst.
Plus, let’s face it. Getting a gyno exam is part of growing up. Since I’m now an adult at eighteen, it’s a rite of passage that every woman goes through. This thing can’t be put off forever. At some point, it’s going to happen, and maybe sooner was better than later.
Ugh.
I take what feels like the deepest breath of my life, biting my lip several times with nervousness, although that doesn’t keep it from quivering uncontrollably. My hands clench into panicked fists like I’m getting ready to head into a boxing ring.
Calm down, my internal voice soothes. It’s not that bad.
Right. Every female goes through this. So getting a grip, I take another deep breath and finally open the door to the doctor’s office.
Hmm, not bad. Instead of institutional green walls and flickering fluorescent lights straight out of an insane asylum, Dr. Alba’s office is cozy actually. The walls are a neutral, rosy-pink, and a decorative rug below my feet really makes the room pop with color. The air temperature is moderate, and not freezing cold like a lot of hospitals. Plus, there are flowers. Real blooms to brighten up the space, not fake plastic things.
My lungs exhale, the stress rushing from my frame. This isn’t going to be so bad.
Directly in front of me is the receptionist’s desk. Hmm, not bad. A tray of brochures, plus a bowl of candy. That made me smile. Anything having to do with candy can’t be so terrible, seeing how much I love my Snickers and Mars bars.
The receptionist greets me with a professional smile.
“Hi there, I’m Emily. Welcome to Dr. Alba’s office,” she says warmly.
But then my nerves come rushing back, but for a totally different reason altogether. Because the receptionist is absolutely gorgeous. Slender and blonde with big blue eyes and a perfect ski slope nose. By contrast, I’m curvy, with big breasts and major junk in the trunk. Sometimes I feel like I haven’t stopped growing, except I’m expanding horizontally, and not vertically now.
Subconsciously, I cross my legs and tuck a curl behind my ear, clearing my throat nervously.
But the receptionist doesn’t seem to notice my fidgeting, or at least doesn’t let on.
“Do you have an appointment with us today?” she prompts with a white smile.
I nod.
“Yes,” come my words. “I’m Jane Dorman? I have an appointment with Dr. Alba today? For an … um, exam?” Nervously, my fingers play with my hair.
Normally, a receptionist will nod and check her computer. But instead, this woman’s face fell. Oh no, what was wrong? What had I done wrong? Should I leave? Should I turn back around and get into my car?
The woman clears her throat, expression apologetic.
“I’m so sorry, but your exam must have been scheduled by mistake because Dr. Alba isn’t in today. She left yesterday for a much-deserved vacation.”
The receptionist looks sad, but now I have a reason to smile. Because what a relief! The doctor isn’t here! It’s as if my silent prayers were answered, raining manna from heaven. I guess I’ll have to re-schedule for another time.
“But you’re in luck, Miss Dorman,” the receptionist chirps. “Dr. Morgan has an opening, right now in fact. He’s very good. Dr. Alba asked him to come in today in case there were any emergencies. Would you like to see him instead?”
My heart sinks to my stomach. Every inch of me wants to scream no. Because I wanted to see a female gynecologist, not a male one. I figured a female doctor would be nicer and kinder, maybe even remember what it was like to be eighteen and laid out like a trussed up chicken in a cold exam room. So no, I didn’t want to see Dr. Morgan, not even if he was the best gynecologist on Earth.
But Emily smiles again placidly.
“He’s a really good doctor, honey,” she attempts to reassure me. “Very kind, warm and caring.”
Okay, that’s good. But there’s still one thing.
“Um, I was wondering if I could ask how old Dr. Morgan is?” comes my hesitant voice. “It’s not that I don’t think he’s good, I was just wondering?” My voice trails off.
The receptionist frowns.
“Well, this isn’t something that we generally give out. Age is such a touchy topic sometimes, even for male doctors. But let me see,” she says, turning back to her screen and clicking on her computer. “I can’t tell you how old Dr. Morgan is, but he got his medical degree in 1997. Does that help?”
Quickly, I do some math in my head. If you earn your medical degree at age twenty-five, that means that Dr. Morgan must be around about forty-five now. Phew! That’s old. He must be a doddering senior citizen, not someone young and hot who’d make me all nervous again.
“Okay thanks,” I smile, more confident now. “Sure, I’ll take the appointment no worries.”
“Perfect,” the receptionist nods. “Now if you’ll just follow me.”
And together we walked down the hall, my feet padding noiselessly. But there’s nothing to be scared about.
“I’m going to quickly take your height and weight measurements, if you don’t mind”, the receptionist says. “Then we’re headed to exam room B.”
“Okay,” is my whisper.
The scale makes a creaking sound as I stepped onto it because they have one of those old fashioned ones, with the weight that slides across the top. And again, it was just so embarrassing. The weight kept on moving to the right, then more, then more, then more, until I felt like we were almost at maximum capacity. Oh god. My cheeks flush once more, a humiliating burn that won’t go away.
But medical professionals are taught to stay neutral, so the receptionist says nothing, merely marking down a number on her chart.
“Perfect,” she says with another warm smile. “Let’s head to the exam room.”
And just like the reception area, the exam room isn’t
bad. The walls are pale pink, decorated with pictures of cooing babies and cards saying, “Thank you Dr. Alba!”
As I look around, Emily places something paper thin in my hands.
“Put this on, sweetheart,” she instructs. “It’s an exam robe. Everything off underneath, the robe opens in front.”
My eyes widen. Open in front? Oh god. But of course. The doctor needs easy access to my most intimate parts, so it made a twisted sort of sense.
“Okay,” I nod my understanding. “Got it.”
“Perfect,” she says, letting herself out. “Dr. Morgan will be with you momentarily.”
The door closes and suddenly I’m alone again. Did the A/C come on without me noticing? Because suddenly, the air feels freezing cold and goose bumps raise on my arms and legs. Is this really happening? Was I really about to have my v-spot penetrated by some cold metal device? Was I really going to let an adult man inspect me, to look into my most secret spaces?
But it was too late. I was already here. It was going to happen.
But I tried to console myself. Let’s just get this over with, the voice in my head speaks. The sooner it happens, the sooner it’ll be over, it said reassuringly.
So I leapt into action. Better to attack this head-on then get caught with my panties around my ankles. Literally, with my panties around my ankles because the doctor would be here soon. So hastily, I removed my loose top and tight jeans, shucking off my shoes and socks.
But then nerves struck again. Because the nurse said everything off underneath, right? So slowly, I lowered the straps to my bra, letting my girls bounce free. They were huge as usual, firm and big, nipples already hard from the cold air. Oh god. A rush of insecurity ran down my spine then, making me shiver involuntarily.
Then I removed my panties, and immediately, a breeze wafted between my thighs, making me clench my legs together. It felt so strange being out in the open like this. Usually after a shower, I grab a towel and dry off immediately so that there’s no chill, getting dressed in a flash. So to be out in the open with cool air blowing against sensitive spots was new. Because the way the air flowed against my pussy lips felt good actually. Different, but good.
And experimenting, I spread my thighs a little wider to open up my private area. A stream of air from the vent up above hit my clit straight on and I shuddered involuntarily, eyes going wide. Wow, that felt good! Dirty and strange, but really, really good.
But no more. The doctor shouldn’t come in to find me playing with my clit, it’d be so embarrassing. So sighing, I slipped one arm into the top, then the other. Yep, there wasn’t much material at all.
With fumbling fingers, I tied the front ties closed, but let’s be honest. This thing was so flimsy, I could almost be naked. The robe gaped slightly, offering peekaboo access to my curves. And my butt jutted out like a prow in back, huge and luscious, ready to rumble.
I sighed. Nothing ever changes. I’ll always be curvy, no matter what I eat and how much I exercise. But at this point, I was just hoping that my size didn’t make the exam any more difficult. This thing just needed to happen as quickly as possible so that it’d be nothing more than a memory until next year.
After clutching the robe together, I sat gingerly on the exam table, white paper crinkling under my butt. It was comfy at least. I could almost see myself falling asleep or relaxing under totally different circumstances.
But right, I was here. This world was so new and threatening, given that I hardly ever see a doctor. Not even when I’m sick, the illness usually goes away on its own. But now I was an adult and everything was changing.
Nervously, I waited for the doctor to arrive. Each ticking second on the clock was like the pounding of a thousand heartbeats in my ear.
Stay calm, the voice inside directed. It won’t be so bad.
But then the door opened and Dr. Morgan came in, shaking me from my dreams. I gasped involuntarily, brown eyes wide, body going hot. Because the doctor was huge, gorgeous and mouthwateringly sexy. Blue eyes seared my skin, a movie-star perfect smile greeting me. Plus, oh god. His shoulders were so broad, tapering to a narrow vee that even the loose lab coat couldn’t hide.
My mind whirled furiously. What happens now? Dr. Morgan was going to touch me where again? This insanely hot guy was going to stroke my breasts, put things in my pussy, and potentially even rub my asshole? Suddenly, my insides grew soft, so wet and supple. Because shamefully … I wanted it.
CHAPTER TWO
Travis
As a traveling doctor, there’s no need to settle down or to establish a practice. Instead, I visit a variety of difference offices in a variety of different cities, states, and even countries, filling in when one or more of my colleagues needs a break.
And it’s been fun, for sure. I get to see the globe, medicine is a universal language. So it’s been one destination after another, visiting the Taj Mahal, the Louvre and Ayers Rock on the way.
And when my friend from medical school, Maura Alba, asked me to fill in for her while she took a vacation, I immediately agreed. Why not? It was good money, after all, and hey, I’d never seen New Jersey before. Frankly, I haven’t spent that much time stateside in the past twenty years, instead plying my trade in all sorts of far-flung places.
But now here I was in Perth, New Jersey, waiting for something fun to roll around. This city kinda sucks, to be honest. New Jersey has a reputation as the armpit of the United States, and I could see why after two weeks. Perth is grimy. The water isn’t fluoridated. In fact, they’ve had a bunch of lead poisoning scares, supposedly from old pipes that hadn’t been replaced in centuries.
But it’s not just infrastructure problems. This place is boring. Everything shuts down by 8 p.m., and a lot of stores don’t even open on Sunday. How the fuck do they stay in business? Beats the hell out of me.
So yeah, shit wasn’t going to improve. Good thing my time here is almost up. I promised Maura two weeks max, and thank god, that’s right around the corner. So grabbing my clipboard, I strode down the hall, eager for the day to end.
Let’s see, who was my next patient? Probably another bimbo. One thing about Maura’s practice is that she has a lot of patients with no real health concerns. Just a bunch of middle-aged ladies desperately hoping to stay young forever. Most of these women kept begging me miracle potions and youth elixirs, but there really are none. It’s just sleep, exercise, and taking good care of yourself. The human body ages, there ain’t nothing that can stop the passage of time.
But just the same, these females were desperate. And I can see why. Their breasts were getting saggy, cunts loose after five kids. And yet they sought to preserve their MILF status with Barbie doll hair and Paris Hilton velour sweats. Not to mention the yoga pants. A bunch of ladies squeezed themselves into the tightest spandex shit, stuff that was supposed to make them look two sizes smaller.
Yeah right.
Again, nothing can stop the passage of time.
But still. They were trying in more ways than one. Because a couple old biddies have thrown themselves at me. Yeah, I’m a good-looking motherfucker, and these women have no ethics. They’re married with a passel of kids, but were those roadblocks? Did that cause them a moment of doubt?
Hell no. Instead, a bunch of Perth ladies have propositioned me already, shaking their boobs enticingly, pulling their vaginas open to give me the good one. But it’s a no go. Not only would my license be revoked, but it’s just not my thing. I don’t like bone-thin females who need a square meal. I don’t like women whose chests are concave, their breasts mere mosquito bites. I like hefty and full, with a real ass and generous tits. In my opinion, the United States has got it all wrong. Other countries that prefer big and bountiful are on the right track, appreciating the natural female form.
So yeah, being a traveling doctor works. I get my fill of curvy chicks from around the world, and there’s no need to stick with one woman either. I’m in a city for two weeks, then then a different country after that. Ther
e’s no hassle, no pain, no recriminations. There’s no relationship on the table, and most ladies get it. It’s global pussy for me. Variety is the spice of life, it keeps a man young.
But it was time to get to work.
Taking a look at the chart, I could see that my next patient was nothing more than a girl. Eighteen to be exact, with no history of smoking or drinking. No drinking? Seriously? I don’t trust people who don’t drink, it’s weird, like they don’t enjoy life.
The Dirty Hotel King: A Billionaire Bad Boy Romance Page 28
