The Doctor Will See You

by Lana Brazen

  “Do you like that?” he asks, and I nod, unable to open my eyes and look at him. “I’m still going to need your verbal explanation. How wet are you?”

  “Soaked,” I choke, as my fingers examine myself, and my sex beats heavier than my pulse. He continues to manipulate my breasts, tugging each once, and then palming them while his thumbs rub over the stiff nub.

  “Tell me, Lana, when was the last time you were fucked?”

  The question steals my breath, and my eyes leap to his face, but he’s concentrating on working over my breasts. Can I be truthful and say never? Maybe it was back when I was young? I don’t recall the last time I had a good romp in the bedroom.

  “It’s been a while.”

  “I see. I’ll need further inspection.” He releases my breasts and moves to the end of the table. Pulling out the stirrups, he maneuvers each foot into the holsters before lowering back on the stool.

  “Hmm. Very pretty.” A fingertip traces the outline of vibrating folds ripe with my juices, and my eyes close against the bright light overhead and the delicate manner in which he draws around my sensitive skin. He strokes along the outer rim, down to another hole, and returns up the other side before brushing the tender nub. I flinch, and my back arches a bit off the table.

  “I’ll need you to remain still and quiet. Can you do that for me?” he warns in a mild tone. Though he’s disinterested and distant from what he’s doing to me, I feel completely out of control. My fingers reach for the edge of the table, and I fight for the stillness he requests as my hips begin to roll.

  The air fills with silence, and I realize he’s waiting on an answer.

  “Yes.”

  “Yes, Dr. Lubton,” he corrects, and I tip my head to see his between my raised knees, his eyes concentrating on the path he’s traveling around my pulsing core. His other hand lifts from his thigh, and a finger enters me as he continues to circle around my hole.

  “Yes, Dr. Lubton,” I groan as my eyes roll back. He adds a second finger to the first, pumping in and out and my hips buck.

  “Very responsive,” he explains. “Let’s stimulate your Grafenberg spot, which is located...” I whimper from the release of his fingers as the heel of his palm rests against my triggered clit. Then fingers delve back inward, and he presses on my lower belly, above my pelvis bone while curling fingers inside me. “Can you feel that, Lana?”

  A moan escapes, and my head rolls to the side. The other side of the room drifts into focus and then out as his finger continues to stroke my G-spot. I groan again.

  “If you can’t keep quiet, I might need to place something in your mouth.”

  Does he mean he’ll gag me? Or put something else between my lips? I lick them with the possibility. My head tips up, searching for his eyes, which remain on the attention he’s giving my sacred spot.

  “Lana, you’re spilling all over my fingers, and I have nothing to wipe it with. I’ll need to get these juices up before they drip over the table and down to my thighs.”

  I nod, without acknowledging what the nod implies.

  Risking another glance at him, his pale blue eyes meet mine. He’s a striking man, with his close-cropped hair and light tan. A stethoscope hangs from his neck like this is all proper. Like the breast exam was natural with its pleasing pressure, and the finger fucking is standard procedure.

  “You’d like to see what I’m doing to you?” he questions, a brow raises, the first break from his controlled manners. I lower my head as he lowers his between my thighs, and the first lap nearly pulls me off the table. My knees fall even wider to the sides, feet resting within the stirrups as the good doctor takes his time to labor his tongue over me, circling the folds as his fingers did previously, and lingering over my clit as he sucks it forward.

  He breaks away, and I whimper, an arm coming over my eyes, which prickle in fear that he’ll stop.

  “Try not to come right away. I want to enjoy you here first.”

  He returns to his feast, spreading me with the tip of his tongue and leveling me with the flatness. His mouth sucks at my folds, his hands moving to my inner thighs to hold me in place as my fingers grip the edge of the table. The pressure builds, and my insides roll. The largest orgasm I’ve ever had is about to blow.

  “I can’t hold it,” I warn, which seems to spur him on. His tongue swirls, round and round, and the release begins, dragging on as my body grows stiff. I pitch upward, knees coming together as I close them around his head and steam full force ahead into an orgasm that produces stars. Falling back, I can’t conclude how long it lasts because a second one barrels through me as his fingers slip inside, and his tongue circles around some more. I bite the inside of my cheek to prevent the scream wanting to escape. My head thrashes from side to side until I come down from the high.

  He releases me after a final lap and stands, kicking the rolling chair to the side. Shifting his body, he isn’t unaffected by what he’s done. He’s hard, very hard, and long, protruding in a manner that causes his thin pants to tent.

  “I’d like to test your gag reflex on my cock. Would that be okay with you?” he asks, lowering his scrub pants to reveal a striking penis. Possibly the best cock I’ve ever seen before. Tall and proud, stiff and solid, my mouth waters, and I sit up.

  “I’ll need you to roll to your stomach.” He hits a switch on the table, and it begins to lower to the floor. “Up on your knees, please.” I shrug off the cumbersome paper garment, exposing myself fully to him and the harsh lighting within the room.

  “Beautiful,” he mutters, and although I consider it a lie, I feel beautiful. I feel invincible. My body is alive as every fiber stands at attention, sensitive and eager for more.

  He positions himself at the opposite end of the table and holds out a hand to help me kneel upward. As the table lowers nearly to the floor, my eyes don’t leave the jutting penis, fully exposed beneath his scrub shirt. He shrugs off his lab jacket and hangs it on a hook off to the side of the table.

  “Take it as far as you can,” he commands softly, setting his hand on my cheek and guiding me to swallow him. My tongue hesitantly licks at the smooth head, circling the underside before drawing him as deep as I can take him. He’s so large, and he won’t fit, but I want to do this to him. I feel empowered to prove I can but also exhilarated in my desire to return pleasure to him.

  “That’s it,” he groans, the first sign of him losing composure. He holds still while my fingers claw at his hips, and I bob my head over his dick. I pull at him and suck him and force him as deep as he’ll go. He hisses as his hand returns to the side of my face.

  “I want to come down your throat,” he moans, “but this is your consultation.” He slowly removes my grasp on his thickness by pressing at my shoulders.

  “Shall we continue?” he asks, and there’s really only one act remaining. One more way to consult.

  I nod, but he tweaks a brow. “Words.”

  “Yes, Dr. Lubton.”

  He steps around the opposite end of the table once again, hitching it back upward and lowering the stirrups into their original place. He reaches into a drawer at the desk, and I twist at the waist, resting on my hip as I watch him sheath himself, tugging twice at the firmness. Witnessing his hand on him sparks my libido once more. Who am I kidding? I don’t think it subsided, but I’ve never had three orgasms in a row.

  His hand comes to my hip, and he strokes over it, slipping down one cheek of my backside. “Have you ever experienced anal sex?” he asks, and I shake my head, then remember his rule.

  “No,” I admit, and his eyes leap to mine, holding them a moment before he swallows.

  “Perhaps on another visit,” he suggests, and I thrill at the possibility he might want me back. That he might wish to examine me again.

  “For now, we have two ways to continue. On your back or on all fours.”

  My brows pinch before taking his meaning. The choice in this portion is mine. I turn my back to him, and he strokes a hand up my spi
ne. “That’s what I was hoping for.”

  It pleases me that I’m pleasing him while he’s about to please me again. Tugging at my hips, he draws my knees to the edge of the plastic pad and then lowers my legs so my feet rest on a step near the base of the table.

  “I think this will suit us best,” he says near my ear before pushing at my shoulder blades so my upper half lowers, pressing my stomach on the cool canvas covering. My nipples ache once again, scraping over the stiff material beneath them. My legs are spread, and a finger slices through the crack of my ass until he finds the hole he wants. Entering me once, I chase the retreating finger, needing the friction.

  “Eager, Lana?” he asks, but I don’t answer as the tip of him retraces the line his finger scored until he braces at my dripping entrance. Tipping my hips back, I pause as he slowly enters me, pressing inward until he’s fully inside me.

  There’s no reaction from him, but I mutter, “Oh my God, oh my God,” on repeat. Withdrawing, he pauses at the edge and then thrusts forward. He’s so large, and every ridge, every ripple, strokes me as he retracts and then races forward, building a rhythm, which exudes more praise. My hips are pulled closer toward him as he pulls me to the edge and then pushes inside. Push, pull. Back and forth. He finds my G-spot once more with the tip of his dick, and my eyes roll back as I take the pleasurable punishment.

  “Let’s try one more bit of stimuli,” he warns. His breathing grows ragged as he thrusts, and thrusts, and thrusts. His hand comes around my hip, flattening on my pelvis bone, and his fingers reach forward as he strokes my clit, and I detonate. My forehead presses into the cold material, and I fight the scream, breaking into a million pieces. Eventually, he stills, but every jut and jolt continue the stimulation. I’ll never come down from the high. Pressing upward, I hold my upper half erect as he remains inside me, drawing out every last drop.

  His forehead lowers to my shoulder, pausing a moment to catch his breath.

  After a long minute, he removes himself, holding me stable so I don’t fall from the footrest. Stepping away from me, I hear the snap of his condom and then the tap of the trash container opening before gently slamming shut. As juices leak down my inner thigh, a wet wipe swipes upward, catching the drops. He wipes over me once and then guides me to spin on the step.

  “I’ll give you a moment to get dressed and then meet you in the other room.”

  He isn’t cold, but it’s obvious the consultation has concluded. When I nod at him, he opens the door and steps out, carrying his scrub pants.

  I walk on shaky legs to the plastic chair and redress, feeling euphoric but odd about the entire experience. My body hums like a drug addict, the adrenaline rushing. Exhilarated as though I have more energy to burn, I want him again. But I’m also content with this visit. Replete, I’ll soon need a nap. I’ll need time to process what I’ve done with him.

  Stepping into the outer room, he sits in a plastic chair with a clipboard on his lap. He looks like a surgeon, assessing his patient’s notes. The room remains dim. He glances up at me as I exit the inner room.

  “Well, doctor, what do you recommend?” I’d like to think I’m a tease, asking if it’s contagious, permanent, or will there be side effects, but I don’t think it comes across as flirty.

  “My recommendation is to return in two weeks. Perhaps my assistant could have a look as well and give us a second opinion.”

  An assistant? What will that mean if there are two of them?

  “Think about it,” he states, professional and unaffected. “You can call our offices tomorrow if you wish.”

  2

  For the remainder of the day, I’m foggy and fuzzy, disbelieving what I’d done. I call in sick, stating my appointment took longer than intended, and spend the afternoon napping and watching Passionflix, but my thoughts keep returning to the examination room. The way he felt. The things he did. My body hums, and eventually, I give myself another rubbing to relieve the pressure.

  Afterward, I remind myself this is why I went—I don’t want to be taking care of myself. I want to be taken care of.

  I decide to wait twenty-four hours before making the call for a second appointment. When the doctor answers, there is no recognition in his tone. Detached. Distant. Courteous. This is what I need, I tell myself. I don’t want to feel an emotional pull because feelings get in the way of enjoying the physical. At least that’s what is suggested by all the online reading I did. Swinging is about sharing a mutual appreciation for the sport of sex. However, I know my weaknesses. It will be difficult to keep my emotions at a distance, and I know to look for warning signs of attachment. But for now, I need this experience.

  Five days out, I question my sanity. Was I a sexual deviant? Could people see what I’d done? And to top it off, I thank my lucky stars I hadn’t had to pay for the exam because then it would have felt cheap and dirty. I still wasn’t convinced it wasn’t tawdry, but I couldn’t pass on the opportunity to do it again.

  I sit at work, staring off into space, unable to concentrate on the listing before me when my cell phone buzzes. I’m waiting to hear on a property along the water.

  “Hey, Mom.” My daughter’s voice fills the phone, interrupting all my naughty reminisces. Yes, I’m the mother of adult children, and the reality of that fact should make my situation all the more conflicting.

  “Hey, baby,” I return. “How is work?”

  Meredith is twenty-four and works as a case manager in an assisted living facility. I don’t want to think of her in medical offices doing what I’ve done, and I wipe away the thought, attempting to concentrate as she tells me about a patient.

  “And then, he tried to escape again.” I don’t have to see her to know she’s shaking her head with a smile on her lips. Don Hudson has been a real thorn for Merry, her family nickname. She likes him, but he’s a runner, and it’s been an adventure to keep him in the building…and in his clothes.

  “That man,” I tease, and Merry chuckles. She’s blossomed into a beautiful woman, responsible and compassionate, and taking care of the elderly is her passion. She lives a good life in an area filled with younger people, all starting out in careers and relationships. For a few years now, I’ve had my house to myself, and it’s been an adjustment.

  “Hey, I’m free next Thursday morning. Want to have breakfast?” she asks.

  I pause, conflicted. I rarely see my daughter, and I should jump at the chance that she has time to see me, but I don’t want to reschedule my appointment. The ache is returning after passing through all the questioning stages. Confusion. Conflict. Confidence. Curious.

  “I’m sorry, baby, but I have a doctor’s appointment. Is there another time? Maybe Saturday?”

  “Sure, Mom. Everything okay?”

  Is everything okay? Is something wrong with me? Is it wrong that I like it? Is it wrong that I want to do it again?

  “No, baby. I’m good.”

  + + +

  Entering the clinic as I did two weeks prior, I feel collectively excited and anxious. Will it be a repeat of what we did the first time, or will this exam be different? I’d like to assume I passed a test of sorts during our initial consultation, but I have no idea what to expect. I considered contacting Jessica, the girl from the coffee shop, to thank her for the recommendation, but then again, I’ve been afraid to admit I went.

  Perhaps she already knows. Do people like the good doctor move in similar circles? Has she visited him lately? These questions begin to haunt me as I wait on the examination table. I’ve already signed the forms and sit in the scratchy paper gown.

  Dr. Lubton enters with his calm demeanor.

  “Lana,” he begins, and that cool, detached tone settles me a bit. “How are you feeling?” The inquiry makes me feel as if this is a true examination. A follow-up visit from a prior procedure.

  How is my heart?

  How is my head?

  Should I describe how my pussy throbs for him?

  “Anxious,” I admit, and he pla
ces a hand on my knee.

  “We’re going to try a few alternative measures this visit. Is that okay with you?”

  I nod, and he tweaks a brow. “Yes, Doctor,” I respond.

  Reaching for the blood pressure cuff, he rounds the table to stand next to me, curling it over my upper arm like a true professional and squeezing several times to tighten the balloon inside. He pauses, listening through a stethoscope as if he reads the rush of my blood and then removes it.

  “Excellent,” he states. “Have you ever been cuffed before?”

  My head cranes to look at him. “Like handcuffed?”

  “Yes.”

  “No.” A thrill rushes through me, straight to my core.

  “How would you feel about light restraint?”

  “I…I don’t know.” Giving complete power to someone else is worrisome. Fearful I won’t be able to get out of a situation if I’m strapped in, I can admit I like to be in control of myself. I’d also like to be free to touch him even though I didn’t last time. It isn’t about reaching out to him but allowing him to do with me at will.

  “Perhaps we could try?” The hesitation in my voice sounds weak, and I don’t want to appear cautious. I want to be strong and confident in my decision even though I’m anything but.

  The doctor opens the blood pressure cuff, holding it wide to show me the inside.

  “Could you lie back, please? I’d like to listen to your heart.”

  I do as he asks. “Please raise both your hands above your head.”

  Again, I do, and that’s when I learn what light restraints mean. He draws my wrists together and wraps the cuff around the two of them, sealing the Velcro connection to hold them together. I wiggle my fingers and take a deep breath.

  “I’m going to open your gown,” he states as he can’t ask me to do the honors like I did on the last visit. The rustle of the paper over my breasts, not to mention the brushing of his knuckles over each of them, causes my nipples to stand at attention. Once my chest is exposed, he places the stethoscope in his ears and holds the cool end to my chest, listening as if he knows what to listen for. He must hear my heart racing; the beat faster than it should be when I’m at rest.