BC Ch. 02: Regularly Scheduled Check-Up

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Samantha's fantasy physical gets kinky.
6.2k words
4.77
62.2k
36

Part 2 of the 3 part series

Updated 06/08/2023
Created 05/05/2017
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SteffiOlsen
SteffiOlsen
1,033 Followers

NOTE: Chapter 9 of Beast should be done next week, but I had just enough time over the weekend to do a quick edit and post this old piece. This and the next three chapters have been sitting around in digital limbo for a while, and I don't know when I'll have a chance to work on them, so don't get addicted. Read responsibly! --Stefanie

FAIR WARNING: Samantha is more than a teeny bit blasphemous-- if you're an easily-offended Christian, please put your fingers in your ears and hum now.

--o----O----o--

I swear to God I almost quit the club after that first night. I mean, what could live up to my sex with a stranger scene? It absolutely flawless; I figured it was either the best intro I could have, or the worst, one that would leave everything after it looking like a near-miss.

Randi tried to talk me out of quitting, of course, but I refused to commit. While I'd given her a fairly comprehensive, condensed description of my first hookup, I hadn't told Randi all my fantasies, just as I didn't expect she'd told me all of hers. In the end, it wasn't lunchtime story-telling that kept me in the Club, of course: my original motivation for joining was as compelling as ever. That first fantasy had been an amazing experience, but I'd signed up to fulfill two big wishes I wouldn't attempt without the safety net of the Bill's Club: those I mentioned way back at the beginning-- being with two men at once and being forced.

Well, I wasn't ready for either, but I did have another fantasy too kinky to share over Chablis and chef's salad, which involved stirrups, but no horses.

It was another scenario which required precise scheduling-- a factor which, for me, was clearly in its favor. I wasn't yet prepared to open the door admitting daydreams to my daily life-- another reason to put off my two big, bucket-list items.

So, after my exhilarating night downtown, I set up another pre-scheduling interview with Julie, my usual BC Admin. Most members, I'm told, complain about the number of interviews the Bill's Club requires per scenario, but I'm not one off them.

Of course, back then, I didn't realize my experience with the BC office was atypical.

The usual process is that new members are immediately assigned a permanent team of two "FFA"s -- Fantasy Flight Attendants. And yes-- it's a stupid name. The most important goals, Julie tells me, are for the member not to feel uncomfortable during interviews and, more importantly, for the Club to have at least one employee available with intimate knowledge of whatever is going on at the moment with each individual member. So, if Randi or I called in a panic after a fantasy date dumped one of us in Bora Bora, no one would be scrambling for a file, trying to catch up. The two-person team allows for sick time, vacations, etcetera, not to mention having someone available to do the millions of pre-scene, post-scene, pan-scene, para-scen, ob-scene interviews that the Bill's Club requires for every single "date" it arranges.

What makes my membership different is that I didn't get my two FFAs when I signed up: there was a scheduling snafu and all the FFAs on duty were already meeting with other clients when I arrived for my initial intake interview. Since the club makes a huge deal of everything running smoothly for their members, and the intake interview is possibly the most important interview a member will ever have, they did NOT want to screw it up.

Julie, who started her career in the club as an FFA, was already a BCA by then-- an administrator-- and BCAs don't normally deal directly with members. I didn't know any of this, so I thought my intake interview went exactly as planned. To avoid confusion, Julie handled my membership for a couple of months before they assigned me a team. Then there were a few-- also atypical-- bumps with an FFA's maternity leave, and by that point, Jules was it. Even when I finally had a permanent team, Julie transitioned me slowly, and kept them under supervision. From that time until I left the club, my team took care of most of my needs, but Julie filled in if things were busy or she was bored. We had become friends.

Julie's intelligence and quirky sense of humor weren't the only reasons I didn't mind the interviews. From my very first experience, I'd seen the benefits of scrupulously detailed planning. It might not seem like much in the grand scheme of things, but the non-prescription glasses my stranger wore in the bar-- a wish-list item I'd mentioned in passing and barely remembered-- had tipped his everyday demeanor into nerdiness, significantly upping his sexy-to-Samantha quotient. For me, it was the sum total of all those details which nudged "satisfaction" into blissful satiety.

So, after my exhilarating night downtown, I met with Julie to discuss my next fantasy.

A week later, the main number for Bill's Club showed up on an incoming call, but when I checked my voicemail later, it was a very professional-sounding female voice telling my that my gynecologist, Dr. White, had a cancellation for tomorrow evening. If I'd like to come in for my appointment then, I should leave a message with his service to confirm. I grinned and dialed immediately, my pussy already lubricating itself for the coming event.

--o--

At precisely 7PM the following evening, I presented myself at a sprawling, two-story building in the suburbs of the city where I lived. Judging by the sign at the west entrance, the building must have housed at least sixty medical offices. Most were closed by that hour, but I passed a busy urgent-care clinic near the main entrance, and there was an optometrist's office with glass walls and half-a-dozen clients in a waiting room near the elevator. I'm sure there were other offices open, too, so the parking lot was far from empty, but the second-floor-hallway where I disembarked was dim and empty.

It was more than a little bit eerie, and for the first time I was hesitant about what I was doing. My feet, however, were being controlled by my pussy at that point, so down the hall I went, to Suite 211, an honest-to-goodness OB-GYN practice. I took a deep breath and opened the door. Whatever I'd expected, it wasn't what I found: a well-lit waiting area with a pretty young receptionist behind the desk and a sitcom playing on the overhead TV. No one else was in the waiting area, but the receptionist was on the phone, discussing the transfer of patient records to a nearby hospital. She gave me a quick smile and held up her index finger, indicating I should wait.

The receptionist hung up, apologized, took my name, and asked me to have a seat. As I removed my coat, I began to worry that I'd accidentally made myself a real GYN appointment, in which case me and my pussy were going to be horribly disappointed. I'd barely started flipping through a tabloid when the receptionist stood and began packing up her things, though, giving me a flicker of hope. She closed the frosted window between us and a moment later I heard a muffled call. "Dr. White, your last appointment's here." There was a pause and a door opened into the waiting area, through which the receptionist emerged, calling back over her shoulder. "Alright! See you in the morning!"

She shot a polite, hurried smile at me as she headed for the door. "He'll be right with you. 'Night."

I nodded and went back to my magazine, turning the pages with damp, nervous fingers, seeing nothing, hearing only the sounds of my own harsh, quick breathing.

When the door opened again, a man in a white coat appeared, clipboard in hand. "Hi, I'm Dr. White, I hope you haven't been waiting too long."

I smiled and collected my things. "Not long at all, thank you."

He was tall and broad shouldered, his light-brown hair tousled, graying at the temples, and streaked with blond. He looked slightly incongruous in this setting, like a surfer stolen from the oceanside.

As I followed him down the hall, I glanced through the open doors of regular exam rooms on either side, wondering how the Bill's Club had gained access to a real medical practice after hours. We turned left into one of the last doors and "Dr. White" closed it behind us, going to lean against a counter-top in the built-in alcove near the exam table. He opened my "chart" and gestured at the table.

"Make yourself comfortable while we go over a few things, Miss Martin, " he said, using the false name from my BC planning session-- my real surname is Moreau.

I draped my coat and handbag over the back of a plastic chair and climbed up on the end of the table. Five minutes later, I was back to wondering if I was in the wrong place, because Dr. White was either a real gynecologist, or doing a damn good impersonation of one. He interviewed me exactly as though I were a patient who'd switched physicians, quizzing me about my medical history and current concerns, the whole nine yards. I was so surprised that I gave honest answers to most of the questions, including marital status and whether I was sexually active. Thank god the guy already had my fake name, birth date, and mailing address on the form, or I might have spit those out, too. I wouldn't have cared right then, but it was one of those things that would have made me crazy-paranoid the following morning, when the hormones wore off and I came back to my senses.

"Alright, Miss Martin." He straightened, indicated the pale blue gown on the table behind me. "If you'd like to change, I'll be right with you."

He paused in the doorway, looking over his shoulder. "Opening in the front, please."

The sentence itself was ordinary, but the glance he gave me as he uttered those five words was anything but, dripping from my eyes all the way down to my toes, baring my body in both our minds. There was no doubt this was not an ordinary check-up.

When the door closed behind him, I was trembling, suddenly nervous in a way I hadn't been since high school. I slid off the table and hesitated, contemplating flight. I could grab my stuff and get the hell out of there before Dr. White even glanced up from "his" desk. I shook my head sharply, castigating myself for cowardice. No fucking way was I leaving. I'd had this damn fantasy since I was fifteen and had my first real gynecologist's appointment.

I stripped off my clothes, a small smile on my lips as I remembered that day, the young intern who performed the exam as an older physician supervised. While I kept my eyes pinned to the pockmarked ceiling tiles, the two men stood between my legs. They'd been very professional, quiet and subtle about the teaching aspect of my appointment, but I knew without looking that they were communicating as they examined me. I was relatively inexperienced and young enough to have next-to-no control of my physical reactions. I lay helplessly exposed, my pussy fluttering and weeping under the dual gaze of two men much older than I.

The ride home had been absolute torture, trying to respond appropriately to my mother's casual chatter while I soaked my panties in the passenger seat. Instead of doing my homework, I'd spent the hour before dinner masturbating, fantasizing I was back on the table in the brightly lit office. Looking back on it, I can see how that one experience still affects me, as far as many of the things I find arousing. My first Bill's Club fantasy, for instance, with its components of exhibitionism and an unfamiliar partner, was probably even informed by that long-ago exam.

So I bit my lip, shed my big-girl panties, and muscled through the jitters I was feeling.

When Dr. White returned, I was perched on the end of the table with my hands in my lap and my ankles crossed, wearing the thin blue cotton gown, as instructed.

As he crossed the room, Dr. White smiled, the typical soothing physician's smile, and rubbed his hands together. I'd never really paid attention to that before-- how a doctor warms his hands before touching a patient's bare skin-- but I was suddenly reminded of a cartoon wolf preparing to dig into a tasty helping of lost-girl-in-the-forest. I held back a shiver of anticipation as he approached.

I saw my own gynecologist annually, of course, but here and now, everything was so much more vivid, more real. When Dr. White stood next to me at the end of the table, he seemed impossibly close, nearer to my skin than any other physician had ever stood, though I knew that wasn't true.

"All right, Miss Martin, let's start with a routine breast exam, shall we?"

I nodded, but didn't turn my head toward him. Probably because he'd been so damn professional to begin with, the appointment had become real to me, and I was afraid if I looked at him, he'd see my arousal.

Without saying anything, his hands went to the neckline of my robe. Delicately, he drew the fabric off my shoulder with one hand, while the other slid slowly down the front. The back of his fingertips brushed against the inner curve of my breast as he drew the flaps apart. It seemed to take forever. Holding the edge of the woven fabric taut, he dragged it across my nipple, which hardened immediately, catching at the seam as he bared my breast.

I tried to still my breathing, which sounded loud in the tiny room, but when his fingers traced a line around the inner curve of my breast, his palm brushed across the tip of my nipple, and I shuddered, my physical reaction plain to see.

Dr. White ignored it. His hand cupped the lower swell of my breast, testing the weight with his palm. His other hand came down over the top and he squeezed gently. I could feel my nipple bulging outward and in my peripheral vision, I saw Dr. White's eyes flicker between his hands and my face, watching for my reaction. A corner of my mind noted the moment, storing it away to fill in the blanks later on, when I'd consciously wonder what fantasy "Dr. White" had been fulfilling.

I managed to keep my mouth closed while he massaged me, stroking every speck of my breast except the pebbled tip I was yearning for him to touch. He moved his left hand to my shoulder and pressed.

"Shoulders back, please." He breathed in my ear, the sexy rumble of his voice doing nothing to calm my thrumming heart-rate.

With my hands resting on either side of my hips, I straightened, thrusting my heated flesh more firmly into his palm. I couldn't see him anymore, but I felt his eyes.

Pressing down with his thumb, he stroked upward with his hand, pinching my nipple gently as they met. He released quickly and repeated the motion. The third time, he twisted his wrist, pulling my nipple away from my body and tweaking it as he let go.

I gasped, my lips falling open.

"Does that hurt, Miss Martin?"

He did it again. "Right here?"

I gave my head a tiny shake, trying to steady my breathing.

"No?" He stroked the peak of my shoulder.

His palms were just slightly rough, and the tugging on my nipple increased the pooling heat between my thighs. I shook my head again.

"All right, then." He covered my breast and I sighed in momentary relief

He went around to the other side and started all over, petting and stroking me while my heart pounded beneath his palms, and my stiff nipples darkened. Another clue was revealed when he brushed up against my knuckles, which were clutching the edge of the padded table. Beneath the gabardine of his pleated trousers, his cock was stiff against the layers of its fabric prison. He shifted his weight several times, dragging the hard column across my bumpy knuckles.

Finished teasing my left breast, Dr. White came to stand in front of me, pushing the gown off my shoulders to study both sides. I kept my eyes firmly pinned to the middle button of his shirt.

His hands outlined my neck and shoulders, dropping down to cup my breasts, thumbing the nipples in unison.

"Miss Martin?" He paused, forcing me to meet his eyes. "No discomfort?"

"No." I whispered.

He kept it up for another minute, his piercing brown irises holding my gaze and his erection pressed gently between my knees. He was analytical and interested, but maintaining his detached demeanor, making my arousal feel all the more acute. I wanted to reach out and lay my palm flat against the bulge beneath his fly, but I was as constrained by convention as I would have been at an authentic check-up, and I flushed at the thought.

Abruptly, he broke contact. "Okay, then, everything seems fine there."

He stepped back. "Now, if you'll just lie back...."

I shivered as he unfolded the silver metal support arms at the foot of the table.

"Right foot, please." He placed my heel in the black plastic stirrup. "There we go. Now, the left...."

He hadn't given me a sheet to drape across my lap, and the gown wasn't generously proportioned, so with my knees up, everything from my waist down was bared to his view.

"Scoot your bottom down a bit, Miss Martin."

With one hand, I held the gown together at the waist to keep my breasts covered-- a foolish bit of modesty with no rational purpose-- while I slid toward the foot of the table.

"A bit more... there we go," he repeated.

The edge of the table pressed against my tailbone, and my bottom hung slightly over the edge.

One at a time, Dr. White adjusted the stirrups, spreading my legs wide-- wider than they'd ever been spread during an exam like this. "How's that, Miss Martin? Comfortable?"

God, no.

It wasn't painful, it wasn't even the furthest he could have parted my legs, but it was just this side of straining, and it wasn't comfortable, but I nodded briefly.

He wheeled the stool into place and sat between my legs. I dared a glance while he got himself situated and realized he was a foot or so higher than a gynecologist would normally be. His head and shoulders were easily visible above my trimmed pussy. And my face and breasts fully visible to him, I thought, my eyes skittering back to the safety of the ceiling.

One warm hand settled on my ankle. "All right, Miss Martin, just relax." As he spoke, his hand stroked upward from my ankle onto my calf.

"Let your knees fall open." He pressed slightly to emphasize his words.. "There, that's perfect."

From my knee, his hand slid slowly upward toward the swelling folds of my vagina.

I knew I was wet. I knew it must be visible. I could smell myself from where I lay, but Dr. White's voice remained even and professional.

"Okay, Miss Martin, I'm just going to take a look." His left hand joined the one that had caressed its way up from below. With thumbs and forefingers, he parted my outer lips and held them aside, leaving my vulnerable feminine parts fully exposed. My chest rose and fell more rapidly, and I didn't try to hide it.

As he studied the glistening pink tissues, touching nothing, I felt a drop of liquid ooze from my cunt, dripping down between my cheeks. I shuddered: there was no way he could have missed it. Slowly he relaxed the pressure, releasing my lips. I didn't have time to relax, though, because his right index finger slid immediately into the valley alongside my clit. I could feel it standing swollen and erect above the surrounding tissue, but he didn't touch me there. Instead he slid the length of his index finger through the groove, letting the tip circle the indentation around my vagina and then slotting his finger back into the dip on the other side, still not touching my clit directly.

"How's that, Miss Martin?" His eyes went to my face and he did it again.

He couldn't possibly expect me to speak, could he?

"No pain here?"

I shook my head, gripping the edge of the paper-covered table.

His eyes returned to my pussy. "Good," he murmured, the word like a caress to my heated flesh. I thought I was going to come when he said it, but he stopped touching me just in time, pushing the stool away as he stood.

"Okay, Miss Martin. I'm going to do a manual exam now. Let yourself relax." His eyes slid away from mine to run over my hard nipples and my heaving belly, winding down to the slick folds a foot from his bulging zipper. Beneath the white coat and black trousers, below my line of sight, I knew he was still aroused. He was maintaining his apparent calm, but his nostrils flared and his eyes glittered when he looked down at me. A nearly-palpable sense of electricity zinged around us in the small room.

SteffiOlsen
SteffiOlsen
1,033 Followers
12