Michelle: The Doctor's Visit

I know, I know. This is your angel; your prim and proper little girl who blushes when she hears a racy joke; who never wears shorts or goes sleeveless in public. The same woman who cried the first night you asked if she would touch herself for you. But here I am, following that thin trail of hair that sits like an apostrophe above my slit.

I part my legs and lean my hip against the table. My hand reaches my outer lips and it's like I've been marinating in oil. My fingers slip between my folds easily and I send them immediately deep inside me. I'm slightly hunched over because of my back and now that aids in the access I need. The feeling is like sticking my finger into a wet electric socket.

The door is closed but I can hear loud voices in the hallway and the sound of running feet on the linoleum floor. I see the door open in my mind and a parade of medical staff entering to see me leaning wantonly against the exam table with my hand buried in my pussy. The image scares the hell out of me and ratchets up my sexual excitement like the twist crank on a toy soldier.

I experience a touch of guilt over masturbating while poor Ms. Peterson fights for her life but then I snake my other hand under that lace-trimmed bra and catch my nipple sensitive between my thumb and finger. Sorry, Ms. Peterson. I hope you make it but there really isn't anything I can do for you.

Another thrust and I can feel it coming. Damn, I've barely even started. You know how long it takes me. I feel sometimes like you will need to ice your tongue the next day from the workout I give it. But here I am, seconds into my masturbatory gropings and I'm already on the cusp of an orgasm.

I close my eyes and slowly insert two fingers to their limit and ease them out again. I imagine that it's your palm pressing against my sex; your fingers clawing at my nipple. My legs part wider and I'm now practically bent over the exam table for support. I can almost feel you behind me as a finger sneaks down an inch, and then two, gently teasing that little puckered hole you like playing with so much.

But it's my cunt that needs attention now and I quickly abandon my anal play and focus on bringing myself off. I push three fingers into my hungry pussy and clench my sexual muscle around them. I picture your tongue as my thumb probes higher and my knees almost buckle as I start tracing little circles around my clit. I want to tease myself. The way you do when you reduce me to a pleading slut, begging you to let me come. But I have neither the time nor the patience for that right now.

My release is moments away. It can't be soon enough. I trap my clit between my fingers and work it hard like I'm sanding a rough board. My orgasm hits like a slap to the face. I'm suddenly light headed as blood races to other parts of my body. My knees give and all my weight collapses on the table. Convulsions grip me from deep inside my sex and I cry as muscle spasms feel like my back is ripping apart. Tears run down my face; pain, relief, joy, humiliation. I can no longer separate the emotions.

It takes a few minutes before I am coherent enough to pull my sodden panties up and dress myself. You know how I get after an intense orgasm. I want to bask in the dreamy state of bliss that envelopes me. I want to sleep for a week. But rational thoughts prevail and I start the painful process of dressing myself. Several more minutes pass before I trust myself to walk timidly to the door and peek out.

Things are much quieter now and I hope that is not bad news for Ms. Peterson. I'm not sure what to do and I think of just collecting my jacket and purse and leaving. Then I see a familiar face; one I had actually hoped to never see again.

Dr. Green spots me from the reception desk and walks down the hall to speak to me. He's really going to talk to me. After feeling me up and ogling my ass he's just going to walk up and talk to me. If there is a God lightning will strike one of us at this very moment.

"Oh Ms. Jamison, I want you to know how terribly sorry I am. You must know that I would never have barged in like that had it not been an emergency."

"It's quite alright," I say when all I can picture is the view he had from the doorway of my partially covered hiney. "Is Ms. Peterson okay?" I add quickly to change the subject.

"Yes, she is. Thanks to Dr. Cummings." He looks up the hallway like it's a long stretch of road laid out before him. "She's amazing really."

There seems something more than just professional admiration in his voice but I'm too spent to care. I just want to get out of here. Then, as I am trying to find a polite way to disengage from this sexual predator in scrubs, Susan walks out of Exam room number three.

"Oh, dear. Michelle, I am so sorry to leave you hanging like that."

Is that a reference to my clinical visit or the sexual state she left me in? I'm not completely sure.

"I understand completely." Which is not true. "I actually feel much better than when I arrived." Partially true. "I was just gathering my things to leave." I'll kill anyone who tries to stop me.

Dr. Cummings smiles. "Well, at least come into my office and let me give you my diagnosis."

Fuck, why does she have to be so wonderful? If she were a bitch I could just blow her off and run. But you know that's just me talking. You know I couldn't do that. Even if she were the meanest hag since the Wicked Witch of the West, I would still choke my rude thoughts back and give a polite exchange. So what the hell do you think I do when Sexy Voice asks me into her office?

I follow her to a small, cramped space dominated by a computer monitor and stacks of medical files. She clears off an area on a wooden chair for me to sit and fills me in on her assessment of my back pain.

"Lumbago is a medical term we like to throw around to cover general lower back pain. We don't always know the cause but we do have a pretty good fix on the treatment."

Lumbago? Isn't that something old people get?

"The spinal massage I was giving you was two fold. One, I was trying to determine if there were any abnormalities or severe curvatures in your spinal column. There were not. Second, the massage is usually very therapeutic. You have some small muscle spasms deep in the muscle tissue near the PSIS, the posterior superior iliac spine, as it descends toward the coccyx..."

I must have given her one of those looks I usually save for you when you're trying to explain football to me because she abruptly stops and gives me a little laugh. Her fucking delicious laugh again. God, I bet her husband must walk around with a permanent boner.

"Sorry for all the doc-speak. Here's the bottom line. You have a sore back. It's muscular, not skeletal so we're going to treat it with rest, massage and some really good drugs."

"That's it?"

"That's it. Unless you wanted me to take another look." Susan's eyebrows rose.

She knew. Shit, she knew all along. Now I have to get out of here. I really can't look at her face for another second.

"No, no thank you, I'll be fine." I stare at the floor. "You've really helped me." Like you don't already suspect that. Shit. "Thanks again." Really, thanks.

I waddle out to the parking lot like Quasimodo and find you waiting patiently under that maple tree like your wife hadn't just had a near trauma in that red-brick building beside you. You were concerned about the results of my visit but then you saw my face and your expression changed. You suspected something. I hid my face and told you I'd tell you all about it later.

So here we are...later.

***

"Wow. Now that's a story. And you tell it so good."

"I can tell that you liked it," Michelle said, looking down at his erection. "I don't think I've ever seen you that hard." She traced a finger over the purplish head..

"Baby, I'm about ready to bust."

Her husband reached forward and unhooked the center clasp to her purple bra, releasing her heave breasts from their confinement. His hand sought out her nipple and he quickly teased it to hardness. She parted her legs; an invitation. Michelle closed her eyes, savoring the blissful feeling of his hard length pushing into her.

"Are you sure your back is okay for this?"

Like she would possibly deny him now.

"Oh, you could probably just have your way with me now that I'm all cranked up on muscle relaxers." Her head was spinning like she was drunk. "But don't be too wild. Whatever we do tonight I'm sure to pay for in the morning."

She appreciated the slow pace her husband maintained despite his obvious excitement. Michelle knew it took all of his will power to restrain himself. If not for her injured back she knew he would be fucking her like a piston.

"So, did you want her to?"

Michelle's eyes widened. "Did I want who to what?"

"You know. Did you want Dr. Cummings to touch your pussy?"

Her response caught in her throat and that too familiar feeling of embarrassment embraced her like a blanket. She pursed her lips and shook her head.

"Michelle..?"

She couldn't believe how bad he was being. "Don't make me say it."

He pushed his cock deep inside her and slowly withdrew; a lustful look in his eyes.

"Tell me." His eyebrows rose. "Deep down, did you want Susan to make you cum?"

Michelle closed her eyes and felt her face warm with blood; her embarrassment serving as an aphrodisiac for them both. She covered her face with her hand.

"Yes," she whispered through her fingers. Oh God, she actually said THAT out loud!

Her husband smiled and thrust deeper inside her. "So, why don't you start that story over again. Pretend I've never heard it."

Now it was her turn to smile. "You mean while we..."

"Yeah, while we..."

Michelle giggled and then sighed. "Okay...well, you aren't going to believe what happened to me today; what I did. Or maybe you will. You've always seemed to know me better than I know myself...."