‘The most exquisite pleasure in the practice of medicine comes from nudging a layman in the direction of terror, then bringing him back to safety again.
– Kurt Vonnegut, God Bless You, Mr. Rosewater

[CW: this post is a fictional story about medical kink and describes a version of a routine medical examination staged for kink and erotic purposes.]

As always, his shoes were shined and his clothes were fresh. His shirt was crisply ironed and his sleeves rolled up to his elbows in neat folds. His name badge was straight and his stethoscope hung casually but precisely around his neck. Forbidden to wear a tie, the open top button added a rakishness to his look that was not entirely unwelcome. Ryan had never worked at a time when doctors still wore white coats, but he’d fashioned himself a perfectly adequate uniform nonetheless.

If he was being truly honest, Ryan had actually not worked as a doctor for very long. It didn’t pay enough and he didn’t like the hours. The job satisfaction may not be the same now that he has changed career to work in the city, but he was better able to enjoy his free time and that was good enough for him. The year or so that he had worked, however, had been enough to provide him with some essential skills; skills in examination and communication, skills that, when corrupted in a wholly unprofessional manner, had opened up a second lucrative career path that earned him almost as much as his day job!

Ryan’s first ‘patient’ of the evening was a regular client, booking three-monthly check ups with an occasional emergency appointment in between. Today was the latter. She had called his secretary only this morning, describing a hellishly stressful week at work with no clear end in sight. She was wound up too tight, she told them. She needed some therapeutic intervention. Luckily, he had had a cancellation that same day so Ryan was able to squeeze her in without needing to overbook.

‘Would Ms Crimson please come to room five.’

The tinny tannoy system rang out over the small waiting room, announcing that Ryan, now fully dressed as Dr Jones, was ready for his first patient. Each client was allocated a pseudonym on their initial consultation, a longer exploratory appointment when he could determine how best to treat them. A harried looking women stood and rushed forward towards his consultation room.

‘What can I do for you today, Ms Crimson?’

Both knew the answer, but they also knew that the charade was part of the game.

‘I’m having a difficult time, Doctor,’ she said. ‘It’s work. It’s getting me down. I can’t sleep and I have this thumping headache all the time. Nothing has helped!’

As she offloaded her worries and symptoms, Dr Jones made detailed notes in the file in front of him and made soothing empathetic noises. Once she had said all that she needed to say, he put down his pen and turned his chair towards her.

‘I am so sorry you’re going through this, but I think I can help. There are therapeutic manoeuvres that I can perform that can release that knot of tension inside you. Would you be willing to try them?’

This part of the script didn’t often vary, but Dr Jones could tell that it was working as he watched a flush start to slowly rise up Ms Crimson’s chest.

‘What would these techniques involve, Doctor?’

She crossed her legs firmly, squeezing her thighs together.

‘Well, they are invasive and intimate, and somewhat experimental. It would involve some personal touch.’ She took a sharp intake of breath at these words. ‘It would require the use of opening equipment, such as a speculum, to allow better access and increase the therapeutic benefit. Would you be interested in a trial?’

‘If that is what you’d recommend, Doctor.’

‘Wonderful. Let’s begin.’

Dr Jones stood and directed Ms Crimson toward the couch at the back of the room.

‘Would you like a chaperone present?’

Some clients liked to be watched and asking certainly added to the realism.

‘No. Thank you, Doctor.’

He locked the door and pulled a curtain around the bed. Slowly pulling a pair of rich purple latex gloves from the box by the bed, Dr Jones snapped them into place, flexing his fingers to ensure a good fit.

‘I’m going to remove the clothes on your lower half now, if that is OK.’

Ms Crimson was lying back with her knees bent up on the couch. Her eyes were already closed and she nodded her consent. Dr Jones reached up under her skirt and let his fingers run around the top of her tights. Hooking his fingers through her tights and knickers, he pulled them both down, sliding smoothly over her legs until they were bunched around her ankles. He gently pushed her knees apart and switched on the lamp that was positioned to shine into her vulva.

She was already wet and the light glinted off her labia as he moved the lamp to provide better illumination. Without touching her, he opened the sterile speculum and let it clatter on the metal tray. Next, he opened a sachet of lube and smeared it all over the speculum and his first two fingers.

‘I’m going to touch you now. Is that OK?’

Again, she nodded.

Dr Jones rubbed his fingers up through her labia, gently opening her vulva and expertly circled her clit. He had mastered a technique where his touch could almost have been incidental, almost have been accidental. Ms Crimson squirmed, pushing back against him and encouraging greater pressure. Dr Jones slid one and then a second finger inside her, curving up to stroke her g-spot and liberally spreading lube around. She moaned, clutching at her skirt that was bunched around her waist. Gently, and then with greater speed, he finger fucked her, drawing out the tensions that had built up over the past week and edging her closer to orgasm. As a regular, he knew her body well enough now to gauge when she was close. Her breath got shorter, her gasps more staccato. Her cunt clenched around his fingers with greater strength.

‘Hold still now. We are approaching the final stage of treatment.’

When he knew she was close enough, he picked up the speculum and pushed it into her. She was so wet that it slid in without resistance but she still cried out at the contrast between his warm fingers and the cold lube covering the cold plastic tool. He wound the screw, cranking the speculum open to provide the pressure that she needed, and continued teasing her clit until she came, flooding his hand and the examination couch.

Once her body had stilled, Dr Jone withdrew the speculum and gently wiped her clean. He stepped out from behind the curtain and sat at his desk, waiting for her to emerge. He did not rush his clients at this point, with each understanding that appointments did not always run to time.

After just over 5 minutes, Ms Crimson walked back around the curtain and sat down. She looked calmer and rested.

‘I hope that that has had the desired effect, Ms Crimson. Our next appointment is in five weeks. Is that suitable or would you like to bring it forward?’

‘That sounds good. Thank you, Doctor.’

‘Wonderful. I shall see you then.’

After she had left, Ryan washed his hands and smoothed his shirt. Checking his clinic list to confirm the name, he opened the file on the second client – Mr Blue, one of his earliest clients, who enjoyed prostate massage. He moved the equipment trolley into the cupboard, needing only gloves and lube for this consultant, and leant over the tannoy.

‘Would Mr Blue please come through to room five.’

This is post #3 of a planned 6, all written during the 12 hour Smutathon writing challenge.

Follow the fun and read all the posts from the various fabulous writers by checking out #Smutathon2018 or #SmutForChoice!

My own posts from this and last year are collected in the Smutathon category, and you can find out what is happening in Smutathon this year by clicking on the image below…