Subbie Hubbie’s Exam
by mrhungry
Parts 1 & 2
Author's note: This is not a typical genre for me and is my first attempt at both "first person" and F/m. The story was inspired by recent circumstances that forced me to have a physical exam performed by a female doctor (long story). This is purely fiction, folks, written in four parts for the enjoyment of those on the site who are into F/m.
Part 1: The Dump Off
I sense that Roxanne is looking away from me to check traffic so I strain to turn my head to the left, taking a chance to sneak a peek at my wife as she's distracted. God, she's fucking gorgeous! Not runway model gorgeous mind you, and I must confess that the average male might not look twice at her, but to me she's a Goddess. Her long wavy brown hair cascades down over her shoulders and falls loosely about her full breasts. The sleeveless blouse she's wearing today shows off the fabulous muscle tone of her shoulders and arms. We both try to keep our bodies toned and fit for each other and all the hard work seems to be paying off.
I press my chin down against the padding beneath it to check out her legs. Whether by accident or on purpose, she's allowed her short cotton skirt to ride up her thighs. The workouts have really paid off there as I see her muscles flex while her legs work the brake and clutch pedals simultaneously. Her hands grip the steering wheel tightly as she contemplates making her move into traffic and I imagine those same hands cupping my balls and massaging my cock.
Shit! I shouldn't be thinking about things like this because I can feel my cock responding and I know nothing good can come of it!
"What are you looking at, Danny?" Somehow she knows I'm looking at her. Not surprising, as she’s somehow aware of everything I do. Most likely she heard the sound of the padded neck brace scrunching as I looked down at her legs.
I quickly face forward. "Your imitation dildo was captivated by your beauty, Mistress," I respond, knowing better than to try and lie to her. That's how I came to be in this predicament in the first place.
Three days ago my darling wife had flat out caught me with my fingers on my cock - not really masturbating, but simply feeling the hardness of it while thinking of a fantasy she had mentioned to me earlier - and I had foolishly tried to deny it. Two minutes later there was a solid ring of polycarbonate locked around the base of my testicles, and my dick was confined within its clear plastic prison. My wife - my love - my mistress - had been tormenting me without mercy since. The CB-6000 Curve was surely mass-produced by the Devil Himself to punish lying sons-of-bitches like me.
My ass grinds into the passenger seat of Roxanne's red '98 Mustang and I squirm as my cock expands to fill the solid curved tube of the chastity device. This actually takes only a second or three because after three days of constant teasing my penis never relaxes to less than a semi-erect state. The bend of hard plastic encasing my stiffening member forces my penis to follow its smooth tunnel downward, the dull pain beginning to register as the swollen head quickly reaches the end of the tube much too soon. For the umpteenth time today I stifle a moan as the little prison's cruel design excels in its purpose.
The Mustang lurches forward as Mistress finds a hole in the traffic. She straightens out the sporty little car, quickly and efficiently shifting through the gears, and then reaches over to tap on my crotch with the fingers of her right hand. The vibrations help to stimulate me, causing further discomfort. Without looking at her, I know damn well there's a smile on her face. This is the sort of humiliation and torment that really gets her off. I only hope she gets herself so excited that she sets my cock free when this bondage joy ride is over and allows me to fuck her brains out!
Oh my fucking god, my cock is straining against the hard plastic walls of the plastic prison! I read a user's review on-line once that claimed this guy's erection actually broke his CB-6000. Personally I think that's a load of shit because this little cage is too well built. I tried to force it apart once soon after Roxanne bought it and, as proof of its sturdy construction, it's still in one piece today.
I look straight ahead and start reading signs. Oh yeah, the letter game will help me concentrate on something else - let's see...there's an A on that sign...and a B up ahead, C and D over there. I flex my fingers behind me and wonder if Mistress tied that rope too tight. Are my fingers going numb? They feel sort of cold. I'm not really thinking about it, just wondering, and trying to keep my mind off of more painful matters. Besides, I trust Roxanne to bind me correctly. Lord knows she's had enough practice. She's been doing this to me for the past six years.
"Hate Your Figure?" -No, but I love that billboard! It just gave me letters E through I. Now for a J, where do I see a J?
This year will be eleven years of marriage for Roxanne and me. Not all good years, but we weathered the stormy times, surviving the hurricanes that ripped apart every other couple we knew. Still close friends with most of the male halves of those shattered relationships; I'm sometimes asked how Roxy and I remain so close. I usually say it's the love we share (true), and that we fulfill each other’s needs (true). Okay, okay, I fail to mention what those needs are.
Jct Hwy 61. Great! There's my J. K, K, that should be an easy one. K, then L.
Seven years ago it was hurricane season for Roxanne and me. She'd become a real bitch, sort of ordering me around like I was one of the interns at her 40th floor law firm. I resented it and lashed out. Well, that didn't go over very well. To say the climate in the house was chilly would be an understatement. Cold and cloudy was the forecast of our relationship. Then one night while she was working late with the other "partners," I happened to click on the history file on our home computer and was blown away by what I found. Fucking porno! My wife was reading porno on-line, and the subject matter was very specific; female domination.
Lots of shit we'd been going through suddenly made a lot of sense. I stayed awake until the wee hours of the morning browsing through the websites my severely warped spouse had been digesting. It was frightening, while at the same time...sort of arousing. I was shocked that I would even think it, but damned if I didn't read some of that smut and find my cock responding. Okay, I masturbated…I’ll be honest about it.
I was pretty confused about what to do. Being somewhat of a procrastinator, I did what came naturally to me and did nothing. The next time Roxanne started ordering me around I was about to go off on her as usual but considered her tone and the request she was making of me. This was that domination crap she seemed to be so hot on! It was just a menial chore she wanted done anyway, so I decided to play along, even saying shit like, "Yes ma'am" and "If that would please you, my lady," but said in a way that sounded sort of snippy. That night we fucked like we used to before we were married. No, that's not exactly true. If our pre-marital sex was like a driving a Cadillac, this was like driving a fucking Lamborghini, and she had the pedal to the metal!
What letter am I on? J? No, K. I look out straight ahead through the windshield for license plates, street signs, or billboards for the letter K for my mental distraction.
Roxanne's dominance of me developed slowly over the next few years. I never did tell her what I'd seen in the history file that night, instead, I let things play out naturally, allowing her think she was slowly drawing me in to that final place she wanted me. To be honest, the desire to be put in that place was growing stronger within me.
My descent into subdom had been at a rate that I felt I had controlled. She was pushing me, hard at times, but had learned that even when I flat out refused to do something, before long I would submit to her desires. As always, the sex that followed was hotter than hell. A case in point was her insistence to go on these bondage joy rides. There was no way in hell that I was going to let her tie me up outside of the house! I was pretty adamant about that, but she worked on me, sort of aggressively at first, but then, sensing my resistance, began a more subtle approach. I have to admit I didn't see my initiation coming.
We were down at the State Park, oh, probably 30 miles from the house. It was a nice day, I remember it being a little on the warm side. We had been swimming and as we lay on the blanket afterward, making out and doing a little heavy petting (yes, even after all those years of marriage) she looked around and brought it to my attention that we were completely alone. She was right. There wasn't another soul on that beach, or even another car in the parking lot. She rolled over towards me and held up a pair of cuffs, asking me if I'd let her have some fun. I was startled that she had seemingly produced those cuffs out of thin air. No, no, we only do that at home where it’s safe.
“Come on baby,” she said, “just for a minute or two, it'll be so exciting!”
I could tell she was getting herself all worked up and was getting incredibly horny. Shit, if I did this for her there was going to be some really fucking hot sex when we got home!
I relented, submitting myself once again to her desires and holding my wrist out for her shiny silver cuff's embrace. I held out my other wrist and she moved to bring both wrists behind my back. Uh-huh, no, this is not what I thought...click. Okay then. I sat there on the blanket with my wrists locked behind me and completed my thought...this wasn't exactly what I had in mind. It's what she had in mind, though. I objected, strenuously at first, but the threat of my t-shirt being used as a gag sort of quieted me down. I quickly took stock of my situation and knew I had better be her good little boy-toy for awhile if I hoped to contain the beast in her. She eased me down onto my back and the make-out session continued.
I'll not soon forget the passion she unleashed on me, especially when, despite my desperate objections, she slid my swim trunks down and climbed atop my engorged shaft, using me to further her pleasure. Oh sure, there's no denying that once my cock was inside her oven all resistance was gone and I fucked her for all I was worth. She was so pleased! Oh god was she happy, and thankful, and excited. She licked my dick clean afterward, the kinkiness of what we had just done arousing me before she was even through with her sanitation duties.
Then the deviousness of her plan unfolded. The keys?
“Oh baby, I think I forgot them at home,” she cooed, pretending to look through her beach bag and then her purse.
No, she hadn't forgotten a damn thing, I knew her well enough to know that. I was getting a little pissed, but given my level of freedom I decided it best to keep myself in check. At least it was up to her to pack up and carry all of our crap to the car. Ha! That'll teach her to disable her “slave” before the work was done.
I was pretty quiet during the ride home, but could tell she was getting excited again as she drove us out of the park towards the city. The more cars that surrounded us the more she looked over to see how I was handling it. To my credit, I handled it pretty well. If someone were to look closely I would appear to be sitting in my seat rather oddly, bare-chested and all, but otherwise no one would be the wiser that my wrists were bound behind me.
As predicted, once at the house we had barely made it through the door before she had me on the floor, wrestling my trunks off again. Her heat quickly enveloped me, releasing the tension and fear that I had felt on the trip home and stoking the arousal and excitement that I was surprised to feel now that it was over and I was safe at home.
It was the first of many joy rides we would make with me in some sort of bondage.
About two years ago I suddenly realized that I was extremely happy living this lifestyle that we had built together brick by brick. Never one to have a huge ego, while always having a firm grip on my own self-worth, I excelled at servitude. We were closer than ever before and getting stronger with each new experience.
My thoughts jerk back to the present as Roxanne shouts out a string of cuss words and swerves to avoid a big yellow Plymouth driven by a blue-hair with coke bottle glasses. That startled me. Shit, where the hell are we? We're clear across town. How long have we been driving…half an hour? This is not our normal bondage joy ride.
Out of the corner of my eye I see Mistress R look over her shoulder and suddenly the Mustang shoots like its namesake across three lanes of traffic and down an off-ramp. I barely move, secured in the bucket seat by the safety belt and several coils of rope. My neck is protected by a wide neck brace, insuring that I'm not injured by sudden movements such as those. The fit of the brace around my throat is extremely tight, explaining my difficulty in looking her way earlier. Obviously, movement is not to be allowed on this trip. Roxanne, as always, has thought of everything. I swear, thinking is her hobby, and thinking of ways to torment me has become her specialty.
At least I'm wearing clothing for this ride, although the jeans she has me in are tight and add to the torment upon my balls. Nothing affects my cock, held firmly within the clear plastic chastity tunnel, (except for arousal of course) but my balls hang freely below, the ring of plastic forces them outward and adds a certain amount of pressure to their base. The tightness of my jeans presses firmly against my crotch and angrily applies a constant pressure against my scrotum.
Mistress slows the sports car quickly and pulls into a small parking lot, stepping on the brakes more firmly now and forcing my body forward to strain against the seat belt. Stopping in front of some sort of clinic, Roxanne throws the gearshift into first and turns off the ignition. I strain to look over at the building as she rounds the car to open my door and begin to loosen the ropes around my chest that have held me firmly in place. I see her unclasp the seat belt and I lift my chin as high as I can to allow her access to the brace that has been protecting my neck.
"Out," she orders briskly.
I freeze, realizing now that she's going to dump me here in this parking lot, miles from home. This would not be the first time she's dumped me out on my own, and the thought of getting home on my own numbs my brain. Will she give me money? Will she bind me or take away my clothes? A million scenarios are running through my mind.
"Don't make things worse for yourself, slave. Get out now," she says.
Slave, huh. That's sort of serious as she only calls me slave when she’s really submerged in her Dominatrix role. I swing my legs around and place my feet on the pavement, standing and allowing Roxanne to turn me away from her so that she can unbind my wrists.
"Go in and begin on the paperwork. You're to see Dr. Erikson for a physical." She removes the last of my wrist bondage and closes the car door behind me. "I have a few things to attend to but I should be back before you're seen."
She begins to walk around the car and I panic. I know I mustn't speak without being told to, but she's forgotten something very important.
"Mistress!"
The look on her face when she stares back at me nearly freezes me in terror, but I must speak this one time.
"This worthless imitation dildo reminds its gracious and kind owner that She has not removed the bondage from its tiny and unworthy penis."
I speak her language, hoping it will please her. Long ago I was her "pet". Then, let's see, I was her "whore" for awhile. That didn't last too long. I became her "toy". She liked that a lot. Boy-toy, sex-toy, fuck-toy, worthless fuck-toy. It was sort of embarrassing being referred to by these names but it sure stoked her inner fires. Then, a few weeks ago, she had a huge fucking epiphany and I became her imitation dildo.
The sheer cruelty of the inference was not lost on me and I almost sensed a redirection of our relationship. As an imitation dildo I was at once a tool to be used for her pleasure, an instrument, but in its sub-meaning an imitation is like a knock-off of the real thing. Would you want an iPod or an imitation? A Rolex, or a $4 dollar look-a-like? A nice hard dildo, or me?
My wife turns and steps in my direction and I'm ashamed to admit that I cower. Oh fuck! Why did I speak out, but still...
"Do you think I don't know what bondage I have you in? Do you think you need to remind me of anything? Do you think I’m stupid? Are you telling me you know things I do not?"
Under fire from the barrage of questions, I take a step backward, knowing full well that that's a punishable action in itself, but am unable to stop myself.
I'm somewhat emboldened by the fact that we're in a fairly public setting and guess the odds of her disciplining me here are low, so I speak yet again, "Your humble servant begs your forgiveness, ma'am...it's only that..."
Roxanne points at the door to the clinic. "Get your fucking worthless ass in there and do as I've instructed you. Now!" There’s a tone in her voice that I’ve not heard before, it’s…well, it’s sort of mean.
I quickly turn and walk towards the door, hearing the car door slam shut behind me and then the sound of the Mustang revving up and pulling away.
I stand and look at the door in front of me in total bewilderment. The sign to the right of the door says, "Woodbury Women's Clinic". I browse the short list of doctor's names and see Sam Erikson, M.D., and below that the sign specifically states that the clinic is closed on Sundays. Today is Sunday. What's blowing my mind now is that Roxanne has actually made a mistake! Fucking jot that down in your calendars. And here I stand like an idiot waiting for her to come back for me.
I turn to look out towards the street and suddenly realize that there are four vehicles in the lot, and five more around the side of the building. Now I begin to question my own assumptions. I take a step towards the door and nearly get knocked over as the door swings open and two women breeze by me, talking and laughing as they head out to one of the cars.
Dismayed, I enter the clinic and look around. Yep, women. Five of them, sitting there waiting, reading, texting. Feeling much like a thorn bush in a bed of flowers, I approach the front desk and blush deeply as the receptionist looks up at me.
"May I help you sir?" she asks politely. The woman is young, possibly twenty, but certainly not older. There's a look of innocence on her face that mixes with a look of puzzlement.
I feel six sets of feline eyes on me and my mouth is suddenly dry. "Daniel Baker to see Dr. Erikson," I say, noticing the pretty little thing begin to shake her head and smile.
She giggles and her cute smile widens. She leans forward, unknowingly widening the gap at the top of her blouse to offer me an unobstructed view of her cleavage. I feel my cock respond almost instantly as I clearly see her left breast in its entirety, unencumbered by a brassiere. She motions me closer and the discomfort between my legs worsens as I force my eyes to meet hers. My god, I could get lost in those big brown eyes!
"This clinic is for women only, sir," she whispers, apparently hoping to ease what she perceives to be an embarrassing mistake on my part. I lean over further to hear her words and am rewarded with the sight of her nipple brushing lightly against the inside of her crisp white cotton blouse. The sensation must surely be stimulating as her little bud appears to be fully erect.
"Could you check, please?" I ask. "My wife made the appointment, not sure when." I watch as the young woman straightens up, pulls her appointment book in front of her and traces along the right side of the page with her finger. The thought suddenly occurs to me that Mistress is probably mind fucking me right now! That's why she wasn't concerned that my cock was still imprisoned in the CB. This entire thing has been a setup from the...
"Oh, I'm sorry Mr. Baker, here it is. 10:30 with Dr. Erikson. You're plenty early."
I feel my knees weaken as I take the clip board she's holding up for me, my mind, now clearly fucked, spinning with the realization that Roxanne has booked me a physical exam at a women's clinic.
Part Two: The Wait
I take the clipboard from the cute little receptionist and turn to find a seat in the waiting area to fill out the paperwork. These damn forms, always asking the same questions. It's a hassle for everyone, regardless of which clinic you're seen at, but it seems to be unavoidable.
I hadn't noticed how few chairs were in the waiting room when entering the clinic, mainly because I was more than a little embarrassed to be walking into a women's health clinic in the first place, and was still quite rattled by the way in which Roxanne had dumped me off here.
The "dump off" was becoming one of my wife's favorite games, and one of my least favorite. I’d say, “drop off”, but that seems like something that’s agreed upon – “Say, will you drop me off at the store?” No, this was something altogether more sinister.
I had just begun to get over my fear of the bondage joy rides when Roxanne introduced a new source of terror to me - that of being left, or in my mind ‘dumped’, someplace public, alone and in some sort of bondage. There have been times in the past few months that I’ve consented to her games in an effort to please her, having at the time been aroused to such a state that I would, quite frankly, agree to perform any task my mistress asked of me. Other times, like today, she simply pulled over, released me from my seat bondage, rebound me in some manner, and then given me a task.
I've argued against the dump off many times, my primary argument being that if a woman got caught doing it, it would appear kinky - while if a man got caught, he'd be a pervert. And my wife was setting me up to be that man.
Headline: Pervert Daniel Baker arrested at Woodbury Woman's Clinic with massive erection locked in an inescapable genitalia chastity device. Story continues on Page Four.
My first experience with the dump off had been a complete surprise. It was a wet and dreary Saturday last spring when Mistress told me I could have the afternoon off from my chores so that she could play with her fuck toy in the garage. By this time in our D/s relationship my gorgeous wife had acquired quite a generous collection of bondage gear and, upon entering the garage, I saw several pieces of it in the bed of my Ford F-150 truck.
It was obvious that she'd been preparing for this little sex-capade because the thin mattress she had in the basement for my use was lying in the center of the truck bed, and chains were already secured to the cargo handles on the lower side panels.
Moments later I was bound, naked and spread eagle, on top of the mattress and the vinyl cargo cover was being pulled over the truck bed.
I protested as loudly as possible through the ball gag she had forced behind my teeth but the only response I got from Roxanne was that loving smile that she gives me when she's about to force me to do something extreme. While I've truly come to love serving Roxanne in any way that pleases her, I still get that pit of terror in my stomach when I see that particular smile and she gets adventurous with me.
That pit grew to the size of a basketball when I heard the garage door open and the powerful engine turn over. I struggled to free myself from the chains that connected my outstretched limbs to the four corners of the truck bed, but that proved to be an effort in futility. I soon gave up on it and simply lay there, shivering. I bounced around in the back of that truck for the next hour, the sounds of traffic so close by, people talking as they walked right past me hidden beneath the cargo cover, and the whine of the tires on the pavement as we sped down the freeway.
Finally the truck stopped and Roxanne retracted the cargo cover and climbed into the truck bed to release me. But she didn't release me right away as I had hoped she would. She was extremely excited by the act she had just committed and her lust was unleashed upon me. Bound as I was, it was impossible to mount any sort of resistance.
Still furious over being taken from the house naked, I vocalized my displeasure through the gag as best I could while pulling at the chains that bound me to the bed of my truck.
Honestly, I think my struggles excited her even more as her hands attacked my flesh, caressing my outstretched limbs, rubbing and then pinching my nipples the way she knew I liked, her lips kissing my neck, the sound of her soft sexy voice in my ear.
"You're doing terrific, baby," she purred in that silky tone that could make me hard just thinking about it hours after the sound of it caressed my ear. Her right hand soothed and petted my short blond hair while her left hand ventured down to my cock. I felt her fingers gently exploring my pubic area and scrotum, yes...searching for stubble to scold me over if the area had not been shaved well enough for her that morning. I knew her methods! I had shaved, carefully too, for just such a spot inspection, so I was confident she would be pleased. Lord knows the last time she had found stubble I had suffered badly for it. Now, though, having passed her cursory inspection, her hand was on my cock, and her solid soldier was standing at attention and ready for battle.
I shook my head, NO!, we're out here in the open! Anyone could come along. But my protests only served to heighten her arousal and she was soon astride my torso, her skirt up around her waist, guiding my stiff member into her slit. Oh god, she felt sensational, and so sopping wet I could not believe it!
She must've been practically orgasmic before even mounting her fuck toy for it took only a moment for her to cry out and throw her head back in ecstasy, her wavy brown locks flipping back and forth as she came. I was in awe of the power of her orgasm, having never witnessed such an overwhelming display of lust. I lost myself in it, moving what little the chains would allow and tensing my cock to offer her every ounce of pleasure I could, intent now to please her over and over until she was delirious from cumming. I cried out through the ball gag as her fingers dug into the flesh of my chest, her talons leaving traces of red as they dug deeply. In that moment I understood the true nature of my submission to Roxanne. Without even a fleeting thought for my own condition, or my own gratification, my entire existence as a person was focused on being an instrument for her pleasure. To be used as she wished, unconditionally.
Those thoughts fresh in my mind, I was completely caught off guard when she dismounted me and leaned forward to open the tool chest at the head of the cargo bed. Within minutes I was free of the chains and standing, still naked, cuffed, and shivering on the wet grassy shoulder of the country road. The 'smile' had returned to her lips and I backed up against the cold metal of the truck, reluctant to acknowledge that this little adventure was not yet over.
Roxanne moved in close to me, the leather collar she liked to lock around my neck in her hand. I shook my head no and attempted to evade her, but with my wrists cuffed behind my back it took only a moment for her to collar me. I felt something brush against my chest and stomach and looked down to see a flogger hanging from the d-ring centered on the collar. I hugged up against my mistress, not wanting to know what humiliation was in store for her fuck toy, my cock still hard and dripping, having not yet been relieved of its urgent need.
"You recognize the park, don't you, baby," she looks out towards the Regional park that traversed the dirt road we had stopped on. For the first time I look around to see where we had stopped. I nod. Yes, I knew exactly where we were; we take walks through this area quite often.
"Good. You have one hour to get over to the main pavilion. If you're not sitting on the bench when I get there later, I'll turn around and go home. Do you understand? This is your task."
Those last four words have been repeated many times since then. And yes, that day I had arrived at the pavilion before the hour had expired. Roxanne showed up right on time, wrapped me in a big blanket and helped me, still bound, into the cab of the truck. I was still shaking, both from the trauma of running naked and bound along the trail, and from the chilliness of the overcast day. I tried to relax, to allow her enthusiasm and praise to comfort me, but I was a wreck.
As we left the park I saw the sign stating that the park was closed. There never was any danger of being seen that day, and I didn't know whether to laugh or cry as I realized the entire trip had been one elaborate mind fuck. In subsequent dump-offs, this became the norm, and even with the knowledge that she was fucking with me and that the entire event had been carefully planned to avoid my being compromised, it was nerve wracking and I hated it. Well, I hated it as it was being forced upon me, but later, when thoughts of the experience flooded my mind and I relived the exhilaration, the panic, and the torrid sex that followed, I almost yearned for the next adventure.
Almost.
Now, standing in the waiting room of the clinic, looking at my choice in chairs, I thought back to the events leading up to this particular dump off and tried to remember seeing the smile upon Roxanne's lips that told me she was up to one of her mind fucks. It was like a poker player's "tell". The problem was, there had been no telling smile today. Nor did she say to me "this is your task", as she always did. Nervous now, I survey the room and its occupants.
Three of the five women sit very relaxed. They have an air about them that I instantly recognize as confidence. Their attire is crisp and professional. The first woman, a very lovely brunette, is wearing a black business ensemble - jacket over a starched white blouse, skirt that comes down to her knees, black sheer stockings, and heels. Three chairs to her right sits a stunningly beautiful blond wearing a similar suit but in a charcoal gray. I notice her heels and my breathing stops. The heels are at least 6" and fully open in front, displaying her delicate foot all the way down to her toes. It makes her long slender legs look so much longer. Two chairs to her right sits another blond, dressed in a black sleeveless sweater that clings to her body in all the right places. Her black skirt is short and has ridden up so that the tops of her stockings peek out, a sliver of creamy flesh visible between her stocking and her skirt. Upon her feet are shiny black boots that hug her calves, terminating just above her knees.
While each woman is extremely beautiful and certainly erotic, the two other females in the room are of much more interest to me. Sitting to the left of the brunette in the black business suite sits a young woman, most likely in her late teens or early twenties, if I were to guess her age by her the maturity of her face and the size of her breasts. But to look at her hair and her attire her age would be guesstimated to be much, much, younger. Her black hair is tied into two cute little ponytails that stick up to form pretty hair umbrellas above her head. Each pony is tied with a yellow ribbon that matches the yellow in her dress. The dress itself might pass for an eight year olds’ Sunday School dress, only in an adult size, with its white collar and matching white belt. The print appears to be sunflowers. She wears white ankle socks under shiny yellow pumps. The young lady is sitting in her chair, squirming and fidgeting, her fingers toying with the hem of her cute little dress. The "adult" next to her places a hand on the youngster's leg and the girl sits still again for a moment.
The other female of interest sits to the right of the blond with the short skirt. This female is completely punked out. Also young, but clearly an adult, the woman has brown spiky hair with random patches dyed red. The make-up around her eyes is beautifully applied, if you consider Dawn of the Dead a sweet movie. Her ears are pierced with delicate silver rings in countless locations along their outer edges and larger dangling upside down crosses at their lobes. A rather bulky ring is pierced through her septum, and yet two more piercings adorn her lower lip. It's hard to focus on her clothing, black is definitely her color, and she seems to occupy a black hole where she sits. She appears to be wearing very short shorts with skintight black stockings, holes strategically torn along her stick-skinny legs. Large black clumpy combat boots, with the laces untied and flopping about her soles, complete the image of a disaster made even worse.
In all, these two women are like day and night, sweet and sour. Next to each is a vacant chair, neither of which I deem appropriate to occupy. This leaves one chair between Blondie with the vampire and Blondie with the drop-dead gorgeous legs, or one of the two chairs between "Legs" and the brunette.
The brunette is fussing with the Sunflower's hair so I head for the chair next to her, but just as I approach she shifts in her chair and her purse falls from the arm and into the unoccupied chair next to her. This leaves the chair next to "Legs" as the only option remaining. The woman does not look at me but shifts in her seat and re-crosses her legs so that the foot of the crossed leg is nearest me.
Sitting down, I begin filling out the paperwork. Name, address, yawn, DOB...the long crossed leg to my left begins to swing gently as if the blond woman is thinking of a song. I look up and watch it, the well-toned muscles flexing as the leg bounces slightly up and down. I try to concentrate on the paperwork...insurance company, group number...I realize I have no wallet, no ID, no medical card. Where is Roxanne!? This is insane! What am I even doing here?
My eyes follow the swing of the leg in front of me. Her flesh is so smooth and beautiful she needs no stockings. I follow the length of her limb to her foot and see that her high heel is hanging from her toes, the 6" heel jutting out like a spike; her heel and the tender flesh of her instep are exposed. What a delicate foot she has. Her hand moves down along her skirt until it reaches the bare flesh of her firm thigh and I watch as her fingertips slowly trace a path to a spot that must be itching. The long slender fingers with the perfectly manicured French nails scratch the flesh lightly and then her hand rests on her thigh, sort of moving back and forth in tiny movements, almost as though she’s caressing herself. Is she thinking of her husband’s touch, her boyfriend’s, her lover’s?
Discomfort in my groin alerts me to my quickly stiffening cock. I can't look at her leg any more, but even as I stare blankly at the page in front of me I see her leg peripherally, bouncing gently to an unheard beat, her fingers continuing to massage her thigh sensually.
"Mommy, that man is looking at the lady's legs," I hear Sunflower say. "Is he a bad man, mommy?"
A huge lump forms in my throat. Busted!
"Silence child," the brunette admonishes Sunflower. "Sit back and stay still, practice acting like a lady as you've been instructed."
"Yes ma'am. I apologize ma'am," Sunflower says sullenly and sinks back into her chair.
I'm not sure what shade of crimson my cheeks are blushing but I feel the heat.
"Please excuse the child's rudeness, sir," says the brunette. "It seems she has not yet learned her manners."
"No harm done," I stammer, looking at the lovely brunette and then past her to the brooding girl who, upon seeing me looking at her, sticks her tongue out at me, folds her bare arms over her chest, and pouts.
I half expect “Legs” to get up and move to another seat and so it’s no surprise when she stands up. But instead of moving away, she simply leans over to select a magazine from the far side of the coffee table in front of us and sits back down. Her legs are turned towards me, but then she crosses them again, this time with the leg closest to me on top.
I wince as I gaze along the long expanse of flesh that is offered me. In sitting, the blond did not adjust her gray skirt and it now rides quite high upon her thighs. The sight is really more than I can bear right now, regardless of how enticing it is, my tortured cock cannot grow any further in the hard confines of its little prison, and my mind cannot handle all of the stimulation it’s trying to process. I’m beginning to feel a little overwhelmed by my predicament.
I believe I'm losing my mind! What has Roxanne roped me into? Who are these people and what in the hell is going on here? The constraints of the CB-6000 are being severely tested now, and I wonder if I might be the next user to write in to profess that my erection broke the device. It's quite painful.
Oh fuck, I may have to leave and go outside...but what if Roxanne is sitting out there in the car? What will I say to her? How will I explain my disobedience and what price will I pay for it? I clench my fists and will my nerves to settle. I’ve got to get through this task, if it is indeed a task, until Roxanne comes to my rescue. Surely she’ll walk through that door any moment now, a big grin on her face when she sees my predicament and my extreme discomfort.
"Ms. Winters?"
I look towards the voice and see a stunningly beautiful redhead in a white lab coat standing in the open doorway, a stethoscope looped around her neck and a clipboard in her hand. She smiles as Blondie to my far right stands and looks back at Vampire Girl.
"Don't make me fucking go back there," Vampire Girl says, venom in her voice. "I don't need no cold-handed bitch feeling me up." Whoa, attitude problem in the room.
"Stand!" Blondie orders in a voice so stern I cock my head over to look at her. Did that voice come out that fox? My god, look at her! Blondie is stunning. That short skirt just barely covers the tops of her nylons, I can see the clips of the garter belts that hold them up. The woman is petite, probably 5' 6" if that. Perched atop the high-rise black boots she approaches six feet, though. I see her moving her hooked finger at Vampire Girl, motioning for her to rise and finally getting a response.
"This sucks," the girl mutters as she and Blondie follow the doctor through the door.
Blondie next to me plants both feet on the floor and partially rises to lean forward. Apparently not satisfied with her selection of magazines, she sorts through the others for a replacement. My eyes wander to her ass, tightly contained in the gray material of her skirt. Christ, her ass is delectable in every sense of the word. What a meal that would be…oh shit, I have to stop…
"See mommy, he's looking right at her fanny. I thought there weren't going to be men here. He's one of those bad men you told me about, isn't he?"
"Chelsea!" the brunette says in a hushed voice. "Control your tongue girl or I shall punish you right here."
"Yes momma."
"Sir, I'm terribly sorry," the brunette says.
All I can muster is a wave of my hand as if to say it's okay. Honestly, I'm speechless and horribly embarrassed.
Both Vampire Girl and Sunflower are clearly young adults but both are acting as children. And I'm sitting here with them in a clinic that is supposed to be closed for the day but is apparently open for a very odd assortment of clients.
"Miss Alders."
I’m a little surprised at the curtness of those words. It was said rather harshly if I might be so bold as to offer that opinion. Someone needs to work on their customer service skills! I see that it’s another female doctor, dressed similarly to the redhead, but not anywhere as pretty. The woman has long braided black hair and wears what looks like military fatigues under her white lab smock. A glimmer of light reflects off of her collar to reveal Captain bars on each lapel. The oddity of the clinic grows deeper! I wonder where this Dr. Erikson is? I haven’t seen him poke his head out here yet.
Blondie with the Legs places the magazine back on the table, arranging it so it’s neatly placed while offering me one more painful view of her shapely tush, and walks towards the husky woman waiting for her. I look towards the door and pray that my mistress will arrive soon. Not that I'm done with the paperwork, I've got to get back to that! Okay, hmmm, last mammogram...guess I can put N/A on that line...
With no further distractions I finally finish with the front side of the form. I flip it over and begin on the emergency contact information. The front door opens and my heart leaps in my chest. I turn, hoping it's Mistress, but it's not. Two women walk up to the receptionist and are greeted.
"My, my, aren't you looking cute today, Nia?" I overhear one of the women say to the receptionist. Nia, huh? Cute name for a cute girl.
"Thank you, ma'am" Nia responds. "Would you like to see Dr. Erikson together as usual?"
"Yes, of course, how long will it be?"
"There’s one person before you," she nods in my direction and the two women turn to look at me. Now the women lean over and the whispering begins. I can only imagine what they're talking about and my face flushes again as I try to concentrate on the final section of the form. Somewhere in my mind I’m thinking that it’s sort of odd for both of these new arrivals to be seeing Dr. Erikson, and together no less. But I have a form to complete and I’m not giving it much thought.
The clinic door opens and another woman in a white lab coat comes out and walks over to the brunette and Sunflower. "Are you ready to come back, Chelsea? My, you're such a big girl now; does mommy have to come with you?" The doctor winks at the brunette.
Sunflower stands, still holding the hem of her dress and brings it up to her mouth, sucking on it as if embarrassed by the sudden attention of the doctor. Her legs do that cute little pose where both knees sort of come together and she rotates her left foot on her toes nervously. As she turns my way, I see her body through the openings of yellow sunflower fabric as she holds the hem up to her mouth. The girl is no girl; she's a fully mature woman with lovely breasts, a wonderfully toned abdomen, and a cleanly shaven pussy.
"Go on Chelsea, you know Dr. Keithly, you've been with her before. Be a big girl now," the brunette encourages the woman.
Chelsea looks at the brunette and then at the doctor and then throws her hands in the air. "I'll go! I'll be okay, right mommy?"
"Yes, dear, now give me kisses." The brunette turns her cheek and Sunflower races over to plant several loud smacks on the brunette's cheek. Then she turns to me and sticks out her tongue again.
Finishing with the form, I step over to Nia and hand her the clipboard.
"Okay, Mr. Baker, let's go back."
Thank God, get me out of this madhouse!
End of part 2
Copyright © 2012 by mrhungry. All rights reserved. I welcome your comments. Email me at mrhungry56@gmail.com