Visit
Gyno Exam Stories MEDICAL FETISH RELATED HUB
How about good female domination movies? Join
FAMOUS GYNO Movies $29.95 for unlimited download
Name of The Story File: DOCTOR-B.004
Author: Unknown
Authors Personal Site: http://www.erotic-free-sex-story.com
Category: Medical Sex Stories and doctor fetish texts
erotic_exam_medical_story
~From: brenhead@aol.com (Brenhead)
~From: brenhead@aol.com (Brenhead)
* * * * * * * * *
Part IV- Limits
Unable to do, to experience anything that was less than
obsessive, she played his cock with her mouth at every every
chance. More Pergnant Text for your medical_story Once, he even tied her, shackled her, to tease her to
. More Pergnant Text for your medical_fetish_story fury. medical Story of your choice: story_of_medical_practice She raged at him, cursed him foully, ordererd, begged, and
. Other medical Stories: medical_exam_story cried for just a taste of his slippery fuck-lube on her lips,
heated fresh from within him.
He wanted it to begin innocently. Other medical Stories: erotic_medical_story The wooing back of her. Other medical Stories: medical_sex_story Of
. Other medical Stories: funny_medical_story her centre. More Pergnant Text for your amazing_medical_story He wanted to show her that he was strong, fierce,
. medical Story of your choice: bill_medical_patient_story_success devoted, cunning, and could play the game with her as much and as
deeply and as long as she cared to. More Pergnant Text for your gyno_medical_story
Onc day, in his mailbox, a catalogue for sex toys The usual
stuff Body parts in all the wrong colours
In a moment of what-the-fuck whimsy, inspired by geranium-pink
penises, he decided to order her Japanese ben-wa balls, the heavy,
silvery, heat-holding, twin pieces of sensation-fruit that she
could play with “when I’ve taken my balls with me,” as he told her,
whispering into the side of her neck, charmed by his own wittiness,
watching her loosening the thin gold cord at the top of the
burgundy velvet bag.
The joke didn’t feel right Didn’t feel right to her, either
In his gut, he knew that he was consumed by the vision of her
performing, pleasured in solitude And that if he could pay court
to her cunt, she may let him possess it again.
They both decided, for the moment, that he was honouring her,
was giving her the power of independent pleasure (And honouring
himself by assuming she craved him during every absent moment...)
Several weeks passed before he could bring himself to ask about
his gift She continued to search and nuzzle and harden and suck
him with such determination, that the shackling became a way of
regaining his own sense of control.
“How are your toys holding up? Worn out yet?”, he said to her,
finally “Not worn out Working fine” She smiled
His features froze For some reason, unquestioned until now,
he’d just assumed she’d say, “Well, I gave them one try, my love,
but they’re not you...” She would dismiss his gift but restore his
possession of her She would say They’re Not You But she didn’t
say They’re Not You Hadn’t said it Would not say it
As he thought of her, a small belly-warming tingle began to
steadily, quietly replace the chill His private truth was
struggling to the surface: What, after all, had he imagined? He,
the guilty, greedy voyeur, had imagined her warming the silver
balls in water, inserting them in an unemotional, businesslike way,
and then going about her day at home She would be walking quickly
as she always did, then gradually, gradually, slowing her pace more
and more and more, until the walk acquired a rhythm, a definite
deliberateness, a sway, a grind, a circular dance, then an
imperative to stand still and to rock her pelvis with eyes shut,
then finally to move onto her bed, undress swiftly, kneel up with
her legs apart and one hand forward on the mattress for balance,
while her other hand expertly caressed nipples and clit and she
rocked faster and faster, losing woman’s roundness and taking on
animal’s haunches, fucking the air, the heavy balls stroking her
cunt from the sensitive muscle at her opening and then back against
the mouth of her womb over and over again like the full weight of
her man, only with his entire being inside her at once Of course,
she would scream.
This, after all, had been his vision, his purpose, his gift A
gift to her but for him.
Over the between their meetings to make love, his vision grew.
It became something he couldn’t stop, couldn’t not think about,
could only rewind each time his cock became full and confined and
demanding The vision became a necessity Although he’d never again
spoken to her about her toys (she’d made him feel that he was
asking about a part of her life that was even more intimate than
the part she shared with him), he ordered her a new gift He had
to An offering, a prop, to the leading lady in his private
theatre.
The toy was ivory-coloured, the shape and size of a small egg,
but smoother, more polished It slipped into the vagina just the
way the head of his cock did, first with the little pressure, then
the beautiful yielding and holding The egg had a long, fine, soft
wire attached to it At the other end was a cynlinder with two
small batteries to power her train to the edge A rotary switch
made the egg vibrate, starting at a soft, low, throaty, subtle hum,
and moving up to a electric, near-stinging buzz She said nothing
when he gave it to her But she studied his eyes very calmly and
intently.
When he felt he could ask without disclosing everything, he
asked her again, gently this time, not teasing, “How’s the new toy?
Better technology?” “Much better Much, much better”
This time, he felt no chill This time, a hot twisting in the
gut.
His vision exploded, expanded in detail, in importance, in its
power to move him He knew now that he needed, needed obsessively,
to share what he had given her to keep for herself How? How could
he simply take the power back...define the limits again...make his
next move as though it were part of his plan for their erotic life?
How would he fuse his vision and her privacy?
She must be led gently and trustingly out of her private world
into...into what? Astonishingly, the phrase that came into his head
automatically was “into the public world”—but of course that was an
exaggeration He didn’t really mean the public world That wasn’t
his intention Not into the actual public world Not into the world
of other eyes, other ears, of the sidewalk, the sky, the wind Not
that world Not that world not that world
The never-uttered thought stirred like a phantom from the dust,
rising and taking shape and moving on its own He could feel it It
was a snake in his belly, and the snake whispered this: What if you
were to take her not just out of her solitude, her bed, her room,
but out of her home, into the world of strangers?
Being allowed to witness her response in private was one level
of power Seeing those same responses controlled, concealed,
expressed with the ultimate restraint—public observance—was the
flawless mix of power and limits Their entire relationship was
defined by limits They’d fought against them, grieved over them,
tried to ignore them—but they’d never tried using them.
Intensifying them Deepening them Make the inevitable explosion of
passion into an implosion, the force of it absorbed entirely by the
recipient, radiated inwardly through every nerve, to the tips of
each hair, to each finely-etched line on the soles of the feet š
Asking for her permission or agreement was out of the question.
To ask implied a choice And there was to be no choice
One cool afternoon in the early fall, she met him, as arranged,
at his workplace He greeted her as coolly as the air, as the
summer sliding over the horizon He’d told her to bring her toy
with her She had He told her to go to the washroom and put it in
Told her to run the small wire up inside her dress, down the
underside of her sleeve, and to return with the control held inside
her hand.
They walked out onto the street together He put his hand, warm
and strong, around her hand that held the control Her fingers were
chilly She had not yet spoken He put her hand, still inside his,
into the pocket of his long coat They walked
Finally, he took the control from her hand She thought he
wanted to lace his fingers into hers He turned the switch She
breathed in suddenly and deeply Then exhaled and with the voice of
the snake in him, hissed, “I knew you were going to do this, you
bastard” “Did you?” “Yes I did” “Why didn’t you refuse to meet
me?” Silence.
She could do nothing Moving away was impossible If she
attacked him with words, he could turn the control suddenly and she
would be frozen with her frame hunched around her pelvis, jolted
still by the sudden intensity, unable to walk.
As they walked quietly, her blood was magnetically drawn to
circulate around the insistent hum inside her, the walls of her
cunt swelling, and like a sea-creature, languidly grasping and
consuming Once every few minutes, he would turn and look at her,
openly, soberly, with an almost scholarly curiosity If he didn’t
remain cool and passionless, if he didn’t keep the power, his
vision would vapourize She looked straight ahead, refusing to
return his gaze.
“Please stop.” He thought she meant “Stop doing this to me.”
She didn’t mean that She meant, “Stop moving I need you”
They moved into the first recessed doorway, an old building, the
late afternoon sun lighting them delicately, as it did the parade
moving down the sidewalk This time, the spectators were
outnumbered by the parade; the parade was watching them.
They touched each other’s faces Rhythmically, entranced,
tracing curve, hollow, bone and skin, as if for the first time
again Their hips pressed into each other with too much intensity
to allow any motion Just a steady pressure, every bit of force
they could give without displacing the other And even if they
could have moved— “You just don’t do this on the street,” hissed
the parade She imagined that the humming inside her was audible,
that the warmth glowed from her, infrared.
Now he had his arms wrapped completely around her, his face
against her hair, her hair so familiar, the scent and texture he’d
breathed into and clutched in his hands She moved slightly, and
he loosened his arms so she could reach into his coat, pulling at
his shirt, untucking it He felt a brush of something tiny and
cool Her rings Still with her head tucked under his chin, she
caressed his chest, pinching and rolling his right nipple, then
moving to the left As she played gently with his nipple, he felt
a firm pinch and as she withdrew her hand, the coolness stayed, the
pressure stayed, just on the edge of tolerable.
Tied to the tiny clamp on his nipple was a coil of black thread,
which she was loosening beneath his shirt The cool air on his
belly did nothing to stop the flush of heat in his face and the
pounding of his heart and the echo in his head: “I knew you were
going to do thistwisted—but into a mirror version of itself, still as compelling,
still as inevitable Now, as he looked at her, at the position he’d
put her in, he realized he was looking at himself They each looked
upon their intimate selves at the same time as the parade did
With equal detachment But with the same intimate knowing of the
other’s hidden strength, hope, potential, depth.
Limits Public Equal An eroticism verging on madness
The thread simply went between the shirt button, between the
coat buttons, and into the pocket where they held the strands that
linked them She never let go of the thread for an instant She
looked at him and said, “We’re going for a walk.”
With the backs of their hands lying against each other in the
deep warm pocket, she said to him in a low voice, “I want more, but
very slowly” A few more steps He did nothing
He forgot He forgot so soon Because it had never happened
before Never This existed only as an imagining, not as a
reality The sharp short pull at his nipple actually startled him
He gasped and the world changed colour My God He turned the wheel
on the control shakily, his thumb pressing into its grooved
surface He heard her breathing change
The street became a stage Everything they presented to the
observer was a lie; a carefully calculated lie that created
tension, rode on tension, thrived on tension; where the players
communicated the subtext, the truth, to each other in a code where
words were subtle movements of the eye, the mouth, the breath, the
body.
She’d begun to walk more slowly His cock was pounding He could
feel its pulse in the blood that boiled up and over his cheekbones.
Where? Where? Where would this happen? Where could this happen?
When?
Each question increased the tension, strengthened the glowing
strands of light between them They were walking carefully as
though over ice To fall would mean to fall in, to fall through, to
be undone together in that moment
The changed world began to pick up speed People walked past
them so quickly, while their two-as-one pace was the only pace.
Each step seemed as a step through an infinitely dense medium The
bones began to weaken and melt.
“More,” she said Everything began to happen as in his vision
His imagination of her alone at home, blended with the reality of
the street His image of everything she was concealing, was
overlaid with the sensation of the woman beside him, in flowered
dress and leather jacket, telling lies to the street, with the lies
becoming more and more difficult, more painful, more expensive.
Even though he’d only ever imagined her private games with her
toys, he knew her He knew her He recognized the rhythm, the
breathing, the head dropping slightly, the pelvis pushing forward
and staying there for several paces, then relaxing again He was
ready to come with the softest touch, even if she’d stroked the
underside of his cock with the inside of her wrist...
“More” The world sped up again
The next time she didn’t speak She pulled at the sensitive
flesh of his nipple, startling him again, almost frightening him
that she might, in her passion, truly hurt him But she hadn’t yet
She’d never hurt him Ever
Now the world was becoming a blur, too fast to follow...surely
a parade moving this quickly would never be able to focus on a
humming, buzzing, pulsing, Eros-drugged pair, sliding so slowly
through the spaces in the parade Their tensed abdomens, their jaws
falling involuntarily to let the speeding air in and out quickly,
the rocking...surely the too-fast people wouldn’t be able to see
this They couldn’t possibly
A tug (“More”) A doorway Please No doorway
A sharper tug (“More!”) And then quickly, faintly, in her
single exhaled breath: “You’re making me come...”
He stopped and pushed her back against an old brick wall The
peeling paint, an old whore’s make-up, the background for the mix
of sensations; its roughness spoke bluntly, explicitly, of the
sudden forces that would put two lovers to bed against the
seediness of flaking brick, of sour blankets, of torn plastic
car-seats in dark alleys...
He enclosed her, his back to the world, enclosed her in the way
that makes a woman feel safe and at risk all at once, with his
strong arms and back a second wall between the parade, the world,
the light, the elements, and her in the intimate weather of his
breath, his skin, his scent Before her motions slipped out of her
control, she undid his two lower coat buttons, undid his zipper,
released his cock, and gathered a small section of her dress up to
her waist He was against her, around her, their mouths pushing,
licking, sucking, biting at each other’s lips and faces and necks,
struggling to enter each other, to fuck where no fucking was
possible, while she moved against him with all of her will and with
no will at all, with a gutteral scream that he absorbed by pressing
her sweet face, open mouthed, into his chest and as her weight fell
full in his arms, his cock soaked up the heat of her belly and was
ignited and returned jets of beautiful thick heat onto her skin,
while he said her name over and over into her hair and then fell
slack and pliant against her, with the dear, beloved old whore
bearing them both against her flat, flaking breast.
They stayed beating against each other until the world had
slowed down again They breathed, their bellies slid with each
breath They were together, sealed by a layer of his cum
"I knew you would do this...," he said.
They were perfectly and divinely corrupted.