I have made up reasons to visit this walking orgasm of a man and to have him examine me intimately, whether it was, “I think I can feel a lump in my boob, doctor.” or “It doesn’t feel right…inside.” But this time was genuine.
A little blood observed after a visit to the lavatory. Girls are fastidious when it comes to how to wipe down there. So I knew this blood was coming from behind. After a brief squeak of alarm, I made the appointment.
He listened carefully (he really is instantly panty-wetting) and then invited me to his couch. Did I want a chaperone? No, no need. Did HE need a chaperone? Regrettably, he did and called a nurse in.
So, there I was, curled up on my left side, knees drawn up to my chest, and panties (visibly stained) around my ankles. I heard the snap of a latex glove and that farting noise the lubricating jelly makes and the nurse held my hand. Needlessly, but then she is very attractive herself and my head was at about the height of her groin, and I do have a really acute sense of smell.
I felt a warm hand part my bum cheeks and a cold finger slipped effortlessly and unbelievably sexily up my bum. Deep up my bum. Very deep up my bum. Some probing, turning and pressing followed, and, damnit, I happened to look up into the eyes of the nurse who, by now, I could most definitely smell. Not because I had become used to her being there, but because without any doubt, there was more to smell. She looked directly into my eyes and a small smile appeared.
That telepathy all girls seem to have suggested, “Yes. It turns me on too when he does that.”
Time’s a funny thing. I’ve known it slow down and speed up. He couldn’t have been in there long but during that time, it seemed to me as if I was having a mental conversation with the nurse.
“He’s fingered you too?”
“Oh yes. I made something up…just like you did. I nearly came.”
“It feels really good…his finger up my bum.”
“I bet. Are you going to cum?”
“Not now…but I’ll visit the restroom when I’ve cleaned up.”
And then it was over. Nothing to worry about. No suspicious lumps, no fissures, just a small pile. Advice and a cream followed and I was out the door.
Whoever makes that lubricating gel designed it to be resistant to paper towels. Maybe if you took a blow torch to your ‘bits’ you could burn it off, but I don’t see any other way.
I passed the nurse’s office on my way to the restroom.
In there, I didn’t even sit down. I straddled the toilet and rubbed myself off still feeling his finger up my bum. The splashes in the bowl told me I’d squirted.
On the way out, the nurse and I caught each other’s eyes again. This time, the knowing grin between the ‘sisterhood’ told her that I’d just rubbed one out. She mouthed, ‘Me next!”
Damn….I should have invited her in with me! Maybe next time.
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