Scene 2: The doctor

It’s too bright.

My eyes squint as the overhead lights hum quietly above me. Everything smells clean. Sterile. Like alcohol wipes and lube and the faintest trace of latex. I’m in one of those chairs. The kind that makes it impossible to close your legs. My calves rest in the stirrups, cool and plastic, keeping me wide open.

My body’s still sensitive. Too sensitive. My thighs tremble every time I shift. My wrists are free now, but I keep them folded over my stomach. I don’t know why. It feels like I shouldn’t move. Like this is an exam. A check-up. A consequence.

The door clicks open behind me.

I don’t look. I just hear the soft drag of his shoes on the tile, slow and sure. My pulse jumps a little. He doesn’t say hello. Doesn’t even tell me his name.

Just the sound of gloves snapping on.

I inhale. Sharp. The memory of them is still inside me. My pussy clenches. Don’t, I think but my body remembers. My body wants.

I flinch when the chair shifts. He moves a lever somewhere, adjusting the back of the seat so I’m tilted further. My cunt’s practically on display now, dripping down onto the waxed paper beneath me. My cheeks burn.

“You’re very reactive today,” he murmurs, clinical. Calm. Like it’s just a fact.

I try to nod, but my voice catches instead. “I… I think I’m just sensitive.”

He doesn’t reply.

I feel the cool gel first just a dab on my entrance. It trickles down between my folds, making me shiver. Then two gloved fingers press against my pussy. Not fucking. Not playing. Just pressing. Testing.

I arch into it before I can stop myself.

The gloves slide in with a slow, professional rhythm. Smooth and cool at first, but then , then the stretch. I can feel the latex tug slightly as he curls his fingers upward, reaching for that spot. The chair angles me just right. His fingers hit it without effort.

I gasp and my hand shoots to my mouth. Oh god. He’s not stopping.

“Heart rate’s elevated,” he says gently, like he’s noting it on a chart. “Let’s monitor that.”

His other hand brushes something across my inner thigh. A stethoscope. Cold against my skin. I squirm, but he pushes deeper. The pressure on my G-spot intensifies.

My legs start to shake.

I blink up toward him through half-lidded eyes, and for just a second ,I see them. Blue. His eyes. The same blue as before. But it can’t be. I’m too fuzzy to think. Too close.

“I… I think I’m going to”

“Let it happen,” he murmurs, brushing his thumb against my clit for the first time. It’s gentle. Barely there. But it pushes me right over.

I come so hard I almost sob. My hands grip the sides of the chair, back arched, mouth open in a silent cry. My thighs shake. My pussy clenches down around his fingers like I’m trying to keep him inside. I feel like I’m floating wet and ruined and trembling but safe.

His fingers slowly slip free.

I whimper.

He wipes me clean without a word. I want to say thank you. I want to ask about his eyes. But my body’s too weak. My throat too tight. I blink once… twice…

Darkness again.