Her Dirty Doctor Dreams Come True

The Forbidden: Dirty Dr. Dreams x 2

This is a story within a story.

In fact, it is the sequel to "Her Dirty Doctor Dreams Come True."

Since my circumstances have changed so much this year, I've had time to do a lot of thinking.  More than I'd like, actually.

As I look back on my life thus far, there's so much I would do over, but also, a great deal I'm proud of.

I'm in my mid fifties now, and in over two decades in practice, I've never once allowed my animal nature as a man to interfere with the deep respect I have for my profession as a doctor of obstetrics and gynecology. This is no small task considering my largely young, enticing female clientele.

Even the pregnant girls have a certain lure, their breasts extra full and their bodies often otherwise perfect despite the endearing swell of their bellies. I've always been attracted to women when they are somewhere in between madonna and sexual plaything.

Certainly, some very racy thoughts have crept into my mind more times than I can count, largely after hours, or when the pressures of life and relationships were too great, but I've never broken my oath. If my resolve ever flags during an exam, if I detect even the slightest stirring in my pants, I’m able to banish the errant thought with a same urgency with which I'd treat a life threatening condition in one of my patients.

A certain formality is engrained in me, and I'm perhaps a bit too good at shutting my emotions down. Just ask anyone whose loved me.

My life may be public by necessity, yet in between work at my thriving practice, trips to the delivery room and odd events within the medical community, I spend much of my spare time alone. I really don't mind because I'm actually quite shy by nature, except for one thing...

It's true what they say.

Idle hands really are the devil's workshop.

Don't misunderstand, I have no shortage of women wanting to be with me.  I'm tall, dark, and very good looking, or so I’ve been told. But I also know that I am a wealthy doctor and I drive a Maserati. That’s all a little too trite for your taste, I am sure.

Mine too, actually, but I am not about to deny myself the finer things in life simply to avoid attracting attention. I just make it harder for the wrong people to get close.

Believe it or not, I do manage to keep my ego in check, even though I know that I come off aloof and guarded.

I like a woman who maintains her class until it's time for her to let me see her "intricacies," shall we say.

That's when I really come alive.

And though I embrace my solitude, I'm still a man with needs like any other.

It was on one of these idle evenings in my relatively new bachelor apartment that I opened a Pandora's box that can never again be closed.

Perhaps there was something about the night, because I was definitely in the mood for something a little different. I watched through my picture window as the sun sank on the horizon, its light glinting over the gentle black ripples of the river.

With my glass of red in hand, I settled onto my sofa and turned on my iPad.

Against my better judgment, I googled "ob gyn fantasy."

You'll surely understand why I've never wanted to delve into the details around the ubiquitous doctor patient/fetish. Why fan the flames of the temptation I fight against daily? Yet there I was, dipping my toe into a sea of potential trouble.

As you'd expect, a slew of free porn popped up. Sure I could watch some over-produced video with hokey dialogue, but then my exciting plan for a night of self-love would be over in five minutes. I decided to click on an erotic literature forum instead. A little reading to set the mood.

I couldn’t help but grin when I noted huge number of story results. The top story tagged with the words "OB GYN fantasy" was titled,

"Her Dirty Doctor Dreams Come True." by a contributor called “SabrinaH33.” I clicked:

https://www.literotica.com/s/her-dirty-doctor-dreams-come-true

The tale begins from a female patient's perspective. She's been jilted by her husband and is feeling weak. She confesses to the reader that she lusts after her gynecologist, but she's a good girl (just the way I like them), and doesn't share her dirty secret with him. As I read on, she sounds more and more like my type, cute, curvy, and brunette. The doctor who's turning her on so much doesn't have any idea how wild he's driving her. The story goes on to present the male protagonist as an ethical doctor, just like myself, or so it would seem.

I find the writing is pretty good, so I sip my wine slowly (it's a nice Barbaresco from Piemonte, in case you're wondering) and read along with great interest.

As I savor my date with myself, I'm proud that I resist the urge to scroll to the (hopefully) graphic sex scene at the end. I'm further titillated by the mounting feeling that l'm doing something slightly dangerous.

In fact, I know I am.

Tonight I broke my rules, and my body is responding. The doctor has a lot of traits that I relate to, and his desire to be proper helps the sexual tension build.

As I get to the part where the two would-be lovers accidentally meet at a local bar, she vulnerable and he suddenly ready to unleash years of suppressed desire, I haven’t even touched myself yet but I am close to being rock hard. The story crescendos as the doctor finally gives in and becomes very forward with her, fingering her pussy in public.

No more Mr. Nice Guy.

This turns me on.

I feel my cock swell to capacity and I reach down to let it free.

What follows is the very fantasy scene I would design for myself if I could. They finish out their romp at his clinic. He begins by taking his sweet time before finally licking her pussy from behind on the exam table, he teases her mercilessly. He makes her beg.

I love this.

My cock feels huge as I run my hand over the shaft.

My balls are in my other hand.

A little lube and I feel just like I'm in her.

More.

She's so overcome with pleasure that she can barely stand. She hopes he will allow her give him head. He confines her in the stirrups and alternates between sweetly kissing her and absolutely nailing her with his huge cock.

In the end he completely dominates her, yet somehow, this makes her feel like a woman again. Just as he’s filling her up with cum, I am unleashing an absurdly large load into my hand, new couch be damned.

Through the haze of this amazing, forbidden orgasm, the finer details of the story begin replaying in my head. The protagonist is my approximate age, height, hair color and build, and the writer even mentions his designer shoes - the very same kind that I wear. She alludes to the doctor's possible Mediterranean ancestry, and, very specifically, his olive skin and distinctly emerald green eyes.

I am exceptionally tall and fit, Italian American. My eyes are a unique dark green. I go to the gym frequently to keep myself toned. I am single now, but this is something I've always done.

Coincidence.

Yet as I reread, I realize that several geographical details within the story resonate too, including the location of the doctor's practice, the hospitals he goes to, and, roughly, where he is said to live.

Am I losing my mind?

Was this story was about me?

Couldn't be…

Yet even the protagonist’s name, Dr Marco, is close to my own. There were just too many similarities.

Who is SabrinaH33? (And how did she know that, I too, have an enormous cock?)

She had no bio on the site and clearly configured her user settings such that there was no way to reach her anonymously.

This is probably for the best.

Weeks later, the erotic story was still running through my head on a constant loop, almost to the point of total distraction. I’d now cast myself in the doctor’s role, and I was sure I had visualized every inch of the female lead's body, down to her neatly shaven brunette landing strip and the smooth, pink folds of her gorgeous pussy. Over and over I thought of her spreading her legs in slow motion, offering all of herself to me.

Even more frustratingly, the fantasy just wasn't responding to my normal knack for suppressing distracting thoughts. As I'd feared, it was following me to work and completely shaking my composure.

The last appointment left at six that day, and though my staff usually stays longer to straighten up the office, I encouraged them to head out early to enjoy what promised to be a “beautiful summer evening.” They seemed to really appreciate my magnanimity, which made me feel like such a cad because my gesture was motivated by something other; I needed to be alone in my office.

I needed to know who she was.

My heart was thudding through my chest by the time I locked the doors and sat down at the front desk. Logging into the patient directory was a struggle since I've not had to do it in years, but after several tries, the desktop password came to me.

The story's details flooded my brain: about 20 years my junior ... I am 55. The writer, SabrinaH33, was she 33? She had brown hair and tanned, olive skin. Had I indeed delivered her child, or was that just artistic license, or even an added detail to distract from her true identity? Was she really separated? This could be half of my patients!

First, I looked through all the last names beginning with H. Then all first and last initials that were "SH." Maiden names, married names?? I was sweating through my shirt by now, my fingers tremulously navigating the keyboard. Was Sabrina a pen name?

40 possible results came up.

It was then that the question hit me.

Even if I crossed-checked these names with ages and somehow rounded up a list of suspected mystery women, what on earth was I going to do about it?

No.

I was crossing into dangerous territory.

As another month went by and the the summer progressed, my constant dirty thoughts, mercifully, began to subside. I was on my way to being back to normal.

It was your average Thursday morning. I hadn't had my coffee yet and was a bit fuzzy heading into my first appointment, but I perked right up when I saw that the patient perched on my exam table was Stefania.

I'd been her doctor for years, and I'd always enjoyed her visits. She has a dry sense of humor like mine and a nice warmth about her. She is one of the patients I can actually have an intelligent conversation with. We'd always chat about current events to break up the monotony of my standard medical questions.

But this day was somehow different. Our small talk was sparser. She still seemed happy to see me but a bit withdrawn. I wondered what was up with her.

I skipped over the questions about sexual partners because I know she's married. Time for the exam.

Of course, I'd have to employ my usual tactics for maintaining my professionalism with Stefania.Thinking hard about baseball statistics usually works like a charm.

She has a very nice body. Slim but still hourglass, a distinct curve to her hips, and she's about average height. There are lots of blue-eyed, dirty blondes in this town, but she's more along the lines of the pretty Italian girls that I remember from my youth in the Bronx. They always had a little fire to them but they still played hard to get. I like that.

While I don’t have the benefit of seeing my patients standing up too often, as best I can tell, she has a nice, round, and pleasantly generous ass, but it’s her breasts that I find especially beautiful. A very full c cup with large, dark areolas. They give her body an exotic, blatantly sexual quality in a way that the tiny pink rosebud nipples you often find on fairer girls do not.

I concentrate hard on my professionalism as I press on both of her firm tits, gently cupping them in my hands. As I am doing this, I try looking off to the corner of the office so that I don’t focus on her shiny brown hair, which had now spread out rather sensuously across the table. As I reach down to pull up my stool, and I see her looking straight up at me.

BASEBALL.

I begin the internal half of the exam, feeling inside her, her warmth coming through the rubber of my glove. I push my two fingers all the way into her, pressing her belly with my other hand. Now comes the really hard part. I sit, and my eyes must wander under her gown."Slide down a bit more, honey"... Lord.

Who has the best ERA in the National League???

I am relieved once the exam is complete, and I stand up from between her legs to allow her to gather herself and close her gown.

As I’ve told you, I’d been seeing Stefania for years, and she's one of the patients that I have a comfortable rapport with. I move in closer to give her my usual friendly peck on the forehead (reserved only for such patients), but I stop when I notice her eyes again, this time, totally locked onto mine in a very intense way.

My body shudders.

Where the hell is my nurse?? None of this would be happening if she were here.

I pause to reconsider that goodbye kiss. She looks crestfallen.

Screw it, I press my lips to her. I'll admit that I linger maybe one second more than I should.

Phew.

As I stride backward there is a tug at my neck. She’s gently holding the end of my tie, and her eyes are welling up in tears.

“I’m so sorry, doc. I didn’t mean to do that.”

She’s still got my tie.

“It’s just…my husband,

he’s gone. No, he left. Out of nowhere. And I’m so lonely.”

She releases me but I remain frozen like a statue before her. The first thought that crosses my mind is shamefully self-interested, and something that I never say aloud -

I am lonely too.

“Stefania,” I brush her hair aside and lightly rest my palm on her cheek. I look at her with my most sympathetic expression.

“I am so sorry.” I move closer. She never did close her gown and her beautiful breasts are peeking out. I am now standing between her knees, the room so quiet that the rustle of her paper draping is audible as I draw near.

I just could not help myself.

As if she's in my mind, she gracefully reclines on the exam table, her hands at the nape of my neck, pulling me to her. I kiss her with more abandon than I’ve ever kissed anyone before. It feels wonderful.

Of course the damn nurse is banging on the door now. Too little too late.

“Dr. Demarco, your 9 AM is here!”

“I’ll be right there, Cathy, just wrapping a procedure.” The lie flew from my mouth with chilling ease.

I look back down to Stefania just as the slightest devilish smile creeps across her face.

It was then that it occurred to me.

“Sabrina?”

“Yes, Dr. Marco.”