My hands were clammy. I hated going to the doctors office for my annual checkup, and I recalled my last visit vividly. The cold office, the flimsy gown, my naked body shivering in the sterile atmosphere of the hospital room. And my doctor, oh my god. That was the problem: she was tall, at least she seemed tall when she stood on those black high heels; and blonde. Danish or Norwegian, Dr. Deehr was her name, with penetrating blue eyes and fair skin, and an attitude. That was what really stuck in my mind. Her attitude of aloofness, professionalism, and power. I could tell she enjoyed being the doctor and treating others as mere patients -- I could sense her desire for power and control. The problem was that my attraction to her was hard to hide in the setting of her office: practically naked, only inches from this woman who was inspecting my body.
I sat for what seemed like forever in the lounge -- worrying over the situation, flipping through thumbed issues of Better Homes and Gardens and Seventeen magazine. Somehow all the Car and Drivers and National Geographics were gone, and I was stuck with half naked teens talking about their first kiss and articles on how to choose pillow colors for one's living room. At least it helped get my mind off the appointment. But it only worked so well, and my mind wandered to my worst nightmare. I feared I would get an erection during the check up, that I would somehow not be able to remain calm in the situation, and I reassured myself that the cold room with the medical gear everywhere around me would help reduce my erotic energies enough. The last time I had seen her she had filled out the paperwork at the end, and looking up over her glasses she stared down at me with a bit of a mocking look, and a smirk on one side of her lips, and said, "Stay healthy, and be a good guy until I see you next year." That sent a chill through my spine for some reason, and formed the basis for a string of lurid fantasies for the next couple weeks.
I loosened my shoulders and hunched over the magazine distracting myself. Finally my name was called and a nurse walked us down a long, plain hallway to Room 17.
"She's busy and in a bad mood," said the nurse. "Just change into the gown, wait, and do what you're told."
That sounded ominous, and with that, she opened the door and motioned me to enter, immediately turning away and walking back towards the nurse's station. I reluctantly entered the room, closed the door behind me, and took in the room.
It was completely quiet, and it was cool as I had remembered last time. And she was there, opposite me, back to me, writing furiously on a stack of paperwork, so focused I am not sure she even noticed my entrance. I could see her heavy blonde hair over the back of her lab coat, the rims of her glasses, her ears, and her slender legs with black high heels. I watched momentarily as her breath raises and lowered her shoulders slightly, and her hands scribbled aggressively across the pages.
I glanced at the room, noticed the gown folded on the examination table, and slowly proceeded to undress. The shirt and pants were easy, but my underwear took a moment to pull down and remove as I had started to form an erection even in the cool, clinical conditions. Completely naked, I put on the gown, rarely taking my eyes off her.
I felt a little foolish just standing there, and suddenly she glanced over to me and barked out, "Stand on the scale, I will be right with you."
When her head turned I suddenly saw the glint of gold and remembered from last year: the gold chain. She wore a long heavy gold chain (heavy for a woman's chain, but not bulky really), with a large gold heart pendant handing from it. I gulped, as I watched briefly the heart swinging on her lab coat right at the level of her hidden breasts, and I quickly glanced to the wall and some literature on cholesterol that was posted there as blood rushed to my hips.
She turned back to her work, and I stepped up on the scale. My 180 pounds didn't lift the arm as the last client must have been very overweight. I stood, back to her. After about two minutes of struggling with my erection that had formed again and faded once more, and the rush of thoughts in my head over this intensely attractive doctor, I heard the papers being shuffled, and the squeak of her chair as she stood. My mind was undressing her, my body was trying to remain calm. Her hand adjusted the scale, weighing me in at 181.
"Move to the table," she said, and I did so.
I sat, my palms a little sweaty I noticed, and my chest tense.
"Deep breaths," she barked out, impatiently.
I breathed deeply, and felt the intensely cold stethoscope on my back and chest. My erection was forming again, pushing upwards on the gown and I had to turn my gaze to the door and concentrate to get it to drop. Her breath smelled of coffee and sexuality, and I focused on breathing through my mouth to reduce the scents I was taking in.
She looked in my mouth, nose, ears, took my temperature.
"Your heart is racing" she said. "Take a couple deep breaths please."
I was losing track of what she was doing, now intently focused on her hair, scent, shoulders, and the gold chain swinging invitingly on her chest. I noticed as the needle entered my arm, blood pumping into the vial. I hadn't eaten in hours and I felt a little lightheaded watching my blood pulse. She removed the needle, and let the blood pool momentarily on the wound before placing an extremely tight band-aid on the spot, and moving on.
As she lowered herself to tap on my knees, she noticed the tiny wet spot formed on my gown where my penis had left its mark, and the rise of the gown. Her eyes darted away, and she tapped on my knee and asked me to respond to various pressure points on my ankles and feet.
"Stand up", she said, and I inched off the table and stood.
I was taking in her strong perfume, not floral but acidic, just as her fingers explored my testicles. I was surprised by this, but I guess I shouldn't have been. She ran her thumb and forefinger over each, pressed onto the sides and asked me to cough, testing for hernias. Her hand grazed my cock, semi-filled, hanging to one side, foreskin slightly pulled back, and she let out an almost unnoticeable noise at that exact moment.
"Everything working ok sexually?", she asked.
I nodded, not making a noise.
She nodded back to me.
"I notice that your penis is semi-erect and I want to tell you not to worry about that; it is a natural reaction that many of my patients get."
I nodded again, not sure of what to say.
"Any other issues that deserve attention?", she asked.
"No", I stuttered, "nothing that I can think of", even though I had been having some pain in my right shoulder from my workouts.
I dared not add to the examination, and was doing my best to just let things settle down so I could get out of there. But my eyes couldn't help but notice her nipples through her gown, and my mind swirled with the possibility that she wasn't wearing a full suit of clothes underneath -- why else could I see her nipples? I forced my gaze upwards, at the same exact moment that she handed me a ridiculously small plastic cup. I looked at it inquisitively.
She said, "I need a semen sample from you". At the same moment, her other hand reached out and snapped the lock on the door to the room.
"Semen sample?" I asked, not sure what I had just heard.
"Yes", she replied, firmly.
I took the cup from her hand, and at the same time my gown parted slightly, and we both glanced downward at my semi-flaccid state. I reddened, and gulped. And she turned and walked back to her desk and dove back into the papers she was working with before. A semen sample? My mind was spinning now. Here? In the room? In front of her? Was she out of her mind? I stood in that dazed state for at least a minute, contemplating what had just happened. I felt ridiculous, leaning against the rubberized bed, a cup in my left hand. What was I supposed to do, I asked myself? Masturbate into the cup? My penis drained of blood, so I actually reached down and tried to reinvigorate it, with little success.
Then, without looking back, she said, "Masturbate into the cup, and do it now."
She was firm in her voice, and it echoed in the small metallic room. I could see this was some sort of game, and I decided to play along. I wasn't afraid of her, even though she was the authority figure here. And I was up for her game, whatever it was. Still, I was a little nervous about the situation, I can admit that.
I took a deep breath, and started to stroke myself, slowly re-gaining an erection, watching her back and shoulders and her thin, strong calves. The erection came slowly, filling me up and forming a thickness in my hands that felt good to hold. My mind started to let go and I actually took some pleasure in the absurd situation, my left hand holding a cup the size of a cough syrup lid, my right hand pulling slowly at the base of my heavy cock, my foreskin pulling up and over the glans as it grew in size. My mind's eye saw the chain, the pendant, her breasts heaving in front of me, and I started to stroke a little harder, forgetting the situation.
She barked out, "Are we done yet?"
And I mumbled a no. It has only been a minute or so. She stood suddenly, surprising me, and turned to me. Her eyes darted from my eyes to my hand holding my cock, back to my eyes. "Not done? What the hell is going on here?", she said, almost in a hysterical scream. She moved quickly over to the table. Her forehead was tensed, her eyes squinted slightly, her cheeks red. I could tell she was teasing me, and that she wanted control of the situation. I went with it. Her seeming anger excited me, and my cock was now throbbing fully, a heavy drop of cum on the tip, my hand stopped to focus on her.
"Stroke that silly little thing hard and cum in the cup for me. NOW!", she whispered directly into my ear.
