Special thanks to GreenGolden, a generous volunteer in Literotica.com's Volunteer Editors program, for editing this piece, and for suggesting its title. All remaining errors and questionable stylistic choices are the sole responsibility of the author.
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It's just before eight o'clock, and I'm busying myself with some paperwork at my special, private clinic off-campus. Pay no attention to the fact that it bears a strong resemblance to a university student's apartment. Everything's been prepared for my favorite patient. She's such a good girl; she's always right on time for our appointments. I pride myself on punctuality too. Sometimes I wonder if there are special patients out there who get a thrill from being made to wait forty-five minutes before actually seeing their special doctor or nurse -- you know, just to make it feel more real. There must be. I've only taken three psych courses so far, but I'm pretty much sold on the idea that basically any wire in the human brain can get crossed with any other.
Clarissa knocks before entering. It's very cute. I let her walk into the empty waiting room and take a seat. I only make her wait for a minute -- just long enough to get a little antsy. I open the door to the exam room and step out. Clarissa looks up, and her brown eyes widen behind horn-rimmed glasses.
My white coat doesn't do much to hide my lacy purple panties, or my matching demi bra. I'm proud of my body, and I find it works wonders when I'm lecturing my special patients on the benefits of diet, exercise, skin care, and even hair removal. Real-world examples are so useful, and very persuasive.
Clarissa's a polite girl. She does her best not to stare at my toned legs, my flat tummy, or my more obvious assets. She meets my gaze, and I stare confidently back at her through my own pair of spectacles. She sees the specimen cup in my hand. Her cheeks redden.
"Clarissa?" I call out. We're looking right at each other, and there's no one else in my waiting room. It's ridiculous, but it's how doctor's offices are run.
She stands up and walks over. Her body language radiates shyness and submission. She's wearing jeans and a black babydoll T-shirt. Her mousy brown hair is up in a ponytail. I smile at her, as though I just realized she existed.
"How are we feeling today?" I ask.
"Fine," she says, entirely unconvincingly. I raise an eyebrow. She looks away, ashamed. I let the silence linger for a moment.
"We need a specimen today," I say. "Do you think you can produce one right now?"
She blushes again, and nods. I offer her the cup. She takes it, trying her best to hide it inside her closed hand.
"The bathroom's just through here, on the right," I tell her. "Make sure to follow the instructions, and then leave the cup in the repository."
"Yes, Nurse Kimberly," she says, and then she scurries past me and towards the bathroom.
I close the door to the exam room and do a quick review of my tools. The stethoscope, otoscope, blood pressure cuff, and tongue depressor are all ready for action. The oversized thermometer is the crown jewel. A box of nitrile gloves sits beside it. Clarissa is a very special patient. She benefits from a personal, intimate touch. I'll probably only use one glove tonight, and perform the rest of the examination with my bare hands.
Meanwhile, I'm not sure I could walk a foot in any direction without finding a tube or can of lubricant. There's one next to the thermometer already, and the special drawer next to the bed -- sorry, exam table - isn't very far away.
I hear the toilet flush and the sink run. Clarissa emerges from the bathroom as embarrassed as when she entered. I look up from my equipment and give her a bright, expectant smile.
"Everything go okay in there, Clarissa?" I ask.
She blushes again, and nods quickly. She has a real issue using her words when she's flustered. For now, it's adorable.
"Wonderful," I say. "Now, please disrobe fully for me, Clarissa. I'd offer you a hospital gown, but your chronic condition means I'm going to need full access."
Her flush deepens, and she walks towards the table. She braces herself and removes her sneakers, then starts to work on her jeans. I don't move to assist, or rush her in anyway. I pretend to check my equipment. I enjoy the show.
Clarissa isn't a bombshell or a knockout. Her lips are a little thin; her chin is a little weak. Her small breasts aren't the stuff of stroke stories; they're not perfectly round, conical, or dewdrop-shaped. One nipple is a bit lazy, veering off to her right side. Her skin isn't ghostly pale, or perfectly tanned. She has several beauty marks all over her body, and they don't form any intriguing constellations. Her ass has been getting higher and tighter every week, though, and her legs are doing well too. Her body is completely smooth, so that she hides nothing during her exams. She follows her nurse's orders, whether that be for diet, exercise, or grooming. There's a reason she's my only -- er, favorite -- patient.
If I had only a word, I'd call her cute. If I had another few, I'd add petite, vulnerable -- maybe even frail. She isn't; I know from experience. She just looks that way. I love it.
Once she's completely naked, I don't stare for very much longer. I am a professional, after all. It's none of my business that she wasn't wearing a bra, or that her black, ultra-low-cut bikini panties are much more risque than what she's been wearing to our appointments for the past few weeks.
"Sit on the edge of the exam table for now," I tell her. "We'll get the cold stethoscope over and done with first."
The room is reasonably warm, but Clarissa shivers in anticipation. She places one hand over her bare vulva, and the other over her bum. I raise an eyebrow at that. Usually, her other arm and hand go to her breasts on instinct, but I don't press the issue. Clarissa loops around the stirrups and takes her seat. She only moves her hand away from her bottom at the last minute.
"Hands by your sides, please," I say. She purses her lips and looks down, but she obeys. Now that her bum is on the exam table, she seems just a bit less shy.
She seems squirmier, though -- squirmier than usual.
I rub the business end of the tool for a few seconds, hoping to warm it up at least a degree or two. Then I get to it. Clarissa shivers again the first time the stethoscope makes contact with her naked body. I listen to her heart for a bit, then guide her through half a dozen deep breaths as I move the tool around her back. I make sure that my other hand is making gentle contact in perfectly innocent places at all times. Beyond my simple commands, we don't speak to each other. There'll be time once I've finished the preliminaries.
I give Clarissa a reassuring smile. "Everything sounds good in there," I say, removing the stethoscope. "No more cold metal for awhile, promise."
She returns the smile, though wanly. I place my hand on her shoulders while I check her ears and mouth, then rub her back through the blood pressure check. She's getting used to me again; that's good. That will make the more intense parts of the exam easier.
"Okay, Clarissa," I say, "It's time for your breast exam. Let me get my hands a little warmer for you."
Clarissa blushes. She squirms a little on the bed, though she does her best to hide it. "Thank you, Nurse Kimberly," she says.
I rub my hands together vigorously; my breasts shake a little in my bra. I catch Clarissa staring, but I don't say anything. I move in, and her breath catches.
"Shhhh," I say, "it's okay. No need to be scared. You know I care deeply about my patients' comfort."
She gives me the puppy-dog eyes through her glasses, then nods her assent. I move in, and begin fondling -- er, examining -- her breasts.
"So, how's everything at home?" I ask casually. "Are you still with your girlfriend? It's been over two months since you first met, right? Is that a good sign? Is everything going well?"
Clarissa doesn't answer right away. Her breathing's changed. I find her brown eyes and tilt my head expectantly. Sometimes I have to be firm with her.
"Sorry, Nurse Kimberly," she says. "It's just..."
