The Appointment 16

"Are you alright, Misses Wilson?"

"I'm fine."

No, no I'm not!

Your routine annual physical has taken a decidedly different turn now that the Physician's Assistant walks you down to a dark room at the end of the hall.

"I don't like the way these moles look. Let's just err on the side of caution."

You don't have the right to waste my time like this. Can I see a

real

doctor?

"The dermatologist will be in shortly. I'll get you something to help you relax while you wait." You don't normally like taking pills, but you accept the offer this time: your chest is pounding, a migraine is sneaking up behind your eyes, and you're alarmed because, yes, you've been overdoing it at the tanner lately.

Well, yeah, but I look fucking fantastic!

Your heart rate slows down after lying in the dim light for a few minutes. An unusual warmth begins to emanate from your belly, short-circuiting whatever panic attack was impending.

This medicine is making me so relaxed.

P.A. Amber returns ten minutes later and gently lifts your right eyelid.

What's she looking at? And why do my arms feel like lead?

She folds your gown down to your waist. The girls perk up in the cool air.

Ooooh . . .

"Ooooh," she smiles. "Great tan, Misses Wilson. Doctor Anderson will be in shortly."

Yeah, you already said that.

Almost immediately, the door opens and two men enter wearing white lab coats. One is tall, fit, and tan--the quintessential middle-aged hot physician who spends half his life on a golf course. The other one's a little younger and looks . . . ambitious.

Dumb and Dumber.

They look solemnly at their clipboards, glancing covertly at your tits. Dr. Golf closes in on your face.

Mmm, you smell good!

"How are we doing this afternoon?

We?

I'm Doctor Anderson. This is Doctor Bell. I hope you don't mind his assisting today. We're here to examine you for questionable lesions and atopic exzema associated with overexposure to ultraviolet A and B radiation."

You try to respond but your tongue feels very thick. A nod works fine.

Uhm, oh thay.

Each man takes a side. "We'll try to make this as painless as possible. I understand you've been sedated."

Whatever. Let's get this over with. Feeling a tad vulnerable here.

He takes the lead. Leaning over you, he moves his hands in tandem over your arms, shoulders, and chest. He wears a detached-but-intense look on his face as his fingers survey your upper body.

What's he feeling for, exactly?

After a couple of minutes he's apparently satisfied. He moves on, poking and prodding your breasts, lingering on the cysts you're already aware of.

Um . . . hey, aren't you guys supposed to be wearing gloves?

"MmHmm." He looks back at his associate, who now peers over Dr. Golf's shoulder.

"MmHmm, WHAT?"

His touch changes. He begins to circle your breasts--

lovingly?

-- with his fingertips. You feel your nipples harden as the arcs get smaller, closing in on your areolas.

Whoa. This . . . feels good and all, but, what the fuck?

You look to Amber with questioning eyes. She answers with a smile that says "Relax. You're in good hands."

With the same impassive look, he cups your left breast as if cradling a fragile bird, and lightly pinches the nipple.

"Any discomfort?" Your breath catches. A single butterfly takes flight. A little confused, you give no response.

Not sure what this has to do with screening for skin can--

His thumb and index finger roll your bud a bit harder. Low-grade sparks fly. Your pussy grows moist.

OK, this is feeling downright pleasura--

"Is this stimulus pleasurable?"

You manage a grin. "Well, to be honetht . . ."

In hindsight, it was your not-so-innocent eye pop that betrayed you, giving him the green light.

Dr. Sidekick appears out of nowhere and lowers his lips onto your other nipple, the wet warmth and flicking motion nudging it to life.

A tiny "Mm Hmm" of encouragement--and they're off to the races.

Oops. Oh well.

You arch your back, extending the invitation to continue. In no time, four hands are tenderly caressing your chest. Lips and tongues wander to your neck and shoulders. Their licks and kisses cause your spine to quiver from the delicious mix of warm breath and expensive cologne. Your hips rocking slightly, the paper under you crinkling in the silent room

.

Steady moans vibrate deep within your throat.

What's that sound? Oh, it's ME! Somebody better get to my pussy before I kill one of you. You first, Amber. Bitch.

She speaks for the first time since the doctors arrived.

"Does the patient require restraints?"

Like I said: YOU first.

Dr. Sidekick pulls away long enough to answer. "No, but I think we'll need to see just how extensive the UV damage may have spread."

She moves to the foot of the table. You lift your ass as she removes your shorts and sandals.

Finally!

Your thighs instinctively part when her hands roam from knee to panties and back.

Mmm,

she's

done this before . . .

Your orgasm begin its countdown deep within your belly, triggered by three perfect strangers.

Let's see how good you guys are. Tee minus eight minutes and counting . . .

Electricity flies from nipple to pussy, the latter's neglect becoming downright painful with each pass. All three expertly touch, squeeze, knead, and bite--at just the right level, and at just the right time.

I've never been this wet!

Amber notices your soaked panties and offers an update. "Doctors, the patient is now demonstrating considerable vasocongestion."

No shit! My clit feels like it's going to drown!

Dr. Golf breaks from his assignment. "Thank you, Amber. Tend to that condition, would you Doctor Bell?" He now has both of your tits all to himself. He's been waiting for this. You can tell. He pulls your nipples skyward and licks hard at the undersides. You urge him with an eager nod.

Amber removes your panties and briefly massages your feet before placing them in the table's stirrups. Sidekick moves in and plays with your thighs the same way she did, stopping inches from your mound each time they reverse direction. But now that your pussy is exposed, the teasing is even more cruel.

Oh, my fucking God! I can't take anymore!

He commandeers a stool and slides up between your legs, smiling at your obvious discomfort.

Finally!

His fingers begin scissoring your mons back and forth, squeezing ever tighter until only your clit is showcased firmly between them. The exquisite pressure causes your eyes to roll back. He does this a dozen times, each repetition getting you wetter and wetter as your bud aches for direct stimulation. It feels like a pearl.

This is torture! FUCKING TORTURE!!

You jump once he parts your slippery labia in a single swipe, then focuses all his attention on your clit. The novelty of pace, pressure, and angles provided by a stranger's tongue amps up the sensations exponentially. Soon, two fingers are working your G-spot with equal expertise.

This guy's amazing--holy shit!

His mouth and fingers bring you close to the top of the rollercoaster a few times, only to back off and start anew. Golf massages hard, maintaining delicious pressure on your nipples between index and middle fingers.

Just when you're certain nirvana had officially been achieved, Sidekick begins playing with your ass.

Oh, God, here we GO!

You squeeze involuntarily around his lone finger, its tight firm circles causing delirium. Your heart pounds against your ribs and you're close to hyperventilating. Seeing this, Golf escalates his assault on your tits. He sucks in your entire areola and hums. The vibration causes any pussy juice escaping Sidekick's lips to flow down your ass and paint his finger.

This is TOO intense! How do these guys read what my body craves? How do they know when to change things up? They're working me up like they've known my body forever!

After an eternity of a seven-minute build-up, your orgasm rolls through you like a runaway locomotive. Three . . . two . . . one . . .

OhmiGodOhmiGodOhmiGod!

You come harder than you ever have in your whole life, shaking and bucking as you grip the table. Golf stands pinching your nipples as Sidekick struggles to keep his mouth on your mound. You're writhing so hard Amber stands behind him, desperately holding onto your ankles. When the biggest wave hits, you arch off the table, every muscle tensed in a euphoric scream. Conscious awareness returns in time to feel your body release back down onto the cushions, quivering from pleasure and exhaustion. That, and the dimming of the overhead lights is the last thing you remember.

This was so bizarre. And so AMAZING!

Ten minutes later you lay motionless, the darkness hugging you like a warm blanket. Your exertion has left your naked body glistening with sweat, saliva, and your own pussy juice.

Sweet, I passed out! Gotta tell hubby what these guys did! Maybe they can give him some tips!

You open your eyes to find Amber sitting at her desk, typing silently on the computer. She reads aloud her final entry:

"Thorough evaluation revealed no signs of advanced exposure to ultraviolet rays. However, Doctors Anderson and Bell strongly recommended patient return for quarterly examinations hereafter. More aggressive treatment is advised."

Man, I better get royally fucked next time.

Without looking, she asks: "How does that sound to you?"

I can do that.