This story was inspired chiefly by RedMullet's "Brooke's
Embarrassing Exam" -- though I did get the idea for "Promenade"
from Blairbrek's short write-up of "The Dare I did on September
22." I sent a copy to each of them, but neither has replied.
SHOW AND TELL
by
C. Lakewood
Part 1
Connie Hoover groaned, pushed herself back from her keyboard,
and stretched -- carefully -- before leaning forward again to
proofread the short-short that she had just typed up.
PROMENADE
A Story-Strip
by
Connie
It was March 20th, the first day of spring -- chilly,
rainy, windy....
Following orders to the letter, I wore a thin yellow
sundress and a pair of flip-flops...and nothing else.
I drove out to County Line Road, parked, and took the
bus the rest of the way to the decaying Grand Avenue
Shopping Center, a long strip mall.
The bus stop had a bench, but no shelter, and it was
well away from the hole-in-the-wall grocery store I
was headed for. I'd have to run the whole way, exposed
to the wind and rain. My dress was going to get really
wet, and, when it did, it would become pretty much
transparent.
I got off the bus and ran as fast as I could in those
damn sandals, willy-nilly through the puddles.
By the time I made it to the overhang, I was winded and
drenched. Passersby (all equipped with rain gear and
comfortable clothing) gave me the eye. The males grinned,
and most of the females frowned -- except for two girls
with crew-cuts and tattoos....
I paused a moment to compose myself, tugged at my dress,
and entered the store. There were only a clerk and two
customers, and all three of them stared at me with the
same mix of expressions that I'd gotten outside. I
bought half a dozen eggs and discarded the cardboard
carton. Carrying three eggs in each hand, gingerly, I
sort of sidled to the door, which I pushed open with my
hip. I kept my eyes averted, but I could practically
feel everyone watching me.
As I proceeded south along the long walkway, away from
the bus stop, the wind was gusting between the buildings
and flapping my dress like a storm flag. In order to
cradle the eggs in my hands, I had to keep my forearms
parallel to the ground, but was able to tuck my elbows
in tightly against my sides. By holding myself that way
and walking a bit crab-wise, I attempted to mitigate the
effects of the wind on my sodden dress -- with only
limited success. I could feel the back of the dress flick
up and down, the cold wind attacking my naked and exposed
bottom. And it really wasn't any better when the wind
would plaster my now see-through dress hard against my
behind.
I wanted to just cut and run, but I had to follow the
orders I'd been given, regardless of the humiliation.
The wind shifted slightly and swirled about me, flipping
up the front of my dress so that the hem was waist high.
I had to wiggle my hips -- practically do a hootchy-kootch
-- to get it to flop back down.
Some college-age Hispanic kids were hanging out nearby in
front of a deserted shop. As I passed them, they made
muted comments (mostly about my hairless crotch), but I
maintained my focus and kept walking.
The dress flipped up several more times, and, each time,
I just about died, as the wind whistled between my legs
and the cold rain lashed my behind. I must have seemed
a total tramp, flashing everyone like that.
I had to walk all the way down to the south end and then
all the way to the north end. When I went by the band of
kids on the return trip, their remarks were louder and
more pointed.
When I had trudged the full length of the strip, twice, I
could finally slink back to the bus stop. The rain was
still falling. I huddled miserably on the bench with my
eggs and hoped that my tormenter -- whoever it was --
would be satisfied.
******************************
"Ehhh.... The ending needs more punch," she muttered to
herself. "A bit lame, as it is.... Oh, well, I can think about
it later."
After she closed the file, her eye drifted across the many
stories in her collection -- a few that she had written and others
that she'd downloaded from the 'Net: "Palermo Six," "Pet Teacher,"
"Pool Girl," "Modern Education," and the like. Of course, Joe Doe
had a folder all to himself.... She shivered, remembering "Open
Book Exam" and "Foreign Forms," in particular.
She wished, for the umpteenth time, that she was rich enough
or brave enough (or at least tenured enough) to dare acting out
some of her dark fantasies. But she wasn't...and didn't. A
34-year-old divorced English teacher, after all, had no business
flirting with scandal. She shrugged. Her masturbatory fantasies
would just have to suffice.
She got down from her perch, gingerly, turned her chair right
way round, and eased the wiener from her asshole. She'd typed
"Promenade" kneeling on the seat of her reversed chair, reaching
around the chair back to manipulate the keyboard and mouse, which
put her in a crouch, with her bare butt, wiener and all, jutting
upward and outward. She looked at the hot dog with admiration.
It was just so nearly perfect. While other things, perhaps thicker
or firmer, might be more physically uncomfortable, the wiener
tantalized its "victims" with its very smoothness and pliability,
and produced a pleasure they're ashamed to admit that they enjoy
-- or even notice. And, because of its smooth tubularity, one
does have to use some dexterity in retaining it.
She giggled, thinking it was going to be so surreal going to
work tomorrow and imagining her students and colleagues seeing what
she was doing tonight...and how dramatically that would contrast
with the conventional, conservative, professional Connie Hoover
that they were familiar with.
******************************
That was May 23rd. Five days later, disaster struck; her
comfortable (if somewhat frustrating) existence was invaded by
someone using the alias "Hacker," who must have been looking for
the key to the final exams she was about to give...but, instead,
managed to download everything salacious from her hard drive and
her various e-mail accounts. For a long time afterward, she was
to remember the tag line from the first of Hacker's many messages:
"People who live in glass houses should lower their shades."
******************************
For months, she had repeatedly allowed herself to be
blackmailed into all sorts of increasingly lewd behavior. And
now it was mid-September, and here she was, squirming unhappily
on a rickety plastic chair in the waiting room of a seedy clinic.
She was uncomfortable sitting there in her sweaty tennis outfit
and anxious to get this thing over with. Once again, she wondered
if she were doing the right thing in giving in to blackmail.... So
far, it hadn't been exactly intolerable, just, well, humiliating:
being given peremptory orders and having to obey -- orders to
shave off her pubic hair, to masturbate over and over (and NOT to
cum), to conform to a "dress code," to shower or bathe only when
given permission -- but it had been mainly private or, if public,
anonymous at least. But now.... She sighed, knowing that she
really had little choice, unless she wanted to see everything in
ruins: career, reputation, finances, future.... She was on edge,
worrying about what might be going to happen next. If only she
hadn't written that stuff...or had safeguarded it better...kept it
on floppies instead of on her hard drive....
She knew she looked very out of place here. Everyone else
in the waiting room obviously thought so, too. The females were
scowling at her, and the males leering. She tried to pretend an
interest in an ancient copy of "Ebony" magazine, with little
success. The absolute worst thing about all this, of course,
was that it was turning her on so.
Her mind wandered back over the things her unseen "master" had
been making her do.... And she could feel her panties getting
damp. She was so preoccupied that, for a moment, she didn't notice
the nurse who pulled aside the curtain that more or less screened
whatever lay beyond.
The nurse gazed into the waiting room. "Connie Hoover!" she
blared.
THAT got Connie's attention. "Here," she said, softly.
"Follow me, Connie," the nurse said, condescendingly, and
ushered her through the curtained doorway into an examination room.
It was a standard set-up, a plain, chilly room with supplies
on shelves and various pieces of equipment here and there, some
medical posters on the walls, a desk, scales, and so on, but what
drew and held her attention was the examination table that
dominated the room. She shivered, and not from the cold.
"Just be seated. Doctor will be with you in a moment." The
nurse turned and left, her manner brisk, but her appearance a bit
sloppy.
Aside from the doctor's desk chair, there was nowhere to sit
except the exam table. As Connie sat down on it, the slick paper
liner crinkled under her. For some reason, it seemed an ominous
sound. She never felt really comfortable during a medical exam,
but she was unusually nervous about this one -- in this place and
under these circumstances. And there was only that flimsy curtain
closing off the doorway. It was hardly sound proof and even
stopped short of the floor by almost 2 feet....
Then the doorway curtain was swept aside, and the doctor
entered -- black, heavy-set, youngish (maybe younger than her),
bald, wearing a lab coat and carrying the inevitable clipboard.
"Hello," he said. "I'm Dr. Maxim. How are you feeling?"
She smiled uncertainly and shrugged.
"Let's try that again. I am THE doctor. When I ask a
question, you will answer me...out loud. Now, how are you feeling?"
"I-I'm fine...."
"Call me 'doctor' or 'sir.' Understand?"
"Yes, sir.... Sorry."
"And what are you here for, Connie?"
"A...um...complete physical, sir."
"That's better. Now then, as you know, this clinic is
supported by the various medical training establishments in the
area. You will therefore be receiving our services free of
charge...but, in return, you must agree to assist in our teaching
function. Here, sign these waivers." He handed her the clipboard
and a pen.
She didn't understand this, but knew she had to do it. So she
signed.
"Very good. Now, please, strip down completely...clothes,
jewelry, everything. You can put your things in that black crate
there."
She saw the crate, but there was no screen or alcove where she
could undress.
"Um...c-could I have a...a gown?"
"No, sorry. We don't any clean ones left. Now, get on with
it."
Connie sighed. She was out of options, and there really was
no point in dawdling. Resigned, she moved across the room to the
black crate and started to undress -- she had no wallet, jewelry,
keys, or other valuables to worry about. Sneakers first, in the
bottom of the crate...then her skimpy tennis dress and ruffled
tennis panties.... She shivered. The chill of the tile floor
was already seeping through her socks. When she took them off
and stood barefoot, her toes curled. Paradoxically, she was
sweating.
The tight sports bra came next. She felt herself blushing
furiously, as she finally slid her damp thong panties off and
hid them beneath her other clothes. She stood there nervously,
looking down at her things in that crate. This could have been
a scene out of one of her stories....
"Ready, Connie?" Dr. Maxim's voice prodded her back to reality.
"Yes, sir." She looked up to see that he was watching her.
Had he been watching the whole time?
"Then come over here, smartly now. Before we go any further,
my girl, you should know that we've been warned about you...that
you would likely be uppity and uncooperative. You had better just
behave yourself, or you'll get a bad write-up in my report."
("Warned"? "Bad write-up"?) Her confusion -- and her blush --
deepened.
"Right. Now up on the scale...arms down...stand up straight."
She did so, and he fiddled with the counter-weights.
"Hmmm...weight: 148...height: 5'7".... You're a bit
overweight, you know." He made a notation on his clipboard
chart. (He smiled to himself, the joke being that he'd
over-stated her weight by 17 pounds, drawing a shocked look
from Connie.)
"Alright, Connie, now turn around." He sat down.
When she turned, her crotch was about on the same level as his
nose.
(He can see my...my cunt, all red and puffy and unfulfilled
from the workout I've had to subject it to -- and he can smell it,
too, for god's sake....)
"I see you shave your pubic hair. Is that for cosmetic,
sexual, or medical reasons?"
"It...it's...ah...s-sexual...."
"I see...." He leaned close and nonchalantly used a cloth
tape to take her measurements. "Hmmm...35...26 1/2...37...."
He looked up at her. How often do you work out?"
"Every day, sir."
He sniffed, loudly. "Your personal hygiene could stand
improvement," he said, blandly. He gestured toward the exam
table. "Please, have a seat."
The table was quite high, and she was naked, with an audience
this time. Acutely self-conscious, she scrambled onto the table
more awkwardly than before, the stiff paper again rustling beneath
her.
Dr. Maxim took the stethoscope from around his neck.
"To begin with, just breathe normally."
He put the stethoscope disc right between her breasts. She
flinched. He moved it here and there. It was cold -- and it
tickled.
"Please try to control yourself, Connie. Don't hyperventilate
and don't bounce around. You may be over-sexed and easily
stimulated, but this is not the time or place for that."
"I-I'm sorry, sir, b-but I'm not...."
"Not...what, Connie? Not a randy little tart -- to put it in
layman's terms -- who's showing all the signs of extreme arousal?
As I said before, 'I am THE doctor.' And when I ask you a
question, you will not only answer me out loud, but also answer
truthfully."
"I'm s-sorry, sir."
"Well, try to do better in future."
"Yes, sir."
"And now I want you to breathe deeply and slowly,
in...out...in...out."
She obeyed him, inhaling and exhaling slowly and deeply, as
ordered, her breasts jiggling, marking time. At last he seemed
to be satisfied with what he was hearing.
He went on to do a series of routine checks -- pulse, blood
pressure, eyes, ears, nose, and throat -- each time making
noncommittal noises and jotting down a few notes.
At last he said, "Okay, you can stand up now." He flipped a
switch on an electronic thermometer next to the table. "Stand
right here and bend over the table, Connie."
Then he went to one of the cabinets and took out a tube of
something. She looked over and read the label: KY...." At first,
she wondered, "Kentucky"? Then, cursing her own naiveté, she
realized that it was a lubricant. And a moment later, when she
guessed what it was for, she began blushing again.
"Oral or aural, makes no difference. All those other
thermometers are rubbish. The rectal method is by far the best."
"But...."
He chuckled. "Yes, 'butt' is exactly right. Now bend over
and lift your bottom up, really high.... No, higher. Get up on
your tiptoes, with your feet about 18 inches apart."
After lubing up the index finger of his gloved right hand, he
spread her butt-cheeks with his left. He slowly inserted his
greasy finger, paused, thrust it deep, and then backed it out.
"Aaah...aah." She murmured.
"You must be properly lubricated...." He squeezed out another
dollop of lubricant...on two fingers this time...and goosed her
again.
She tried, but it was almost impossible to stay loose. It
was like taking a shit in reverse, and her asshole instinctively
tightened up.
But why was a man's finger up her ass not entirely unpleasant?
She mewed and shook her head. She was breathing heavily by
the time the lube job was complete.
"Now the thermometer," he said, matter-of-factly. "Relax."
She got a death-grip on the sides of the table as the
thermometer slid home. It was cold and thick and...oh, god....
But the doctor was still asking questions.
"Have you ever had anal intercourse?"
"No...no, of course not!"
"But you are...or have been...sexually active?"
"Well, I was married...."
"But divorced now for several years. How many men have you
been intimate with, all told?"
"I certainly don't think these questions are necessary, Doctor."
"Never mind trying to figure out the reasons, Connie. Just
answer me...promptly and accurately. Now, how many?"
"Um...s-ssix."
"And how many women?
"N-n-n...t-t-t-two.... Roommates in school, you
know...experimenting."
"Hmmm. And you masturbate. How often?"
"V-very seldom...."
"You can't seriously expect me to believe that. How many
times yesterday, for example? The truth, now."
"Y...y-yes-terday...oh, god...ahhh...f-f-fi-ive...."
"And how many times so far today?"
"I...um...s-six...."
"And how many orgasms each time?"
"None...."
"Eleven times in less than...36 hours. Hmmm." More notes.
She just stood there, draped over the table, jacked up on
tiptoes, answering humiliatingly personal questions with that
damn thermometer deep in her guts, and trying not to think about
"anal intercourse." It went on seemingly forever, until the
wretched thing finally emitted a beep.
Maxim removed the thermometer, but had her remain in position
while he made more notes.
Suddenly, someone pulled the door curtain aside.
"Yes?" Dr. Maxim said, with raised eyebrows.
"It's Dr. Suarez," a man's voice said. "I've brought the
trainees."
Connie was overcome with embarrassment to see a short, greasy
Latino and a gaggle of 5 young men and 2 young women, all in lab
coats.
After the group filed into the exam room, Dr. Maxim at last
closed the curtain across the doorway. But, while it was open,
Connie could see that everyone in the waiting room was staring at
her. She cringed. Things were happening too rapidly for her to
sort out intellectually. The one thing that she was absolutely
sure of was that she couldn't bail...she had to see this through.
"Hacker" had made that perfectly clear.
******************************
Part 2
"Good morning, all," Dr. Maxim chirped, turning to the group.
"This is Connie Hoover, our test patient," he announced. "You all
will be observing -- and participating in -- a most thorough
physical examination. Yes, most thorough."
As she forced herself to look at the new arrivals, Connie saw
a familiar face...and almost fainted.
His name was Leon Folger, an intelligent, but short, scrawny,
geeky type who had been one of Connie's students. He'd apparently
have had a crush on her all throughout high school. She had even
caught him sneaking into the gym and trying to steal her panties
from her locker. She'd threatened to inform the school, his
parents, and the police unless he stopped stalking her. That
had seemed to work, and she hadn't seen or thought about him in
several years.
("Omigod.... Please," she thought. "Please don't recognize
me.")
It was a vain hope.
He obviously did recognize her. That much was clear in the
sly look he gave her.
Dr. Maxim cleared his throat. "Now then, I have already done
the routine tests -- the basic things that you can easily pick up
just by reading your texts -- and everything so far seems to be
normal. Her temperature is 1.3 degrees higher than it should be,
but I'm inclined to put that down to sexual excitement, the
symptoms of which she has exhibited from the outset of the exam
(and which, I'm beginning to suspect, is chronic).
"I've questioned her to an extent." He indicated the chart
on his clipboard. "She's promiscuous and bisexual. We'll have
to run a full screen for STDs.
"But next, I want you all to make a visual inspection of the
patient's body and report on its overall condition. After that,
I'll let you get some practice checking her respiration under
stress."
This was greeted by a gentle murmur from the trainees.
"Okay, Connie," Maxim said. "Come out here in the middle so
everyone can have a good look at you."
Connie pushed herself up from her bent position and, eyes down,
shuffled reluctantly to the center of the room, all the while
trying to cover herself with her hands.
"Hands at your sides, Connie," Maxim ordered. "You know
better than that."
She lowered her hands. There was not a shred of concealment
now. She practically cowered as the students eyed her -- some
with apparent detachment and others with obvious lust.
"Comments? Anyone?"
"She appears to be...um...healthy," a tall black girl offered.
"No obvious scars," a short, swarthy fellow added.
"Probably never been pregnant," Leon said. "No stretch-marks
or C-section scars, nipples still pink...."
The other girl, a small Asian, peered through her stylish,
wire-rimmed glasses. "Monica Chi. Her breasts are relatively
small, in view of her frame and the fact that she's...Caucasian."
She said the last word with something of a sneer. "Firm and
without the incipient sagging that one might expect, given her
age. And the symmetry is well within average tolerances."
"Well done, Monica," Dr. Maxim said. "Okay, Connie, over here
now."
He made her stand up against a light blue, blank wall, as she
was, while he took a series of "posture" photos -- front and back
and both profiles, one set all full-length and another in closeup.
After the pictures, Maxim once again had Connie present
herself, front and center.
"Next, we'll give one of you a chance to demonstrate the proper
technique for examining a woman's breasts.... Yes, young man?"
"Leon Folger, doctor. Well, you see, the patient and I are
acquainted -- and I just thought that it might be easier for her
if someone she knew performed the exam...."
"Hmmm.... Very well, go ahead...Leon, is it?"
Having been given the green light, Leon snapped on a pair of
exam gloves and adopted an officious attitude. He nodded at the
exam table. "Okay, Connie, take a seat."
Even more self-conscious now and blushing furiously, she took
three tries before she was able to lever herself back up onto the
table.
"Now, now, girl -- don't dawdle," Leon prompted.
At that point, she finally lost it. She swiveled around and
glared at him. "Leon Folger, you perverted little toad...."
"Connie!" Dr. Maxim cut in. "You WILL give this man the
respect he is due as a medical professional. You will comply
with his orders, and you will call him 'sir.' Now apologize to
him for your outburst."
"I-I'm sorry, Leon...SIR.... I w-won't be 'difficult.'"
Leon gave her a patronizing little nod and, smirking, proceeded
to perform a prolonged breast exam -- pinching, prodding, and
squeezing -- "palpating," he called it. And he seemed to pay
particular attention to her erect nipples, much to her embarrassment.
"Are your nipples always this hard, Connie?" he asked,
superciliously. "Or are you just particularly aroused by
being handled, nude, in front of a sizeable audience?"
"I am...aroused...sir...." She practically gasped out the
obvious.
"Um-hmm. Now, lie down here on your back, hands behind your
head."
He then performed a slightly abbreviated version of the breast
exam.
At length, he straightened up and announced his findings.
"Texture is firm. There are no lumps or other abnormalities and
no discharge from the nipples. I'd say she passes."
"Excellent, in both technique and summary, Leon," Dr. Maxim
announced. "Now, I'm going to take a short break and give each
of you a chance to check Connie's normal pulse and respiration."
******************************
A few minutes passed, during which the students all put their
shiny new stethoscopes to extensive use (though some did introduce
them into relatively unconventional areas of Connie's body). Then
Dr. Maxim called them to order again.
"Before we proceed to the internal exams, I want you to repeat
your checks, but this time on Connie's elevated respiration and
pulse rate. To get things percolating, as it were, therefore,
she must perform some brisk exercises. Let's see some jumping
jacks, Connie." She blinked, a bit surprised. "NOW, Connie!
One...two...one...two...." She began tentatively. "Faster!
One-two-one-two-one-two...." She quickened the pace, and he
kept her at it until she was gasping and bedraggled and running
with sweat. Then she had to make the rounds and give everybody
a brief listen, before standing against the wall again -- now
much worse for wear -- while Maxim took more pictures.
All the while, in her peripheral vision, she could see the
steel stirrups jutting ominously from the foot of the exam table.
"Have a seat on the table, Connie," the doctor commanded.
She staggered to the wretched table, climbed onto it, and sat,
smelling of old sweat and repeated arousal, while Dr. Maxim briefly
used his stethoscope again, before he stepped back to watch each of
the trainees in turn do likewise.
******************************
When each of the students had had a listen, Maxim stepped up
again. "Now we'll go on to consider vaginal and rectal exams."
Catalina Dobbs, the tall, slender black trainee, unconsciously
licked her lips at that announcement. She was itching for more
class participation ("hands-on" training, as it were), in this
phase of the exam. She was getting wet already at just the
prospect of "examining" this attractive, slightly older, well-to-do
white woman....
"First, the rectal," Maxim said. "Okay, Connie, get up
on your hands and knees...." He smiled. "You know: 'doggie
position'...and spread your legs nice and wide for us."
Connie did assume the position, for she knew delaying wouldn't
help -- and could possibly make things worse. But she kept herself
rigid, from stem to stern...clenched from jaws to buttocks.
Obviously, this was not what the doctor wanted. He delivered a
stinging slap to Connie's right butt cheek and another, backhanded,
to her left. "Loosen up, Missy," he ordered. "I've had just about
enough of your acting up...."
She forced herself to relax somewhat...enough, anyway. Maxim
adjusted a table-side light so that it shone brightly onto Connie's
upturned butt. He then used both hands to spread her buttocks
apart and peered closely at the area around her asshole.
"Alright, class, gather around here and get a good look."
Connie was devastated at the idea that everyone else in the
room (nine people!) was staring at her exposed asshole.
"Externally, she looks fine, but we also need to check her
internally, of course. Normally, at this point, I would lubricate
her. And, although she's already been thoroughly greased up,
there's no reason why we can't repeat the process....
Just then, moving around the table, he stumbled over the
plastic crate with Connie's things. "Somebody take this damn
box and put it somewhere, will you?"
"I'll do it, doctor," Leon quickly spoke up and sashayed from
the room with the crate.
("Goddamn brown-nose toady," Connie thought. But, an instant
later, she shivered, wondering where he was going to take her
clothes...and what she might have to do to get them back....)
"As I was saying, the subject must first be lubricated...."
Maxim squirted some more gel onto his gloved fingers. "Connie,
reach back and spread your cheeks."
Connie whimpered as she obeyed him.
"Wider...."
At that moment, Leon came bustling back and self-importantly
reclaimed his front row position.
"Now just relax until I get my fingertip inside you, and then
press down as if you're trying to crap," Dr. Maxim said. "Don't
tell me that none of your many lovers has ever done this to you."
He tickled her asshole, then slithered his finger in deep. "Well?"
"N-no, sir...only y-you...."
Two fingers.
"Oh, god," she whimpered.
Three fingers, three THICK fingers, corkscrewing in and out,
over and over....
"Oh...oh...oh...oh.... Please, sir, please."
Maxim winked at the trainees. "I think the little minx likes
this."
While he worked away at Connie's asshole, Catalina Dobbs was
practically pissing herself; Monica Chi was regarding Connie with
scorn; Leon was sporting a textbook leer; and the other five were
apparently adjusting themselves under their lab coats.
After groping around for a couple of minutes, Maxim finally
pulled out, stepped back, regarded his fingers, then stripped off
and discarded his gloves.
"Leon," he said. "Why don't you go next?"
The smarmy little trainee smirked, nodded, put on exam gloves,
and stepped closer to the table.
"Okay, now, imagine that she's in a normal state and,
therefore, that I'm going to have to lubricate her." He
pantomimed greasing his fingers.
"This'll be easy if you relax, Connie. Be a good girl, now,
and do as you're told."
Connie was livid at being talked down to by a worm.
"No, Connie...." Leon slapped her ass in imitation of his
mentor. "Your sphincter's like a knot. Loosen up!"
"Or else!" Dr. Maxim added.
"I-I'm trying...s-sir. I'm s-sorry...."
"Spread your cheeks. Wider. That'll open it up. Ah, good."
Leon slid his finger slowly into her. Deep. He paused,
dramatically, and then began to MOVE it...in ways that made
Connie gasp.
Maxim had been all about thickness and mechanical
relentlessness. Leon was different: more subtle and
serpentine, insinuating rather than reaming. By the
time he was through, Connie had been aroused to such an
extent that she found coherent thought almost impossible.
And, in the end, Leon found no "internal anomalies."
Each of the trainees got a chance to probe her. Connie just
crouched there, her asshole burning. She silently counted them
off. Monica Chi gave her a vigorous, heartless probing. Catalina,
in contrast, was much gentler -- quite thorough, but also quite
sensual. Connie liked that, in spite of herself.
After everyone had had a turn, the doctor handed Connie a box
of tissues and told her to wipe herself. Leon smirked and wondered
-- out loud! -- how long it would take for her asshole to resume,
more or less, its normal size.
"Now, Connie, it's time for your vaginal examination," Maxim
said, putting on a new pair of exam gloves. "Turn over onto your
back and put your feet up into the stirrups. Your legs will
necessarily be quite widely spread, with your knees bent. Do
you think you can lie there without a fuss while we all examine
you digitally?"
"I...I d-don't know...s-sir."
Connie was terribly conflicted: on the one hand, being ordered
about, displayed, treated like a whore, subjected to unspeakable
indignities, finger-fucked repeatedly, made to assist in her own
degradation -- and before a mixed audience, too -- all of this was
devastating to her pride and self-esteem. On the other hand, these
very same things were so wonderfully exciting, her fantasies made
flesh.
"Then perhaps you should be...restrained," he said. "As a
protection for yourself and others."
Connie nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
So they strapped her down -- her feet in the stirrups and her
hands at the sides of the table.
As Dr. Maxim touched her cunt, Connie squirmed a bit, her gaze
shifting about randomly. And then she was mortified to see that
she was in full view of all the people in the waiting room, through
the doorway. Leon must have left the curtain open.
"Oh, god, Doctor...," she began.
"Connie, don't interrupt me. You do NOT want me to lose my
temper with you."
She looked out into the waiting room again. Most of those
people had actually rearranged their chairs to get a better view.
A couple of the young guys seemed to be drooling.
"B-but...."
"That's quite enough, young lady," Maxim snorted.
He reached into a nearby drawer and fetched out a chromed metal
device with movable jaws that were opened and closed by means of a
handle on the side.
"A dental gag," he said. "Open wide."
Connie rebelled, briefly, shaking her head. But, when Maxim
reached out for her nostrils, she gave up and opened her mouth.
Thereupon, he slipped the gag into place between her upper and
lower teeth, and squeezed the handle. Her mouth was forced wide
open -- and held that way.
"She can still make some meaningless noises," he told the
class. "But this device seems to have a particular moderating
effect."
Connie writhed and moaned. Her pussy was going to be played
with for everybody to see. And she was helpless. How humiliating!
How thrilling!
Now and then she sneaked a peek into the waiting room, where
everyone was staring at her -- all the males grinning and most of
the females frowning.
Despite the coolness of the room, she was sweating.
Dr. Maxim, free of the possibility of further interruption by
Connie, proceeded with his demonstration. "As you can see, both
sets of labia appear to be well-formed and at least normally
responsive. Observe how extremely well-developed the clitoris is.
There is, you will notice, some evidence of hypertrophy -- common
enough in compulsive masturbators." He tickled it with his
fingertip, and she stiffened, making an odd sort of throaty hiss.
"Very responsive, too," he chuckled.
"Now we'll proceed into the interior. Note that she is
thoughtfully providing her own lubrication." That comment
drew a nice laugh from the onlookers. (A few snickers even
came drifting in from the waiting room.)
Maxim slid his forefinger up to the hilt into her. She made
desperate, strangled sounds. He probed around in her cunt, first
with one finger and then with two. She was breathing hard and
sweating heavily. A heady odor rolled off her, a musky blend of
unwashed body and inflamed cunt, as she writhed on his impaling
fingers. Though Maxim was rather ham-handed, he was pushing many
of the right buttons, and she was getting closer and closer to
orgasm when he suddenly pulled his fingers out and left her
trembling on the brink.
She whimpered.
"Satisfactory," Maxim announced. "But now.... Miss
Dobbs...Catalina, why don't you try your hand...as it were?"
Catalina was overjoyed at getting her chance to have another go
at Connie, but (unlike Monica Chi) was not entirely unsympathetic
toward her victim.
"Um...Dr. Maxim...the door curtain?" she ventured.
Maxim looked toward the doorway, snorted, and waved his hand
impatiently. One of the trainees scurried over and closed the
curtain. (Disappointed noises came from the waiting room.)
Satisfied that she had done her good deed for the day, Catalina
re-focused on the important stuff. She put on a pair of surgical
gloves and smiled to herself as she realized she was quickly
becoming as aroused as Connie.
Catalina took a deep breath and was reaching for that ripe,
pink cunt, when Maxim asked, "What about lubrication?"
"Oh, I...I don't think...um...artificial lubrication is
necessary at this point, sir," Catalina said.
"But what if she weren't as...um...juicy?" Maxim interjected,
pompously.
Catalina held up the tube of KY.
"And what if you had none of that? How would you improvise?"
"Well, any sterile, non-allergenic oily or greasy substance...."
"'Hypoallergenic' is a more accurate term. Show me an example."
Catalina nodded and rummaged around in the large wall-mounted
cabinet for a moment, paused, and slowly smiled. "This would do.
It's mainly for sore muscles and contains menthol and wintergreen,
so it would sting some, but, if there were nothing else...."
"Demonstrate. And don't worry, her natural lubrication will
dilute it."
Catalina spread Connie's labia and began to toy with her
clitoris. Between the manual stimulation and the itching-burning
of the ointment, the clit (which was already inflamed) was fully
engorged and throbbing almost instantly.
"Exterior okay. Now we'll see about the interior." Catalina
inserted two fingers, covered with burning goo, deep into Connie's
super-sensitive cunt. Connie bucked and moaned helplessly as
Catalina skillfully played with her. She tormented Connie's
swollen G-spot with her fingertips and teased her clitoris with
her thumb. All the trainees seemed mesmerized by Catalina's
demonstration, but only Monica Chi had the wit to deduce what
was actually happening. (And Monica began to develop an
increased respect for her black colleague.)
Connie's pussy spasmed around Catalina's fingers, and she
couldn't restrain herself any longer. She stiffened and voiced
a string of nonsense syllables and started cumming...and
cumming...and cumming....
Everyone in the room seemed to be thoroughly entranced as
they watched Connie bounce and moan, apparently in the grip of
a cataclysmic, serial orgasm. After an age, she began coming
down and eventually bottomed out, physically exhausted and
mentally disoriented.
As her eyes slowly cleared and her mind came back from whatever
screaming purgatory it had fled to, Connie looked up into the faces
of her audience, whose expressions ranged from awestruck to smirk.
She cringed.
"Well," Maxim announced with a grin, "at least we know
that she's not frigid.... Now each of you can have a turn at
her...and, once that's done, it'll be time to break for lunch.
After lunch, I'll demonstrate the Foley catheter and collect a
urine sample. Then we'll go on to a series of stimulus/response
tests, using a TENS unit and an Anderson Pulsator MK2." He smiled,
benignly. "Students always enjoy observing those."
******************************
Forty minutes later, Maxim sent Suarez and the trainees off to
lunch. He sat for a while, relaxing and re-playing the first part
of the exam in his head. At last he got up, stretched, and glanced
at Connie, gagged and naked and semi-conscious, still secured to
the exam table. As he left for lunch himself, he wondered idly if
the janitors, Willie and Luis, were due to clean up in here during
the break. He shrugged. Patting the thick sheaf of bills in his
jacket pocket, he smiled. Better pay and better hours than summer
stock or dinner theatre, he thought, and MUCH better perks....