Room 17


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 mecidiyeköy escort 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 merter escort 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.

The rush of her scent and the air moving across my ear excited me further and I stroked again, hard for her. After twenty strokes or so, with little sign of an orgasm on the horizon, she looked down and shook her head.

“Do I have to do this for you, just like draining blood from your arm?”, she said, as she pulled my hand away from my penis.

“Look at this pathetic little thing”, she crowed, as she took the head of the cock between her thumb and forefinger and clamped down hard on the glans.

“Ouch!” was my natural response, and the cum on the tip dripped off at the same moment.

My heart was racing, and my cock hurt, not terribly, but just enough that I really noticed it.

I tried to push her hand away, but she slapped my hand back, and said “Back off!”. Suddenly she was stroking the shaft hard.

“Ten times you get, and if you don’t cum then we have to take stronger measures.”

Each stroke was hard, pressured, and long, with my cock reaching out for more, my hips naturally moving to her rhythms. But no orgasm arrived, not in those conditions. I watched her eyes staring at it, pulling the semen from it, in a strangely clinical way, like the blood drawing. But her tongue darting over her lips briefly gave away the fact that this was far more than clinical. She was enjoying this, and she needed it. Maybe she had even planned it ahead of time. My mind raced as her strong beautiful hand stroked my shaft. No orgasm.

She stopped abruptly, pulled her hand back, and looked into my eyes.

“It’s getting hot in here”, she said. And she tore the gown from my body in one simple motion. I was completely naked to her now.

“Cum for me, but warn me so I can collect it in the cup”, she said, and she ran both her pointer fingers’ nails down my body starting from my shoulders, across my chest, belly, to my hips. She was kneeling now, and as her fingers pressed hard into my hips, she took the glans between her teeth and bit down hard.

Again, I winced in pain. Some of the pain was real, some of it was the game I figured.

She pulled back, and said, “Stroke it for me again, and cum this time”.

I had had enough of the game, I decided, and of stroking myself for her. And I changed the rules at that moment when I held the shaft near the base and slapped my cock across her cheek.

“Don’t ever fucking do that again,” was her response.

But at the moment that her lips formed the word “again”, at that perfect moment in the last syllable which forces your lips apart and your mouth slightly open in inflection, I pushed my cock into her mouth several inches, letting the head fill her mouth, and muffled her anger and the remainder of her sentence. She involuntarily moaned briefly, and when my right hand pulled her hair forward, she began to lash her tongue onto the head, taking in the cum that had again formed, and lapping at the sensitive spot below the glans, and pressing underneath the foreskin 360 degrees around, taking in my flavor and thickness.

I was large for her taut mouth, and I said, “Not so pathetic and tiny after all, Dr. Deehr?”.

She moaned and nodded slightly, enclosing as much of the shaft as she could on my cock, and letting me pump the shaft with my hand.

My hand pulled her hair comb out, letting it fall around her ears as she sucked more earnestly. I lifted her up to her feet again, absurdly naked, with my cock wet with her saliva, standing to attention against her lab coat, and her eyes intensely focused on mine as she stood. She smiled, very briefly, letting me know that the game was on still. I reached out and lifted the heavy chain from her neck, pulling her lab coat down to her hips aggressively, revealing a bra and the thin line of her panties.

So she was wearing essentially nothing underneath! My cock pulsed upwards, my mind went into overdrive. I pushed her over the table, face down. Holding her back down, I raised her coat, and slapped her butt cheek on each side, hard, once, then again. Her yelp was a mixture of suffering and rapture.

“More”, she squeaked out.

I pulled her panties down, over her shoes in one long movement, and slapped her amazingly tight, smooth cheeks once again, harder this time. The yelp came again, and her legs naturally fell down to the floor, slightly parted with her hips up on the table. I could see her sex, revealed to me. Heavy lips, puffed up embedded in light hair, and a pink opening, with wetness showing. I stroked my cock several mutlukent escort times, and realized I had completely lost track of the little cup! Forget it I told myself.

That was when I realized the gold chain was in my left hand still, and I opened my fist to observe it. Instinctively, I knew I needed to use this to fuck her somehow. I decided to wrap the chain around the base of my cock, and dangle the heavy pendant below the cock, right in front of my balls. This was easy to do, and it tightened the blood hold on my cock, making it more rigid and tight. The first stroke was ecstasy, and she let out a long slow “fuck” as I entered her. First an inch, then two. Then as I slapped her cheek again, I pushed all eight inches into her, very slowly but firmly. She moaned again.

Then she felt the cold heart against her clit! “What the fuck is that?” she asked, turning her head around to see.

“That, Dr. Deehr, is your gold pendant wrapped around my cock, with which I am going to fuck you,” I said. And I stroked hard into her twice, each time the pendant slapping against her clit.

“Oh my god,” was all she could manage. “Don’t stop,” she added.

And I began a serious fucking motion with my hips, holding her legs apart to gain access to her. She naturally rose up onto her elbows on the table, and I held her breasts in each hand as I pumped into her. Her neck tightened and her head came up and backwards. I held her head back with one hand, holding a heavy knot of her hair as I fucked her even deeper. I could feel my balls slapping the heart up against her clit from this position, with every stroke, and I could feel her body convulsing in the orgasm that was building up inside her.

“How does it feel to have a thick cock fucking the daylights out of you on your own rubber examination table?” I laughed out to her, part in jest and part seriously.

I pushed the weight of my left arm on her middle back, pulling up on her head, and slowed my fucking motion. I pushed the heart right up to the clit, and pumped in small strokes, pressing the heart onto her vulnerable spot, over and over, and she finally spilled forth in a giant orgasm.

“Fuck!” she screamed, her hips tightening and vibrating, her arms spinning out of control, her breasts pressed down onto the cold plastic, her heart pendant fucking her clit in hard strokes as she came on my cock, the wetness pressing outward onto the shaft, her necklace, and my balls.

After a long orgasm, her shuttering slowed, and she slowly came to rest. She pulled her coat back up over her to warm her, and spun on her side on the table, inching upward so that she was mostly resting on the table, her knees tucked in. She smiled up at me, motioned for me to come over to her. I smiled back, and walked over to her side of the table.

“I can go,” I said.

“Shhhhhhhhh,” she scolded me, and her mouth took the head of my still hard cock.

Resting her head on the mattress, she pulled my hips towards her and let me slowly fill her mouth. She let out a gentle little encouraging sound, and I started to move myself. Her eyes watched the cock and my body moving, and looked up at me on occasion. I watched my shaft in her mouth, intense and erotic, and her breast that still showed, pressed against the mattress, her dark nipple contrasting against her white skin and blonde hair.

As I moved, she unwrapped the chain slowly. And wrapped it around my balls right at the point where they attached to my body. She tightened the chain just right, and let the heart hang below, tugging and adding to the motion and tension in my balls. Her right hand held my cock at her mouth, and I continued the motion. She could feel my tension, and she pinched my butt cheek hard with her free hand. I slowed the motion to a standstill, and she knew she had me. I was beyond return, but a long way from my orgasm still somehow.

I saw the cup, out of the corner of my eye, and grabbed it, showing it to her. She batted it away with her hand, and I heard it bounce in the corner of the room at the same moment that the head filled with pressure and my first big spurt of cum pulsed into her mouth. She moaned, and licked at it, careful not to over stimulate the head. Her hand stroked hard, but slowly, and the second major pulse came for her, and a third, and soon it was a dozen or more pulses and I was arching my back upwards, one hand on her ear, the other holding her hair, as I filled her mouth with my hot liquid, my sample, my male essence. She smiled, laughed lightly, and pulled me towards her, lifting her head, and licking my semen onto my belly, and chest, and nipples. And finally kissing me hard, our teeth touching, her tongue pressing, my tongue filled with the salty, strong taste, her hands on each side of my head, holding me tightly. She smiled as she kissed, and held my head against hers as we both recovered from our experience together.

She smiled, and said, “I am so damn glad I married you! My turn for a fantasy next time, and I can’t wait to set it up.”

We both laughed, and spent the next hour cleaning up, and rearranging the furniture in our spare room to look more like a bedroom and less like a doctor’s office. I look forward to her fantasy, and to a long sleep to recover from this one!

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