xxx-Is There a Doctor in My Ass?

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by Lauren McAllister

I’ve never been that fond of doctors. Oh, I don’t mean the kind of psychotic fear that mighty men have of people in the medical profession. But the sad fact is, we women are burdened with various naughty parts that unfortunately require us from time to time to get naked in front of troll is a lab coat. What percentage of brave gentlemen do you suppose run screaming when a doctor tries to shove a finger up their poop shoot? Hell, imagine if they had to suffer through double orifice penetration with their feet in a pair of stirrups (obviously not physically possible in the male of the species but you get my drift)!

There was nothing especially wrong with me, I’d just been feeling a little uninterested in fulfilling my obligations when it came to the marital bed. I still let William bang me a couple of times a week but something was definitely missing from our horizontal endeavors. I believe it’s called an orgasm. Mine not his.

So, not wanting to lie on my back for the rest of my life thinking about what treat in the fridge I was going to eat after my hubby finally finished firing is splodge into me, I decided that it was probably time to seek some expert advice.

So, I did that totally insane thing that women do when they have a medical problem, I made an appointment to see a physician. Perhaps there was some sort of pill or and ointment they could suggest to awaken my dormant clitoris in those times when Billy felt like attacking the crack. I’ll admit that even I was a little embarrassed to go to my regular doctor with a complaint that was this intimate in nature. So, I polled a few of my girlfriends for alternate medical practitioners that I could consult.

Wow! These women had been frequenting an astonishing number of sawbones in hopes of remedying the entire panoply of girlie complaints. Sure, a lot of them had just sought out physicians who could make their foreheads as dead as The Ramones but I required almost the opposite. I finally settled on a practice in the ritziest area of town. In one of those mega-exclusive boroughs where you need to make an appointment three weeks in advance just to cross the street. Surely rich women, I reasoned, needed twats that functioned at the highest possible level. Mine, you could’ve whacked it about with the ball-peen hammer to no noticeable effect.

I finally settled on a fellow named Dr. Jonathan Desena. He had a substantial practice out in Ramada Hills and after making six calls I was snootily informed that they could fit me in the following Tuesday and to bring cash. In the meantime, my husband fucked me twice but he might just as well have been gluing cotton balls to the side of a bus for all my pussy was concerned. Tuesday, couldn’t come too soon!

I was obviously becoming increasingly nervous as my examination day loomed. Nobody really likes to be prodded and poked in their most intimate areas by a thick-fingered stranger but considering my problem, it was inevitable that I should suffer a fate most intrusive. Still, it had to be addressed and the quicker ii had it done the less likely it would be that I would quite reasonably chickened out.

On that fateful Tuesday morning I was so anxious, I could barely drink my Bailey’s-laced coffee for breakfast. The dread of unknown and indelicate hands performing unspeakable procedures upon my person had completely dulled my appetite. As for the day’s wardrobe selection, easy to put on and remove attire was the name of the game.

I took a taxi to the medical center because that way, I could drop a couple of Xanax beforehand to calm me down. It was twice as much as I usually took and I became so relaxed and un-anxiety-ridden, I could barely remember the address of the building. When I got there I gave the cabbie and exceedingly mellow tip and toddled off into the characterless glass and steel edifice that was my intimidating destination.

I was greeted, of course, by the obligatory heavyset and surly female receptionist. Upon signing in, I was handed a 17 page questionnaire probing into every injury, malady and fart I’d experienced since birth. I was truthful here, a little vague there and completely dishonest when it counted most. The people sitting next to me certainly looked like they needed extensive medical and surgical modifications. The only thing we all had in common was that we were freezing our tits off in the waiting room and didn’t like the shitty penguin film playing on the flatscreen TV.

After they’d called everybody else’s name in the waiting room, including many, many people who got there a half centtury after I did, I was finally summoned into the ominous inner sanctum of society-sanctioned molestation. A portly disinterested nurse led me to a small disinterested room. Upon reaching this Frankensteinian lair, I was asked to remove all my clothes and don one of those little robes that leaves an open stripe down your back and ask-crack. There is nothing so uncomforting as being forced to remove one’s bra and panties in an incredibly public room for someone you have yet to meet. But I was there a fix a problem, so I bravely did as I was told.

And then I waited. I waited some more. And shivered some. I sat on that mad-scientist designed examination table/couch for 45 minutes or more. It was so cold in there; I almost wished I still had some hair on my pussy because I was afraid it was going to freeze over.

At some point late into the proceedings, I realized that I was going to have to call my neighbor to take the dog for a walk or I’d be facing a lake of urine in the vestibule when I got home. I reached into my purse but my cell wasn’t in there. Shit! I must’ve left it in the car. With very little choice, I hopped up and wandered off in search of a phone while using my left hand to cover as much of my frighteningly exposed asscrack as possible. Fortunately, a couple of doors down I chanced upon Dr. DeSena’s office. Considering the inexcusable wait he’d subjected me to, he owed me this much. Once inside, I made a quick call and was just about to head back to my assigned icebox when…

“Ah, there you are,” a voice erupted behind me. I almost shat a side-by-side refrigerator, I was so startled.

“Ah, yes Doctor,” I have stammered. “I’m sorry I wandered away from the examination room.”

“That’s no problem, my dear,” he replied in a warm friendly voice. “I can just as easily examine you right here,”

“Here?”

“Yes, so if you kindly bend over my desk, we can get started.”

Needless to say, I was at a loss for what to do but, he was the doctor…

I flopped my upper torso over his desk, as he yanked the back of my gown as wide-open as it could possibly get without snapping the cheap plastic ties that were holding it together. I hadn’t even seen my physician’s face, yet I was shamelessly exposing my derriere and vaginal appurtenances to him. At times like this, you look for something in front of you to focus on to keep your mind distracted from the horrific situation you find yourself in.

“Now what seems to be the trouble?” he professionally inquired.

“I’m having trouble,” I confided, continuing to stare intently at a couple of uninteresting book titles on his shelf, “with my libido.”

“Well,” he sighed knowingly, “I think there’s every hope of a full recovery following a fairly simple set of procedures. Do I have your consent to treat your lamentable malady at this time?”

“Yes, doctor.”

“Good, then we shall proceed. Now if you’ll just reach back and pull apart your gluteus maximus, I shall get right to fixing what ails you.”

I reached back and did what he requested, regardless of how mortified and fatally embarrassed I was.

“Now, I shall be applying some sterilized lubricant to the area around your sphincter. It may be a little cold to the touch but I encourage you to try and relax nonetheless.”

I heard a splurt in rear and then two fingers began to dab and smear liberal amounts of KY around my scandalized pucker-hole. Perhaps if this had been my husband, as opposed to some anonymous man in white smock, I might’ve considered it quite pleasant. The next thing I knew, he’d inserted two fingers into my rectum. I shrieked at this unexpected and uncomfortable turn of events.

“So far so good,” he assured me, making a small circular motion as if to loosen up my dump-door.

“What could this possibly have to do with my arousal problem?” I quite rightly wondered as he continued to violate and stretch my most private orifice.

Unlike in the examination room, I did not have long to wait for an answer. To be immodest and blunt, Dr. DeSena proceeded to unzip his pants and press the head of his engorged penis against my anal opening. Needless to say, I was shocked and horrified and also in a lot of pain as his manhood forced its way up into my colon. If I hadn’t been so overwhelmed by the sensation of his cock pushing its way ever deeper into my fudge tunnel, I would have screamed for help. Alas, all I was capable of doing was gripping the edge of the desk in an attempt to deal with my astonishing anal agony.

“Now I’m going to put my hands on your hips,” he medically informed me, “to enable me to ram my pant-cannon into your asshole with the force and intensity required to complete your treatment.”

Sure enough, DeSena grabbed a hold of my hipbones and proceeded to savagely and gleefully sodomize me. You can imagine how eye-crossingly painful this mysterious procedure was becoming. I gasped for breath, as he slapped my butt cheeks and drove his lap-log ever-further into the very epicenter of my digestive system.

By now, I was fully prepared to shout the house down but something quite remarkable and unexpected began to happen. The more he helped himself to the warmth and moisture of my ravished rear end, the more my pussy seemed to respond to it. Feelings that I had not experienced in a considerable time were gloriously awakening as my cunt and an upper legs were being smashed repeatedly into the antique desk’s oaky finish.

However unconventional and quite probably inappropriate (bordering on illegal) Dr. DeSena’s methods were, they definitely seemed to be working. I heard myself moan and involuntarily lift my rectum up to meet his ungodly penile thrusts. The long-lost sensation of experiencing an orgasm rise up in front of you while violent and immoderate ass-fucking is going on in back of you was mesmerizing. I gripped the table even harder as my vaginal opening began to clench and the head of his cock seemed to be scraping up and down on the inside of my spine.

Then everything went sort of hazy as we climaxed within seconds of one another, my girly squirts covering the top of his desk and soaking my medical gown. Dr. DeSena wheezed and gasped like an asthmatic Grand Canyon mule as molten eruptions of his gooey semen filled my lower colon. It took several minutes for my orgasmic spasms to ubside to the point where I realized how much my sphincter hurt. Reaching back delicately, I help guide his slowly shrinking member out of my thoroughly-fucked cornhole.

“Thank you so much Doctor,” I complimented him, “my complaint seems to have cleared up completely.”

DeSena grabbed his wallet and pulled out a fistful of bills. “I believe we agreed upon $500,” announced the aging physician.

I was little confused. “But… Shouldn’t I be paying you? Though, I am on Blue Cross.”

The doctor looked at me quizzically. “You’re from the Miss Naughty Escort Agency, are you not?”

“Escort agency? I’m patient. I had an appointment.”

“O my Lord! I’m so sorry. I was on my lunch break and ordered some “entertainment” to help relieve some of my professional tension.”

I was stunned, shocked, amazed and quite frankly, sexually satisfied. Being taken for a hooker was hardly an ego booster but I guess I could understand it under the circumstances. I went home that night and had my husband fuck me up the ass and with absolutely startling results! Our sex life has grown by leaps and bounds since that comical day.

I still visit Dr. DeSena’s office twice a week for a full and thorough rectal examination and I’ve never had to worry about a medical bill ever since. Wink!

Copyright 2014 Lauren McAllister

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