Bottoms In Bondage

Bare-bottomed I go to the magazine rack. The magazines are crisp, new. This is a pleasant doctor’s office. I remember going with my mommy, a little girl, wondering if I should pop the question, ask for birth control. I was in the third grade and just starting to kiss. I decided I wanted a baby and did not ask.

Naked I sit on the chair. It feels smooth, comforting under my skin. Another woman enters, with a man. She is naked also. Buck naked, her hair tousled. She turns, I see whip marks lightly dashed across her bottom. The man is dressed, though perhaps hastily so. “Be seated,” he tells his girlfriend, his mistress. “We must see to that bottom of yours.” She sits down across from me. My eyes flick at her, return to my magazine. I see her watching me from across the room. There is a low coffee table between us.

“Young lady?” A sweet voice. It snaps out from the receptionist’s desk, floats a bit at the end. I do not notice it. Deliberately I read how to impress boys. “Young lady?” Hastily I look up. The voice cannot be ignored. It is always so in a doctor’s office. The voice calls and you do not hear, calls again, you look up, in haste you drop whatever you have, rush up to be seen to, inoculated, injected.

The receptionist is looking right at me. I stand, move quickly to her. It is the young adult girl, the college girl in her early 20’s. She is dressed differently now. She has on a nurse’s hat and a white dress. Somehow I sense she wears nothing underneath. Her dress is unzipped unusually low in front, the sweet inner curves of her bosoms show. “Please sign in,” the nurse explains, handing me a clipboard. I a pencil from a cup on the counter. “Just your first name is fine,” the nurse says. “And the questions. Answer all the questions in complete detail.”

I stand at the counter. My hips sway, move agitatedly as I realize what I must answer. I bend low, my feet shift. My bosoms, peaked, hang perilously close to the wicked form. It does not ask my medical history. Instead it reads, under the place for my name, “Sexual History.” All kinds of questions are asked. The ones I do not know I answer with “42.” That is the answer. When I am 42 I will know, ‘til then don’t ask me. Tell, but don’t ask. “I got pregnant from kissing boys,” I write in a space. “But I spit afterwards, so there was no baby.” In the girls’ bathroom in elementary school I spit, daintily, sweetly. My friends had taught me how to do it.

Poking my eraser tip in my mouth, I read the last questions. I write in my answers. Some of them are silly answers, others truthful, others still snide jokes, comments, girlish pranks. I hand the clipboard back. The nurse reviews it. I look at her nametag. It sits high on her chest, on her bosoms. It is pinned to her uniform. I expect to read a last name. Instead it says simply “Gwen.” A nice name. I like my nurse.

“You may sit down,” Gwen tells me. I return to my chair. I go back to my girlish fantasies. “Ma’am?” I hear in the distance. The receptionist calls up the woman. She goes, rising in stately manner, but absolutely naked, her bottom already caressed by the whip. I admire her from over the top of my magazine. Her hips are full, womanly. They move with a grace beyond my years. Sitting on my pert cheeks I wish I had her motherly ones. Her waist is narrow, her back straight, proper. Her hair is pinned up but coming loose. I watch the graceful smooth walking of her legs. Somewhere up between them her cunny lies, wet, waiting. She tosses a strand of hair from her eyes and takes the clipboard from the nurse. I sense something. I stand, quickly, impulsively.

Peeking over the women, drawing closer, pretending to return my magazine to the magazine rack, I glimpse the receptionist. Her dress is unzipped to her waist now, pulled back. Her bare breasts show in all their natural glory. Like newborns fresh from the womb they stand up, squeezed slightly by her still-tight dress. She smiles at the woman, the woman lets a smile slip out in return. The receptionist sees me. She rises. She does not re-close her dress. “I must admit our brand new patient,” she says to the woman. The woman glances over her shoulder at me. She is temporal, worldly. There is a look of uncaring in her eyes. She has already played the games I am about to embark on. She glances at me.

“Yes,” the woman says. She turns back to the form in her hands. “You have different questions from what I have seen before,” she says.

“We have different instruments,” the nurse replies. Gwen disappears a moment, reappears at a doorway leading deeper into the suite of offices. “Come in, please,” she says brightly. She is holding my paperwork. My first name is written across the top, in large, girlish letters. The “i” in my name is a sprouting flower.

I step within. It is air-conditioned, chilly. Gwen takes me into a small dressing room. There are clothes there. A pinafore dress, apron like, a bib in front but nothing but a big bow in back. It is made of taffeta. There are panties beside it. Bows for my hair, long stockings for my coltish legs. And new shoes, with buckles.

“Put these on,” Gwen tells me. She offers no explanation. I am grateful for the clothes. She leaves me, closing the door behind me. I slip on the panties, sit on the chair and roll the delicious nylon stockings up my legs. They grip my thighs, stay put by their own elastic-topped bands, encircling me, holding me modestly within their sheathing. I slip on the pinafore, tie it in back. I put the ribbons in my hair. Curiously, there is nothing else. I turn, display my back in a mirror. My panties are on full view, my bare back, the backs of my stockinged thighs. I find a brush and brush my hair. There is a tube of toothpaste. Aqua-Fresh for Kids. There is a child’s toothbrush. I squirt some flavored white gel onto my toothbrush and relish the taste of it. I am bending over and rinsing my mouth when Gwen returns.

“The doctor will see you now,” she breathes. She breathes into my hair. I straighten. I feel her opening my panties in back. There is a brush of coldness. She deposits an ice cube into the back of my panties. I shiver. She puts a hand to the back of my head, presses my face down toward the sink. “Rinse,” she tells me. I rinse my mouth again. She uses my pose to her advantage, to impress the cube within my girlish bottomcheeks. I feel the edge of it come in contact with my anus. My cheeks clench, the cube is too big to get completely between them.

“Why?” I ask. I am bent over, looking up at her, in the mirror. There is a smear of white toothpaste across my upper lip. She fondles my bottom as if it is a new fruit, fresh-picked at harvest time.

“There are many tests we must do,” she replies. “Doctor’s orders.”

I splash the toothpaste cream from my lips and stand erect. Gwen steps back, admires me a minute. I turn around to her. I am ready to go. I feel wet in my panties.

“Come,” she says. I take her hand. We go to another room. It is small. There is a table here, leather-covered, for examining women. It has steel stirrups protruding from its base. “Sit down,” Gwen says. She offers me the only chair with a wave of her hand. I seat myself. I reach behind me to smooth my dress as I sit but find there is nothing there but my bulging bottom. Uncomfortably I sit on the wet ice cube. It impresses more deeply, more thoroughly against my anus. It is smaller now. I fear it may go up me. Gwen turns, leaves the room, locks the door behind her. I reach in back of myself and lean forward. I pluck the ice cube from the rear of my panties. I look at it. It is small now. I contemplate popping it in my mouth. Then I toss it toward the sink instead, a scrubbing sink for the doctor to wash his hands in.

I settle onto my chair. It has no arms. I let my eyes drift along the counter-top that runs along the wall next to me. I spot a soft cloth, black. It reminds me of a blindfold we used to use at birthday parties to play Pin-the-Donkey with. I pick it up. I see a gleam of metal beneath it. Twin cuffs. I gasp. Lightly I touch them, still holding the blindfold aloft with my other hand. I am curious. I fetch the handcuffs also, draw them to me. The metal is cold. I cup the handcuffs in my palms, the big police handcuffs. I blow on them to warm them.

I feel my pulse racing. I lay the cuffs on my stockinged thigh. Gently I drape them over my thigh. I do not want to let them fall to the floor. They might break. They could not, but they might. I am silly.

The blindfold. Would the naked woman wear it, put in on, if she were sitting in here? Would it make her a slut? I feel the aphrodisiac coursing in my veins, the wicked fluid we were all forced to drink in the carriage. But then, is there any such thing as a true aphrodisiac? Surely there must be. We were all wild in the carriage, bucking, thrusting. Such could not only exist in the mind, could it?

My heart beating, I lift the blindfold to my mouth. I will gag myself. I want to see who my doctor is. I do not want to go through the exam blinded. I must report him afterward. Yes, for abusing me. Just looking at me like this would be abusing me, wouldn’t it? To have such desires, in a MAN! The F.B.I. will send him a photo of me like this and arrest him.

I wrap the blindfold around my mouth. I wedge it between my lips, so that they will show despite the gag. Carefully I tie my gag in back, in the nesting of my hair. I will not tell on my doctor. I cannot. Not now.

I pick up the handcuffs from my thigh. I rotate them, let them dangle. They will keep me from being naughty. I cannot do anything with them on. That is how I want it. I am innocent, pure. They are the wicked ones. They are the ones who’s desires must be arrested.

I gaze across the counter. Is there no key for these cuffs? I spot something gleaming next to a urine container, empty, new, waiting for a mare to pee into it. There. Yes! A key. A key for my cuffs. Now where shall I put it?

The front of my panties lie beneath the bib of my apron. I lift up the bib. I open the front of my panties. I drop the key in, deposit it in my safe deposit box. I can feel it pressing against the lips of my pussy. It feels cold, hard.

I put my arms behind me. I thrust my wrists through the ribs of the open chair back. I lift the first cuff with one hand, guide it, so that it will snap shut over my left wrist. Click. One down, one to go. Then I will be patient. I will have to wait for the doctor then. I hope he is not long. I might have to go to the bathroom eventually. I would not want to wet my new panties.

A problem. I cannot get myself cuffed. My arms behind me, a rib of the chair running up the middle of my back. I have my wrists thrust through the ribs that form the back of the chair, my one hand cuffed. I must cuff the other wrist if I am to be secured to the chair. I struggle. I bend forward, my tongue at the corner of my mouth, protruding.

Click. It is simple, easy suddenly. And I am captive. Now I must wait.

I hear a door open, shut. Someone has entered the exam room next door. I hear talking. Something falls over. “No!” I hear. And then the crack of leather. A scream. Suddenly I realize. It is the bare-bottomed woman, the one brazenly naked, come for her exam. She does not sound quite so confident now, though I am sure she is still quite as naked as when I first met her. More smacks of leather. More shouts, cries, a sound of a woman barking commands at her. Then the grunts of a man. Moans, screamy-moans. At last silence. I listen to it all, shivering, wishing I were free of my cuffs now. Yet I cannot help rubbing my thighs together, a little bit. Then I wait some more, my legs spread much wider than they should be when I am waiting to meet a strange man.

Suddenly my door opens. The nurse steps in. Her hair is tousled. Her hat is gone. Her white dress is rumpled, her bosoms still showing. There seems to be an awkwardness to her stance. Her face, flushed, she looks at me. At first she is too preoccupied with herself to notice my ‘attachments.’ Then she smiles.

“Dr. Alexander, this is Lisa,” she says to me, to him. The doctor enters. He is large, looks more like a football player than a doctor. He is perhaps 40. He wears a stethoscope, watch, and carries a clipboard with a stick sticking partly out from behind it, on the far side of his body. Then I realize. It is the handle of a riding crop.

And there is one other instrument besides. Neat in his starchly stiffed uniform, but with his fly unzipped, his most precious and important instrument hangs out, ready for use. His schlong. It is a long schlong. It swings easily with his stride. He has used it already, I can see. It is not hard like it is supposed to be. It looks moist, as if someone has just washed it.

“I’m sorry to make you wait,” Dr. Alexander tells me. “I was busy attending to another patient.” He exchanges a glance with his nurse, who briefly blushes a deeper hue.

“I’m Lori,” the nurse tells me.

“What is your first name?” I ask the doctor. He smiles. The nurse smiles. My voice is muffled by my gag. Lori reaches down, her breasts hanging, plump, gently pulls down my gag so I can talk.

“Silly girl,” she says. “How can you ask the doctor questions if you are playing with our equipment?”

I blush more deeply. Then I do my best to compose myself. I fix my eyes again on the doctor. He is the pervert, not me. Surely not me. My eyes wander to his cock. It is long, bold. It’s girth is wide. “What is your first name?” I ask again. In my mind somewhere a first-grade version of myself wants to ask him the name of his friend in his pants.

“Alexander, that is his first name, at least here,” Lori smiles. “We call him Alexander, as in ‘Alexander the Great.’” She pauses, laughs. “Do I need to tell you why?” I blush. I gaze at his cock.

“No,” I reply sheepishly. He is quite large. He lengthens as I look at him. I wonder how big he gets when he is fully hard.

“Quite big,” the nurse replies, reading my mind. With delicate fingers she bends again and restores my gag to my mouth. She fixes it show my lips show, prettily. I must always be pretty. Especially for Alexander, here, with his long dong that swings along. Still bent, the nurse unties my pinafore dress. She removes it, folds it neatly, lays it upon the counter. I gaze up at the doctor with my boobs freely displayed to him, my nipples at crisp attention. His schlong gets longer, begins to rise.

“Have her stand, would you?” the doctor orders my nurse. Lori bends.

“Where is the key, darling?” she asks me. She pulls my gag down again. I sense it will be as much of a bib tonight as a gag. It will keep semen from spilling on my breasts.

Lori looks at me inquiringly. She wants the key. I do not want to tell her. I twist my hips, I feel a sense of abandon. I love resisting. Lori senses, slaps my face. I feel the blow, sweet yet painful upon my cheek. My ears ring. “The key, little girl. Do not play games with doctor. His time is very valuable.” I thrust my cunny at her, my legs spread, shifting my hips forward on the chair. She spies the tell-tale outline of the key bulging within the pouch of my panties. Gently she opens the front of my undies, dips her finger within. She fetches the key and tickles my clitty before departing.

“Here, doctor. She was being naughty,” Lori tells Dr. Alexander. He nods.

“A common problem with patients at this clinic,” he observes. “Don’t worry, I can help you with your problem,” he assures me. He puts the clipboard down and retains the riding crop. Lori bends over me, breathes down my neck as she unfastens me from the cuffs. Behind her, the doctor lifts her dress inquiringly. With a sudden flick, he gives her a sharp crack across her bottom with his crop. Lori shouts from behind my head. She finishes undoing my cuffs. She stands. She makes to straighten her dress.

“I don’t have time for that, get the drugs,” the doctor orders her. Bashfully Lori turns. She walks to the cabinets across the room. In behind, her bottom naked, rearing, rolls beneath the bunched-up back of her dress. I see a single, bright red line across her heinie. I know she feels it. I bring my hands in front of me. I stretch out my arms, I turn my wrists. It feels good to be free after the long silence, the long waiting.

Lori rummages in the cabinets. I wonder if she knows what she’s looking for. Finally she returns, her bosoms rolling between the tight-squeezing halves of her open-front dress. Her nipples stand rigid, twin soldiers in the service of their queen. I see a syringe. I sit bolt upright.

“Don’t worry, it’s nothing that will hurt you,” Lori assures me.

“This is a sex exam,” the doctor says roughly, impatiently.

“You need to be as sexed as possible,” Lori adds, softly, brooking no disobedience, yet understanding my fear. She unfolds a little white cloth and lays it on the counter-top beside me. There she puts down the syringe, a length of rubber tubing. She also places a metal container there, and a small urine cup.

“The needle will hurt me,” I say, gazing at the syringe. Lori looks at me. She laughs.

“You look as scared as a little rabbit,” Lori replies. “Your ass is going to hurt like the dickens when your exam is over. Why are you worried about a little shot in the arm?”

“My ass won’t hurt like the dickens,” I reply, pouting, sullen. I reach back, smooth my hands over my protecting undies.

“Well, that’s up to the doctor,” Lori says. I glance at him. To my surprised delight I see that he has become hard.

“Please don’t hurt me,” I say to him. I am meek. I am a little mouse.

“Well, that might depend,” he replies. “How well can you suck?”

“Very well!” I volunteer. He presents himself to me and I eagerly lean forward. I do not want his crop whacking me. I am compliant, submissive. I get my mouth around his huge knob and awkwardly begin sucking it between my full, pursed lips.

“Haven’t you ever done this before?” he asks. He looks down at me, amused. I shake my head ‘no,’ looking up at him in reply, hoping he does not mind my inexperience.

Lori presses a hand to my shoulder, my chest. “Sit back, darling,” she advises. She pulls me from the doctor’s big cock. My lips seem to emit a popping sound as I am loosed from his prong. I sit back in my chair, lick my lips. She takes the doctor’s stethoscope off his chest. Turning, she puts it to her ears and applies the cold metal disk at the end of it to my left nipple.

“mmmm,” she smiles at me. “Good blood flow in this one. You could still deliver lots of milk even if you had it pierced.” I tremble. I should get up, grab the door handle, try to fight my way past my big football-player doctor. But because of the aphrodisiac in me I say nothing. Instead a feel a desire to remove my panties. I hook my thumbs in the waistband on either side of my hips, lift, let go. The waistband snaps back against my skin, stinging me. The doctor watches. He misses nothing in my movements.

My other nipple is tested, listened to attentively by Lori. When she is done she tweaks it once with her fingers, checking its resiliency, then the other one. She slides the stethoscope down my belly. Over the gentle curve of my belly it travels. She stops at the waistband of my panties. Then, with a woman’s delicate touch, she opens me in front and slips the metal disk down to my cunny. I wet it with my excitement. I am moist, hungry. Lori smiles, listens, strokes my tumbling locks where they tumble down the side of my head. She withdraws the stethoscope and gives it back to the doctor.

“Lisa’s vital signs sound good,” Lori reports to him. The doctor nods.

“Proceed,” he says offhandedly, as if bored. But from the stiffness of his cock I can see he is anything but bored. His free hand, the one without the crop, brushes his thighs, as if wishing his pants weren’t there. I sleek my fingertips along the insides of my thighs. We have the same feelings, desires, wants. But the nurse must complete her exam first.

“Are you a real nurse?” I blurt suddenly. She looks down at me, always smiling, delicate in her movements, admiring me with her every touch.

“Of course not, dear,” she replies. “Nor is Alexander the Great there a doctor. But I am a first- year nursing student, and he has plenty of experience examining young girls. So don’t worry, you’re in good hands.”

Lori lifts my wrist. She is wearing a watch with a white wrist band. No bra, but a watch. No panties either, I remind myself. At least I have my panties on. I am ahead of even the doctor, with his underwear open, his cock out. I am the most modest, the most moral. I feel a sense of pride in that.

Lori times my pulse. Next she rummages in a drawer near me and pulls out a blood pressure cuff. She has me hold out my arm, attaches it, inflates the cuff and gets my pressure.

“A little on the high side,” she says. “But that’s to be expected.” She writes on her clipboard. On the doctor’s clipboard, actually, given to her for her necessary work. She turns to the doctor. “Oral or rectal?” she asks, her hair flowing down her back, her mouth poised, her fingers alighting softly in mid-air.

My temperature. That’s next, I can guess.

“Oral will be fine for now,” the doctor replies, smiling. Lori turns, bends, a little wary of the rustle she hears behind her as the doctor brushes his riding crop against his leg, slaps it once. She pops a thermometer in my mouth and waits, watching it, until it is ready to come out. I sit perched on my chair like a pre-schooler, ready for lessons. Today we will learn about popsicles, class, and the big men who shove them down little girl’s mouths. “Of course it is very, very bad, but we will tell you all about it just the same, so you can think of nothing else,” I add in my mind, smirking. Every day I used to walk home from school, wondering, worrying, certain a man would leap from his car and grab me. When I got home the afternoon passed slowly, boringly, the cartoons less and less exciting with each passing year. When I was in the middle years in elementary school I learned to walk with a wiggle. After that my walks home from school were quite wiggly. Still no-one came, just policemen passing, protecting me from my would-be assignations with strangers.

“Yes, a perfect temp,” Lori announced, drawing the thermometer from me, a trail of saliva following it out of my mouth. She wiped off the thermometer on the front of her dress, placed it on the soft cloth on the counter, beside the syringe.

Lori picked up the rubber tubing. Thin, dangling, she knotted it around my neatly presented arm. I was feeling randy, out-of-control. I did not care anymore what they did to me. “This will hurt just a little bit,” Lori told me.

“What is it?” I asked.

“More sex juice,” she replied. “Mainlined this time, to get you really sexed. Don’t worry, I’ll take some too, and the doctor. We wouldn’t give you what we wouldn’t take ourselves.” With a cotton swab and alcohol Lori anointed the crook of my arm. Then she brought the needle down, carefully, uncertainly. A stab. I winced. A squeeze on the end of the syringe, Lori’s thumb pressing down. I feel a sudden warmth rush up my arm, then spread almost at once within my belly.

“Good girl,” Lori is saying to me, and it is over before I know it, the needle out, Lori wiping my arm lightly with a second alcohol pad. “Here they are,” I hear her announce, rummaging in the helpful drawer from which she’d just drawn the alcohol pads, before that the thermometer, and the blood pressure cuff. Whoever played in here last didn’t quite straighten everything up when they were done, I guess. Or Lori is new here, doesn’t know where things are kept.

Lori swaps out the needle on the syringe tube. She turns, goes to the doctor. For a moment she takes hold of his cock, fingers it, holding her syringe aloft, admiring the big vein running down the shaft of his penis.

“The arm, girl,” the doctor replies, rolling up his sleeve. He breaks open an alcohol pad and swabs his own arm. Lori lets go of his member and he presents his arm to her. She has no trouble finding his vein. No band of rubber is needed for him. Nonetheless, he grips his bulging bicep with his free hand to constrict the blood flow and make his vein bulge out more. Lori pricks him, a delighted look in her eyes as she stares down at his big arm. Then she removes the needle, offers him a fresh cotton pack, and he swabs the injection spot himself.

“Unh,” the doctor suddenly says. A grunt, primal. I glance at him. His butt has reared forward, his cock sticks out with unusual hardness, waving in the air like some line officer calling his men from their trenches. “Into the enemy foxholes, boys!” I hear the officer call in my mind. Doctor Alexander eyes me with renewed interest, his vigorous cock pulsing and throbbing with a kind of desperation. “God, my balls feel heavy!” he admits to me, frankly, one lover to another, no barriers between us.

“You are full, I am empty,” I want to reply, but I just look at him instead, my eyes flicking between his face and his huge organ.

Lori switches needles again, the fluid in her syringe down by two-thirds now, the rest remaining for her. She goes to the doctor, presents him with the injection materials. In his cupped palms he takes them. He ties her off, injects her. She returns to me rubbing her belly, her womb. I imitate her. I want to rub lower, fear to. Not without doctor’s permission.

Lori opens the metal box. She tells me to stick out my tongue. “Two aspirin, dear,” she explains to my wide, enquiring eyes. “To relieve the achey feeling you’ll probably have later, when we’re through. Doctor will be going several rounds with you, you know. It’s best to let this start working now.”

I accept the pills on the tip of my tongue. Lori fills the spanking-new urine cup with water and gives it to me to wash down the pills. As she is bending to serve me the doctor comes up to her from behind. Aloft, in his hand, he has a needle, fresh from the cabinet across the room.

“Don’t move,” the doctor tells Lori. Startled, she turns, her hair brushing over my face as she turns to look at him. He pushes her onto me, her hands flying to my shoulders to keep her from falling on top of me. “She is not the only one I’m going to fuck tonight,” Doctor Alexander tells his nurse. “I’m going to pop that tight little anal cherry of yours, and to make sure I get up you I’m going to give you this muscle relaxant.” Before Lori can do more than gasp, the doctor has swabbed her briefly in back and jammed a needle straight into the undercurve of her heinie. Lori shouts into my ear. I flinch, feeling her jerk as the doctor does her. A moment more and the act is done. Lori stands, ruefully, her hands flying back to examine the damage. Rubbing her heinie, gazing with sulky eyes at the doctor, I realize she is unintentionally doing just what he’d hoped, massaging her hinds to let the relaxant spread fully within her tight cheeks.

“Turn on some music,” the doctor tells Lori. “I need you to dance around a little for me, ‘til your bottom feels nice and relaxed.”

“You’re doing me first?” Lori asked, her mouth suddenly agape. I looked to see if she was smiling.

“I don’t know who I’m doing first,” the doctor replied, his ‘don’t’ almost like a gasp of springing pain/pleasure as a new dose of the aphrodisiac spread deeper within him.”

“I must have some aspirin too, then,” Lori announced. She ran to the drawer and opened it, got out the little metal box she’d put away in there. She filled my urine cup and swallowed three aspirin. “One extra for how I know I’ll feel afterward,” she told me, our doctor listening with a grin on his face.

Lori opened the door to the room and went out, leaving me alone with my doctor. He walked over to me. He replaced my gag over my mouth. I did not resist, my chin uptilted ‘til he forced it into my mouth so my lips would show. He made me stand, turn around. He cuffed my hands anew behind me. Then, removing his tie, he bound my elbows close together with it. I felt like I was being popped open in front, my bosoms twin marshmallows of flesh gloriously presented.

He turned me back toward him. My tits bobbled before him, wondrously obscene. He gazed down upon my nippled peaks like a child browsing in a candy store. Just then music came over an intercom. Not muzac music anymore, playing softly all the while somewhere in background, but hard-driving rock-and-roll, with the volume turned up. “Dance,” Doctor Alexander ordered me. I began to gyrate my hips, just like I’d done walking home from elementary school. My bosoms swung in all their fulsome glory before him, entertaining him. He put his hands to my panties and yanked them down to my knees. “Don’t trip,” he laughed, as I struggled to find my footing with my legs suddenly constricted by my own panties.

The door to our room opened. “Doctor!” I heard Lori say, gazing upon my new predicament. She entered, a new nurse’s hat perched on her head, slightly askew, as if she’d put it on in haste. “She is our last patient for the day,” Lori said to Doctor Alexander, watching my antics as I tried to dance to the music, my legs ringed by my own panties, stumbling in my spiked heels. “My I get a little more casual?” Doctor Alexander looked at her.

“Yes,” he replied. Promptly she closed our door and unzipped her dress all the way down. A moment later Lori was more naked than I. She had not worn stockings, her alluring bare legs temptingly displayed all evening. Now her pussy was on view too, and her belly, and of course her lovely big boobs that bounced in rhythm to the music as she began to dance.

“What about yourself, doctor?” Lori asked Alex. He smiled and began to disrobe. Still dancing, moving in front of him, she helped him out of his clothes.

For awhile it was just the three of us, lost in our own passion, our lust for each other, dancing nakedly to delight each other’s eyes. Alex presented his manhood to us, waggling it about like a schoolboy in the boy’s bathroom, pre-cum flying hither and yon as he marked off his territory inside our room. We were his, he was ours, and no others would enter upon us. We could dance the night away together, or play more private games. There was only one key to this exam room, and Lori had it tucked in a pocket of her now discarded dress. We were captive to each other. We would make our own rules and decide our own fate together, alone, just us three.

I, of course, was a perhaps a bit uppity in my thinking, for with my wrists bound behind me and my mouth gagged, mine was not necessarily going to be a voice that was heard or a lofted hand that was noticed. Teacher could not respond to my questions. Alex, though, or ‘Doctor’ as I liked to call him, was most noticeable with his big thing sticking out in front of him. He would get called upon a lot.

Alex still held his riding crop. I danced in front of him, taunting him, knowing I shouldn’t, guessing what might happen if I provoked him too much. Within my gag I stuck my tongue out at him, wishing I could insult him. He saw my disobedience in my eyes. I would overthrow him and make myself Queen. He would do my bidding, not his.

Alex handed his crop to Lori. She accepted it eagerly. She was jealous of my writhing body, so beautiful, though in truth her equal, not her superior. She whacked my heinie. “How’s that feel, hmmm?” She asked. It was a light sting. I flinched in my dancings but no more. She whacked me again. And yet again. She got behind me and gave me two more cuts. I was quite enhanced in my wrigglings now, dancing and trying to cast of the burning sting of her impromptu cuts.

Next Lori, perhaps to Alex’s surprise, slipped behind him and began applying the crop to his buns. Stolidly he danced on, not stopping her, impressing me with his huge cock by jerking it each time she laid on a hard one.

Suddenly in my excitement, and due to the time that had passed, I felt a need to pee. I tried to mouth my desire to Alex but he was too busy trying to fend off Lori’s cuts to reply. She was giving him quite the treatment now, and he was not the true Roman he’d been before. She pursued him around the room, he shifting here, there, not running but dancing in new spots, shifting his feet as fast as he could as Lori banged away on his ass. I had to laugh. He looked silly.

Muffled in my gag, I tried to get Lori’s attention. I clipped my thighs together and looked at her imploringly.

“Ooooh!” Lori laughed. “You have to go pee-pee, Lisa?” She smiled. I’d hoped shed’ unlock the door for me and let me out of the room, lead me to the bathroom, maybe even uncuff me. Instead she opened a cabinet under the sink and took out a toddler’s potty. It had a large seat, curiously, as if somebody had expected that mommie might need to use it too.

“Sit down, here,” Lori told me. She put a hand to my slim shoulder and guided me down onto the potty. I sat on it fully, looking utterly charming and ridiculous, my stockinged legs chin-high, my knees at my face, my bosoms wobbling. I pissed into the potty as Alex and Lori looked on like loving parents might, proud of their preschooler for making her first b/m. In my case it was just pee, though, filling up the little bowl beneath me. Lori caught me up afterward, restoring me to my feet. Then she bent down and lifted up the bowl I’d filled, hefting the inner lining of the potty with a small female grunt. Having laid down the crop, she fell victim to Alex, who gave her a playful cut on her heinie.

Lori poured out my pee in the sink and then turned on the water, rinsing it down the drain. Next she took her turn upon the potty, and finally Alex stood before it and peed a long pee into it. When we were all done Lori wet a cloth with hot water and bathed us each in turn ‘round our loins to wipe away any splashes. Alex, having stood, needed no wipe-down, but she did him anyway, perhaps to freshen away all the pre-cum that he’d been drooling from his slit.

“How’s your bottom feel?” Alex asked Lori as she wrung out the hot cloth over the sink.

“A little jelly-like,” she replied.

“Good, you’re ready then,” he answered. They shared a kiss as I stood silently by, swaying my bare ass in time to the music.

There was a whisper between them when their kiss finally ended. Lori nodded. “She is the patient,” Lori agreed. She came over to me, kissed me once upon my cheek. “Doctor must give you a rectal exam,” she told me. She went to the examining table that stood along the far wall of the room. Opening a cabinet beneath the table, she drew out a big fluffy towel. Then she pulled out from the base of the table, at the back, a shelf on which one might rest one’s feet, or kneel. Lori plopped the towel down on it and beckoned me over. “Kneel down, darling,” she said. “And lie on the table, with your bottom sticking out for doctor’s exam of you.”

Shivering, I complied. There was no paper sheet on the exam table for my protection. Just smooth leather, lemon-scented, antiseptic. I let my knees buckle and dropped them onto the shelf. I bent forward and pressed myself to the table. I felt my breasts crush themselves beneath me, swelling out on either side of my torso as a complement to my lightly-fleshed ribs. My tummy, curving out as I curved in my back, pressed to the cool leather table-top.

“Good girl,” Lori complimented. She unlocked my handcuffs. She untied my elbows. Drawing my hands above my head, she tied them to a hook in the wall. I trembled on the table, a fish upended on Alex’s dock.

Lori smoothed my locks forward toward my head. She ran a hand down my bare back. She traced the ridges of my spine all the way down to my tailbone. Inquiring lower, she trailed her fingertip between the fleshy cheeks of my ass. “She’s ready, doctor,” I heard her announce.

“Good,” he replied. I felt his approach. His hand pressed into the small of my back. Big, heavy, calloused. “I’m going to give you a rectal exam, Lisa,” he said to me. “Using just my finger, o.k.? Of course I won’t use a glove because I want to really be able to feel what’s up inside your virgin hole,” he told me. “Just relax. I’ve finger-fucked millions of young girls like yourself and they all thanked me for the experience afterward, and went on to take big cocks up their rumps later in life.” I questioned his figures, silently, in my mind. His hand passed over my smoothly presented cheeks, feeling their silkiness, their rubbery fleshiness, all soft and so well-offered.

A questing. Somewhere within me there must be a holy grail. A cherry, perhaps, waiting to be popped. A finger pressing hard against my rose hole. I hear squirting. “More oil,” is said, in a male voice. A female voice laughs and squirts again. I squeeze my eyes shut tight, trembling.

Optional: I remember my past injection. He does not know of my past injection, deep-seeking.

Suddenly he is within. Bolt-hard, burrowing in, his finger delves up my channel. Vainly I squeeze my cheeks together in an effort to keep him out. “God-Damn! YOU are the one who should have had the muscle relaxant,” he swears at me. “It’s just a finger. MY finger. Don’t try to cut it off!” I do my best to do just that but he plunges deeper, manages to get halfway up. “I’ll have to whip her,” he replies, and his finger withdraws, sleeking down my channel, popping out.

Lori handed Alex the riding crop. With his penis boldly displayed, me watching fearfully in a mirror, he drew back the crop and whacked it hard against my heinie. “You must relax!” Alex roared. Tears sprang to my eyes. How could I relax if he was going to flay me with his crop? He gave me another butt-thudding whack, making me sob out my first tearful sob. The next strikes were lighter, skimming my cheeks instead of driving directly into them. It was as if he’d intended the first two to be a kind of wake-up call, to let me know he meant business. The rest, skimming though they might be, still hurt most unpleasantly, each swift stroke leaving a distinct burning spot somewhere on my heinie, usually across both my cheeks, where the crop had made the best contact. A long slim line, soon joined by another, then another still, each brushing across my seat but striking somewhere deepest, leaving its mark there, evidence of my misbehavior.

Bunching one of my knees inside other, my panties still ringed around them, I bit my lips and tried to endure. Whack after butt-stinging whack assailed my bottom. Alex had me crying openly by the end, a mound of young female flesh, blubbering away. In his finger went again. I did not resist this time. The will to resist had been literally beaten out of me. When he was satisfied that my butthole met his requirements, he pledged to me that he would fuck it one day and then proceeded to ream my pussy. I gasped upon the table. He took me hard, discharging three times within me. I was astonished by his strength. It was as if an oil well gusher had got up me. Then he draped Lori over me, her butt above mine, and went a fourth and final round in her ass.

When all was done I was released. Lori gave me back my clothes, and I put them on as best I could, trying to look at neat in them as I might, as if nothing had happened. She put her nurse’s uniform back on, zipping it all the way up. Doctor Alexander put his own clothes back on, even zipping his fly this time. Lori patted my pantied bottom.

“Don’t leave without finding a skirt or something to cover you in behind,” she told me.

“Don’t worry, I won’t,” I replied. We kissed. I still had the passion in me, as did she. But I was sleepy, too. I wanted to find a bed of my own and go to sleep in it all by myself, with no visitors.

Lori let us out of the exam room. We walked to the front of the office, past the nurse’s check-in window, at last to the front door of the waiting room.

“Bye, have a fun life,” Lori said, pecking me on my cheek.

“You’re leaving?” I asked. I considered them friends, now. I regretted seeing them going.

“Bye,” Lori said, turning to our mutual doctor. He kissed her back, and I saw they would perhaps not meet again either. All was temporary, for fun only, with no commitments. Dr. Alexander kissed me on my lips, told us both we were pretty, and opened the front door for us. The mansion waited beyond.

“My car’s out back,” Dr. Alexander told us. I did not know yet whether I wanted to leave the house or not.

“Mine’s out front,” Lori replied, and briskly they separated from me, one of them going down one hall, the other down another. Soon I was standing alone, clad in my pinafore and panties, my ass still stinging and traces of semen laddered on my long stockings.

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