59. Pleasured By My Gynecologist

59. Pleasured By My Gynecologist
꧁꧂Pleasured By My Gynecologist꧁꧂

Dr. Dave Grant is a twenty-seven-year-old gynecologist who has been practicing for three years, and in all that time, he has never once crossed the line.

But today, with Mrs. Lena Harper in the exam room, something felt different.

Lena was thirty-four and married for five years.

She sat on the edge of the exam table in a thin paper gown, legs dangling, fingers twisting the hem nervously.

Her husband, Daniel, waited outside in the lobby, scrolling on his phone.

“I’ve been having some discomfort,” she said, her voice almost shy.

“Down there. It hurts when I… you know, when things get intimate.”

Dr. Grant nodded, keeping his expression neutral.

“Let’s take a look. If you could lie back and place your feet in the stirrups, please.”

She did, slowly, parting her thighs wide for him. 

The gown rode up, and when he adjusted the light, he saw her clearly: smooth, bare skin, already glistening a little at the folds. 

No visible irritation, no redness, nothing that screamed pain. 

He gloved up, warmed the speculum with his hands first, and began the exam. 

“Tell me if anything hurts,” he said softly.

Lena bit her lip.

“Right there,” she whispered when his fingers gently parted her outer lips.

“It aches… deeper.”

He slid one gloved finger along her entrance, checking for tenderness, but she was warm, slick, and opening for him like she had been waiting for this all her life. 

Her breath hitched, and a small sound that was not pain escaped her lips.

“Does that hurt?” he asked, pressing lightly against the inner walls.

“A little,” she lied, her voice breathy. “Maybe if you… circle it? Like this?”

She shifted her hips, guiding his hand without touching it. His thumb brushed her clit accidentally, and she gasped, her thighs trembling.

Dr. Grant paused. He looked up at her face: cheeks flushed, eyes half-lidded, and lips parted. 

No fear, no discomfort. This was just sheer, lustful hunger.

“Mrs. Harper,” he said quietly, “this does not seem like pain.”

She met his gaze with no shame. “I know,” she admitted. 

“I have wanted this for so long. A man who knows exactly where to touch… who will not stop until I am shaking. My husband is sweet, but he has never… explored me like this.”

The room was quiet for a moment except for the soft hum of the light and her quickening breaths.

He should have stopped. He knew the rules. But her eyes begged, and her body was already arching toward his hand.

“If you want me to stop, say it,” he said.

She shook her head. “Do not stop. Please.”

He peeled off one glove slowly, leaving the other on for professionalism, and returned his bare fingers to her. 

He traced her outer lips first, slow, teasing, feeling the heat of her skin, the way she was already swollen and wet. 

Her clit peeked out, begging for attention.

He circled it with the pad of his thumb: light at first, then firmer, watching her face. 

She moaned softly, rolling her hips in tiny circles, chasing the pressure.

“Like that?” he murmured.

“Yes… Doctor, yes.”

He dipped two fingers inside her, curling them upward to stroke that soft, spongy spot that made her gasp. 

Her walls fluttered around him, hot and slick, gripping like she never wanted him to leave. 

He added a third finger, stretching her gently, pumping slowly and deep while his thumb kept working her clit in slow circles.

Lena’s head fell back against the pillow, her mouth open in silent pleasure. 

Her breasts rose and fell under the gown, nipples hard and visible through the thin paper. 

She was dripping now, the wet schlick sounds filling the room every time his fingers slid in and out.

“You are so beautiful like this,” he whispered, almost to himself. 

“So responsive. So wet.”

She whimpered, her thighs quivering. “Do not stop… please do not stop.”

He did not.

He leaned in closer, breathing in her scent, then he pressed his palm flat against her mound while his fingers curled deeper, stroking her G-spot over and over. 

His thumb flicked her clit faster.

Her body tensed, hips lifting off the table. “I am… I am going to…”

“Cum for me,” he said softly. “Let go.”

“Doctor… please...."

Her thighs shook harder, muscles quivering as the pleasure built like a storm inside her. She grabbed the edges of the table hard, her knuckles turning white.

He leaned closer, his free hand resting on her lower belly, pressing down gently to heighten the pressure inside her. 

“Let go, ma’am,” he murmured, his soothing.

“Have got you. Just let go.”

Her eyes fluttered shut, and a deep, shuddering moan escaped her lips.

It hit her like a wave crashing over her entire body.

Her pussy clamped down on his fingers with fierce, rhythmic pulses: tight, pulsing contractions that squeezed him so hard he could feel every flutter. 

A fresh gush of wetness flooded his hand, hot and slippery, spilling over his wrist and dripping onto the table in soft patters. 

Her hips bucked wildly, lifting off the stirrups, thighs trembling uncontrollably as electric jolts shot through her core.

“Oh fuck… oh God…,” she gasped, her voice breaking into a raw cry she barely muffled against her own arm.

Waves of pleasure rolled through her, one after another, each one stronger than the last. 

Her clit pulsed under his thumb, swollen and hypersensitive, sending sparks up her spine with every flick. 

She could feel her inner walls rippling around his fingers, milking them desperately, like her body was trying to pull him deeper even as she shattered.

Tears slipped from the corners of her eyes, not from pain, but from the overwhelming intensity. 

Her breath came in ragged sobs of pleasure, chest heaving, and nipples straining against the gown like hard little peaks.

Dr. Grant did not stop. 

He kept stroking her through every pulse, every tremor, drawing it out until her moans turned soft and shaky, until her body finally went limp against the table.

He withdrew his fingers slowly, gently, watching her pussy clench one last time around nothing, a final trickle of wetness sliding down her thigh.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. 

There was just the sound of her ragged breaths and the quiet drip of her arousal onto the paper sheet.

She finally looked at him, her cheeks flushed, and a shy smile tugging her lips. 

“Thank you. Doctor,” she whispered. “I… I have never come like that… not ever.”

He wiped his hand on a towel, then helped her sit up carefully, steadying her as her legs wobbled. 

“You are welcome,” he said, his voice gentle. “But this stays between us.”

She nodded, still glowing. “I know.”

“If you’re feeling okay now, Mrs. Harper, I’ll step out and give you a moment to get dressed.

He gave her a small nod before turning toward the door, his coat concealing the unmistakable bulge straining against his slacks.

The image of her pussy was seared into his brain, and there was no doubt he’d definitely wank himself to it later.