Chapter 78 My Gynecologist🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️
My Gynecologist🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️
Elias
Mrs. Peterson’s thighs were still trembling when I eased my fingers out of her, the slick sound sounding so... wrong in the quiet room.
She lay there on the table, her gown shoved up to her ribs, pussy flushed and glistening from the two orgasms I’d just dragged out of her under the pretense of “checking pelvic floor tone.”
“Everything looks perfect, Lauren,” I said, voice calm while my cock strained so hard against my slacks I could feel the seam biting into the head. “You’re responding beautifully. Very healthy.”
She gave me that dazed, grateful smile they all do—like I’d cured cancer instead of tongue-fucked her until she forgot her own name.
I peeled off the gloves, dropped them in the bin, and told her to get dressed.
The second the door clicked shut behind her, I leaned back against the counter, dragged a hand over my face, and tried to breathe through the ache in my balls.
Another one.
Another married woman who came in for a pap smear and left with my come still drying on her inner thigh.
I don’t even feel guilty anymore.
I can’t.
They walk in here smelling like perfume and reeking of desperation, their legs already half-open before I say a word.
I would touch them “professionally,” and suddenly they’re soaking the paper liner, moaning my name like I’m a god instead of just a man who figured out exactly where to press.
I adjusted myself, wincing.
My dick was leaking, a wet spot already darkening the gray fabric.
I had maybe three minutes before the next chart—Sarah Reed—was brought in, and I still hadn’t calmed down.
I flipped open her file anyway.
She was thirty-two, had been married for two years and the chief complaint written in shaky nurse handwriting: decreased libido, anorgasmia with partner, gets physically wet but “feels nothing.”
Jesus Christ.
I read it twice.
My mouth went dry.
A woman who's pussy gets wet just fine but can’t feel it?
That was definitely not a hormone problem.
That was a woman who’s never been touched right in her entire fucking life.
The knock came soft.
My nurse poked her head in. “Dr. Carter? Your 11:40 is ready. Room three.”
I closed the file. “Send her in.”
When the door opened again, she stepped through like she was walking to her own execution.
Sarah Reed was prettier than her driver’s license photo had any right to be. She had long brown hair twisted into a nervous knot, big hazel eyes that wouldn’t quite meet mine and it seemed she had bitten her lip raw before coming in.
She wore a simple gray dress that clung to soft curves, and I could already picture the weight of her tits in my palms.
Fuck.
I stood, offered my hand like a civilized human. “Mrs. Reed? Elias Carter. Have a seat.”
She shook my hand and perched on the edge of the chair like she might bolt.
I sat across from her, leaned forward just enough for the coat to pull open, and watched her eyes flick to my chest and away.
“Tell me why you’re here, Sarah.” I kept my voice low, gentle, the one that makes them relax. “In your own words.”
She swallowed. “My husband… he says I’m bad at sex.”
The words came out rushed, ashamed. “I get wet, I do, but I don’t… feel anything. I don’t move, I don’t make noise. He thinks there’s something wrong with me. Hormones or… I don’t know. I just want to fix it before he—” She stopped, eyes glassy. “Before he leaves.”
My cock jerked so hard I had to shift in the chair.
“Has this always been a problem, or did it start after marriage?”
“It got worse. In the beginning it was… fine. Well it wasn't fireworks, but it was okay. We were okay. Now it’s like my body’s there but I’m not.”
I nodded, scribbling nothing on the chart just to have something to do with my hands. “I’m going to need to examine you. You're going to need a full pelvic exam, breast exam, check your clitoral and vaginal sensitivity. It’s the only way to rule out physical causes. You okay with that?”
She nodded, small and quick.
I handed her a gown. “Everything off, open to the front. I’ll step out. Knock when you’re ready.”
The second I was in the hallway I pressed my forehead to the cool wall and exhaled.
My pulse was hammering in my dick like it had its own heartbeat.
I could already smell her and it was not doing anything to help my predicament. I could barely wait.
She knocked.
I walked in, closed the door, then clicked the lock.
Sarah was on the table, knees pressed together, paper crinkling under her ass.
The gown barely covered the tops of her thighs.
Her nipples were hard points under the thin fabric, and when she breathed the whole thing shifted like it might be torn to pieces any second.
“Lie back for me,” I said. “Put your feet in the stirrups and scoot down until your bottom is at the edge.”
She did it, trembling.
I rolled the stool between her legs and tried not to groan out loud.
Her pussy was perfect, soft, pink, shaved smooth except for a neat little strip. And the best part was that it was already glistening.
Christ.
I gloved up slow, letting her watch. “I’m going to start with an external exam. Tell me if anything hurts or feels good. Don’t hold back.”
I parted her with two fingers, spreading her open.
The hood of her clit was swollen, peeking out like it was begging for attention.
_You poor thing,_ my sadist brain thought.
“Very responsive already,” I murmured. “That’s excellent. It means your nerve endings are intact.”
I traced one finger up her slit, collecting the slickness, and she jerked, a tiny, shocke
d sound escaping her throat.
“Sorry—” she gasped.
“Don’t be. That is precisely what I need. Let me hear you.”
I circled her clit slow, watching it throb under the pad of my thumb.