3 comments/ 41398 views/ 7 favorites A Hysterical Widow By: Ted55 Doctor Paul Rogers set the steaming cup of coffee on his desk and looked at the neat computer printed appointment sheet as he pulled up his chair. His office assistant Sally produced the sheet each evening before she left for the day and placed it right in the center of Paul's rarely used desk. In fact if it weren't for sitting behind it to read his agenda and sip a coffee when he arrived he might not go into his sanctum for days at a time. His eye skipped the first column which was the appointment time and scanned mainly the second column which contained the patient's name. Each name was familiar and conjured not necessarily an image but a word or two that he associated with that individual. For some of the names his eyes shifted to the third column which was reason for visit. Just before the wide space in the middle of the page that signified lunch he saw a name that caused his stomach to clench—Sylvia Fortin. Paul knew that the clenching would not stay restricted to his abdomen. The tightness descended into his groin and he was ashamed of himself. Sylvia and her late husband had been patients for about five years. John Fortin was a pretty fit man in his mid forties, three years older than his wife. His general good health was no defense against the runaway tractor trailer that ended his life and twenty year marriage two years ago. Paul arranged for Sylvia to get grief counseling but when she made an appointment a few months later complaining of general aches and pains and difficulty sleeping, he started her on low dose of an antidepressant. The widow was a very attractive woman. Paul fought the word that first came to mind; beautiful. The weight she put on during those months was partly due to the medication. It seemed ironic that the stuff that was supposed to make you feel better had a side effect destined to make you feel worse. He thought her affect had improved a little when she came in for her annual Pap smear and pelvic exam but that was when the strangeness really started. He'd performed the procedure, which most women dreaded, on Sylvia at least four times previously. Missus Fortin was one of those women who always declined a chaperone. Doctor Rogers understood the logic; the fewer people of either sex who were witness to the embarrassing ordeal the better. During her previous appointments Sylvia had seemed typically embarrassed and anxious to get it over with. Paul made notes in the file to make idle chit chat during the procedure hoping to make the woman as comfortable as possible and distract her somewhat. Unfortunately his notes weren't up to date and were worse than useless since they referred to plans she might have with her husband (now deceased). So it was that he proceeded with the examination in uncomfortable near silence. Missus Fortin made some soft sounds during the breast examination, prompting Paul to ask if she found it painful. She seemed rather breathless when she assured him that he wasn't hurting her. Doctor Rogers would much later realize that the sounds were actually moans. The next shock came when he had her scoot down the table and assisted her in getting positioned in the stirrups. Folding the drape back the doctor had to stifle a gasp when he discovered that his forty-four year old patient had removed all of her pubic hair. Her vulva and pubic mound were quite pink, possibly indicating that the removal had been quite recent. That speculation turned out to be incorrect. Doctor Rogers briefly considered questioning the decision purely from a medical point of view but opted to let sleeping dogs lie. (Or perhaps that should be sleeping pussies... bald ones) Feeling more unnerved in the circumstance than he had since he was an intern Paul took the speculum from its warm water lubricating bath. With gentle skill he separated his patient's inner labia with the closed blades. There was absolutely no missing the amount of clear fluid that coated Sylvia's lips and vaginal canal. There was only one likely reason. The smear took a little longer to collect because his hands weren't as steady as usual. When the specimen was properly packaged for the lab Doctor Rogers took several deep breaths. The next part of the examination now seemed fraught with danger. Willing his hands to be steady was as effective as willing his member not to swell. He was palpating the outer labia, no more quickly than normal but he had the feeling it was much less effective. His mind was as much on his own genitals as it was on his patient's. The inner labia parted naturally as he pressed on Missus Fortin's outer lips. At the apex of the thickly coated swollen lips Paul saw the clitoral hood emerge he was still hoping that somehow he was wrong, but the jellybean sized glans projecting out from under the protective flap erased every shadow of a doubt. His patient was in a state of full arousal. He'd been concentrating so hard on maintaining his professional decorum that he hadn't even noticed the soft mewing sounds Sylvia was making. It had to stop! He simply could not allow this to go any further! Stripping off his gloves, Doctor Rogers tossed them at the waste basket and missed. He didn't care. "There you go, all done for another year," he mumbled lifting Sylvia's heels out of the stirrups. Practically running he grabbed the vial with the smear in it and said, "I'll be in touch in the event the lab finds anything of concern." He was out the door of the examination room before his patient was able to utter the forlorn sigh. It was just weeks after that the next time Sylvia's name showed up on his appointment sheet. The same note was in the third column, 'Reason for appointment' that time as he was seeing today—abdominal pain. Paul remembered thinking at that time; he'd seen the lovely Missus Fortin quite often since her husband's passing, but gave her impending visit little thought other than that. He'd entered the small examination room were Sylvia sat stiffly in the desk side chair and wished he hadn't caught the fresh soapy scent of her as he passed by. He recalled taking her hand for the polite handshake greeting and trying to make eye contact with her timid almost evasive look. As they discussed the reason for her visit Doctor Rogers felt his stomach tighten and knot. The answers to all of the questions about the exact type, location and frequency of the pain led to an inescapable conclusion. "There are several possible causes," he recalled saying. "In order to narrow those down I'd like to do a pelvic examination if that's okay?" Biting her lip, Sylvia nodded her agreement. The widow's expression was enigmatic. Paul was expecting anxiety, even fear, but he wasn't entirely sure that's what he saw. Rising from his chair the tightness in his stomach seemed to drop lower. "Remove everything from the waist down. There is a gown on the table if you want it, and a sheet to cover yourself with." As he stepped out of the little examination room he thought, 'I must have said those words hundreds... thousands of times. Why are they having this effect on me in this case?' The tension in his stomach had become a pressure in his groin. 'Did I really say—I'd like to—do a pelvic exam? How about, I need to... or even I want to...' Paul went to get a glass of cold water and stood by the cooler sipping it, hoping he could clear out some of the conflicting and shamefully unprofessional thoughts that had invaded his head. 'Maybe I should dump this over my head... or down my pants!' It was impossible, in this situation, to not recall Missus Fortin's state of arousal the last time he'd examined her. Paul could only hope it was a fluke; that there had been some reason other than the exam which had caused her condition. Maybe she'd been with a lover just before, or was day dreaming about George Clooney. He didn't check his watch. Years of experience had imbued him with an internal sense of timing. He knew instinctively how long to wait before knocking on the exam room door. "Are you ready Missus Fortin?" he called through the closed door. "Yes," came the clearly affirmative reply in a most dubious tone. She was sitting on the end of the table with the sheet draped over her lap and knees, exactly as he'd expected. Doctor Rogers was working on delivering his most reassuring smile when he felt his face drop. Taking in the whole of his patient he was first surprised by the fact that she had chosen to don the examination gown. On the clothes tree beside the examination table hung a beautiful, large, white, lacy, brassiere. On the same hook, above the ornately decorated cups was a matching pair of equally ornate white panties. He could see that her skirt and blouse were hung beneath the underwear and the doctor froze. He felt the grabbing sensation in his groin but it was in the background to the turmoil in his brain. Every other woman patient he could recall had always been careful, some obsessively so, to keep their undergarments out of view. Missus Fortin had not only not hidden them she had made them impossible to ignore. He was so agape at the uniqueness of her immodesty that it took a second for the realization that she had unnecessarily stripped completely naked to emerge. 'How long was I standing there in the doorway? What kind of stupid expression was on my face?' There would never be answers for these questions. He recalled managing to force some kind of a smile as he returned from catatonia. "I need you to move up the table," he'd said and decided it was best to focus on the far wall rather than watch the thinly draped woman push her hands into the crunchy paper covered vinyl, wiggling her bum higher until only her feet were overhanging the end. "That's good, now just lay back for me," he'd instructed and put his hand behind her shoulders to help support her on the way down. The gown was very loosely tied and his hand was on her very warm extraordinarily soft skin. He looked into her beautiful wide green eyes and wished he could somehow be looking at her through a small window where only a small segment was visible at any time, but that wasn't the case. There was no way for his eyes to focus on her abdomen without scanning across her chest. Her breasts lolled to the outsides of her ribs and made their considerable size evident under the blue gown. The over washed cotton was thin enough that Paul could make out not only the texture of the pump nipple that capped each of the mounds, but he could actually make out that it was a darker color than the surrounding breast flesh. The visual input went directly to his balls and he mentally cursed his weakness. He had of course seen Sylvia topless more than once, but it was different then; before the paradigm shift brought about by her reaction during her last pelvic exam. In fact, recalling what her breasts looked like 'in the flesh' was the last thing he wanted to do right now. Not many people would compare hospital garb to lingerie but in some ways the thinly masked—the not quite revealed—was actually more erotic than nudity. "I'm just going to listen and poke around a little bit here," the doctor explained lifting the gown out from under the leg drape to expose Sylvia's tummy. "You let me know if you feel any discomfort... okay?" The inscrutable look in those glacial lake green eyes did not project permission it was more like resignation. Paul began his systematic palpation of the woman's midsection. There was comfort and calming for him in the routine. He found he could forget who he was examining and concentrate on the conditions he was looking for (and in a way hoping that he would find). Next he applied his stethoscope to the soft slightly doughy flesh listening to bowel and digestive tract sounds. When he completed the process he paused, the disc of his stethoscope in his hand hovering just above Sylvia's cute little button navel. If he'd found an inflammation of one of the abdominal organs or any tenderness he could have considered the physical examination complete and prescribed other diagnostic tests like an ultrasound perhaps. Such findings would have been inconsistent with his patient's reported symptoms, but there was always hope. The absence of findings during the upper abdominal exam left him no choice but to proceed to the lower abdominal and (oh God) the pelvic. The fact that his penis had returned to its flaccid state during the first part of the physical made its resurgence more noticeable. Restrained by his under shorts and slacks and hidden by the long medical coat Paul's member began its involuntary rise. What he had to do next was scary but (God forgive me!) thrilling. He pulled the gown back down covering her less private parts, in preparation for the most intimate exposure. Stepping to the end of the table he deployed the discreetly hidden stirrups. "Okay now I'm going to need you to scoot back down to the end of the table," he said as he placed Sylvia's heels in the cloth covered metal brackets one by one. The doctor took a deep breath and watched the paper covered end of the table, not his patient's approaching bare buttocks and vulva. In a couple of seconds the flesh and the table mat were in the same frame anyway. Paul felt the twitch of his dick as her butt was at the edge. He said nothing and let her make that one more scrunch, the one that had her actually overhanging the end of the table, before he said, "Okay that's good." It was impossible to not see that she hadn't reconsidered the Brazilian pubic hair style. The absence of hair only made the state of her sexual arousal more immediately noticeable. The pink flush and the moisture droplets on the labia would have been obscured to some extent by natural foliage but with the help of a razor and resolve of undetermined origin Missus Fortin had cleared away all protection. Normally he would have been running the possible conditions suggested by the symptoms through his head and planning his examination to confirm or eliminate them one at a time. As he snapped on the latex gloves all Doctor Rogers could think about was the beauty of the dewy blossoming flower of femininity less than four feet away, and the way his dick was now not only fully erect, but throbbing. Twenty years of trainng and experience was in conflict with many thousand years of evolution and it didn't seem like a fair fight. "A couple of deep breaths... in... and ... out," Paul was trying to follow his own advice because his breath had gotten quite short. "That's it in... and... out..." he spoke at the pace she should be breathing. Missus Fortin had closed her eyes and was conscientiously following orders. Paul, looking toward his patient's face again could not avoid seeing the rise and fall of her boobs under the gown. The bumps that defined her nipples had become larger, more pronounced and he wondered if the deep breathing was actually causing the cotton gown to rub on them. The sight was turning the throb in his groin to an ache. "Okay now hold that breath for a second," the doctor standing at the foot of the table between her spread thighs instructed; "when I tell you I want you to let it all out nice and slowly." Paul looked down at the engorged vulva. He had to. Holding back his baby and his ring finger with his thumb, his middle finger contacted Sylvia's pouting wet inner lips just where they overlapped slightly. He knew what it would feel like, hot and very slippery, the latex slightly masking the velvety smoothness. Making a back and forth motion to separate her folds he said, "now—let it all out." As Missus Fortin exhaled the doctor pushed his two fingers against her posterior vaginal wall and slid them deep inside the widow's flooded tunnel. Paul was careful to keep his wrist abducted as he took his patient's cervix between his fingers. He didn't need to be looking down to ensure that he was on target anymore, but he was. What he saw was the prone woman's rosy inner labia wrapped around his yellowish looking gloved fingers and above that the pink peanut of her clitoris poking almost straight out. There was a vibration, like a rumble from her core, which accompanied the air exiting her lungs. Paul would later realize that it was the longest quietest moan that he had ever heard. It was not unusual at this point for the patient to pull away—to push hard against the stirrups in a reflexive attempt to escape the penetration. It was something of a surprise when Sylvia's hips did the opposite. They thrust toward his exploring hand. Because it was unexpected, Doctor Rogers was a little chagrined to realize that his wrist was not abducted enough. The downward movement of her hips eliminated his wrist cock and brought her girl-cock into firm contact with the heel of his hand. The firm nubbin was large enough to make its presence known even through the glove. Perhaps if he hadn't been distracted by his own arousal he might have reacted faster and stopped the illicit contact. His brain was too busy trying to retrieve the sensory data on what her cervix should feel like while not acknowledging how wonderful her pussy felt wrapped around his fingers. The delay in his reaction (or maybe retraction) allowed Sylvia to make several quick gyrations against the doctor's hand. Accompanying the quick rotary action was a series of soft yelps syncopated by grunts. It wasn't as though he had no choice. He could have pulled his hand away from the pre-orgasmic woman writhing on his table. Maybe that's what he should have done, but that's not what he did. The doctor pressed his thumb against the root of his patient's clitoris while she continued to thrust and gyrate against his palm. He accompanied this with a rhythmical in and out motion of his two fingers before adding a third. Doctor Rogers now immersed himself in the sensory input he'd been trying to block a moment ago. The sensation of pressure from velvety slick walls tightening on his fingers was transmitted directly to his pulsing manhood. The urge to stroke his aching rod was irresistible but it was delayed by Missus Fortin's high pitched breathy squeal. Her pelvis was more than a couple of inches off the table. She held the arch during what the doctor had no trouble diagnosing as an orgasm, and then her ass dropped back onto the table but continued to twitch in time with spasms he felt squeezing his fingers. Reluctantly Paul withdrew. It wasn't easy to get a grip. Doctor Rogers became only too well aware of how far out of hand this situation had gotten. How his professionalism had been consumed in the fire between Missus Fortin's legs. His gonads felt like bowling balls and his cock was jerking painfully against its confinement demanding his undivided attention. Before he could do that he had to excuse himself. "When you're dressed I'd like you to come to my office so we can discuss my findings," he announced as he exited the small examination room and made a B-line for his office and its adjoining private washroom. Sylvia Fortin heard the Doctor Rogers say something but she would never know what it was. She was soaring on a cloud without a number but she was convinced it would be higher than nine if she ever found it. She knew that shame and self-loathing would come later but right now she resisted being distracted from the warmth and tranquility she was feeling. The bliss was short lived but a measure of the peaceful floating feeling made her feel sleepy. Memories swirled in that twilight zone. Her dearly departed mother's image hovered then sharpened. Sylvia had always been a respectful and obedient child, always anxious to please adults most particularly her mother, whom she idolized. In the misty day dream she saw herself. She was young, maybe six or seven; thirty-five years ago but as painful as the day it happened. She got home from school and went to her room to change. Earlier in the day she'd overheard older girls in the school yard giggling about touching themselves. Young Sylvia's curiosity was aroused if the older girls were doing it then it must be something worth trying. She'd barely gotten her pants off and begun to explore when her mother came in. It was the one and only time in her life that she had ever been spanked. To say her mother went ballistic would be a massive understatement. A Hysterical Widow Sylvia cried so hard that she only heard about a quarter of her mother's tirade. For the next week her mother nattered at her at every opportunity what a filth nasty thing that was to do. It should come as no surprise that she was never temped to try masturbation again. After about a week the subject was dropped but Sylvia had the nagging sensation of being watched (even in the privacy of her room) from then, virtually until she left home for college. On the occasion of her first period her mother was forced to go through the birds and the bees story. As a new teenager Sylvia was never sure who was more uncomfortable during that chat. Her religious upbringing had already instilled the concept that sex was only condoned between a husband and wife within the confines of holy matrimony. She married young with no experience whatsoever. A life of sexual tragedy was averted by the fact that her husband (an upper classman she met in college) had sewn more than his share of wild oats. Although he was vague to the end about his sordid past, Sylvia had to conclude he'd had some remarkable teachers based on his skill and talent in the bedroom. Everything was just as it was supposed to be. As an added bonus even after forty John Fortin had the appetite of a teenager, often daily wasn't enough. Sylvia was more than happy (enraptured actually) to oblige. Then fate stepped in. The rollercoaster day dream dissolved into acrid remorse. For now her dearly departed husband was the reason for the tears on her cheeks as she dressed. Later, that night, the embarrassment of having so wantonly displayed her sexuality to the only other man to have ever touched her intimately would cause her to cry herself to sleep. Paul Rogers pushed the office door closed behind him and closed and locked the door to his private bathroom before bringing his still gloved right hand to his nose. His knees buckled and he found himself sitting on the closed commode lid. Eyes closed with images of Sylvia Fortin floating in his mind his olfactory was treated to the real and still quite fresh scent of her. Rubbing his thumb against the slipperiness of his three fingers he almost put them in his mouth but stopped as another use of her fresh juices occurred. Lowering his zipper with his latex covered left hand wasn't hard, but extricating his fully engorged member with one hand was not only challenging, but a little painful. Still the need that had nearly persuaded him to perform the feat between his patient's stirrup supported legs was more powerful and urgent than ever. Doctor Rogers felt a surge in his ball sack as his cock was finally free. Wasting no time he smeared Missus Fortin's natural lubrication over and around and under the head of his bone hard manhood. Seamlessly switching hands, he began to rhythmically stroke his member, while inserting his fingers and their residual coating on in his mouth. Sucking on his rubber covered fingers like a child with a soother; pulling on his dick with images of Sylvia's ripe and ready pussy emblazoned on the insides of his eyelids, it took less than a minute. Doctor Rogers felt the tingling heat wave rising from below his knees. When it reached the level of his nuts they contracted and contributed their contents to the rope of white that spewed from the purple head of his cock. Grunting several times he finished the job with his dominant and now saliva coated right hand. Doctor Rogers took a sip of his coffee and was surprised that it was still piping hot. It seemed like many minutes; maybe even an hour had passed since he'd sat down at his desk. The tightness in his stomach had a sickly feel to it. His masturbation transgression he should have told him to recuse himself from Missus Fortin's case but while he was cleaning up his little bathroom after her last appointment he had actually found an excuse for his behavior. He wrote on her chart his tentative diagnosis... Hysteria. He'd comforted himself that it was the most commonly diagnosed female ailment prior to the fifties and was treated not much differently than what he'd just done. Women with the malady were treated by the doctor, or more often a surrogate, inducing Paroxysm. The wisdom of those days stated emphatically that women were incapable of real sexual pleasure or orgasm. He recalled the snickers and juvenile comments when the subject was covered in his first year of pre-med. His reading on the subject was limited but he remembered wondering why doctors found such a pleasurable activity a burden. He also wondered how many had resorted to using the equipment God intended for the purpose. As his studies progressed he was gradually able to understand how the detachment was achieved and was able to accomplish it himself quite consistently and satisfactorily—until very lately. The morning was a blur; for that Paul was actually ashamed. Fortunately there was nothing very complicated or demanding to deal with but, all the same, those patients really had deserved more of his attention. The doctor simply couldn't get the one scheduled before lunch out of his mind. He saw her across the waiting room when he picked up the folder laid on the counter. His heart and his dick both twitched noticeably after he called her name and she stood up. She looked stunning in the black and white print dress. Setting the magazine she'd been holding on the cluttered little table she started walking toward him but kept her eyes on the floor just a few feet in front of her. Her head was still down when he swung the exam room door open and stood aside allowing her to enter. Tucking her skirt underneath her she sat on the side chair but was now clearly avoiding eye contact. Seeing her looking down and wringing her hands nervously caused Paul's well developed sense of compassion to momentarily squelch his libido. 'If she just didn't smell so damn good,' he said to himself, having caught a whiff of her clean soapy fragrance when she'd entered the examination room. The next thing he knew his balls were in a vise because the 'other' scent of her. The one only he and her dead husband had had the privilege of enjoying invaded his mind. "You didn't come to my office after your last appointment to discuss the examination findings." The statement caused Sylvia to look up and meet her doctor's gaze for the first time. What Paul saw in the crystal green eyes was confusion. "Perhaps you didn't hear me," the doctor excused the omission but would have been fascinated to hear her explanation as to why she had left without any resolution of the reason she'd scheduled the appointment in the first place. He hadn't come to the realization that his assumption was faulty and that she would have been as loathe to reveal the reason for her previous appointment as she was ashamed to be truthful about the reason for this one. When she'd made the fateful appointment that now weighed on both of their minds she had not allowed herself to think about how Doctor Rogers could help her. She barely had the courage to admit to herself that her problem was horniness. Traumatized by her mother when it came to self-pleasuring and now deprived of the satisfaction marriage had provided, Sylvia found herself in an awful quandary. With a hope and a prayer she'd made the appointment. Hoping she would find a way to tell the doctor her real problem and praying that he had some idea how to deal with it. Her hopes were dashed within the first couple of minutes. She didn't find the words—at least not ones she was prepared to say. She'd answered the doctor's questions as honestly as she could. He didn't ask about her sexual function or desires and she found it impossible to steer the conversation in that direction. When Doctor Rogers said that he'd 'like to'—yes, he said like to—examine her Sylvia felt a powerful twitch in her pussy. She didn't even know how her brain could have processed the language that fast. She'd cried herself to sleep that night thinking how pathetic it was to strip unnecessarily naked, to put her underwear on display hoping to communicate her needs to the doctor without words. It was truly the definition of crazy that she was here doing the same thing expecting a different result, but God has a special place in his heart for crazy people (otherwise he wouldn't have made so may of them) and pays extra attention to their prayers. There was no mystery as to why she hadn't heard the doctor instruct her to meet with him in his office. What was troubling her at that moment was what excuse she could offer, since the truth was too embarrassing. The second part of the question was what was it that Doctor Rogers wanted to discuss that had turned out not to be important enough to call her back. "B—but you didn't find anything... did you?" "The examination wasn't, uh... conclusive, but it did give me the basis for a theory," Paul explained to his nervous patient. Holding her gaze he was carefully observing the reaction when he added, "I'd like to do another, uh more thorough examination to, um... test my hypothesis." The use of the words—'I'd like to'—was very deliberate and intended this time. The change in her expression when he mentioned another physical was nearly all the proof he needed. Already tense Sylvia jerked and gasped but what Paul saw was the change in her eyes. He knew that look and what it meant in a non professional setting. Her needy, hopeful yet apprehensive expression tightened the knot in his groin. "Would you let me examine you again, uh head to toe?" the doctor clarified what he was asking since he had yet to get a definite answer. The biting of the lip that preceded her affirmative nod spoke volumes. "Good," he felt her body heat through the silk dress when he placed his hand on her shoulder as he rose from his chair. "Take everything off for me and I'll be back in a few moments." It wasn't intentional that the words came out in a whisper but it was appropriate to what he was intending. Once again his long white coat concealed the evidence of his condition as he left the room. Sylvia reached behind her neck to release the hook and start the zipper down. By the time she'd shrugged the black and white silk print dress off her arms she could already feel her skin tingling. Hanging the dress on the clothes tree left her in the mauve lace bra and panty set that had been her late husband's last Christmas gift. John was a connoisseur of sexy lingerie so Sylvia had drawers and closets full of it. She wouldn't have denied that wearing the seductive under things had an effect on her as well. She lowered the shoulder straps and peeled the lacy 'D' cups off her breasts. They hadn't ever been really perky. They were too large and heavy for that but Sylvia was proud that they had retained their the upsweep which caused her thimble sized nipples to point forward as they projected out of the drink coaster size areolas. The tender dugs, of which she was very conscious, felt like they each contained an irritated bumble bee. The tingly buzz seemed to intensify as the cool air stiffened the ruddy pegs even more. Spinning the back strap around she was able to easily release the four tiny hooks and hang the pale purple lace cups by their shoulder strap from the clothes tree hook. The widow felt a warm rush in her crotch as she hooked her thumbs in the waistband of the 'boy shorts' style panties. She had not quite become accustomed to the lack of pubic hair and so was conscious of the movement of her underwear being peeled off her mons. Once again exposure to the cooler air of the examination room only accentuated and magnified the heat she felt. The now naked woman was aware that she was able to feel her pulse between her legs. A moment later, after slipping her arms into the washed-out blue gown and tying the string behind her neck, she used the step up to sit on the end of the crunchy paper covered table. Laying the equally over-laundered sheet across her lap Sylvia Fortin found herself without any distraction to keep her mind from reviewing the past events in Doctor Rogers' office; anticipating or dreading what would happen today, she wasn't sure which. Might she get the release that she so desperately needed or would she be left in the lurch, like when she'd come for her annual. That's where this had all started... where the ill developed idea came from—the conundrum was really a communication problem. 'Why do I have to be so shy and prudish? He's my doctor... I should be able to confide in him, but...' The soft tapping on the door took her thoughts and her breath away. "Are you ready Missus Fortin?" "Uh-huh... uh, yes," she struggled to answer having to clear her throat first. She wished there was a similar procedure to clear one's mind and any process, simple or not, to clear a conscience. Paul had prepared himself for what he would see on entering the room but it still caused his nuts to twitch. The morning of inattention to other patients was spent rationalizing the next few minutes of his career (which he hoped did not turn out to be the last few minutes of his career). Doctor Rogers was a man of commitment. He had made his decision using clear and logical reasoning. Now he would proceed with his course of action despite the perils. If he was right the outcome would be very mutually beneficial... and if he was wrong—well let's not go there. The doctor crossed the room with his most comforting smile pasted over the lust he was feeling. "Move up the table and lie back for me if you would," he requested gripping his patient's soft upper arm to help her wiggle her way back until she could fully stretch-out. It sounded like presents being unwrapped on Christmas morning the way sanitary table cover crunched and crinkled until Sylvia was finally on her back on the examination table. Paul Rogers looked deeply into the nervous green eyes of his patient searching for some sign that would verify his assumptions; it was too much to hope for. What he saw was more or less the same look that had come over her face when he made the suggestion to poke and prod her naked body once again. Paul read the look as nervous but willing excitement. Of course he could be wrong... it wouldn't be the first time. "I need to lower your gown... okay?" the doctor asked slowly reaching for the single tie behind his patient's neck. His fingers located the neat little bow and he hesitated but soon resolved that Missus Fortin regarded the question as rhetorical. The knot slipped out easily and he gripped the drape over her shoulders and tugged it down very slowly forcing his eyes to stay on her face. He saw the blush rise up from her neck and the tightening of a grimace around her mouth. She had closed her eyes so that reflection of her mental state was temporarily out of his view. He wasn't thinking about the beauty of her face it just seemed to naturally saturate his visual senses. As her chest was progressively exposed Paul saw the tension increase. By the time he'd drawn the gown down so that the fold crossed the topless woman's abdomen just below her umbilicus his patient appeared to be gritting her teeth. Sylvia's eyes were still closed and the doctor allowed his gaze to descend over her clavicle to the upper swells of her breasts. He had seen them before but with a completely different mindset. Previously they had been disembodied glands to be examined for possible disease, now he allowed himself to see them as the sexual adornments they were most often regarded as. Their plump outward turned weightiness raised the level of tension between his legs to an ache. "I'm going to examine your breasts. Take some nice slow deep breaths," the doctor advised his patient. It was advise he was also giving himself. Reaching across Paul hefted the weight of her right boob with his left hand; piling the breast tissue up on top of his patient's ribs. The warm incredible suppleness of the flesh sent wondrous signals from his hand and fingers, up his arm. As soon as the sensations were received in his brain it sent a thunderbolt to his groin. Paul cleared his throat to cover the involuntary sound that escaped, unfortunately it caused the doctor to miss Missus Fortin's deep sigh. The nipple poking out of the nicely centered two inch areola was about the size of the very tip of his ring finger and a slightly darker shade of pink than the surrounding flesh. Right before his eyes it darkened and grew. Within a few seconds it was the size of the first joint of his finger and seemed to be still growing. Doctor Rogers tore his eyes away from the fascinating metamorphosis to glance at his patient's face. He was delighted to see that much of the tension was gone. Sylvia's jaw was a little slack and she appeared to be taking his advice about deep breathing. Scanning back from the lovely face, eyes closed mouth slightly open Paul knew that a moment of truth had arrived. He felt a measure of pride in the steadiness of his right hand when he reached out and gripped the insurgent peg, squeezing and twisting the firm but oh so sensitive flesh. A couple of small spasms rocked the prone woman's body and all the air went out of her in sigh that was trying to be a moan. Sylvia had applied her top teeth to her bottom lip to suppress any further vocalization of the pleasure she was feeling. "Is that okay?" Paul sought reassurance from his patient that she was not having a negative reaction to the very definite line that had just been crossed. "I imagine that they are very sensitive," he commented, continuing to manipulate the nipple in a very unmedical way. "Yesss..." came the reply that was so breathy that it was almost inaudible. Pulling and twisting the tip of his patient's right breast Doctor Rogers tried to stem the aching pulsations in his dick by pressing against the side of the examination table. It was debatable whether that made it better or worse. Moving his left hand from under the heavy tit flesh allowed him to grip both of Sylvia's nipples and pull upward with enough force to raise the bulk of her boob off her rib cage. The sound she made was a guttural growl that was nearly savage. Her body twitched several times more violently than before. Doctor Rogers was pleased and relieved that the potential for disaster was practically passed. "I'm going to do a pelvic exam now," he announced releasing Missus Fortin's now fully erect cherry red nipples and moving to the foot of the table. More quickly and firmly than usual, Paul lifted each of his patient's ankles into the stirrups. Then, without asking permission or assistance, he reached under the gown and grasped Sylvia's fleshy hips. The roll of sanitary paper at the head of the table paid-out and acted as a bearing between her body and the table. The doctor continued to pull her down until her butt was over the edge of the examination platform. It happened so quickly that Sylvia barely had time to realize what was happening. She had gone from the waves of intense pleasure the doctor had generated by squeezing and twisting her nipples to a flurry of activity that made her feel like a rag doll. Paul looked down and was thrilled to see the same very obvious signs of arousal that had made Missus Fortin's last appointment so challenging. The challenge stemmed from his need to abide by a code of professional conduct that he had decided to abandon on this occasion. The plump blush of the hairless vulva split by the deep crimson of the weeping gash mesmerized him for a few seconds. It wasn't hesitation. He wanted to savor the visual before proceeding. "I'm going to touch you now," he announced as he ran his fingers over the pouting lips of her sex. Sylvia's hips twitched and jerked as the doctor's fingers gently traced the fullness of her blossoming inner folds. A Hysterical Widow "You have an incredible amount of lubrication Missus Fortin." "Sylvia..." the prone woman croaked as though she was carrying a very heavy weight. "I think under the circumstances you should call me by my first name." Doctor Rogers smiled as he continued to 'examine' his patient's engorged outer genitalia. "I came to the conclusion after your last visit that you found the pelvic examination sexually arousing... is that right?" "Yes," the guttural growl went straight to his manhood while the satiny tactile sensation from his finger tips was like a vise on his balls. "I think the cause of your abdominal discomfort is a need for sexual release... like the one you experienced during your last exam." Doctor Rogers emphasized his theory by running his juice covered finger tip over the protruding peanut sized glans poking from under its hood. Sylvia wailed and strained against the stirrups. "Does my diagnosis make sense to you?" Paul asked as he slid three ungloved fingers deep into her flooded heat. The sound she made was an inarticulation but Paul decided it was an affirmative and began a rhythmic pumping action. With his left hand the doctor freed his aching manhood. Finger-fucking the gorgeous widow on his exam table while masturbating felt wonderful. There was only one thing that would make this better. Did he dare? It would be the absolute worst of professional misconduct—maybe it was even rape. Looking up at Sylvia's pleasure distorted face he saw her wide green eyes glued to his cock. Waving it slightly he thought he detected a nod. It might have simply been seeing what he wanted to see but suddenly there seemed no way to resist. Pushing his rod to the horizontal he replaced his dripping fingers with the tip of his pecker. Sylvia's eyes rolled back and Paul convinced himself that she whispered 'YES' as he slowly buried his meat inside her. Her hot slipperiness enveloped him and seemed to try to suck him back in when he retracted. With each long, heavenly stroke his ability to reason faded further and further. Soon the only thing in the world was the unbelievable sensation of fucking Missus Sylvia Fortin. Her moans and grunts were louder now. There was no reason to suppress them anymore. Paul felt as though an electrical fire started in his feet and roared up his legs at the speed of sound. His orgasm came up so suddenly that he was unprepared. Shaking and shuddering he felt his balls jerking as he pumped their contents into his heaving patient. Twice while he was buried deep inside, in fact the first time before he was all the way in, he'd felt her vaginal walls spasm. It wasn't absolute proof but it was quite likely that she had orgasmed both of those times. Now as his dick shot its last her pussy clamped down on him again harder than ever as if to squeeze out the last drop. Doctor Rogers wondered if his legs were going to continue to support him when he withdrew. His patient was making adorable little mewing sounds on the table but not moving at all. Wiping the combination of their body fluids off his wilting member he tossed the disposable towel into the waste receptacle. Weak in the knees Paul managed to get his wilted Willie back into his shorts and zipped up before he virtually collapsed into the chair beside the desk. He sat looking at his recovering patient and hope it wasn't his last patient. This level of professional misconduct would not get off with a sanction in fact he'd be lucky if he didn't wind up behind bars. Sylvia Fortin held his life in her hands. When her head turned toward him and he saw the smile on her face the relief washed over him with a force that rivaled his recent orgasm. "You owe me dinner... or at least lunch," she sighed with that just fucked look all over her pretty face. "Well it is lunch time, now that you mention it," the doctor agreed, getting up and lifting each of his patient's legs out of the supports. "Anywhere in particular you have in mind?" "My place," she said sitting up on the end of the table. "That was nice and all but I'd really like to see what we can do with a whole king sized bed to work with." THE END.