0 comments/ 11730 views/ 2 favorites Examination By: punster I enter the examination room, and am surprised to see you. "No offense... but you're not my regular doctor, and I wasn't expecting someone else for my physical." "Oh... I see. Ummm... let me check your chart. Hmmm... yes, I see... but your doctor isn't in today... there must have been a scheduling error. Would you like to reschedule?" "No, I'd hate to have to do that... it takes so long to find an opening that fits my schedule... I guess if you don't mind, I don't. It's not like you're not a doctor, right?" "Ha, ha... very funny. Go ahead and strip to your shorts, please, and we'll get started." I've stripped down so many times over the years that it doesn't bother me anymore, whether it's a male or female examining me. I know it has to happen, and it's clinical, so I just go with it. Sometimes I have wished it would be less clinical and more personal... but I know the doctors can't look at it that way, so I honor their attitude and try not to joke about things too much. I recognize that it's inappropriate. You are different, though... you don't start with the blood pressure and the pulse, as almost all the others do. You have me stand on the scale for weight, and ask my height, and then pick up an instrument from the counter and use it to look in my ears and in my mouth (anyone can say "say ah" after all) but I don't think much about your approach until you ask me to lie back. I do... and you start tapping my ankles, then my knees, then my elbows with the funny little rubber hammer that docs love... and then you start feeling my arms and legs asking me if anything hurts. Not only does it not hurt... your touch is somehow less clinical, less diagnostic... and more of a caress. You slide your fingers over my chest, and ask if I've had any heart issues. You slide your hands over my stomach and ask about indigestion... but your lingering touch is almost ticklish. You run a hand down one leg and up the other... and I'm sure I've never had this type of examination before... but it feels nice. "I've got to check your testicles" you say and without any time for me to say 'ok' even, you're pulling my shorts down. Most doctors don't actually take them off... so I'm surprised that you do. One hand is on my belly, just above my pubic hair, and the other gently cups my balls. As you lightly knead a testicle between your thumb and forefinger, your other hand is now in my pubic hair, and you seem to be enjoying this a bit more than I was ready for... and I'm obviously enjoying it, too, as I begin to show arousal. As you move from one testicle to the second, your free hand has moved to my rising member, and you take it in your hand and gently squeeze, as your other hand lightly cups both my balls. "I think you need the special examination" you say, and as you softly squeeze my penis into a full erection, I can only moan in response. You start to stroke me, very slowly... and without planning it I reach out a hand and place it on your butt, returning the caress as if I feel my doctor's ass all the time. Your touch is gentle, but increasing in the firmness of your grip a little at a time... and now I've grown to the fully erect state. You continue stroking me... slightly quicker, slightly more pressure, and soon there is wetness just at the tip of me... and without any comment you bend down and take me into your mouth! The warmth and wetness of you has me moaning louder now... and with each squeeze of my balls I can feel myself closer to bursting. I know you sense it too, as your rhythm slows ever so slightly... and I realize you're prolonging the action we both know is imminent. Your hand releases my balls and dances lower to my anus... and then you're inside me, probing deeply. Your mouth is rising and lowering on me, and your tongue is darting around the tip of me, and your finger is plunging into me, and then it's too much for me to resist, there is no holding back and I start to shudder, my hips lift off the exam table, and the motion pushes me deep into your mouth as my orgasm bursts forth, and I feel and hear you sucking on me as again and again I spurt into your throat... but you keep me inside your mouth as your hand milks me into you, and your finger slows its motion but stays plunged deep into my ass... and I am spent... It seems like ages pass before I feel you slowly remove your finger from me, and your tongue makes sure that all my cum is yours to keep. "Wow" I say, as soon as I can form words... "That WAS a special examination. I may have to schedule more appointments with you, Doc!" "Did I say I was a doctor?" you ask quietly, and I open my eyes to see your mischievous smile. "I just started working here... but you surprised me when you came in. I was kidding about your doctor not being here... I think you're supposed to be in the next room, actually... but as long as you were here... I thought I'd give you a check up." You walk to the door and reach for the handle. "You can get dressed now, I suppose... I'd say you're healthy... definitely healthy!" I didn't even get your name... Examination Desperation Note: The students in this story are at the end of their senior year of high school. They have all turned 18. All libraries are quiet. But today the library at Darlingdale Senior High School is especially quiet as the calculus students sit their university entrance exam. The long desks in front of the reception at which students normally sit to study have been cleared away and replaced with classroom desks spaced evenly apart. In the front row a young woman wearing the uniform plaid skirt and blue blazer is squirming in her chair. She raises her hand. Mrs Hope, the calculus teacher, rises from her seat behind the reception desk and approaches the girl. "What's wrong?" she whispers. "Can I please go to the toilet?" She crouches so that her head is level with the young woman's. "No. You were told before the exam that bathroom breaks wouldn't be allowed. You'll have to hold it." "Okay. I'm sorry." Mrs Hope returns to her seat. The young woman turns her attention back to the exam, but it soon wanders back to her full bladder. She looks up at the wall clock. Only twenty minutes into the exam. Two hours and forty minutes to go. She silently curses herself for drinking so much coffee this morning. But she needed the coffee to wake herself up. She didn't sleep at all last night, because she was so nervous about today's exam. Her entire future is riding on it. She silently chides herself for letting her thoughts wander. She resolves to get a good score on this test ― good enough to get her into the university of her choice, into the courses of her choice. Into the career of her choice. She refocuses on the exam, writing faster to make up for the lost time. She doesn't realise it, but she oozes desperation. She is sitting with her legs tightly crossed, biting her lower lip. Her foot is tapping on the carpeted floor. Her plastic chair creaks as she rocks back and forth. It's not long before she loses concentration again. Over the next few minutes she comes to realise that she's not going to get a good score on this test if she doesn't empty her bladder soon. It's too much of a distraction. She plucks up the courage to raise her hand again. Mrs Hope comes over. "What is it this time?" "I know you said no before, and please don't be angry with me, but I need to go to the loo. Can you please make an exception in my case? Please?" "No, I can't, I'm sorry. I'm bound by school policy. There's nothing I can do, I'm afraid. You should've gone before the exam." She shrugs her shoulders and returns to her desk. Bitch! the young woman thinks but doesn't say. She didn't go before the exam, because her car had trouble starting this morning and she only pulled into the school parking lot two minutes before commencement. She sighs. She now knows she's not going to get the score she was hoping for. She will have to be content with a pass. That is her new goal. And she sets about achieving it. Her brows furrow in concentration as she reads the questions and writes down the answers. Yet not twenty minutes later ― twenty minutes of crossing and uncrossing her legs, of blowing through puckered lips, of pressing her hand to her crotch, of shifting her position on her chair ― she raises her hand again. Mrs Hope comes over again, visibly annoyed. "Yes?" "Look, I have to go to the toilet. What happens if I just walk out and go?" "Then you will automatically fail." "Fail? Can't I arrange to take the test at some other time or something?" "No, you can't. I suggest you get back to work and stop distracting those around you with these interruptions. Uh! I don't want to hear any more from you!" "But Mrs Hope, I will fail the test anyway if I can't go." She is already walking away and doesn't respond. The young woman doesn't know what to do. She doesn't think she can hang on till the end of the exam, but even if she can, she doesn't think she'll pass, not with her bladder distracting her like this. One thing she does know is that she cannot fail this exam. She may or may not be able to hang on till the end, but if she walks out on this exam, she will definitely fail. And so she stays. She continues with her exam as best she can, though she frequently has to stop writing to concentrate on holding her bladder; continues for forty minutes. Then a tear runs down the young woman's cheek. A stream of pee hits her chair with a sound reminiscent of tap water running into a bucket. Owing to the quiet environment, everyone in the library can hear it. The stream continues for over a minute. During this time the young woman, in denial, keeps writing. But when the snickers start among those sitting near her, the reality of what she's done hits her. She runs out of the library, ignoring the increasing laughter, runs to her car, and drives home, not caring that she will fail her exam and not be able to go to university. When she arrives home, her mother, having heard the car pull up, stops her housecleaning and runs to meet her at the front door. "You're back early. How did it go?" She sees she is crying. "Are you all right, darling? What happened?" "Mum, I wet my pants! In class. I didn't finish my exam; I'm sorry!" "What? So what happens now? Do you take it another time?" "No, Mum. I automatically fail. I won't be able to get into uni." She cries harder. "Oh. And I suppose you now expect us to pay for you to repeat your senior year. Well, I can assure you that won't be happening. We gave you your chance, you blew it. Live with the consequences!" The young woman has stopped crying. She looks at her mother with an expression of growing bewilderment. "And another thing: if you want me to let you into this house, you're going to have to march straight to the place that used to be your naughty corner when you were little and sit there with your panties over your head until they dry out. If you're going to behave like a child, I'll treat you like one!" Speechless, the young woman hesitates only a moment before taking off her panties and pulling them over head. They are white and the material is see-through where it is wet. She positions them so that she can see through the leg openings. The centre of the wet patch is right under her nostrils. Her mother stands aside, and she makes her way to the naughty corner, thinking, One day, Mrs Hope, this'll be you! I swear it!