It’s finally the weekend, and I feel the elation of the freedom its leisure accords. I also feel that enough trust has grown between my lover and me for me to safely share my most secret, most potent fantasy with him. When he comes home from work, I’m already looking ravished, my tits pulled out of my bra, my short skirt pulled up above my waist and the scrap of panties pulled down to mid-thigh, sitting on the couch on a towel, playing with my aroused folds with sticky fingers. His jaw drops, liking what he sees.
“Sit down, honey, let’s talk.” We aren’t mind-readers, I spell out for him exactly what turns me on in a bare bones script for us to base our improvisation upon. For a man who thought he knew me well, for someone who has spanked me, and strapped me, and paddled me, and caned me, who had given me countless orgasms (and purposefully withheld many, the cruel bastard) who has French kissed my mouth and my pussy and my rosebud equally deeply, who has permission to fuck me in all those places anytime he desires, what I shyly relate is a revelation. But he couldn’t argue with the fact that, as I speak, my pussy blossoms and opens like a flower in the sunlight, that the dew that moistens my petals increases to a sap that flows out of my core. I could not get all the words out before imploding with an impromptu orgasm that wracked me convulsively. When it was through, I look up at him with tear-filled eyes, and he takes the hand that still trembled within me, extricates it from my sex, kisses my honey-coated digits with a smile on his lips before they are smeared with my juices.
“Let’s go to the bedroom and play out your little fantasy,” he said…
I’m naked. Sometimes I feel sexiest when dressed in flimsy-filmy lingerie, sometimes disheveled like I was on the couch with clothes pulled out of the way to bare my naughty bits. Other times, I like to wear only white sweat-socks, letting that little bit of clothing accentuate my naughty nudity. But for this, I must be nude from my nose to my toes, lying on my tummy on the bed. I feel sexy as all fuck.
I’m imagining that I’m laying my unclothed length on a doctor’s office examination table, but not imagining too hard. I don’t want it to be too authentic. I don’t want to be laying on that stiff, crinkly-noisy, antiseptically white paper covering of the table. Our bedspread, covered with that protective towel, is sexier. And just like many women fantasize about rape without wanting to really be raped, I’m thinking about the doctor, while knowing full well that it’s all play acting.
I’ve thought a lot about authority figures. Sometimes late at night under the cover of darkness, under the covers, with my fingers in my cookie jar. Father-figures are the natural first choice, but mine was Absent With Out Leave from an early age. Teachers are a likely second choice, and I hold many strict teacher/errant pupil fantasies. Being a goodie-goodie who was always drawn to being a rule-follower, the cop/outlaw fantasy was not as rich for me as for others. But I have always had a thing for doctors. There’s the sterility of their environs matched with my many schoolgirl decadently dirty dreams. They’re fully dressed while I’m in various stages of undress, most starkly as is the case right now, with my man dressed in wool trousers and matching vest. He’s formal and remote, in scratchy fabric, as cuddly as a cactus; I’m otter-like, sleek (with much of my body freshly shaved), frolicsome, smelling slightly of fishiness due to my terminally turned-on state. The incongruity turns me on all the more.
“Hello, Miss Williams,” he says as he unbuttons his shirt cuffs, rolls up his sleeves, scrubs his hands. As he dries them, his gaze goes from my eyes down my body and rest heavily on my upturned buttocks.
“Hello, Doctor,” I answer. “You may call me Jeanie… if you like…”
“Thank you, Jeanie,” and he smiles faintly, but now his eyes are on my chart on a clipboard. I want them back on me, and I wriggle my butt as if shaking off a fly. It works. His eyes are back on my most prominent feature. “Your mother tells me that you weren’t feeling well enough to go to school this morning…?”
“Oh, that… I was just… I feel better now.”
“It wasn’t related to your cycle? Is it that time of the month?”
“Oh, no, sir.”
“Your mother is concerned with how much school you’ve been missing. She asked me, in lieu of any father-figure, to take a hand in your proper upbringing. Let’s take your temperature…” He extracts from a glass, silver-topped cannister a thin glass thermometer. He expects me to open wide.
“Um, sir… I’m a gagger. I can’t stand anything under my tongue or in the back of my mouth… I’ve always…”
“Very well,” he cuts me off. He has a big jar of Vaseline in his left hand, has quickly popped off its blue lid, and he dips the silver-end of the thermometer into the goo.
I try to ask, “Are you going to…?” But I don’t have time and can’t seem to articulate anything anyway. Time suddenly slows to a crawl. I remember each second vividly, as if they are still-shots instead of a flowing movie. He has taken a big pinch of my left buttock. It’s a firm pinch, not meant to hurt, and he parts my cheeks wide. I gasp at the vulnerability I feel. His face is mere inches from my crack. I feel the Vaseline, not the instrument, touch my anus, rim me. It feels so nakedly wonderful, so sexual, I want to squeeze my thighs together, to maximize the electric current that is flowing there, but don’t dare because it would flex my gluteal muscles. I find myself breathing heavily, panting as I feel the cool slender thermometer enter my rectum, slide oh so slowly but oh so inexorably into me, up my butt. I find that my mouth is open, gaping open at the heavenly intrusion. I wish that I could reach underneath my hips to touch my achingly erect clitoris with a fingertip! Just one single touch I know would set off an orgasm. But I can’t do such a thing, not in front of the doctor. And even if I did, I’m afraid the climax would make my muscles tighten. I fear that I could shatter the glass tube deep up my ass into a million sharp shards, I fear that the mercury contents could enter me rectally, poisoning me. I simply try to hold my body still as my head explodes.
“Hold that there for a few moments, please,” the good doctor intones.
“Yes, Sir,” I try to reply. Only squeaks come from my throat. I guess that no one can fully explain what makes us tick sexually. Some people are vanilla as can be. For whatever reason, I’m kinky as fuck. But among the smorgasbord of things that turn me on, a thin glass (not plastic-digital), thermometer gets me going right away. It always has, since way before puberty. But now I’m well past that stage.
“You know… your mother asked me to spank you after the examination. She thinks you need it, need straightening out, need a man’s strong hand…”
My mind reels. As if the thermometer up my butt wasn’t mind-blowing enough, this doctor is casually talking about spanking me in a moment! I try not to betray that the conversation is driving me mad with lust. I spread my legs on the bed, afraid that any friction between my thighs will be the spark that ignites a conflagration in my sex. I feel the cream ooze out of me and am glad that I put the towel underneath my hips. I take a deep breath and ask, “Are you gonna…?”
“What, spank your cute bottom?”
He called it cute! I’m freaking the fuck out! As if this wasn’t already too much, the doctor takes the end of the thermometer, pulls it part way out, twirls it so that the tip tickles my anus deliriously, and pushes it back in. I look down at the bed, trying to keep my head from spinning. I am only able to nod my head in the affirmative.
“Do you think I ought to?”
The conversation alone is gonna make me climax. I want to scream, YES! at the top of my lungs. I swallow, try to breathe, answer by saying, “I don’t think I’m the one to answer that…”
“But you do find the idea erotic?”
I keep my eyes on the mattress as I nod emphatically.
“You think about getting spanked when you masturbate, don’t you?” His hand is back on the thermometer, twirling it some more.
I nod. My situation becomes beyond desperate. “What you’re doing… with the thermometer… I’m gonna cum… I’m afraid I’ll clench and break the glass…!”
His voice carries none of the desperation in mine. “I thought so… I’ve always suspected that you were submissive by nature. Which works out well because I’m a hard-wired Dominant.”
My brain was already spinning inside my skull, now my head spun around to look at this distinguished older man with fresh eyes. He returns my wide-eyed stare with a twinkle in his eye and another faint smile on his lips.
The doctor dispassionately puts his left hand on my left butt cheek, parts me wide, but keeps twirling that infernal, incredible thermometer up my ass. “Don’t worry,” he states softly, “…just go ahead and cum.” I spring my legs together like a bear trap and scissor them together, and am deluged in a tsunami of orgasmic climaxes. My vag creams in waves, my tummy flips somersaults; it’s one of the most satisfying orgasms of my life. First, it wasn’t self-induced, I was sharing sex with someone else, and not some geeky, inept boy. Second, this knowledgeable, experienced man was a Top. He was Topping me now in my check-up. He was going to Top me all afternoon, including giving me my first spanking that wasn’t solely for punishment. He was going to punish my deserving butt because we both hungered for it. I was going to get spanked as a young adult! I gave myself over to him, confident that I was in good hands.
When consciousness returns, I look over at the doctor. His bedside manner is this amazing combination of warm tone of voice used in a cool demeanor. He’s smiling slightly down at me. He twirls the tube up my tooter one last time and pulls it out. The thought crosses my mind that I wish I was a femme fatale, some ravishing woman with gravitas instead of a high school senior with a banging body. I wish my incomparable beauty inspired him to bury his face up my crack, seize the thermometer with his teeth, and wrench it out of my ass, holding it at that jaunty angle that FDR used to use with his cigarette holder. Instead of this bravura, he quietly says, “Time for your spanking.”
He helps me off the bed and across his knee. I love the feel of his scratchy wool trousers underneath me. I squirm until I feel his muscled thigh beneath my pubis. His right hand is wandering all over the curves of my bottom. The polished black and white tiled floor is just inches from my face, but I don’t see it. My entire focus is on his hand on my bared and proffered butt, on the shades of gray that comprise my thought process, why I find this ignominious position so erotic, why I’m wired the way I am. The doctor’s hand disappears for a split second before I feel lightning strike across my butt, hear the thunderclap of the first spank. The doctor’s bare hand spanks much more soundly than my mom’s wooden spoon, each wallop hurts incredibly. The spanking goes on much longer than my mother’s, and is more briskly administered. Every hard slap rocks me into his leg. Spankings have always turned me on, but this one literally rocks my world. It leaves me winded and gasping for air, hoarse from crying out, tear-streaked from crying. Most importantly, my butt is on fire and worn out, and my sex is smoldering again and hungry for attention.
I lie there, trying to catch my breath, wiping away the tears with the back of my hand. There’s nothing I can do about the other matters, or so I think. I catch sight of the doctor with a sidelong glance. He looks as randy as I feel. I rotate my ass and sense that he has an erection that’s throbbing inside those tweedy trousers.
“I want to see how you masturbate,” the doctor whispers.
I think to myself, Right here? Don’t you want me to lie on the bed? I think about how wet I’ll get his leg, but when I touch myself with my right hand’s fingertips, I realize that it’s too late. My jism has drenched his pants leg. I part myself and touch my pussy like I like it.
“Where’s that Vaseline jar?” I say to the floor. He reaches for it, opens its lid. I gouge out a gob with the pinkie finger of my left hand and re-anoint the tight hole that the thermometer had visited. Touching both spots at once drive me insane. Soon I’m bucking about on his knee, finger-fucking both places. I never forgot for a second that he was watching me, but instead of inhibiting me, it inspired me. He’d given me that red hot ass, now I waggled it in his face, arched it up at him. It didn’t take long. “I’m gonna cum,” I said as I always do when the rumbles inside me start.
The doctor gives my bouncing bottom one last smart spank and I’m off. My body gyrates violently as though jolts of electricity are pulsing through me, but outer appearances are nothing compared to what’s going on inside me. The orgasm exhausts me. I am empty, sated, replete. Or so I thought.
He scoops me up in his arms. My sex is humming, my bottom is burning, my rosebud is glowing. I know that I’m sweating, but I feel radiant, gorgeous. His face is inches from mine, smiling at me like I’m the only woman in the world. “Good girl,” he intimates. I don’t have time to smile my appreciation for this highest of all compliments, he kisses my parched mouth. It’s a long, deep kiss. You would’ve thought that it contained helium because I’m suddenly floating. He puts me on the bed and kisses me some more. Then he’s nuzzling behind my ear, my neck, kissing my collarbone and left nipple. He kisses his way down my tummy, causing flocks of butterflies to take flight. He kisses my jism-soaked muff and inner thigh, then turns me over. He covers my bubble-butt with busses, down the crack, across the undercurve, then delving down deep into my crack, kissing me full on the rosebud. I sigh and arch up, wanting more, wanting nothing more than for this to continue forever. I was not prepared for what followed.
My eyes were closed, my whole being rapt in what the doctor was doing to me. He is now nuzzling his face across my butt cheeks. They still sting, but in a way that made me feel more fully alive than ever before. I feel his nose and cheekbones nudge me, feel his mustache tickle, mostly feel that mouth kiss me all over both orbs. Then, without warning, a heavenly kiss evolved into a sharp pain including the use of teeth.
“You bit me!” I howl and reach back to rub my screaming left buttock, sure that he’s broken the skin.
The doctor doesn’t look sorry, he looks possessed. “I had to. You have such a perfect round ass, round as an apple. I made it red and it only looked prettier. It just looked too delicious not to bite.”
I cannot believe it. I just rub the intense pain that won’t go away. Then it dawns on me that this cool professional is as passionate about my butt as I’ve always dreamed a man could be. He has that bravura I thought about earlier. He also has an answer for everything.
“I’ll have teeth marks there for a week!”
“What if my mother sees?”
“You better not let her. That means you’ll have to be a good girl so as not to earn a spanking from her…”
“I’m not sure I can do that!”
“When she comes back to my office from her shopping trip, I’ll tell her that I want to see you two weeks from today to give you another good spanking. Two weeks from today I’m going to take your temperature rectally and spank you just as hard as I did today, and maybe bite your other butt cheek.”
“You’ve got this all figured out, don’t you?”
He nodded, then added, “And as you masturbate, I’m going to insert this finger up your tight anus, instead of your pinkie…” He held up his middle finger like he was flipping me off. I never saw a gesture so romantic. I longed for that finger to touch me there, where I never before dreamed of someone touching. I want him to defile me. As much as that bite hurts, I want him to do it to me again. Two weeks seems like a fuck of a long time to wait.
All I could do was nod and answer, “Yes, Sir.”
“If you do make a mistake and let your mother see your bruised butt, tell her it was an impertinent, mischievous boy… because it was.” And his eyes sparkled.
“You’re so bad…” I said admiringly.
“But if you do get caught, I will not spank you, or let you masturbate, or finger you, or kiss you, or bite your butt. You decide what you want to do. Now, we better clean ourselves up, your mother will be back soon.”
The doctor started to change slacks to a fresh pair he kept in the office. When he’d taken off the pair soiled with my arousal, I noticed the erection sticking out profoundly. I’m still naked, mesmerized, watching this handsome man move. I got on my knees.
“Please let me suck you off! Let me please you…?”
He took me by the arms and pulled me upright, then kissed me. “As a senior in high school, you’re not legal, yet.”
“Yes I am! I got held-back in the second grade!”
“I know, I saw it on your chart. I just want to train you,” he said and kissed me again. “If you’re a good girl, and come every two weeks for our appointment, I will not only have trained you to be more obedient, but I will have trained your little butt hole to accept something bigger than any finger…”
I dropped character and kissed my lover enthusiastically.
“That was the best role-playing we’ve ever had! You biting me on the butt was inspired!”
My lover just smiled. If I were a more generous girlfriend, I would have made good on my offer to suck his dick. But I needed him inside me. I wanted to make love in the old-fashioned missionary position so that I could look deeply into his eyes and kiss him throughout our fuck. I yanked his briefs down and guided him into my ever-so-wet pussy. Because he didn’t gravitate to it immediately on his own, I put his hand on my ass, and my lover’s middle finger found its way into my butt crack and into my rosebud on its own.
“That’s nice,” I understated with a sigh, as he impaled me fore and aft with his two appendages. “Just remember, I’m forever that schoolgirl fixated with a thermometer in my bum…”
My lover stopped fucking and pulled his finger out of my grip. I was crestfallen until I saw him reach for the props we’d used in our scenario.
“We’re gonna keep these right by the bedside from now on,” he declared as he dug the thermometer into the jar of petroleum jelly. I didn’t want to make it a big production, I was sorry that our love-making had ground to a halt. But I did want that little glass instrument up my butt! With one hand I parted my big buttocks wide apart. With the other, I guided my lover’s hand. I was pleased with myself that without either of us looking, I found the small, sweet spot with the first try. A perfect pinpoint landing.
“That’s it, you’re there, just push it in… slowly…”
But he didn’t. He played, toying with me, driving me mental. He edged me with the gooey tip. He put the thin glass into me a divine inch, then pulled it out half an inch. In a little deeper, then half way out again, over and over and over. I swooned, so completely in love with him, with life, with our sex life.
“Promise me you’ll be sure to take it out whenever I cum,” I pleaded. He knew without asking that I would warn him of that immanent occurrence.
It didn’t take long. He played at my backdoor, realizing my most potent fantasy, as he fucked my pussy roughly. Every orgasm took more starch out of me, until I was limp.
My secret was out. My lover didn’t make me feel indulged by realizing my unusual kink. I loved that he wanted to keep all the tell-tale accessories handy for frequent use, for anyone who visits our boudoir to see. (We live in an architectural showplace, so visitors throughout our home are commonplace.) I envisioned a future stretching out ahead of us where my lover would spank me, “take my temperature” and fuck all my orifices. I knew that in the near future, he’d initiate another role-play where I might get my other butt cheek bitten, along with other delicious indignities. I couldn’t feel happier about it all at that moment.
What I didn’t know was that in a matter of a few days, my lover would suggest that we “open” our relationship, so that he could guiltlessly fuck a prettier, younger version of my submissive self. A lot of tears have flowed since that time; I’ll let a lover beat my backside hard, defile and debase me with all manner of dirty deeds, but never disrespect me. I’ve moved out of that showplace, back to my humble, dingy apartment on the other side of town. It’s my nature to be reflective. I’ve thought a lot about all this. I vividly remember feeling like a freak because I fantasized about being spanked. It took kissing a lot of frogs before finding a Dominant with whom I resonated. In a spirit of deepening that relationship, I shared this, my most secret kink. I wonder now if it’s ever worth it. My puritanical-self gloats, says, “See? You weren’t meant to realize your fantasies! They’re supposed to be kept unfulfilled. That’s when they’re most potent.” It’s all left me feeling confused, alone, sad, frustrated. Through it all, however, I will never forget how resplendent and elated I felt for a few brief moments, once upon a time, when I bared my bubble-butt proudly, stuck it out to be punished wantonly, even parted it obscenely to be dealt with in depraved ways, when I was able to be Open and Out.