Story: What the Doctor Ordered

(Just for info, this was originally written for a friend of mine who needed some distraction, I was happy to oblige)

The thermometer gave a quiet electronic beep.

He withdrew it, examined the display and frowned with just enough professional concern to make you suspicious.

“It seems you’re very hot.”



You watched him check the reading again. His expression remained perfectly composed, but something in his eyes betrayed him.

“I think we need to conduct a more thorough examination,” he continued. “Possibly take a more… accurate measurement.”



The pause before accurate was subtle. Deliberate.



“Could you remove the top half of your clothing, please?”

Your eyebrows rose.

He met your stare without flinching. “Would you like me to bring in a colleague, or are you comfortable continuing with me?”

There it was: an offered exit, presented in the same calm tone as everything else. You could have taken it.

You didn’t. Instead, you gave him a small, deliberate nod.

“Of course.”



He turned away while you undressed, granting you the pretence of privacy. When he faced you again, he had removed his white coat. He took his time rolling his shirtsleeves towards his elbows, first one and then the other, exposing the ink along his forearms.



“Please don’t mind the tattoos,” he said. “I got them while I was a student.”

You were fairly certain he knew you didn’t mind.

His attention moved over you with clinical patience.



“Would you prefer me to wear gloves? It is the patient’s choice, although I can make a more accurate evaluation without them.”



You shook your head. The decision was immediate.

His mouth threatened a smile.

“Excellent. Raise your arms to the sides for me.”



You obeyed.



“I’ll begin with your arms and sides, checking for areas of unusual heat. Then I’ll conduct a breast examination and a sensitivity test. It may take a little while, but it is all perfectly standard.”



You almost laughed.

Almost.



He placed the lightest touch against the inside of your wrists. One hand on either side, his fingertips travelled slowly along your arms towards your shoulders. The contact was so slight that every nerve strained to follow it.



“This may tickle,” he said. “It’s vital that you remain still.”

His fingers returned to your wrists and began again, slower this time, barely touching. You shifted despite yourself.

“Please remain still for the examination.”

The admonishment was quiet, but your body recognised the change in it.

His hands reached your shoulders and continued down, tracing the outer curves of your breasts without quite touching them, then following your sides towards your waist.



You moved again.

He stopped.

“If you cannot remain still, do I need to bring in another doctor to assist?”

The question hung between you.

“Or can you stay still while I continue?”

You steadied yourself and nodded.

“Good.” He cleared his throat, recovering his professional tone. “I’ll proceed.”



His fingertips resumed their measured path, travelling from the edges of your back to the soft skin beneath your breasts. Each pass followed the same route, but never at quite the same s***d. He made anticipation feel like part of the examination.



“Place your hands behind your head.”

You laced your fingers together and lifted your chin.

“I need to examine your breasts and perform a simple sensitivity test.”

He cupped them carefully, testing their weight before letting them settle into his palms. His thumbs remained still. For now.

“We do have a lot to work with today, don’t we?”

The smirk finally escaped.



He lifted them again, a little higher this time, his fingers applying just enough pressure to make you conscious of each one.

“This next step may be uncomfortable. Look into my eyes, please. I need to monitor your pupils throughout the test.”

You held his gaze.



Still supporting your breasts firmly, he began to circle his thumbs over your nipples. Slowly. Repeatedly. The clinical performance remained intact, but only just.

“Keep looking at me.”

His eyes moved between yours with cool concentration.



“You can feel that?”

You nodded.

“No numbness? No ***?”

You held his gaze. The answer was written plainly across your face.

His expression sharpened at your answer.

“Good. There is one final step before we move on. I’m afraid this may sting.”

He took your right nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

“Head up. Eyes on me. We need to check your *** response.”

You drew a careful breath.

“There are other patients beyond the curtain,” he added. “Please try not to make a sound.”



His fingers tightened gradually. Enough to sting, then enough to hurt. He watched your eyes rather than his hand, studying each involuntary reaction.

“That isn’t quite sufficient.”

The pressure increased.

“Be brave.”



You held his gaze and remained silent until he released you. The sudden rush of sensation was almost as sharp as the grip itself.

“Very good.”

His hand moved to your left breast.

“Once more. I may need a fuller response this time.”

He took your nipple in the same firm, initially ***less hold.

“Eyes on me throughout the procedure.”

The pressure began at a tolerable level. His professional mask slipped as he saw the first involuntary twitch cross your face.

“Shh.”

He tightened his grip.

“This will hurt. Be a brave girl and remain quiet for me.”

His fingers became a vice. Your eyes watered, blurring his face, but you refused to look away. A small, breathless sound escaped before you could stop it.

His smile told you he had heard.

He held you for several more seconds, long enough for the struggle to become the point, and then released you gently.

*** flared before slowly receding into heat.



“Excellent. You may lower your arms.”

He turned to the chart and made several notes, giving you time to breathe while pretending not to notice that you needed it.

“We have one final assessment: lung function. Then we are finished for now.”

He looked back at you.



“Are you all right? Would you like a moment, or are you happy to continue?”

Your answer was an eager nod.

“Very well. Open your mouth for me. There’s no need to say ah.”



You obeyed.



“Tongue forward—only slightly.”

He placed two fingers against your tongue and moved them slowly back and forth. At first he kept them shallow, exploring the shape of your mouth. Then each pass travelled a fraction deeper.

When your throat reacted, he stopped immediately and waited, fingers motionless on your tongue, until you had regained control.

“Good. That seems perfectly normal.”

He did not remove his hand.



“For the lung-function test, create a seal around my fingers and suck as firmly as you can while I move them. I’ll know you’re doing it correctly when I see your cheeks draw in.”

Your lips closed around him.

“That’s right. Maintain the pressure.”



His fingers moved in an unhurried rhythm. He no longer attempted to hide his smile as you followed his instructions. You had been told you no longer needed to hold his gaze, yet you continued to stare into his eyes.

“Very good,” he murmured. “That will make future examinations considerably easier.”

After several more measured passes, he withdrew his fingers and wiped them slowly across your cheek.

“If only all my patients were as…” He paused, considering the appropriate word. “Cooperative.”

The professional smile returned.



“Everything appears satisfactory. However, I would like to repeat the examination this evening. Quite late, I’m afraid. I’m working the night shift.”

He collected his coat but made no move to put it on.


“Would you be happy for me to return and examine you again?”

You looked at the thermometer still resting beside the bed.

Something told you the next reading would be higher.