My Humiliation Story No. 4

Gemma Martinelli

Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2012 Gemma Martinelli

Smashwords Edition, License Notes
This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Contains Adult Material With Explicit Sexual References

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.


*****


Cross Examination

I needed to have a medical. A medical. It sends shivers down your spine. I was filled with dread at the mere thought of it. To have to attend some pervy doctor who's got older examining generation after generation of young women (and men). How can they say that they don't get turned on by it. I remember very vividly my [female] cousin telling me how a male doctor, seeing her for a medical, had her stand naked beside him. He told her to touch her nipples, then stretch out her arms to the sides. Over and over she had to do this. He also had her jumping up and down, while he asked her questions about her bra. She told me in confidence; I think she felt ashamed. As nothing “bad” happened, in other words the doctor never touched her inappropriately, despite the bizarre actions he had her perform, and he didn't pleasure himself - that we know of. So she decided to forget all about it and transferred to another practice.
If an important job opportunity didn't depend on me having a medical then I would not have gone ahead with it. I resolved that I would assume the doctor was to be trusted, that I would not worry - or show signs of worry, and that I would think about anything other than sex. For me, I find it hard to be starkers in front of anyone (especially if they are fully clothed) without becoming aroused. I vowed to be stronger. In essence, I decided to be positive. And that attitude paid off. I discovered that my examination would be carried out by a nurse practitioner who was vaguely known to my family. The nurse (N) had trained in London, had worked in a hospital and been a district nurse, for a while, before being lured into the private sector.
On the morning of the examination I had a bath and a shower. To be clear, I had a shower first and then a long soak in a perfumed bath. I wanted to make sure that I was as clean as I could be. I must admit that I did not know exactly what the medical would entail. Apart from the horror story told to me by my cousin, I had no idea. My mum didn't know either, and/or couldn't remember. “I think you get weighed and measured,” she said, “and prodded about a bit.”
I arrived early for my appointment, and sat in the waiting area looking at the out of date, niche publications that always find their way into the magazine racks. I wasn't convinced that I wanted to build a log cabin in Canada, but I thumbed through the magazine anyway.
After about ten minutes my name was called. N had arrived, without a sound, in the waiting area. She smiled and I felt reassured. I didn't know her, despite the family's knowledge of her. She had short, silver-grey hair, although her face retained attractive feminine qualities. She had steel coloured eyes that flashed and sparkled, desperate to be blue. She led me through to her room, which was down the end of a long corridor. In there I sat down while she confirmed a few details. I had to answer a few questions, sign something and that was the first part over with.
She told to to get undressed behind the screen and to put on the gown that was there. I was told to take everything off, which I did. The gown was a stiff, cottony affair; it could have been plastic. 
I told N when I was ready. She pulled the screen back and beckoned me to follow her. I had thought I would be sitting on the bed to be examined, but she opened the door and led me back out into the corridor. I was barefoot, and naked under the gown. N locked her door behind us, and reassured me that my clothes and valuables would be safe. I thought it slightly odd, but I followed her. We walked up the corridor a little way, in the direction of the waiting area. I knew that people could see me. How many of them, I wondered, would realise how close they were to my nudity.
N explained, and apologised for, the fact that we would have to use another room as the equipment in hers was not linked up properly. She unlocked the door in front of us, and we entered a perfectly normal looking room in the surgery.
There was a bed in there, and N told me to lie down and to get comfortable. She told me to undo the gown, so I unbuttoned it down the front. It flapped open as I climbed up onto the bed; N was busy at the desk. I pulled the gown closed over me and laid down. N came across to the bed, smiled and opened the gown up wide, exposing me. She looked, perhaps only for a couple of seconds, before returning to her desk. She told me to leave the gown open. It felt awkward, and, under the heat of the light above me, a bit like sunbathing nude knowing that the neighbours are watching.
N made a phone call, the subject of which I couldn't hear. Then she got one or two items out of a bright, white cupboard. She approached the bed and put whatever it was at the foot. She reached under the bed and swung up, and locked into place, a set of metal stirrups. She told me to put my feet into them. Then she took out a roll of white, fabric tape and bound my ankles to the stirrups. She told me it was that because so many women flinch during examination; it was safer for all concerned if I were restrained.
She asked me if I was warm enough. I said I was fine. She told me to lean up a little. As I did so she whipped the gown off of me, pulling it out from under me and off of my arms. I could feel the crisp coolness of the linen on the bed. She told me to lie back again and to put my arms up above my head; she told me to hold onto the rail in the bed head. With that she made a rudimentary examination of my breasts, the kind of feel you have of yourself when you're checking for growths. She told me to keep holding the bed. She then went behind the bed and, using some of the same fabric tape, bound my wrists together and them in turn to the bed. She looked very satisfied. Me with my legs in the air in stirrups, and my hands immobilised above my head. She told me that I had beautiful boobs.
Next, she left the room, but she didn't shut the door properly; I think it got stuck on the carpet. I could see through a gap that she had left. As the door when shut correctly offered sound proofing, I could hear the chatter, in the waiting area, a little way down from where I was. I began to sweat a little and, God help me, I could feel a welling up of juice between my legs. The more I tried not to think about it the more I did; and I began to have fantasies. Soon a little rock pool of liquid had formed in my horizontal labia, and I could smell again the hot, subtle fish of my sexuality.
N returned, bringing with her a male and a female; they looked like students. They both had white coats on, but the female was the only one with a stethoscope. N explained that, as I had signed a waiver, these were the students I had agreed could watch the examination. (Note: always, always read the small print).
The female just stood and watched, to begin with. From time to time she would place the stethoscope on different parts of my body and listen. She was also an avid note taker, retrieving and putting back a book into her deep pocket. N asked the male student to come closer. She explained to him “This is how we part the labia” and demonstrated opening me up. First of all, with two of her her fingers in a V shape, she massaged open my labia majora. She asked him to try, to show that he had understood. Then, with her fingers slipping a little, she opened my labia minora and described the various attributes of my vulva. She asked the male student questions, and asked him to point to parts as she named them.
N then explained to the female student that I had agreed to have a catheter fitted. N told the male student to open my lips and to clean me. Taking great care he swabbed my pussy. No sooner had he cleaned me than I became wet again. His smooth circular movements across me were turning me on. I relished my confinement. The female student got right in close and at one point joined in the cleaning process.
N, after cleaning her hands and putting on sterile gloves, opened a packet from the end of the bed. What I saw next was a long tube. She offered the tube towards my urethral opening and told both students to get in close again. The tube was pushed into me, gently but painfully it advanced up my body. I could see the female student's eyes; dark brown and open wide. Then I felt myself weeing, although it didn't feel like a normal wee; kind of involuntary. N said that the tube was now positioned correctly. She did some sort of pumping at her end of the tube, then taped it to my leg. She attached a bag to the other end of the tube and taped that to my leg as well. N then told me she wanted me to pee and not to be shy. 
Nothing would come! N asked the male student to get me a drink. He disappeared leaving the door open, but this time the gap was wider than earlier. Before he got back a miscellaneous patient walked past the door, then turned back and stopped to stare in at me. N and the female student didn't think about my dignity, allowing the man to gawp. There was I, naked and trussed up, bound to metal stirrups at my ankles and to a metal bed head at my wrists - and a tube coming out of my twot. The doctor called the man's name again and he went away.
The male student returned with a fruity drink in a large, translucent cup. N cranked the bed up at the back, sufficiently so that I could sit up to drink. My elbows felt some relief; I looked down to see my boobs. To my shame I saw that my nipples were as big as corks. I felt desperate that I should push against something. Usually when I feel that horny, after I've been masturbating myself in the shower, I love to push and drag my tits across the steamy bathroom wall. Tied to the bed for now, though, I thrust my chest upwards to try to make contact with something or someone. Appearing detached, N looked down at my vagina. She told me to drink up and to get pissing.
In the meantime, she carried out some inspections of my ears and my throat; I still felt discomfort down below. Then, my breasts still yearning, when N beckoned the male student in closer again, my right nipple touched his white coat. It was ecstasy. I couldn't believe my luck when N told him to “get right in there.” The gentle, butterfly kiss of the material saw me at the start of the familiar road to orgasm. I soon began to pant, rhythmically, and my pelvis began to move up and down as best it could. My feet made the stirrups shake, my clamminess making the tape, trying to hold them, less adhesive. Pretty soon the bed was squeaking. I knew, though, that I couldn’t get all the way without some help.
I was told to drink more; I could barely manage it. The male student was made to step away as N drew on my bare skin with a special medical marker. She drew a line from under my right breast, down past my navel through my pubes, and made the arrow head point to just above my clitoral hood. Then she drew a similar line starting from my left breast.
She told the female student to take off her coat. Remarkably that was all she was wearing - apart from the stethoscope, which she kept on. I hadn't noticed. I couldn't see her bare legs from where I was tied, and I never thought to look down. The female student had beautifully shaped boobs and mouth watering, temptingly chocolate coloured areloae. N told her to climb on the bed on top of me facing my pussy. She was naked. The stethoscope she wore was cold to begin with; it hung there like a weird tail or penis. Her cute butt was facing me and she knelt over me. Her cunt looked perfect. N told her to lick my tube. She forced her to lick from my urethral opening, down the tube to the bag, and back again. 
N took her glove off and put another, clean one on. While doing so, while pushing her fingers deep into the glove, she told me to suck the female student's foot. Her foot was duly offered to my mouth and I was made to suck on it. Her feet were so pretty, although her soles were dirty from having walked around the surgery, and maybe even outside. “Take it right in,” N ordered me. In and out her foot went, my tongue chasing after her little toes, sucking on them, licking between them; while up and down my catheter tube she licked. N started to tap on my clitoris, like they tap on your arm when they want to put a needle in. She told the male student to part the female student's buttocks, and I was made to look - the best I could, around and into her ring as he was made to massage her anal glands.
N stopped tapping, to my chargin, and came round to the other side of the bed. She grabbed the female student's other foot and placed it flat against my left boob. She put my nipple in between the female student's big toe and the one next to it. She forced her to tweak me while still licking my tube. The female student gripped my nipple like a koala bear holding a large twig.
N returned to tapping my clitoris; I could hardly breathe, and having to concentrate on sucking the female student's foot I knew that I wasn't going to be able to come. With N looking like she was displeased with me, it was then that I needed to pee. N stopped tapping and smiled as the urine started to flow. She undid the tube from the bag [strapped to my leg] and made the female student put the end of it in her mouth. I couldn't stop the pee so it went straight inside her; she drank me.
The male student was told to stop examining the female student's arse, and that he was dismissed, having passed his “test.” Annoyingly he left the door ajar again. I'd forgotten where the pee was going until the female student started to cough and splutter. I apologised to her, her foot having since flipped out of my mouth and her toes having stopped tweaking me.
N looked extremely pleased; the female student was told that she could get down and rinse her mouth out. She did so without getting dressed. I turned to watch her as she walked across the room. N told me that she would now remove the catheter. The feeling was a mixture of discomfort, sickness and joy; I was glad when the tube was finally out.
I was still bound there, though, while the other two were free around me. N told me that I had passed the medical and that she would be writing a report to that effect. The female student returned to the bed; we both looked embarrassed. She put her coat on again. I was sad to see her clothed. She was still barefoot (of course) and now that I knew that, I looked down at her as her insteps rose and fell as she walked; as her burgundy coloured nail varnish reflected class.
N said that she was going to take the female student back to her room, and that's where they left me, so that “I could relax,” still humiliated in that position, still a woman needing the debt of an orgasm to be paid. This time they shut the door properly. 
After a few minutes, although it could have been longer, the male student returned. He had two male friends with him who looked decidedly non medical. One looked like an estate the agent, the other like a sports teacher. I was told that N had asked him to untie me and to lead me back to her room, to retrieve to clothes. He told me that his friend (the “estate agent”) had never seen a real vagina before and so offered him mine. Pulling my lips apart appropriately, he pointed out all of the features and facilities that a woman had to offer. He then said that his friend hadn't seen a real fucking either, looking towards me as he produced a pale, violet coloured dildo from his coat. I could have said no, but I didn't. 
The male student lubed up the dildo, although it wasn't really required at that stage, and rogered me senseless; his two friends looked on. It felt like being in the hammock of a yacht being tossed around at sea, or travelling permanently round and round on the world's longest helter skelter, all the time being fucked. I have to say that his timing was perfect and I hope that he goes on to be a gynaecologist.
Having panted the last half dozen pants of my orgasm, and as I was beginning to yield a bit of a bondage glow, N returned to the room. She scolded the lads who left immediately, scurrying like frightened cats. She'd come in with my clothes and my belongings, to save me having to walk naked back to her room. She slowly untied me, comforting me like you might a sickly adolescent, mopping me down, my various emissions; efficiently and deliberately across the forehead, and more delicately elsewhere. I got off of the bed, and stood up by myself. I looked at the relief map of markings that the bondage tape had made around my wrists and ankles; I rubbed my fingertips over the uneven surface. N looked on as I dressed, then handed me an A4 brown envelope. “See you next year,” she said, before leaving.

###

If you liked this ebook then why not check out my other work:
http://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/gemmamartinelli

Special Offer!
Use coupon code FP56S to purchase my novel “Journeys In My Bare Feet” for a reduced price of $4.99, usual price $8.99. Valid until May 31st, 2012