Doctor's Secret, Virgin Fear

The sterile scent of antiseptic hung heavy in the air, a grim counterpoint to the rising heat in my own body. I’d always dreaded gynecologist appointments, a primal fear rooted in a childhood spent believing every touch was unwelcome. The thought of another man, even a professional, seeing my most intimate parts filled me with an irrational panic. But Steve, my husband, understood. He’d proposed accompanying me, a suggestion that simultaneously terrified and thrilled me. It was a strange intimacy, this shared discomfort, this shared vulnerability.

We arrived at Dr. Harding’s office, a small, unassuming building tucked away on a quiet side street. The nurse, a woman with tired eyes and a weary smile, gave us a curious glance when Steve stepped in with me. “Just need to sign in,” she said, her voice flat. I explained my anxiety, the need for a reassuring presence, and she nodded, a flicker of understanding in her gaze. The examination room was small, clinical, and oppressively bright. As the doctor, a tall, thin man with a detached air, entered, I felt a surge of both revulsion and something akin to anticipation.

Steve positioned himself beside the examining table, his gaze fixed on me, his presence a grounding force against the rising tide of my nervousness. He knew my aversion to strangers touching me, and his willingness to share this experience felt like an extension of our unique, intertwined desires. The doctor began the routine, a quick heart and lung check, a gentle palpation of my abdomen. Then came the breast exam, an uncomfortable but ultimately routine procedure. As he examined my left breast, Steve shifted closer, his hand resting lightly on my thigh. It was a silent reassurance, a tangible display of his support.

The dreaded vaginal exam loomed, a prospect that sent a shiver of both shame and excitement down my spine. I lay back, spreading my legs as instructed, the cold metal of the table pressing against my skin. Steve’s hand tightened around my thigh, a comforting weight against my fear. The doctor inserted the speculum, a sharp, cold sensation that made me flinch. He held it in place, his movements precise and professional, while Steve’s grip remained firm on my leg. The discomfort was amplified by his proximity, his presence a constant reminder of the intimacy we shared.

“Relax,” the doctor instructed, his voice neutral. “Just breathe.” But relaxation was a distant concept. The doctor then retrieved the pap smear swab, the metallic tang of the instrument a further assault on my senses. As he moved to collect the sample, I felt a wave of heat rising through my body. The vulnerability, the exposure, the shared experience with Steve, it was all building to a fever pitch.

Then came the awkward question, the one that ripped through the carefully constructed wall of professionalism. "I don't mean to make either of you uncomfortable, but have you had sexual relations in the past 24 hours?" My cheeks burned with embarrassment, but Steve, ever attentive, stepped forward, his gaze locking onto mine. He didn’t speak, but his presence, his unwavering focus, spoke volumes. He saw my discomfort, my arousal, and he responded with a silent acknowledgment of our shared desires.

“Yes,” he answered, his voice low and deliberate, as he stood a mere foot behind the doctor. He leaned slightly, his eyes tracing the contours of my closed labia. It wasn't a blatant stare, but a slow, deliberate assessment, a silent invitation to explore the boundaries of our shared intimacy. The doctor, seemingly oblivious, continued with the exam, but the unspoken tension in the room hung thick in the air.

I felt utterly exposed, vulnerable, yet strangely exhilarated. The shame of being naked, the fear of another man touching me, it all melted away in the face of Steve’s unwavering attention. The doctor removed the speculum, then inserted his fingers, feeling for any abnormalities in my uterus and ovaries. The sensation was uncomfortable, but Steve’s hand remained firmly on my thigh, offering a constant reassurance. He knew exactly what to do, how to comfort me, how to heighten the pleasure of this unusual experience.

“All finished,” the doctor announced, his voice devoid of emotion. “You can get dressed and meet the nurse out front.” As he turned to leave, I felt a surge of relief mingled with a potent wave of arousal. I looked at Steve, his eyes still locked on mine, a silent question hanging in the air. The examination room felt smaller now, the sterile environment less oppressive, the shared experience having transformed into something far more intense.

After the doctor’s departure, Steve unzipped his pants with a swift movement, pulling out his cock, which was already hard with anticipation. He gazed down at my pussy, spread open for his viewing pleasure, a mischievous glint in his eyes. The sight of his exposed member, so close to my own, sent a shiver of both embarrassment and delight through me.

“Sorry, baby,” he whispered, his voice husky with desire, “but I want to mark my spot again.” The shame of the previous night's encounter, the lingering remnants of semen, felt insignificant in the face of his renewed interest. He pulled back his foreskin, revealing the full extent of his arousal, and plunged into me, his movements both forceful and tender. I clamped my mouth shut, stifling a moan, as he unleashed his pent-up energy. The pleasure was intense, overwhelming, a primal release that left me breathless and trembling. The combination of the doctor's lubricant and his own seminal fluid created a slick, warm sensation that spread throughout my entire body.

As he continued to pleasure me, I felt a strange sense of empowerment, a feeling of control over my own body and desires. This wasn't a violation; it was an exploration, a shared indulgence. Steve’s grip tightened, pulling me closer, his breath hot against my skin. He didn't waste a drop, continuing to ejaculate directly into my mouth, coating my tongue with his precious fluid. It was a messy, chaotic, utterly satisfying experience.

Finally, he pulled away, panting, his body radiating heat. I lay there, naked and exposed, my body slick with moisture, feeling strangely vulnerable yet completely content. Steve helped me get dressed, pulling on my gown and adjusting it around my waist. As we met the nurse, his hand lingered on my thigh, a silent reminder of the shared intimacy we had just experienced.

Walking out of the office, I felt a mixture of embarrassment and exhilaration. The world seemed brighter, more vibrant, as if infused with a new sense of awareness. The memory of the doctor’s probing fingers, Steve’s watchful gaze, the shared pleasure of our unique encounter – it would undoubtedly linger in my mind for days to come. Looking back, I realized that this gynecologist appointment, far from being a source of anxiety, had become a turning point in my life, solidifying the bond between Steve and me, and awakening a hidden desire within my own body. And as I thought about the doctor ordering a speculum, I knew that Steve wouldn't let me forget this experience anytime soon.

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