My Very Naughty Doctor by J.C. Cummings
Susan hates going to the doctor… with a passion. She hates being made to undress and spread her legs for a man so that he can feel her most intimate recesses. She finds it humiliating, degrading, and dehumanizing. She can’t stand the feeling of a man having so much power and domination over her.
So when she needs a complete physical exam for an important new job, she arrives at the appointment already flustered. But when she finds out from her gorgeous doctor that there will be a group of young interns on hand to witness her exam — and participate in it — she realizes that she is about to undergo the most humiliating ordeal of her entire life.
And it turns out far worse than she ever could have imagined. It’s bad enough that a middle-aged woman such as herself should have to expose herself to her much younger doctor. But when one college-aged intern after another is allowed to grope, probe, and palpitate her in the most embarrassing ways, Susan is now moving to a whole new level of shame …
One that holds two life-changing surprises for her. One, courtesy of her wise and not-so-ethical doctor, and the other courtesy of her own unacknowledged desire!
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Description
Find more from this author on:
About the author:
So that’s how I became what I am. But I also must say that, in addition to the pleasure I get from writing stories, I get an absolute thrill from knowing that, somewhere in the world, someone like you is getting some pleasure and perhaps a bit of titillation from reading them. So I think I’ll be doing this for a long time to come!
What inspired you to write your book?
Medical erotica / doctor play is an erotica chart-topper that I happen to enjoy immensely! It’s unique in its combination of humiliation, domination/submission, and being felt intimately…
Here is a short sample from the book:
Okay, Susan, I’m going to insert the speculum now. Take nice deep breaths for me.
Argh! That was the type of unpleasantness that kept playing in my mind as I drove to my appointment for a physical with my gynecologist, Dr. Phelps. My stomach churned and my palms were growing sweatier by the minute.
Please undress completely.
Place your hands behind your head.
Lie back and place your feet in the stirrups.
Scoot down.
Now bear down for me.
God, I hate that! One would think that a woman nearing fifty like myself would be over this by now, for goodness’ sake. Well, I’m not. And, frankly, I have every reason not to be. First, I happen to be a very modest person who simply does not enjoy having men see me or touch in such a dehumanizing environment as a doctor’s office. It’s like they have complete power and domination over you. I mean, they snap their fingers and you have to take your clothes off for them. Then, after they get to squeeze and fondle your naked breasts, you have to lie there on your back with your legs apart so that they can shove their fingers up inside you… and you’re paying them! I can’t stand it – the whole humiliating ordeal.
Besides, when I was in middle school, I had a very traumatic experience. My sicko brother, Rich, one year younger than I am, drilled a hole in the wall from his bedroom into the shower. Then he would charge his friends money to let them watch me. I will never, ever forget the humiliation I endured when, one day, I heard them giggling and realized that these boys, whom I had to face every day in school thereafter, had seen me completely nude while I’d rubbed soap all over my body. The memory devastated me for years to come.
Furthermore, there was that five-years-long mistake of a marriage I shared with a man so addicted to the silicone-laden and airbrushed models in his girlie magazines and sex videos that my own decent but imperfect body was simply never enough for him – and a constant source of ridicule for me.
And finally there is the matter of Dr. Phelps himself. I started going to him because, although quite young, he is reputedly the best there is – especially in early cancer detection, which, sadly, runs rampant among the women in my family. I really have no choice but go to him, even though his bedside manner leaves quite a bit to be desired. He makes you wear these tiny paper gowns that barely cover anything. He always seems to leer at me. And he’s not the gentlest doctor in the world. When he examines my breasts, for example, he really squeezes the dickens out of them. And when he puts his fingers inside me, he puts them in pretty hard and, well, it’s uncomfortable.
So, no, I don’t enjoy it – not one single bit. Alas, today I had no choice. This physical was for a new job that I would be taking at the university as professor of microbiology. It was an important position so, medical phobia or not, I would have to go through with it. And what made this exam even more daunting is that, since Dr. Phelps’ office was being remodeled at the moment, he’d arranged to see me at the university itself, where he teaches as well. Somehow that struck me as even worse, though I couldn’t really say why.
So I confess that I was pretty much a basket case by the time I arrived. I was even shaking a little as I parked, when inside, and found my way upstairs to Room 347.
Stepping inside, I was surprised to see that room 347 was just an ordinary classroom … ordinary except for the fact that an exam room mockup had been set up in front – complete with changing screen, exam table, stirrups, and a bright light set up beside it. What, were there no real exam rooms available – at a medical school? What was going on here, I wondered.
“Good afternoon, Sue.”
I whirled around at the sound of the man’s voice. It was Dr. Phelps. He stepped inside and closed the door behind him.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” He smiled at me with that very handsome face of his. Yes, Dr. Phelps is quite the stunning man. Tall, muscular, fine features, and wind-tousled blonde hair.
As one would guess, this tends to make undressing for the man that much more awkward.
I blushed, then laughed self-depreciatingly. “Oh, that’s all right. You know me.”
We nodded in acknowledgment. “Yes, I do.” Dr. Phelps was no stranger to my condition. “And I’m afraid I have some more bad news for you –”
Suddenly we could hear the sound of voices out in the corridor. Then came a knock at the door.
Dr. Phelps looked up. “Yes?”
“Hi, Dr. Phelps,” said a young man. “It’s Brian Wagner. We’re all here.”
“Okay, just a few minutes.”
Then Dr. Phelps turned toward me and smiled faintly. “That, I’m afraid, is the bad news. Brian is one of five interns scheduled to sit in on your examination today.”
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