I step into his penthouse clinic, high above the city skyline. Marble floors gleam under crystal chandeliers. Leather scents the air, rich and inviting. This isn’t any doctor’s office—it’s for us, the elite. Discreet elevator from the private lobby. No waiting room crowds. Just power and privilege.
The questionnaire probes deep. Questions on my G-spot linger, explicit. He sketches diagrams, hands me Whipple’s book: ‘The G-Spot.’ Exercises for muscles to awaken it. My pulse quickens. His eyes behind glasses? Hungry.
The Privilege
He invites me to undress. No gown, no screen. Full exposure. I hesitate, butterflies raging. Heat floods my belly, nipples harden. Slowly, blouse slips off. Skirt drops. Panties last. Naked. His gaze devours—voyeur in white coat.
Scale next. His hand on my lower back, dipping to ass crease. Not innocent. Warm palm caresses under stability pretense. Toise follows. Cold plastic against skin. He presses heels, ass, head to wall. Hand on belly, near pubis. Slides up, brushes breast undersides. Fingers near neck, stroking sensitive base. I shiver. His stare lingers on curves, chest heaving, nipples erect.
Table now. Cool leather table sighs under me. Legs crossed modestly. He parts them for blood pressure. Sits between thighs. Spots my growing wetness on the sheet? Brassard tightens. Heart races. Palpates neck, clavicles. Stethoscope cold. Leans close—his cologne, heat. Deep breaths lift my breasts. Listens under left, hand weighs it almost.
On back. Arms overhead, tits spread, tips proud. ‘Checking for lumps,’ he murmurs. But eyes betray lust. Palms knead firmly. Too firm. Circles nipples, pinches. Shock to core. Vagina heats. Fingers trail belly, massage low. Uterus throbs.
The Excess
Stirrups. Vulnerable pose. Legs wide. He preps speculum, swabs. ‘Slide forward.’ Ass on edge. He parts thighs wider. Fingers? Bare? Explores labia, slick. Uncaps clitoris with swab. Swells under touch. Rolls it gently. I buck. Frustration builds.
Speculum slides easy—I’m drenched. Opens me. ‘Hormones fine,’ he smirks, seeing arousal.
‘Touch vaginal now.’ Positions right, arm over thigh. Two bare fingers plunge. Thumb circles clit. I grind. He accelerates. I feel G-spot swell past urgency. Hand frees his bulge—hard, throbbing. I stroke shaft, balls tight. Gland leaks pre-cum.
He shifts between legs. Cock replaces speculum. Thick, hot. Fills me. I hyperventilate, hands maul tits. Hips buck wildly. Climax rips—juices mix with his seed, sweat-slick.
Prescription scribbled. I dress, smirking. ‘Hemorrhoids?’ ‘See my secretary. Urgent next week.’ Door clicks shut. Penthouse hush returns. Secret safe behind glass walls, city lights wink complicit.
