I glide into the penthouse medical suite, marble floors cool under my heels, floor-to-ceiling windows framing the city skyline. This is no ordinary clinic—reserved for the powerful, where discretion costs millions. As receptionist, I command the polished oak desk, my white silk blouse whispering against bare skin. No bra today; the heat demands it. A twinge in my belly pulls me aside. Doctor One notices. ‘Come in between patients,’ he murmurs, voice like aged whiskey.
Patient late. He ushers me into his leather-clad exam room, scent of fine cologne and polished chrome. I lie back on the supple leather table, cool against my thighs. ‘Blouse off,’ he says. I hesitate, cheeks flushing. Obey. Breasts exposed, nipples hardening in the conditioned air. He taps ribs, kneads belly, palms my full breasts clinically. Fingers press lower, hook my lace panties. I lift hips, slide them down, kick free. Bare now, shaved smooth—pubis, lips, even anus.
The Privilege
‘New angle on you,’ he grins, eyes devouring. Palpates deeper. Nothing hurts. ‘Consult my colleague.’ Door ajar. Vulnerable on display. Bell rings. Late patient enters, scans empty desk, spots me nude. ‘Nice welcome,’ he smirks, lingering on my curves. I stammer. He retreats to the leather lounge.
Doctors return, door still open. Colleague quizzes. ‘Gyno exam?’ ‘No.’ Legs spread wide. They note my smoothness, smirks hidden. One hand grazes my sex—a caress. Other gloved, lubed, parts lips, plunges two fingers deep. I jolt. ‘Pain?’ ‘No,’ I whisper. Pleasure sparks.
Fingers probe uterus, hit sensitive spots. I quiver, moan. Eyes shut. Basin arches. Gémissements louder. Face doctor hushes with kiss. Tongues tangle. Fingers precise now, igniting fire. I buck, scream into his mouth, arms around neck. Climax crashes. They stroke me, gloveless, silk hands on fevered skin.
‘Just tension,’ they say. I rise, pocket panties, blouse loose. Patient enters, glimpses side-boob, grins.
Next day, I arrive first. Lunch slot blocked. ‘For you,’ Doctor One says. ‘We.’ Morning drags, blouse unbuttoned teasingly, nipples flashing bent patients. Midday, into the suite. New face: dermatologist, tall, commanding. Kiné too. All four circle.
‘Undress.’ Blouse drops. Panties follow. Naked before them, skin prickling under crystal lights. Derm examines freckles, parts cheeks for anus view. Crimson heat. On table, legs max spread. Inspects pits, under breasts, perineum. ‘Clear. Avoid sun.’
The Excess
Kiné’s turn. ‘Internal massage.’ Legs frog-wide, pelvis tilted. Lubed fingers enter bare. Two, then four. Vagina yields, supple. Fist follows—wrist-deep. Astonishing stretch, pure bliss. Eyes closed, I melt. He kneads cervix, G-spot. Cries escape. Belly heaves.
Fire builds. Hands grip sheet. Doctors steady me, caress arms, shoulders, tits—nipples pinched. Fingers brush pants. Zippers yield. Cocks spring hard. I stroke, foreskins slide.
Fist twists, hits anterior wall. Desire explodes. I writhe, touch rectal divide. Agony-ecstasy. Basin lifts. Massive râle, orgasm rips. Tugs cocks—cum sprays belly hot.
Eyes open. Derm nearby. Free his shaft, suck. Tongue swirls glans, frein teased, deep throat slam. Seed floods.
Kiné smiles, wiping. Pull him close, kiss fierce, hand squeezes cock through fabric. He spurts in pants.
Silence. They help me up. Nude, glowing, I shower in marble bath, steam scented with jasmine oils. Afternoon patients sense my radiance—blouse gaps wider, smile electric.
The Discretion: Suite empties. Secrets sealed in glass walls, leather whispers. Elite bonds tighten. I belong.
