I Let a Stranger Examine Me in the Parking Garage

After publishing my first stories about medical fetishes, I received a lot of messages from readers who shared the same taste. I spent months writing to several of them, but only one managed to stir something different in me. He wasn’t interested in recreated consultations in an office with a white coat; his thing was unusual places, spots where we could get caught. He said that was what made the thrill multiply, that the excitement came precisely from the risk. And, without quite knowing how, he convinced me to try.

He called himself Damián. He told me he was in his fifties, a bit overweight, and not exactly the kind of man I usually went for. At first that description put me off. But something about the way he wrote, the way he presented every detail with a calm that seemed almost surgical, won me over little by little. I agreed out of curiosity. Out of arousal. Out of the urge to see whether I was capable of crossing that line with someone I only knew through a screen.

We agreed to meet in the parking garage of a shopping center on the outskirts of town, one of those with several levels and a lot of traffic on a Saturday afternoon. He had given me precise instructions days earlier: a shirt dress that buttoned all the way down the front and nothing underneath. Nothing. I looked at myself in the elevator mirror before leaving home and felt my heart in my throat.

You still have time not to show up.

But I showed up.

***

When I arrived, I texted him and he replied with the parking space number. He was on the second level, in a secluded area where there were hardly any cars. His vehicle was dark, with the windows slightly tinted, though not enough that no one could see inside if they came close. I walked toward it feeling the fabric brush against my bare skin with every step, aware that any draft could give me away.

He gestured from inside for me to get into the passenger seat. When I opened the door, I found the backrest had been fully reclined, almost horizontal. I sat down awkwardly, not really sure how to position myself.

—Lie back, relax, and we’ll begin —he said in a deep, calm voice that left no room for nerves—. I want you to undo the buttons on your chest. I need to begin the examination.

I couldn’t believe it. There I was, in the car of a man I had never seen in person, in a parking garage full of people, unbuttoning my dress button by button until my breasts were exposed. My hands were shaking. Every figure that crossed the far end of the aisle made me hold my breath.

—Look at me, not the windows —he ordered—. If someone looks, that’s their problem.

His words went through me. That was exactly what terrified me and, at the same time, what was making me wet even though he hadn’t touched me yet.

***

He started with my nipples. He leaned in calmly and pinched them between his index finger and thumb with a firm delicacy that was anything but clumsy.

—I’m going to check the turgidity —he murmured, as if he were truly taking mental notes.

They didn’t take long to harden beneath his fingers. He kneaded my breasts slowly, weighing them, assessing them under his breath like a doctor confirming that everything was in order. I couldn’t stop glancing outside, toward the parked cars, toward the elevator at the back, alert to any shadow that might move. And the more afraid I was that we’d be discovered, the faster my breathing became.

—Take off your shoes —he said—. Put your feet on the dashboard and open your legs.

I obeyed while instinctively trying to cover my breasts with one side of the dress. He moved the fabric aside with two fingers, not roughly, but without allowing it.

—No hiding. Today you’ve chosen to be exposed. So exposed you’ll be.

I watched him take a pair of nitrile gloves from the glove compartment and pull them on with a dry snap that made my skin prickle. Then he picked up a bottle of lubricant. Without warning, he let a cold stream fall between my thighs. He slid his hand between my legs and, slowly, with no hurry at all, spread it over my entire slit until I was drenched.

I can’t believe I’m allowing this.

—When I count to three, take a deep breath —he said—. One… two… three.

He inserted a finger into my ass without the slightest hesitation. I hadn’t expected it; I thought the next step would be an exam from the front. I felt a jolt that I couldn’t tell was pain, shock, or pure pleasure. It was a thick finger, and the surprise left me breathless for a couple of seconds. He pulled it out, and immediately I felt something thin and cold sliding in its place. A thermometer. It beeped a moment later and he removed it with the same clinical coldness he brought to everything.

—Thirty-seven point zero. Perfect —he announced, satisfied.

***

He changed gloves, lubricated two fingers, and slid them into me from the front. He probed my walls carefully, pressing here and there, checking reactions my body gave him without my being able to stop them. When he brushed a certain spot, a sound escaped me that I tried to swallow at once, terrified that someone passing by might hear it.

—Quiet —he whispered—. Or everyone will know.

He withdrew his fingers and sat up a little.

—So far everything’s correct. Now move to the back seat. Sit in the center, open your legs, and rest your feet on the front seats.

I squeezed between the two seats as best I could, the dress open and my heart racing. I positioned myself exactly as he’d asked and ended up completely open, exposed. He turned from the driver’s seat and had a perfect view of everything. And anyone who passed in front of the car and looked would have had one too.

—That’s how I like it —he said, and for the first time his voice trembled with something like desire.

He took out a speculum I had been asked to buy and bring. He lubricated it patiently and inserted it very slowly. He opened it little by little, millimeter by millimeter, until it reached its maximum spread. The sensation of being opened like that, in a car, in a parking garage, with the real possibility of being seen, had me on the edge of something I didn’t know how to name.

He kept me like that for minutes that felt eternal. And then I understood, almost ashamed: deep down, part of me wanted someone to look. For someone to peer in and discover what I was doing with a stranger in broad daylight.

***

In that same position, he lubricated my ass again. I tensed immediately; I knew that if he put that thick finger back in, this time without the excuse of a quick game, it would be difficult. But he did it slowly, with a patience that took me apart. I felt pressure, not pain. Once inside, he pulled it out and pushed it back in slowly, over and over, setting a slow, deep rhythm. The last time he left it there longer, working inside me while I bit my lip to keep from moaning.

—All correct there too —he said, withdrawing his hand—. Though the glove’s come out a bit dirty. We’ll have to sort that out.

He removed the speculum carefully and told me to return to the front seat, which he had already reclined again.

—Lie face down.

I did as I was told without protest, already completely surrendered to whatever he decided. Then I saw him take out a pharmacy enema, one of those that look like a small bottle with a cannula at the tip.

—You’re insane —I protested, turning my head—. Not that. We’re in a car.

—Relax —he answered with that calm of his that left no room for refusal—. We’re in a shopping center full of bathrooms. You’ll only have to hold it until you get to one. Pull your dress up.

I hesitated. I looked through the side mirror toward the aisle of cars and, right then, a couple loaded with bags passed a few meters away, not looking, completely oblivious to what was happening a couple of steps from them. My heart lurched. And I pulled my dress up.

With one hand he spread my buttocks and, with the other, inserted the cannula. I felt the liquid going in, cool, filling me little by little while I clenched my fists against the seat.

—There —he said, removing the cannula and lowering my dress as if nothing had happened—. Your checkup has been perfect. Now go.

I sat up, dizzy, with the fabric stuck to my sweaty skin and unbearable pressure in my belly.

—Think about the next examination —he added as I opened the door—. There are voyeurs who would love to see this from the windows. And, if you feel like it, even take part.

***

A cramp seized me the moment I stepped outside. I walked as fast as I could toward the shopping center entrance, holding everything in, looking for the first bathroom with my face burning and my legs trembling. I found it just in time.

And while I emptied myself, locked inside that stall, with the echo of people on the other side of the door, one of the biggest orgasms of my life tore through me. It wasn’t because of anything physical. It was because of all the built-up tension, the nerves, the risk, the image of myself opened in that car. And, above all, because of his last proposal turning over and over in my head.

Next time I want someone to watch.

I came out of the bathroom with my legs still weak, washed my hands slowly in front of the mirror, and looked at the woman staring back at me. Her cheeks were flushed, and she wore a smile I didn’t quite recognize. I took my phone out of my bag and sent him a single line before going back out onto the street.

“When is the next examination?”