The Doctor Who Charged Me Differently

Three days. I’d been unable to go to the bathroom for three days and I felt like a balloon about to burst. My stomach had hurt since morning, I had the temper of a she-bear with her paw trapped, and every time I tried to go to the bathroom I ended up sitting on the toilet staring at the ceiling with absolutely nothing happening.

Nicolás, my partner, noticed something was wrong. That’s how he is: always watching, always attentive, always wanting to fix what isn’t his to fix.

—I’ll go with you to the doctor —he told me that morning from the doorway.

—No way —I answered—. I’m not going to have my ass looked at with you in the waiting room.

He insisted a little more, in that gentle way he has of insisting. I sent him packing with all the delicacy I could muster and closed the bathroom door. This was my business.

I searched online for a specialist who took walk-ins, had good reviews, and a private office. I found a Dr. Figueroa, with a practice in an expensive part of downtown. In the profile photos she was an impressive woman: tall, with sleek dark hair pulled back, wearing a fitted blouse that emphasized a generous figure. There was something about her I couldn’t quite describe precisely. Something in the shoulders, in the angle of the jaw. A feature that didn’t quite add up, but in the end I didn’t care. What I needed was someone to fix my stomach before it exploded.

I booked an online appointment for that same afternoon.

***

The office was on another level. Polished marble floors, a reception area with spa music, a nurse in an immaculate uniform and a face like she’d never laughed in her life. They gave me a form to fill out and told me to wait. The chairs were real leather. Everything smelled like money.

When the nurse called me in and told me the consultation price, the color drained from my face.

—How much?

—It’s the standard rate for the first visit —she replied without batting an eye, as if she were talking about the weather.

I was already there. With my stomach about to burst and no desire to go out looking for another option. I nodded and sat back down.

The doctor took about fifteen minutes to appear. When she walked in, I understood why her office was full of diplomas and her reviews were packed with five stars. She was even more striking in person than in the photos: almost six feet tall, cream silk blouse stretched tight across her chest, an intense perfume lingering in the air after she closed the door. Her gaze was direct, professional, with the right amount of distance for someone used to being looked at.

—How many days have you had the problem? —she asked, checking the chart without looking up.

—Three.

—Have you taken anything?

—Hot water with lemon, herbal tea, an over-the-counter laxative. Nothing worked.

She nodded, wrote something down in tight handwriting, and pointed me toward the examination table.

—Take off your clothes from the waist down and put on the gown. I’ll be back in a moment.

She left the room to give me privacy. I was left alone, looking at the table covered in white paper, the latex gloves on the side table, the antiseptic chill of the room. I put on the paper gown, which barely covered anything, and waited seated on the edge with my legs together.

***

When she came back, she began the abdominal exam. She asked me to lie back on my spine and started pressing with both hands, following a sequence I didn’t understand but that clearly made sense to her. Her hands were cold, and the pressure was precise, measured. Some spots hurt, and I said so, and she wrote it down without comment.

—There’s a significant obstruction —she said at the end, as if reading the weather report—. You’re going to need a procedure to get things moving. We do it right here in the consultation; it’s quick.

I sat up on the table and let out what I’d been holding in since reception.

—Doctor, look... I’m going to be completely honest. I can’t pay what they told me at reception. I came without really checking the price and that was my mistake. I don’t know if there’s some other way to handle it, or pay in installments, or...

She looked at me for a few seconds that grew uncomfortable.

—This isn’t a market —she said—. Pay, or you’ll have to leave.

There was something in her tone. Not anger exactly. More like tension. As if the line were a shield she had used before and knew would work.

I slid off the table and walked over to her. The paper gown fell open completely, leaving my tits bare, nipples already hard from the cold in the room and from what I was about to do. I didn’t fix it. On the contrary: I let her see it, let her gaze linger a second too long on my chest before she composed herself.

—It’s just that... —I lowered my voice— ...there’s something about you. I don’t know how to explain it. Ever since you walked in, I can’t stop looking at you.

She didn’t step back. She didn’t call the nurse. She stayed still with the clipboard pressed to her chest, and in that stillness there was something that wasn’t rejection.

I touched her arm with the tips of my fingers, just barely brushing her. Then I moved my hand up, very slowly, to her neck, and grazed the warm skin just below her ear. A muscle in her jaw trembled.

—I’m a professional doctor —she said. But her voice came out a couple of tones lower than she intended.

—I know —I replied—. And that’s exactly what I find so... interesting.

I moved closer by another step. I put my hand on her hip, carefully, as if I were asking a question without words. She didn’t pull my hand away. Her breathing changed: shorter, more controlled, the kind of breathing of someone trying not to lose focus.

—I’ve never been with someone like you —I whispered, and ran my tongue over the edge of her ear, barely—. Someone who understands both parts of the body. Both ways of feeling.

She remained absolutely still. Then, very slowly, I slid my hand from her hip to her thigh. And there, under the dark fabric of her pants, I found what part of me had already suspected since the moment I entered that door: a hard, thick cock, insistent, pulsing against the cloth with an urgency that couldn’t be hidden. I grabbed it over the pants with my whole hand and felt the full length, thick as my wrist, throbbing against my palm.

The doctor let out a sharp breath.

—I shouldn’t... —she began.

—But you want to —I finished for her—. And it’s fucking hard, doctor. I can feel it. You can’t keep playing dignified with this dick bulging your pants.

I squeezed a little harder. She closed her eyes and let out a low, restrained gasp, the kind a woman gives when she’s been holding herself back through the whole appointment.

***

The clipboard fell onto the side table with a dull thud. In that small gesture was everything: surrender, permission, the before and after.

I unbuttoned her pants calmly, without hurry, as if we had all the time in the world. The leather belt, the button, the zipper sliding down tooth by tooth. Her pants slipped down to her thighs and beneath them she wore tight black underwear, expensive fabric, distorted by the erection that pushed the cloth outward. I pulled the underwear down too and her cock sprang free, hard, red at the tip, with a thick bead of pre-cum shining on the glans.

It was thick. Thicker than I’d imagined from the bulge in her pants. Long, straight, with veins standing out along the shaft and tense, full balls underneath. I crouched down without thinking, kneeling on the marble floor, and grabbed it at the base with one hand.

—Doctor —I said very softly, looking up at her from below—, I need you to cure me.

And I ran my tongue along its entire length, from the balls to the tip, slowly, savoring the salty taste of pre-cum when I reached the glans. She let out a hoarse, surprised groan, as if she still couldn’t believe this was happening in her own office.

I took her into my mouth. At first just the tip, sucking with tight lips, teasing the glans with my tongue. Then more, pushing until I felt it hit the back of my mouth. She grabbed the edge of the side table behind her with one hand, and with the other she reached for the back of my neck, not squeezing yet, just resting there.

—Fuck —she whispered, and with that single word her whole professional mask fell away at once—. Fuck, like that, keep going like that.

I sucked her slowly, hungrily, swallowing her as far as I could and drawing her out in a string of saliva that dripped down my chin. I cradled her balls with my free hand, squeezing just a little, feeling the taut weight of how much she’d been holding back. I licked the shaft from underneath, sucked the glans with my lips, did those slow things you do when you want the other person to forget all the diplomas hanging on the wall.

She started pushing my head. Little by little, not violently yet, setting a rhythm. I let her. I opened wider and gave her my throat. I felt the cock drive all the way down, hammering my tonsils, and I endured the gagging, squeezing my eyes shut until tears filled them.

—That’s it —she gasped—. All of it. Take it all.

She pulled out suddenly. A strand of saliva hung from my chin, the office’s antiseptic mask shattered on the floor. She looked at me with half-lidded eyes and heavy breathing.

—To the table —she ordered—. Now.

I turned toward the table, let the paper gown fall to the floor, and got on all fours over the white paper. My knees creaked a little. I didn’t care. I arched my back, spread my knees, and offered her my ass, my cunt already soaking wet, shining between my thighs, moisture dripping halfway down my leg.

I didn’t need to say anything else.

I felt her approach. Her hands on my hips, still cold, squeezing with a force I hadn’t expected. The sound of a drawer opening, something she took out without my seeing it. The cool touch of lubricant she applied to me with precise fingers, professional even then. She ran two fingers along the crack of my ass, coating it well, and then she slid one into my asshole, knuckle-deep, with that exact hand that knows precisely what to do.

—You’re tight —she murmured—. Very tight. I’m going to open you up.

She put in the second finger. She scissored them, stretching me, while the thumb of her other hand pressed my perineum and brushed my pussy lips. I moaned against the paper on the table, biting my forearm so I wouldn’t scream. Pleasure and discomfort mixed in me in a way I hadn’t felt anything like for three days.

She pulled her fingers out. I felt the thick head of her glans rest at my entrance, push just a little, testing. And then the push: slow, firm, relentless, making me grip the edge of the table with both hands.

—Breathe —she said.

I breathed. I opened. The initial pain was sharp, clean, the sensation of being split in two inside, and then it turned into something else: a full, deep pressure that ran through me from the inside out. I felt her drive her cock into me to the base, until her balls knocked against my pussy lips from behind.

—Fuck, your ass is tight —she growled, squeezing my hips with both hands—. You’re going to feel me for days.

She started moving. Little by little at first, calibrating, finding the rhythm. A long pull out, a firm thrust back in to the hilt. I rested my forehead on my forearm and surrendered to the motion, and in that surrender I understood why three days of blocked-up gut had ended up bringing me exactly here.

—Relax —she told me—. Push down. Let go.

I did. And something gave way. Pressure built up over days released all at once in a sensation of heat and relief unlike any other pleasure. It wasn’t delicate. It wasn’t clean. It was exactly what it was: one body fully emptying while another filled it from the inside, both processes happening at the same time, mixed together, impossible to separate.

She didn’t stop. If anything, she sped up. She started fucking my ass for real, with hard, deep thrusts, the skin of her hips slapping against my ass cheeks with a wet crack that echoed through the whole office. Her hands gripped me harder now, without hiding it, without the professional mask. She grabbed a lock of my hair and pulled me back, arching me, forcing me to lift my head off my arm.

—Look at the reflection in the glass —she panted—. I want you to see how you split in two with my cock.

I lifted my eyes to the glass cabinet in front of the table. There was my face: mouth open, tears streaked down, tits bouncing with every thrust. And behind me, her, with her silk blouse still perfectly on, hair only slightly out of place, pants down to her knees and cock disappearing into my ass, over and over again.

I took one hand to my cunt. I rubbed my clit with two fingers, fast circles, while she kept pounding me from behind without stopping. I was so wet my fingers slid on their own. The combination of the cock stretching my asshole, my swollen clit under my fingers, and the physical relief from everything I’d let go earlier brought me to orgasm in less than a minute.

—I’m cumming —I moaned against the paper—. Doctor, I’m cumming, don’t stop, don’t stop...

—I’m not stopping —she growled—. You’re going to cum with my cock in your ass, and then I’m going to cum inside you.

I came. My pussy clenched in violent spasms, my ass tightening around her dick too, and she let out a low roar when she felt it. She drove into me to the hilt with a thrust that made me tremble from head to toe.

—Now... now I’m going to —she panted—. Inside. I’m filling you inside.

When she finished, she came inside me. I felt it clearly: the pulse of her cock swelling even more at the end, the heat of semen spilling in waves against my walls, the little tremor in her hands before she let go of me slowly. She slid out of me slowly and something warm and thick dripped down the inside of my thigh.

I stayed there for a few seconds, still on all fours, my legs trembling and the exam paper wrinkled and damp beneath my knees. She stepped away, pulled up her underwear, fastened her pants. Every movement measured, as if she were already returning to the role.

***

We cleaned up in silence. She handed me paper towels without meeting my eyes, as if she’d switched into automatic mode. I wiped between my legs with one, feeling the sticky mix of her cum and my own wetness, and had to use several more to stop feeling it sliding. I straightened my clothes calmly, took my purse from the hook by the door, and fixed my hair in the little mirror above the sink.

At the exit, I paused in the doorway.

—Thank you, doctor —I said—. I feel much better. —A pause—. And I think we’re even.

She didn’t answer. But she also didn’t call the nurse to stop me at reception.

I crossed the waiting room without looking at anyone, pushed open the glass door, and stepped out onto the street. The cool air hit my face. I walked two blocks before I realized I was smiling. And that I could still feel, between my ass cheeks, the warm trace of everything she’d left inside me.

***

Nicolás was on the sofa when I got home, phone in hand and looking like someone who’d nearly called several times and held back.

—How did it go? What did they tell you?

I sat down beside him. My body felt pleasantly heavy, like after a deep massage. I leaned against his shoulder and closed my eyes for a moment.

—She told me I needed to relax more —I replied—. That the blockage was partly nervous. And she gave me a very special therapy to unblock the canal.

—A therapy? —His voice changed just a little, almost imperceptibly.

—Yes. —I paused, as if remembering—. She laid me on the table, spread my legs, and explained that I had to learn to let go. That I needed manual help to release the built-up tension. And then she said she was going to help me with her fingers, from behind, to unblock everything.

I noticed Nicolás tensing up beside me. The kind of tension that isn’t discomfort but exactly the opposite. I glanced sideways at his pants: the bulge of his erection was already starting to show.

—Really? —he asked. His voice came out a little hoarse.

—Really. She put them in very slowly, first one, then two, and all the while she kept telling me to breathe, to give in, to relax completely. She moved her fingers inside me, looking for a spot, and I was on all fours on the table with my ass up and my cunt dripping, Nico. Dripping. She touched me there too, in front, with her other hand, while she worked me from behind. And I... —another deliberate pause, longer— ...I gave in. I came right there, Nico. With her fingers inside me, on that exam table. I screamed and everything. I couldn’t help it.

He said nothing. But his breathing had changed, and I saw his hand go down to the bulge pushing against his pants, squeezing over the fabric without realizing it.

—My God —he whispered.

I moved away from him and looked him straight in the eye. His lids were half-lowered and his jaw was clenched, exactly like when he’s trying to control himself and can’t.

I stood up, took the bag I’d left on the side table, and headed to the bathroom. As I passed in front of him, I stopped for a second, put my hand over the cock outlined under his pants, and squeezed it calmly.

—If you want, I’ll tell you the rest later —I said—. There’s a part I haven’t told you yet.

—Anyway —I added from the hallway—. Strange appointment. I’m cured now, which is the important thing.

I closed the door softly. From inside I heard his silence as he processed everything I’d told him, rearranging it, looking for the edges of what was real and what wasn’t.

What I had told him was a version. An incomplete version, reordered, smoothed over in the most uncomfortable details and amplified in the ones I knew would affect him most. The doctor did exist. Her hands had really been inside me. The cock that had split my ass open also existed, and I could still feel it throbbing warm between my ass cheeks, with the semen it had left me with slowly dripping into my underwear. The rest was interpretation.

I turned on the shower and waited for the water to warm up. I lowered my underwear and looked at the thick stain that had soaked through the fabric. I smiled.

The best part, I thought as I stepped under the spray and felt the hot water drag down the inside of my thighs what the doctor had left inside me, was that he would never know exactly how much of what I’d told him was a lie. And how much was a truth he simply wasn’t ready to hear in full.