#latex gloves fetish
But I’ve never been able to masturbate without the assistance of a vibrator, even after three years of avidly trying.
Until now.
I don’t mean to share this in a lascivious manner, but I’m so overjoyed right now.
I just successfully climaxed by only my own hand, while wearing a latex glove, fantasizing that I was being examined by a male doctor.
WHY I didn’t think of this sooner, is inexplicable to me!
But I DID IT!! I really did it!
Happy Sunday,
examine-her
She had come in nervous, right from the start. Another first-timer at the doctor’s office. She paled when she saw his instruments on the stand: speculums in every size, swabs, brushes, collection cups, rubber gloves. She clasped her hands to stop them from shaking when he entered the room.
He would need to examine everything. His hands, to start, were around her throat with tender touches. He felt every nervous gulp, her shallow breaths. She lowered her gown when asked and showed him her breasts and she waited for his curt, finger-tip-only touches again except his attention was on only the middle of her chest. He could see her taut skin pulse, almost jumping up at him, from where he stood. It was rapid fire. She herself heard it pounding in her ears and was certain so could he.
The doctor asked if that was normal—did her heart usually beat this hard and this fast? She said sometimes. He said he needed to have a careful listen. The stethoscope went in his ears and on her chest. He told her to stay still. He counted once, then moved the diaphragm under her left breast and counted again. Her heartbeat was picking up speed. He came in close, peered at her over his surgical mask, asked if she was okay. She wasn’t okay. She was dizzy and lightheaded.
Her face was an unnatural red. And her nipples were sticking way out. He listened to her from behind, pausing a moment to hold her hair out of the way when his hand brushed against the back of her neck. Like an electric jolt to her system, her heart responded. She said nothing, kept as stony an expression as she possibly could muster, but the body responds the way it does. Her heart skipped. Doctors see it all. Erections, excitement, arousal.
He walked around her again and told her he was going to proceed with her examination but they would need to keep monitoring her heartrate because hers wasn’t normal.
And then his hands were on her breasts, but so was his stethoscope. His dominant hand feeling, palpating, one at a time, while pressing the stethoscope into her chest. He examined her nipples one at a time. Inspecting them, rubbing them. Feeling how big and hard they’d gotten. Asking if she had any issues with sensitivity. She said she didn’t think so. He pinched them, rolled them between his thumb and finger slowly, and found out for himself. No issues there. His ears told him that, so did her face but just for a second; as did the breathy noises she made with her mouth unable to keep closed after all this. Her own surgical mask was plastered against her face, the front of it sucking in and blowing out as she struggled for air.
He reached out and touched—just touched—the centre of her chest to feel it beat under his fingertips. The largest shudder yet rolled through her entire body. As if just shutting down entirely, she slumped forward. Whether she knew it or not, she was pressing herself against the boney contours of his hand. It was that kind of hunger.
As long as he kept touching her where she wanted, she was his to play with. The doctor thought cruelly: he could do anything to her he wanted. She was at that stage of this.
Placing a hand on her shoulder, he guided her to a lying down position on the table. The back of her head found the comfort of a downy pillow. Most patients preferred to stare at the ceiling when the doctor positioned himself between their legs. Not her. She couldn’t take his eyes off him as he moved towards her. Her legs fell open all on their own, giving him room to step in and take his place at the end of the table. Their hips were at the same level, nearly touching. He manoeuvred the goose-neck exam light where he wanted: pointing right at her chest. There was a sheen to her skin, dotted and slick with her sweat. It was bare and inviting—craving touch.
He was surgical with his gloved hands. He felt around her chest starting at her collarbones, working his way around with just his fingertips. Pressing down, palpating. He worked on her little sternum, pushing in gradually with his thumbs, hard enough to make her gasp. Hurting her. He rubbed with his knuckles, soothing the area. By feel, he eventually mapped out the edges of her heart, where it was strongest and where it was weakest. His little touches excited her. His rough ones excited her more. She gyrated on the table, hips unable to keep still.
Her hospital gown was still around her belly and waist and the doctor pulled it from her body and let it fall to the floor. She let out a whimper of indignation. The front of her underwear was darkened, soaked-through. Her sneaky hand lingered down there, guilty-looking and sticky, caught out in the open. The doctor simply took it in his and slipped it down the front of her waistband. Her fingers curled, immediately finding the places she liked to be touched, and how, showing him while her hand remained under his. She stroked herself, fingertips traveling up and down the sides of her clit hood… around and down to the bottom of her vagina and back up again. Spreading her legs even farther apart, he slipped two fingers on the inside of her thigh, near her groin, just a little ways under her underwear past where her femoral pulse was. She liked having her vulva touched there, tickled. Her pulse was still racing.
He said to her extended bouts of tachycardia could weaken the heart and lead to cardiac arrest if she wasn’t careful. Blood clots if she wasn’t careful. Fainting, or unconsciousness. She would need to be resuscitated, if that were the case. She waited in anticipation.
His hand found her chest once more and he leaned over her. She was sure their hips were touching now. He interlocked his fingers, straightened out his arms, and gave her one big, slow compression. She took a ragged breath, arching her back. He gave her another compression, pushing a little deeper this time. This was fun, this was kinky exploration. He pretended she was really out of it, that he’d break apart her chest to bring her back if he had to. His heavy breathing and utterances of come on, sweetie only made her heart beat quicker and stronger. Her eyes darted around the room but when they met his they were half-closed, half-giving-him-the-biggest-come-fuck-me-eyes he’d ever seen. They were starry and caught in a dream.
She was fixated on his chest, the stethoscope dangling around his neck. His bare arms and strong compressions that only got deeper and more powerful. For a moment, she thought she felt his hardness through his scrub pants, pressing up against her crotch. She didn’t know if she imagined it or not. He was putting his full weight against her after all. She couldn’t tell—were his pants even on still? She was dizzy again: the thought of being under the doctor while he worked, brutally pumping away at her heart while using her limp, helpless body as a masturbatory aid. She wondered if he would accidentally go too far, snap something for real, stop her breathing. Did he get excited by hurting her? Torturing her? Using her? That thought frightened her but also made her clit ache and tingle more with every stroke.
Eventually he stopped compressions. He picked up his stethoscope once again and listened to her pleasuring herself; he placed the diaphragm all around her torso and watched the rise and fall of her chest. Finally nestling the diaphragm under her left breast, he asked if she could come for him. He wanted to listen to her climax. Using one hand, he put slight pressure on her chest, encouraging her gently at first. Tiny rubs. Like a lover. Touching her breasts and nipples. Then this turned to thumps on her chest with a closed fist. It nearly knocked the wind out of her. Between every blow he ordered her to come. Threatening with more force. Come. And again. Harder. Come. Come for me.
When she came, her legs buckled, she moaned and she stopped touching herself completely. She was too sensitive to have anything make contact with her clit so her hand just cupped her groin while she recovered. He listened to her heartbeat hammer on, then its furious pace began to subside as she calmed.
The doctor removed his gloves and put on fresh ones. He said he was going to finish up her examination. She was still trying to catch her breath, unable to speak, arms and legs rubbery. She was malleable putty. She didn’t protest when he pulled down her underwear and told her to lie still. He did a quick check for wetness, and to determine her size. His finger slipped inside her without any effort. She was nice, warm, and stretched out for him.
An orgasm always seemed to do the trick.
“Are we still nervous?” he asked.
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