I sat in the sterile waiting room of the doctor's office, my heart pounding like a drum in my chest. At 32, I was no stranger to doctor's visits, but this well-woman exam felt different—more invasive, more exposing. I put off this type of appointment for years. The last time I had it done was before I was married, and with a woman doctor, not this male stranger I'll be meeting for the first time. My husband, Mark, sat beside me, his strong hand resting reassuringly on my knee. He was my rock, the dominant force in our marriage that made my submissive side feel safe, even when things pushed my boundaries. He was the one who pushed me to do the appointment, knowing I was long overdue. He liked taking care of me, and I've learned to let him.

I was shy by nature, with a slender 5'6" frame, pale skin that flushed easily, and soft curves: C-cup breasts that strained slightly against my blouse, a narrow waist flaring to hips that carried a gentle roundness, and legs that I kept crossed tightly now, as if that could shield me from what was coming.

"Caitlin?" the nurse called. I stood on shaky legs, my shoulder-length auburn hair falling forward to hide my face. Mark squeezed my hand. "You'll be fine, baby. Remember, I'm right here."

Inside the exam room, the air was cool and clinical. Dr. Ellis, a tall man in his late 40s with salt-and-pepper hair and a crisp white coat, greeted us warmly. "Mrs. Harper, good to meet you. And this must be your husband. Let's get started with the basics, please change into the gown on the table." He proceeded to leave the room to allow me to change.

I changed into the flimsy paper gown behind a curtain, my cheeks burning as I stripped off my clothes. My body felt vulnerable already—my perky breasts with their pink nipples peeking out if I moved wrong, the soft patch of trimmed hair above my pussy, my ass cheeks clenching against the chill. God, why does this always make me feel so exposed? Mark looked me over as I walked across the room to sit back on the exam table.

A nurse stepped in to take my vitals: blood pressure, height, weight before leaving. Then Dr. Ellis entered alone. "Lie back, please," he said matter-of-factly. I complied, the paper crinkling under me. Lowering my gown down to expose my chest, his gloved hands began palpating each breast, starting at the outer edges and working inward. My nipples, sensitive traitors, hardened instantly under his firm presses. His fingers thorough, taking time to explore every inch and angle of each one. Mark watched from a chair on the opposite side of the room. It wasn't lost on me that if this wasn't a clinical exam, this would almost be a fantasy; my husband watching as a strange man touches me.

"Everything feels normal here," Dr. Ellis noted, his thumbs brushing over the peaks one last time. I bit my lip, a flush creeping up my neck. Why does that feel so... intimate? He's just doing his job. Stop overthinking, Caitlin. Sensing my nerves, Mark stood up nearby, his eyes on me, a mix of concern and approval in his gaze.

Dr. Ellis adjusted the gown lower, folding it down to my hips, leaving my torso fully naked —my soft belly and my breasts stll visible, the curves rising and falling with my quick breaths. He began palpating around my stomach, gliding his hand across between presses. The sensation was tickling, causing small jerks that made my chest bounce. Where were the doctors eyes looking? Did I imagine it or was he watching them, as if he himself was entertained by their movements?

He stood up straight. "Now for the pelvic exam," Dr. Ellis said, his tone professional. "I'll need your feet in the stirrups."

My stomach twisted. Mark stepped in then, sensing my hesitation. "It's okay, Cait. Just follow the doctor's lead."

But as I positioned myself, the half-removed gown barely covering my thighs, panic rose. The stirrups, pointed straight out at the end of the table, looked menacing. The shuffle down the table left my legs a bit open before I even placed them into the metal. I tried to close them immediately, my thighs trembling. "I... I can't," I whispered, squeezing my eyes shut.

Dr. Ellis paused, glancing at Mark. "Mrs. Harper, you need to relax. This is standard."

I shook my head, my legs clenching even tighter. This is too much. They will both see everything together. My pussy right there, folds and all. The doctor tried to guide my feet, but I resisted, whimpering.

"Mr. Thompson," Dr. Ellis asked, turning to my husband. "May I have permission to use restraints? It's rare, but sometimes necessary for the patient's safety and to complete the exam.". Why was he asking Mark!? I'm the patient, surely Mark will-

Mark's voice was calm, authoritative. "Yes, Doctor. Cait, listen to me—you're going to let him do this. It's for your own good. You've put this off for years, actions have consequences. Nod if you understand."

Tears pricked my eyes, but his command settled over me like a warm blanket. I trusted him completely. "O-okay," I murmured, nodding.

The doctor worked quickly. First, my feet locked into the stirrups, ankles strapped tight, forcing my legs in the metal—my knees bent, my pussy peaking out between my two legs now hoisted straight up before their bend in the knee. Then, soft cuffs around my wrists, securing my arms to the armrests pointed out from the sides. A wide belt across my hips pinned me down, and another just below my breasts, lifting them slightly, making my hardened nipples stand at the top of the pressed up mounds. With my upper body already exposed, the strap pressed directly against my bare skin.

"There," Dr. Ellis said, stepping back. "This ensures you stay in position. It's secure but comfortable."

Comfortable? For who? I was more comfortable while I was still clothed, sitting in the waiting room chair that was hard and misshapen.

I tugged lightly, but nothing budged. Helplessness washed over me, my pale skin prickling with goosebumps. Strapped like this... my body's not mine anymore. My pussy's visible now to the doctor at the end of the table. And my tits—bare and pushed up, nipples so obvious.

The doctor finally tugged the rest of the gown away entirely, not that it was doing anything anymore, folding it and setting it aside, leaving me completely naked on the table—my slender frame stretched out, breasts rising with each panicked breath, the soft curve of my belly leading down to my thighs and the vulnerable slit of my pussy, framed by the stirrups.