You arrive at the motel, still surprised to be there. You ask for my room at reception, knowing full well that I am registered solely with my first name. You know how shy I am and cannot imagine that after this long I would divulge more info than necessary. Room number in hand and doctor's bag in tow, you climb the stairs and debate whether I will actually be there or not.
When you arrive at room 217, the door is slightly ajar and the room is dark. You think to yourself that I have chickened out and left. You feel foolish for coming all this way. You decide to go into the room to call your wife to tell her that your meeting was canceled and that you will be home within the hour. As you flip the light on, you see me, half asleep, half naked, lying under the covers of the queen-sized bed.
You begin to admonish me for leaving to door open. I mumble that I am feeling so poorly that I didn't think I'd be able to get up and let you in. You put a cold hand to my hot forehead and decide that it's a good thing you are here after all, especially with your doctor's bag.
I continue to lie there groggy as you lock and deadbolt the door. You remove your coat and lay out the contents of your bag on the vanity, out of my sight. You step into the bathroom with your bag and emerge in hospital green scrubs, a white lab coat, and a stethoscope around your neck. You walk to the foot of the bed and introduce yourself as Doctor Matt. You ask what is wrong as you walk over to the side of the bed, not breaking eye contact with my glassy eyes the whole while.
I reply that I had been fine until a few hours ago and have been on a quick decline since mid- afternoon. I tell you that I have the chills and then the sweats, that my head hurts and I am nauseated. You ask if I have vomited and I tell you that the thought of food makes me feel queasy, thus I have not eaten anything nor had what to vomit. You nod your head as if making mental notes. You ask if I have taken any illegal substances and I reply that I am clean as a whistle, never been interested in drugs. Again you nod your head.
As you walk to the vanity, you tell me that you want to get a temp before proceeding any further. You tell me that this might not end up being the exam I had imagined, as you are genuinely concerned about my health, and that takes precedence over fantasy fulfillment. I try to smile, but can barely muster the strength to do so. As you walk back towards me, I can see that you are carrying a few thermometers, some tissues, and a tube of K-Y. You have already put gloves on.
I am lying there practically motionless, so you sit on the bed and gently roll me over. You pull the covers back and see that I am still wearing panties – white bikinis with little pink butterflies. You comment on how appropriate such girlish panties are and then chuckle. You raise up my hips with one hand and lower the panties with the other, noticing the dimple on my left butt cheek. You tell me how beautiful my behind is. I am too out of it to respond.
Gently, I feel you rubbing KY around my hole. Slowly at first, barely getting the tip of your finger into the warmth of my hidden orifice. You continue rubbing and slowly entering my rectum, lubing me up good. After what feels like forever, you remove your finger and replace it with an icy cold thermometer. As you watch the chill run through my body you apologize but tell me that it's been sitting in you car all day. You cover me up with a blanket and also place a thermometer under my tongue, for comparison.
While my temp is registering, you rub my back through the blanket and stroke my hair, telling me how lucky I am to have such good care, especially since I am out of town and otherwise alone. I notice that you take the phone off the hook, but I do not say anything as it doesn't matter – no one knows I'm here as it is.
A few minutes later, you remove the thermometer from my mouth and remark that my temp is pretty high – 102.6 and then you gently tug the one in my ass free. After you wipe the lube off, you look surprised when you see that it is 99.6 – perfectly normal rectal temperature. As you look puzzled, I jump out of bed and say "GOTCHA!"
You sit down and demand an explanation – I tell you that I staged the illness, figuring it would add a bit of excitement to the already stimulating experience. I tell you how the lady at the desk called as soon as you walked out of reception and I quickly ran a boiling hot and wet washcloth over my face to give it that flushed and hot look, and then drank a cup of boiling water to elevate my oral temp and get me sweating a bit. I knew that you would take a rectal temp at some point, so I figured that you get to the truth eventually.
You look positively stunned that I went to so much trouble to do this. What about the glassy eyes you ask. I tell you that I used a drop of my contact lens cleaning solution put directly in my eyes for the burn and then some saline to get them really watery. You smile and seem impressed. You tell me that as convincing as my story is, you want to probe further, by ways of a very extensive exam.
You begin by repeating a rectal temp reading, this time using a larger thermometer. When I grunt at its insertion, you tell me that it is a veterinary one. You pat my bottom and tell me that it's the first of several larger ones that you will be using this evening. Despite my claim that the elevated oral temp was a fix, you tell me that you will be verifying my temperature rectally every half hour, using larger thermometers each time. Oh goody I say out loud, but think the same thought to myself without the sarcastic undertone.
After a few minutes of twirling and doing the pull-push game with the thermometer, you remove it and tell me that it registered 100 this time, although you add with a chuckle that excitement does increase body temperature. I sigh, letting you know that you aren't nearly as funny as you think you are! You have me get out of bed and wash my face and eyes with lukewarm water to get myself a little back to normal. When I return from the bathroom, I see that you have stripped the blankets off the bed, leaving just the bottom sheet. You have also moved one of the floor lamps to the foot of the bed and have turned on every light in the room. As I look around, you say it's all so that you can see me better.
You motion for me to remove what little remains of my clothing, helping me along by releasing the clasp of my bra. I begin to finger the elastic band of my panties, but you tell me that can wait, for now. You enjoy looking at me as if I am a little girl you say. You instruct me to sit on the bed, legs dangling over the side, facing you. You take my face in your hands and then pick up a light with your left hand. You shine the light in my eyes, ears, nose, and finally have me open my mouth and say "aahhh". You shine the light down my throat and then allow me to close my mouth. You take the stethoscope from around your neck and put the earpieces into your ears. You listen to my heart first, gently letting your fingers glide over my nipples as you do so. You sit on the bed next to me and place the stethoscope on my back. You have me take deep breaths as you move the disc around my back. My lungs sound clear, you tell me. You stand up and have me swing my legs up onto the bed. You rearrange the pillows so that I am lying flat on the bed. You start poking and prodding around my abdomen, watching my face to see if there are any signs of discomfort. The only discomfort is the stirring up of emotions, no pain in my actual body.
You run your finger along the band of my panties. I can feel myself getting wet and I feel a shudder coming on. I ask you why you didn't do a breast exam. You speak to me as if I'm a child and tell me that little girls don't have breasts, so why do an exam? I realize that you want me to be a little girl now – I guess I should have realized that based on your clear enjoyment of my girlish panties. You start to lift the band of the panties and I begin to protest, saying that my other doctor never does that. You tell me that this is going to be a little different than other exams. As I whine a little more, an alarm starts beeping. You sit on the bed, pull me over your lap and reach over onto the nightstand to get a thermometer. This time, you don't put on gloves, nor do you lubricate my rectum.
As you rub KY on the wine thermometer, you tell me that I am sufficiently lubed on the inside. You jam the rather large thermometer in my behind and push it until you sense some resistance. While my temperature is registering, I feel your hand cupping my pubic area, though still through my panties. Somehow you managed to move them just enough in back to shove in a thermometer, yet keep the front fully covered. You amaze me sometimes. You just rest your hand there, taking in the heat emanating from that area. When four minutes are up, you pluck the thermometer from my butt. You tell me I'm still registering at 100. You seem surprised that I'm not hotter, but you also remind me that in another half hour, we'll see again.
As you stand up, you also roll me back over so that I am lying on my back on the bed. You pick up where you left off, lifting the band to my panties, only this time, you pull them down, getting your first real look at my pussy and bush. You can see that I've trimmed it since we talked last, but I still haven't shaved. You tsk, tsk me, saying you have never seen a little girl with so much hair before. I blush and then make up a story that somehow had me end up super gluing a curly wig to my vagina. And I tell you that I was too afraid to tell my mom, so I cut as much off as I could and left the rest, figuring it would fall off eventually. You break role for a minute and ask me if you can shave it off. I tell you that I would prefer not, that as much as I like playing a little girl, I'm not ready to be one again.
You become Dr. Matt again and bring a lamp onto the bed and shine it right on my vagina. You tug at the ‘hair' and ask if it hurts. I tell you that it's pulling the skin. You stop that and begin to feel all around my vagina. I laugh and say that it's tickling me. You tell me to stay still. I try very hard to do so. You gently move my lips apart and look at the folds of my pussy. You slowly rub a finger up and down, pushing it in a little. Still holding my lips apart with one hand, you fully insert a finger into my vagina, and start twisting it all around inside. I start to squirm again and you release the lips, keeping the finger inside and grab my ankles with your free hand. I start to sob so you remove your finger, sit on the bed and pull me onto your lap, telling me that it's really important for me to stay still so that the doctor can find out what is wrong with me. I tell you that I'm trying really hard, but that it feels very funny when you rub me down there. You tell me that I have one more chance to be a good girl and if I can't stay still this time, you will either call my mom or have to punish me yourself. I nod my head that I understand and promise to try super hard to be really still.
You lay me back down on the bed, pry my lips apart and reinsert a finger into my very wet pussy. This time I stay still as you poke around, but when you insert a second finger I start squirming and complaining again. I whine that it hurts and that it feels funny. You remove your fingers and pull me onto your lap again, this time with my butt in the air and my pussy on your knees. You spank me 10 times, not too hard, but enough to make it sting and for me to whimper at you. You then flip me back onto my back but keep me on your lap, so that you can hold my legs in place with your legs. First you pry my legs apart and then you squeeze your legs around them. You hold my wrists together with one hand and with the other put two fingers back into my vagina. I stay perfectly still this time and as you remove your fingers, the alarm beeps again. You say out loud that it's temperature time again.
I roll over onto my stomach on the bed when you get up to get the thermometer, but you tell me to stand up. This time you want me standing bent over the side of the bed with my feet very far apart. I get into the position and you put in an even bigger thermometer this time. As you push it in slowly you tell me that this one is used in the kitchen, usually when cooking. You joke that you want to see how hot it is in my oven tonight. I smirk into the bed. You keep me in this position for five minutes, as you play with the large thermometer sticking out of my ass. I can only imagine what I look like!
You note the same temperature as the earlier readings, and chose this time to mention that there seems to be some fecal matter on the thermometer. When I look surprised, you say that it has been present on all thermometers, however you waited til it was time for the rectal exam to mention it. As you once again snap on rubber gloves, I realize that you will not be doing a regular gyn exam (speculum, bimanual exam) as I am supposed to be a little girl. I don't however remember EVER having a rectal exam as a child!
You help me get on the bed and ask me to get on all fours. I ask why and you explain to me that you will have to put your finger into my tushie to see what's wrong. I get very nervous and start crying crocodile tears. You stroke my hair and tell me that you will be gentle and that it might feel a little weird, but you have to do it to make sure I'm o.k. You stand to my side and pry my butt cheeks apart and slowly rub around my hole. You start to insert your finger and tell me what a good girl I am being. You continue pressing your finger in and I let out a low moan. You ask if you are hurting me and I reply that it feels funny. With one finger in my butt, you reach under me and rest your other hand on my vagina. When I ask what you are doing, you tell me that it's to help keep me from moving. As you wiggle your finger further into my rectum, I feel you starting to rub my pussy. And I start getting very wet. You comment that I am extremely reactive for a little girl. I blush and you remove your hands from my body.
As I collapse on to the bed, you announce that I will need at least one enema to be cleaned out. You check the clock and tell me that even though it has not been a half-hour yet, you will take my next temp and let it register while you get my enema ready. You let me remain lying on the bed, but you put a few pillows under my hips to raise me a bit. You insert a candy-making thermometer and tell me not to touch it. With that, you head into the bathroom and I can hear water running.
I can't resist the temptation, so I reach behind and start manipulating the big thermometer. I feel the moistness gathering up front and I start to gyrate into the pillows. I must have gotten carried away, because next thing I know, the thermometer has slipped out of my well-greased hole and has in fact rolled onto the floor. As soon as I realize, I lean over to grab it but see it covered in filth from the floor and decide that I would prefer to risk your anger than put that into my anus. Before I can decide whether to get up and bring it to you or to call for you from bed, you emerge from the bathroom with a big, soapy bag.
You immediately realize that a large protrusion from my anus is missing and you demand answers. I tell you that I was squirming a little and it fell out and onto the floor. When I saw how dirty it was, I thought it was too risky to put it back in. you are impressed that I did not risk putting it back in, however you are rather disappointed that I disobeyed you. As a result, you decide on a fairly minimal punishment – you will wash off the thermometer, reinsert it without any lubrication and hold it in me for five minutes. During those five minutes, you will place the enema bag outside (in the winter cold) to cool off and I will have to take my enema no matter the temperature once my temperature has registered. I agree that you are being fair but firm and submit to your lap for my temperature taking.
I feel you begin to get erect under me, but I do not comment. You hold the thermometer in place and I close my eyes and try to enjoy the sensations. I get lost in my daydream and am pulled from it as you pull the thermometer from me. You gently remove yourself from under me and quickly reach outside to retrieve the enema bag. You lube the nozzle and rather unceremoniously drive it home. Before I have a chance to adjust to the cold, hard nozzle in my behind, you release the clamp and somewhat colder than room temperature water flows into me. It actually feels quite nice, especially with all of the lights on and the lamps pointed straight at me. You sit on the bed and massage my back, making me very sleepy. I start to nod off and you allow it, for now.
I am jolted back to the present by the need to expel the contents of my bowels. As I start to move to rise off the bed, you gently push me back down and tell me that it's not time yet. You now remove the nozzle and push in a butt plug and as I doze back off, I hear you rinsing (refilling?) the bag. A few minutes later you nudge me and tell me that I can go expel, unless I am more comfortable holding it all in. You help me off the bed and into the bathroom. As I crouch over the toilet, you ease the plug out and disappear out the door. I am thankful for the privacy, especially as the solid waste and gas come out rather indelicately. After about 10 minutes, I emerge from the bathroom and you are waiting by the bed with the enema bag refilled and a dildo nozzle attached. My eyes get as big as saucers and my jaw drops, as you call me over. I begin to protest that I cannot take something that large in my behind. You remind me that the doctor knows best and to be a good girl, or I will have to be punished. I am tempted to break role, but instead I submissively lower my head and slowly shuffle over to the bed. You have me get on all fours again and you begin by lubricating my hole.
You then push the well-lubed nozzle in, speaking to me in a soothing voice, telling me that it will only hurt for a minute and then I'll start feeling very nice and warm inside. I shake my head to indicate that I understand. You reach under me to rub my tummy and tell me that this is just plain water to rinse out any of the remaining soap. I am able to take the whole bag without any cramping, thanks to your skillful administration and rubbing. When the bag is empty, you tell me that I can lie down if I want while I wait a few minutes before expelling. I turn over and lie on my back and you pick up a thermometer. I ask how you are going to take my temperature if I am holding in the enema and you tell me that you are going to take a vaginal reading since you cannot get a rectal one at the moment. I tell you that I am scared because I have never put anything in my vagina before. You remind me that you put your fingers in before and it was o.k. You gently rub my thighs to relax me and finally you insert the thermometer (a standard rectal one this time).
I tell you that it tickles. You begin to move it around and I start to squirm because it feels so funny. You slap my thighs and tell me to stop moving so much. I try to hold still but my hips start bucking a little. You tell me that I am behaving like a bad little girl and that I will have to be punished after. You finally pull the thermometer free and allow me to go expel the enema. You pull the nozzle free and I expel the warm liquid. When I am done, you tell me that you want to take my temperature one more time and then you will give me my punishment. I start to cry and you pull me onto your lap and dig your lubed finger into my hole. You remove your finger and replace it with a regular thermometer. I look up to ask you why and you reply that you want an accurate reading this time. I am somewhat relieved that you used the small thermometer but also disappointed since I was half hoping for an even bigger one.
When four minutes are up, you remove the thermometer and tell me that I am perfectly normal. You get up to wash your hands and I start looking for my clothing. You come back and tell me to stop dressing – you still have to punish me. I nod my head and remove my t-shirt. I sit with my legs over the edge of the bed and await your return.
You come over to the bed carrying a few items on a covered tray. You tell me that because I was squirming so much whenever you touched my vagina, you were going to punish me by administering the same type of exam you give to older girls. You tell me that my first trip to the gynecologist is going to be right now. And before I can protest, you guide me to lie down on the bed and you push my knees apart and place my help flat on the bed so that you can have access to my vagina.
You rub your gloved fingers up and down my slit to get me accustomed to the feeling. Staying in role, I lie very still, whimpering a little bit but not speaking. You explain that first you have to examine the lips of my vagina and I feel you touch all over my lips and squeeze a little. You tell me that next you are going to have to take a look inside and to do that you are going to use a speculum. You show it to me and I laugh telling you it looks like a duck's bills. You lube it up and slowly press it into me. You turn it and open the bills, opening me wide. I complain that it hurts and you tell me to just relax.
You flash a penlight inside and tell me that when I am older, the doctor will take a Pap smear at that point. You release the handles and the discomfort is over as you remove the speculum. You squeeze some K-Y onto your index finger and insert it onto my vagina. You feel around and then add in a second finger. With your other hand you press down on my abdomen. I feel your fingers coming out and I let my legs fall down. You pick them back up and tell me it's not over. I start to cry, but you ignore me. You put your index finger back into my vagina and put another finger into my anus. After a few seconds, you remove both fingers and remove your gloves.
You tell me how lucky I am to get away with such an easy punishment. I protest, saying that it was not that easy. You smile and turn to get something from your bag. You tell me to turn over onto my stomach. I do so and am afraid. I apologize for talking back. I don't know what came over me. I'm so very sorry Dr. Matt. You tell me it's o.k. I tell you it will never happen again. You tell me you're sure it won't but to be safe, you'll make sure it won't. I try to look over my shoulder, but you gently turn my head away. I feel your hand on my butt cheek again and I feel something poking at my back door. You thrust in a soapstick suppository, let it melt and then push in one more. As I complain about the burn, you tell me that I had gotten off easy before and that if I still think you are being unfair, there are plenty more soapsticks to go. I promise to be good and you remove your finger but you do not allow my to expel. You tell that now I will need another enema to get rid of the burning, but I will have to administer it to myself.
I tell you that I don't know how to, so you agree to help me. You fill the bag for me but you make me grease the nozzle and grease my hole. I feel funny touching myself back there but you encourage me to do so. You help me guide the nozzle in and when it's in far enough you have me release the clamp. As the warm water flows in, you instruct me to rub my stomach if I get crampy. I begin to rub a little lower too and you say, with a smile, that I really am a bad little girl. The enema bag drains fairly quickly and you tell me to leave the nozzle in until it's time to expel. I do so and after 10 minutes I go to relieve myself.
When I come out of the bathroom, you are gone but I see a business card on the bed. Upon closer inspection, I see that it is a doctor's office appointment card, telling me that I have another appointment with Dr. Matt in 6 months.