4
Selma
“Please take off your pants and undergarments and lay down on the couch.” Dr. Hershey gave her an encouraging smile.
“I… didn’t shave.” It was silly to worry about her grooming habits before the most awkward medical procedure of her life, but the thought popped into her head before she could stop it.
He smiled a little wider, then shook his head. “You’re a woman, not a little girl. Don’t worry about it. Do get comfortable, please. I’ll just need to fetch the ring—I won’t be a moment.”
It was a lot to ask of her—to get comfortable with her entire lower body exposed—but Selma obeyed nonetheless. She quickly got out of her pants and underwear, then lay on the couch waiting while Dr. Hershey rummaged around in his desk drawers on the other side of the bookshelf.
He was back by her side before she’d managed to calm her thudding heart, a small piece of gleaming metal trapped between his fingers.
“Can I see it?” she asked despite herself.
“Certainly.” He held his hand out toward her, letting the little device rest in his palm.
It was a small hexagon that looked an awful lot like something a builder would use to secure screws with. A nut, she thought they were called. Some sort of letters were etched along the silvery sides, but they were too small for her to make out.
“What does it say?”
“It’s just the make and serial number,” he said, closing his hand around it and dropping into a crouch by her side. “Are you comfortable? Use the cushions to support your neck. That’s it. Can you put one leg on the backrest for me?”
Selma obeyed, biting her lip as she lifted her leg up and out of the way, giving him access to her most private place. She stared straight up into the ceiling, avoiding his gaze—but he seemed to be focused on her sex rather than her eyes anyway.
“Good girl,” he murmured, scooting closer as he knelt. His large hands encircled her hips underneath her linen shirt, warming her skin as he adjusted her position. Without asking her to move it, he grabbed her straightened leg behind the knee and lifted it off the couch, spreading her further.
“Very good.”
His hot breath ghosted against the inside of her thigh, raising goosebumps in its wake. His hands followed, smoothing up along the inside of her thighs, spreading her wider still with a gentle, yet firm caress.
Her breath caught in her throat, every nerve in her skin suddenly alive with sensation. When Dr. Hershey brushed one hand up along her sex, she couldn’t hold back a gasp.
“I’m going to stimulate you now,” he said, letting the back of two fingers tease up and down her closed lips, tickling the hair there.
“S-stimulate?” Selma did her best to keep her voice calm, but she most definitely had never experienced an examination like this.
“We need your clitoris nice and plump for the ring to be fitted. In a more clinical setting, I would have to use tools to force it out—a rather painful procedure. But it’s just you and me here now, and I can achieve the same results with some gentle stimulation instead.”
“O-Okay.” Neither option seemed ideal, but at least this way, she wouldn’t get hurt. And regardless of what he was about to do to her, and how effective it may or may not be, once it was over she would have her freedom again.
When Dr. Hershey gently parted her slit with two fingers, she clenched her eyes shut and silently repeated that over and over.
“You are so tense,” he murmured, breath grazing her most intimate flesh this time. “Try to relax, sweetheart. It’ll be over faster if you can.”
“Yes, Doctor,” she whispered, doing her best to obey.
“You don’t have to call me ‘Doctor’ right now. I suspect it’s not helping you relax. My name is Marathin,” he said as he rubbed up and down her outer lips while keeping her slit spread open.
“Marathin?” The oddity broke her tense focus, her eyes fluttering open as she frowned. “The sign… said Dr. Martin Hershey?”
He cracked a half-smile, though his eyes didn’t flicker up to meet hers. “Yes. I’m known as Martin here—when I was first hired, they misheard my name. By the time I realized the mistake, they’d already ordered the name plaque. But I’m mostly called Dr. Hershey by my colleagues and the support staff, so it never seemed worth the trouble to order a new one.”
“But you ask your patients to call you by your given name?” she asked, grateful for the distraction of their conversation—even if it was hard to pretend like he wasn’t massaging her sex in an increasingly intimate fashion.
Marathin chuckled. “Only a very few. Your condition is rare—but the intimate nature of the procedure doesn’t lend itself well to formalities. I find most women prefer to pretend I’m not their doctor during this process.” He moved his thumb from her outer lips to the soft flesh between them, testing with gentle presses.
It was uncomfortable, dry, and the sensation made her tense her thighs.
