Mom dropped me off at the doctor’s office on her way to
work, and as I walked in my breasts were very tender as they moved against my
bra, the usual set of patient permission forms had to be signed, and after only
a few minutes the receptionist took me in to see Dr Forrest. I was asked to sit
by her desk while she went through the usual medical questionnaire, to make
sure my health was alright, no problems, and then she reminded me that today’s
examination was going to be a milestone investigation, quite extensive, with
several very intense test protocols. I assured her that was alright with me,
and I was fully prepared to accommodate whatever she wanted me to do, anything
at all, as I always did. She made some notes on my chart, smiling broadly, and
then said “Very good Katherine, we’ll get the basics out of the way first. Please
stand to attention, head up, shoulders back, and push those lovely breasts
right out for me.”
Submissively assuming the required position, I stood as
directed, quietly docile as the doctor came over and lifted the hem of my sheer
peach coloured top, baring first my midriff then my well filled pink bra,
before slipping the front over my head, leaving the garment stretched between
my shoulders in a most unladylike fashion.
While she ran her fingers over the taut skin exposed above
my bra cups, the doctor asked me “Are you going to be a good girl, Katherine?”
This was Doctor Forrest’s ‘key phrase’ that she asked every
time I visited her, inviting me to be submissive to whatever she wanted to do
to me by giving the proper positive response, or if I had wanted just a normal
examination then I could choose a more non-committal answer instead. In
response to the doctor’s question, I lowered my head, and said in a soft, quiet
voice, “Yes Miss, of course I am.” This was the agreed response on my part,
showing total acceptance of her authority over me, and her complete control
over me throughout today’s visit, which was the arrangement we had come to,
quite a few years ago. Of course, I could change my mind at any time I wanted
during my treatment, by using a safe word “good girl”, at which point Dr
Forrest would stop what she was doing, and ask the original key phrase again,
giving me the opportunity to change the situation if there was something I was
not comfortable with. I only say this by way of explanation, whereas it never
crossed my mind at the time, since I was fully involved in the ambience of a
situation where I found myself being coerced by a domineering doctor, with no
way to escape her cruel intentions.
“Very well Katie, remove your top and pass it to me, “ said
the doctor, so I slipped my arms out and handed it to her, watching as she
placed it in one of those yellow plastic sacks with the warnings about
dangerous waste, and instructions to incinerate the contents. This always added
a delicious edge that I might not get my belongings back, sometimes watching as
she dropped them in the trash can under her desk, or a garbage sack, locked
them in her desk drawer, or handed them to one of the aides to put away for
safe keeping. Whatever she chose to do, I would be blatantly denied easy access
until she decided to return them to me, with the distinct possibility that they
could be destroyed altogether, and this was not an empty threat. When I was
seventeen, I’d turned up for a regular appointment to get a prescription filled
out dressed casually in tee shirt and jogging pants, instead of my usual choice
of smart, feminine clothes. Dr Forrest had reprimanded me straight away for
being slovenly, then had me take off my top and hold it while she cut it into
strips with a pair of scissors, then did the same to my pants, rendering them
both completely unfit to wear. My underwear was also an everyday plain white
cotton set, and these were also reduced to rags before my eyes, leaving me in
just my tennis shoes, and at a loss as to how I would get home while completely
naked.
With this though in mind, I obediently turned round when
told, while she undid my cerise skirt, holding it in place as I turned to face
her, then let it slide down slowly to reveal my matching pink lace panties and
suspender belt, and tan, lace top stockings. I stepped out of the skirt, and handed
it over to be placed in the sack as well. It was a thrilling feeling to be standing
in my underwear, while she remained smartly dressed, a very beautiful woman, who
now ordered me to present myself. I turned, posed, bent and twisted my body to
display every part of me, even performing a handstand with split open legs to
expose my crotch to her. When I stood back up Dr Forrest took my temperature
and my blood pressure, looked in my mouth and ears, in my eyes, and felt the
lymph glands in my neck, listened to my heart and lungs, then completed the
details on my observations chart. My height and weight were checked next, out
in the corridor, next to the door, which was in full view of the waiting area
as I stood in just my undies, everyone enjoying the sight of my scantily clad
body before I was returned to stand by the desk again. The doctor removed my
bra herself, reaching round me to undo the hooks as she pressed up against the front
of my body, inhaling my perfume as she licked the nape of my neck and my
earlobe, carnal shivers running through my body as her lips brushed mine.
Removing my bra completely, this too was consigned to the yellow incinerator
sack.
Doctor Forrest returned with a tailors tape to measure my body,
first carefully taking my panties down to my knees before running the tape
round my bust and chest, arms, and waist, noting the sizes down. Carefully she measured
my hips, and around both thighs, and calves, before placing the tape against
the base of my spine, between my legs, and upward towards my navel to take that
measurement, pulling it tighter and tighter, sinking it deep into my
cleft, for a final size. Dr Forrest looked
me over thoughtfully, and then ordered me to put my hands behind me, before
going out of the office, as she often did, leaving the door wide open behind
her. Being openly exposed in public like this, I looked towards the doorway to
confirm I was not in direct sight of anyone, but noticed the large mirror in
front of me clearly displayed my nakedness to anyone who might walk past. A few
people did go down the corridor to the restrooms further down, looking at my
reflection in the mirror, then fully at me when they returned. It was quite a
while before a nurse came in, as always happens, took my right arm and moved me
forward, to the side a little, then told me to stay exactly where I’d been put.
It was all carefully organised to demonstrate that I was deliberately being
displayed and could do nothing about it, not even see my own reflection in this
new position. Taking a small pair of scissors from her pocket, she cut the
front of my panties where the gusset joins on, then the back at the same place,
rendering the garment unable to cover me. A further cut at each side seam left
the front, back and gusset as three separate pieces, which she picked up. When
she went out through the office door, however, I could clearly see her walk to
the reception desk and place the pieces on the counter, then sit watching my
nakedly presented body.
I love having my body on display, especially in the fitting
rooms in Shopping Mall stores, but that’s usually under my control as to when,
and for how long, even on the few occasions that a sales assistant is more
dominantly involved I’m still free to leave at any time. However, my MD is in a
much stronger position of authority and this is a more controlled environment
than a department store, so I’m completely at her mercy and that of her staff. From
where I stand I can see most of the waiting area, and since the seating faces
this way anyone sat there can see me, standing naked and presented in the
doctor’s office, with the door wide open. I recognise several of the people
from my previous visits, but most of them are strangers to me, and the
realisation that they will be seeing my body for the first time is a thrilling
humiliation, so I try to discretely watch them, not making eye contact, or
acknowledging my awareness. As usual in a waiting room there is little to hold
a person’s attention, so most of those I can see end up looking round for
something interesting, and will inevitably catch sight of me through the open
doorway.
The thought of people seeing those areas a girl normally
keeps private has always held a thrill for me, not because I think it’s wrong
or naughty, my Mom has brought me up with a liberal attitude to my body, and
discretion when I’m in public. She taught me to respect other people for having
different views, and behave in a way that would not upset them, without
spoiling my childhood joy and curiosity. A certain amount of accidental
childish exposure would be overlooked, and if I was showing my panties, Mom
would quietly ask me to take notice of those who could see me, without them
being aware that I was watching them. She would then point out to me the ones
that were looking uncomfortable or upset, the raised eyebrows, small frowns and
looks of disapproval, all indicating that I should behave more modestly. I
would change my position, close my legs, or rearrange my skirt, thereby
protecting their feelings and showing my consideration for others, for which
Mom would praise me, making me proud that I was being a good girl. Of course,
not everyone gets upset at seeing up a girl’s skirt, the boys at school thought
it was a great game, and I soon realised that bigger boys behaved just the same
and grown men, in fact nearly all males seemed to be fascinated with seeing
panties exposed.
There were quite few discussions about the differences
between those who didn’t approve and those who obviously did, lots of it tied
in with the “Safety With Strangers” campaign that was often pushed at
youngsters, and the dangers posed by those who seemed friendly. Within this
framework there was still lots of room for adventure, and Mom was very good at
letting me know the boundaries, and impressed on me that it always had to
appear accidental, or else I would get a bad reputation. It was Master Mark
that explained the intricacies and power of imagination to me, training me to
understand what works best with a male or female audience in particular
situations. Not only could I stimulate the imagination of those sat in the
waiting room to conjure up all sorts of explanations for me being displayed
naked for their pleasure, but my Master always encouraged me to ponder about
the scenarios my watchers developed. These thoughts would have my pussy
dripping as I tried to identify who in the waiting room were patients, and
which were partners or carers, how many of them were in the same project as
myself, and of those who embraced it willingly as I did, while the others were
coerced into it by their parents.
I was distracted from my reveries by one of the cleaning
staff walking into the room, smiling at my presentation as she casually picked
up the yellow incineration sack, secured a zip tie on the neck, then took it
away, ostensibly to be destroyed, along with my clothes inside it. I tried not
to rationalise that this was not just part of Dr Forrest’s plan to set me on
edge, but guided my thoughts to see it thrown in the large dumpster out back,
collected by a big truck, and in a few hours dropped into a huge furnace,
leaving me to make my way home with no clothes. In a few minutes Doctor Forrest
came back into the room with a small camera and took several photographs of my
pubic mound from very close up in front of me, telling me some of them would be
put in my notes, and the others probably posted on Facebook. I knew they were
for the pubic hair growth pattern part of the research, and I hoped the
Facebook comment was a joke, but I didn’t know for sure, and the doctor
continued to take shots of the hair along my slit, and the few round my anus.
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