I had an appointment with a plastic surgeon a few weeks ago to have a mole on my face removed. She’s a surprisingly young woman – she looks about 27, maybe – too young to have completed a surgical residency and fellowship program. Her first name is Valerie – so it seems natural, in retrospect that when I saw her, I murmured “Valkyrie” to myself. For she looked the part – six feet tall, straw-colored hair, broad-shouldered, big-breasted, flat-tummied, wide-hipped, long-legged. She would have looked perfectly natural wearing a metal breastplate and horned helmet and carrying a battle-axe. Her face was a perfect match for her body – strong looking, with a square jaw, a high forehead, mildly prominent cheek bones, and a blunt nose. She looked very comely in her short lab coat and a skirt that came down to just above her knees.

As I soon learned, however, her personality was not as beautiful as her appearance. She was cold and arrogant. She had every reason to think well of herself – in addition to being beautiful, she was obviously highly intelligent. And the diplomas displayed prominently on her wall were extremely impressive: Harvard B.S. in Biology, Penn Medical School, then back to Boston for a surgical residency and a fellowship in plastic surgery at New England Medical Center. That would be a remarkable set of accomplishments and credentials for someone who was in their early 30s. For someone in their late 20s, it would be extraordinary. Still, no one should behave like that, no matter how wonderful their abilities and accomplishments are.

She strode into the exam room in a way that at first seemed appropriately self-confident. “So tell me, Mr. Whistler, what is the problem with this mole you’re concerned about?”

“The main thing,” I replied, “is that it’s in a location, just underneath my eye, where it gets hit by my glasses when I take them off or put them on. Sometimes it gets a little sensitive.”

She got up close to me and bent down to look at it for a minute or two. She then turned her back on me, sat down at a laptop and began to move the mouse around as if she was searching for something. Then she went to the door and called out in a stern tone, asking Beth to come to the examination room immediately.

When Beth arrived, the Valkyrie began reproaching her about my electronic record not being available on her laptop. Beth visibly winced in embarrassment about being severely reprimanded in front of a patient. “May I look at your laptop, doctor?” she asked, placatingly.

The Valkyrie said nothing but gestured in frustration at the seat in front of the laptop. Beth sat down at the laptop, clicked on a couple of things and said, “There it is, doctor. You have to click on the app, then double-click on the file you want.”

“Are you suggesting it’s my fault, Beth? That’s unacceptable.”

Beth blushed but said, calmly. “Sorry. Let me know if you need anything else.” With that, she left the room.

The Valkyrie turned her attention to me. “I don’t see any signs of abrasion or bleeding,” she said, looking at me in a way that seemed quite patronizing. “And there is certainly nothing even questionable about it from a pathological perspective. Is it a fair inference that your concern is purely cosmetic?”

The truth is that I’d never thought about it until a girlfriend commented on it, asking if I’d ever had a doctor look at it. She said it was a little bit odd looking.

“I’m relieved to know that there are no pathological concerns about it,” I said to the Valkyrie. “But it does bother me and I’d like to have it removed.”

“I don’t do cosmetic removals of moles,” my Valkyrie said in a frosty tone of voice.

“Can you suggest someone who would, or even someone who might be willing to excise it and send it to a pathologist on the chance that there was an incipient problem?”

Her upper lip curled in an obvious sneer of disdain. I was rather amused by this behavior, but also a bit irritated. “You can get a list of surgeons who do minor cosmetic work at the front desk.”

At that moment, I decided I would teach this arrogant person a lesson. She had been quite nasty to me, and downright mean to Beth, who seemed like a good person and a perfectly competent one. I don’t use my powers often; but this was a situation that seemed to call for it.

I stood up and held out my hand, saying, “Thank you, doctor, I appreciate your taking the time to see me.”

She hesitated just a moment, then started to shake my hand – and quickly pulled it away at the first touch, when I sent a jolt to her pleasure centers.

“Oh!” she said, with a look of confusion on her face.

“Won’t you shake my hand, doctor?” That was a gratuitous question. She was totally unable to resist. And when I gripped her hand, I caused her to have a mild orgasm, but one that lasted several seconds.

She moaned softly, then pulled her hand away. She looked at me in some confusion. “What...?”

“Yes, I made that happen, my dear. Now please take off your clothes. I want to have a look at you.” I didn’t give her even a gentle push mentally.

The Valkyrie looked at me as if she was puzzled by the request, then looked around the room, shook her head slowly and said, “I’d rather not do that.”

I could have had her lock the door, but instead sent out mental pulses to everyone within hearing distance to ignore any sounds that came from the examination room – and to keep a respectful distance.

When she stood there, uncertain about what was going on, I continued, “I’m really not asking you to take off your clothes. Just do it.”

This time she did as she was directed, without question or hesitation, gifting me with an opportunity to gaze at her in every detail, which is exactly what I did.

“Now you’re going to beg me to fuck you, Val. But first you’re going to suck my cock.”

Without an instant’s hesitation, Val got down on her knees in front of me, loosened my belt and zipper, and unlimbered my hardening cock. “Oh my god, it’s so huge, Bob! I’ll never get that inside of me!”

My cock isn’t huge at all – let’s call it large-ish. But it gives me a charge when women exclaim over the size of it. And my mental pushes had made Val think that it really was a size to exclaim over. And she was going to have as much trouble getting it into her as if it was enormous.

“Open wide, Val, and take it deep into your mouth.”

“But it’s so big! I’ll never get it into my mouth.”

“Yes you will, Val. Just open wide and push your lips down and around on the tip.”

She did as I said, groaning as if it was causing her pain, and then, following my non-verbal directions, pushed her mouth down until the tip was pressed against the back of her throat, groaning and gagging as if it would kill her. And then the groans and gags turned to sighs and moans as I caused her to have a long, powerful orgasm. She pressed her head down harder so that my cock slid a couple of inches down her throat and her lips were pressed against the base of my cock. Then she backed off a couple of inches and slammed her head down again. It felt spectacular for both of us! She had stopped moaning and was making rhythmic sounds with each downward stroke, with pauses between them that expressed her satisfaction at having me so deeply inside of her throat, “Ngh ... Mmph ... Ngh ... Mmph ... Ngh ... Mmph...” I didn’t want her to stop but realized that she had impaled her throat so deeply that her windpipe was blocked and she wasn’t able to breathe. So I mentally ordered her to back off and take a few breaths. Then I had her resume fucking my cock deep and hard with her mouth and throat – “Ngh ... Mmph ... Ngh ... Mmph ... Ngh ... Mmph...” And soon I was cumming almost as hard as she was. When she felt me pulsing and spurting, she pressed her face down further than ever so that my semen was injected deep into her throat and practically directly into her stomach. Her lips were making smacking noises around the base of my cock as she inhaled my cock and gulped down my cum.