The sullen schoolgirl and the short-tempered woman in my examination room were unmistakably mother and daughter. Although one was only thirteen years old and the other well into her thirties, the lustrous dark hair, the arrogant cheekbones, and the full pouty lips they shared paired them so clearly that I would have been certain of their relationship even if I hadn't already known them both for years.
The Dormonds had been friends of my family for nearly a decade. We lived in the same neighborhood, we moved in the same social circles, and we were frequent guests at each other's home.
Maggie Dormand, mother of two, was an ambitious corporate lawyer, in great shape, and a seriously hot little bitch. She was always very pleasant with my wife and me, and was quite a charming hostess, but I also knew her to be a stern, impatient and seemingly unsympathetic parent to her daughters. I had often fantasized about fucking her, but she had never indicated the slightest interest in return, through either flirtatious word or deed.
Jennifer Dormand, her eldest daughter, was a seventh grader at St. Andrew's Episcopal, and a good friend of my own daughter Cheryl, her classmate. A late bloomer, her menarche had only set in a few months ago, according to the file in my hand and my own professional memory. The loose white blouse of her uniform completely obscured her tiny breasts, and her pleated blue plaid skirt swung easily around her slim, boyish hips.
"Thanks, Greg, for fitting us into your schedule. The nurse at the school had me called out of a very important meeting for this, so I assumed it was pretty serious." The last phrase was punctuated with a pointed glance at her daughter, who nervously looked away.
"Not a problem, Maggie. I'm always available to you and your family, and as you say, it sounds important. What seems to be the trouble today?"
"You're too kind, Greg – I know that you're as busy as I am. My goodness, I know you normally close the office at noon on Wednesdays! Your entire staff has already left, so I really appreciate your keeping the office open for us. Jenny, don't waste his time – tell Dr. Fenton what's the matter."
"Um, well, at first my stomach really hurt. It was bothering me in English class, so I went to the nurse's office, and then I felt really sick, like I had to throw up. And I felt dizzy, too. So they called Mom. But I think I just need to go home and lay down for a while; I really don't feel that sick, Dr. Fenton."
"You'd better be sick, young lady!" her mother interjected. "They hauled me out of a merger conference, one that I arranged. Simmons is still at the meeting, taking all the credit. If you're not really sick, I need to get back there right now, and I'll deal with you later!"
"No, I still feel sick, Mom. Really sick. I just don't want to waste Dr. Fenton's time. Or your time, Mom."
At this point, I had the situation completely sized up. Jenny probably had a math test or something this afternoon, and had hoped to dodge it by playing sick. Where she had miscalculated was in expecting the school nurse to call her indulgent, henpecked father, rather than her domineering and severe mother.
I could expose her, for which she would face certain, and perhaps excessive, punishment. Or I could try to salvage something from the situation by preventing a ballistic episode on the part of Maggie Dormand. I knew from my association with the family, and second-hand from my daughter Cheryl, that when crossed, Maggie meted out harsh discipline for relatively minor infractions. On one occasion, if I recalled correctly, Jenny and her younger sister had been grounded for three months for letting a pot boil over on the stove.
I really am a pretty compassionate guy, and knowing, as I did, that malingering was a common, and hardly sinister, tactic of young girls, I would have tried to do something to soften the consequences in any case. However, there was something else about this particular situation that had my mind working in overdrive – something more that I'm afraid I must disclose.
It hadn't three weeks earlier when Jenny had been at my house, with her parents and younger sister, for a Sunday barbecue. She and my own daughter, Cheryl, had immediately changed into cute little one-piece swimsuits and hit the pool.
At first it had amused me to discover my fifteen-year-old son, Danny, casting furtive glances at young Jenny cavorting in the pool. "You could do worse, my boy," I chuckled to myself as I manned the grill, enjoying the spectacle of the lad trying to pretend he was still just as indifferent to our guest as he had always been.
Apparently Jenny had grown up some in my son's eyes.
I also occasionally cast my own gaze on the object of his studied inattention. From the looks of things, Jenny had indeed grown up a bit. Tiny breasts poked out through last-year's suit, where none had been before. Her hips showed the earliest signs of their inevitable maturation. And of course it had long been apparent that her face would be a break hearts aplenty.
When she got out of the pool and began to dry herself off, I noticed how perfect her little ass looked encased in the tight wet suit. Maybe it was the beer I'd been drinking, but at that moment my mind wandered in a terribly unprofessional direction, recollecting her most recent visit to my office.
On that occasion, she had just had her first period, so I had decided to give her a full check-up. In the process I had, of course, examined her hairless genitals and pubescent pelvis, and nothing untoward had then entered my mind. As I now watched her towel off, however, the images returned unbidden, and I felt my cock shift in my shorts as I recalled her tidy little pouch, her fat labia, and her intact hymen.
I was shocked at myself. I had been examining patients for years, and had only once or twice been professionally distracted by an attractive woman. To appreciate the private charms of a patient in such circumstances was grossly unprofessional. But to become aroused at the memory of a thirteen-year old girl's awakening sexuality was downright depraved. I shook my head to clear the wicked thought. Imagine such a thing!
I suddenly envied my son very much. He was young enough to sample such fresh wares, if not eventually from Jenny Dormand, then at least from someone similarly ripe. Those days were long behind me now. Oh, youth really is wasted on the young!
My respiration shortened. So here was young Jenny Dormand, three weeks after that poolside temptation, pretending to be sick and quite concerned that her mother might discover the deception. I could betray her, or I could play along with her and help her out. Playing along certainly necessitated at least an examination.
"Well, Jenny, why don't you strip down to your skivvies and let's have a look, okay?"
Her eyes widened in alarm. No, I'm sure she had no idea that my prick was gaining weight as I looked at her; her concern was more probably based on my inevitable discovery of her ruse, and the consequent punishment her mother was sure to inflict. Nonetheless, she slowly unbuttoned and removed her blouse, and began to unzip her skirt.
"Hurry up, Jenny! The sooner Dr. Fenton checks you out, the sooner we can get you feeling better, and the sooner I can get back to the office."
At her mother's outburst, Jenny hastened her efforts, and soon stood before me in a training bra and white cotton panties.
I caught my breath. Before me stood heartache personified.
Her big brown eyes seemed too large for her adorable, pixie-like face, framed as it was in her dark silky tresses. Her hair was cut just above her training bra, which was hardly necessary to support her nascent young breasts, but which under the circumstances quickened my blood with its suggestion of innocence. Her belly was smooth and perfectly flat, her precious little navel situated just a couple of inches above the gap behind the tight waistband of her panties stretching between her protruding hip bones. The soft white cotton swept down tautly across her immature mons, actually separating her labia and defining her juvenile cleft before giving way to the coltish magnificence of her bare schoolgirl legs. She had removed her loafers, but her white socks still hung loosely around her ankles.
"Please," I choked out, patting the examination table, "sit up here."
She climbed up, sitting on the padded table with her back to her mother, who had already abdicated responsibility to me completely, electing to delve into some work on her laptop computer. Perfect.
"Lay back, please," I said gently, my hand resting on the young teen's bare shoulder. She reclined with the top of her head towards her mother's seat. Her legs were slightly parted, and they were bent at the knees, dangling off the end of the table. I laid my palm on her tummy, mastered my voice, and began my examination.
"Jenny, you said your belly hurt. Is it a sharp, stabbing pain, or a dull, throbbing pain?"
She looked confused, her scheme clearly not prepared with such details. Her eyes darted "up", towards where her mother sat behind her head, but of course she was out of the young girl's sight in this position. "Um, a little of both, I guess."
"Hmmm," I replied ominously. "Does it hurt here?" I asked, pressing gently on the left side of her abdomen.
"And here?" pressing on the right.
"Yeah, there too." My thoughtful silence was underscored by the clacking of Maggie Dormond's laptop keyboard.
Finally, I asked, "Jenny, when was your last period?"
"Uh, it ended about a week ago," she replied, looking slightly embarrassed. Her mother didn't slow her typing one whit at my question.
"I see." I traced my fingertips along her belly to her navel, and then headed south. I looked into her eyes, and she glanced away. I continued down, across the tiny white bow adorning her panties, down over the gentle rise of her junior-high mound, and along the cotton crease between her labia. She gasped, her eyes shooting back to meet mine.
"I don't hurt there!" she hurriedly supplied.
"Are you sure?" I asked significantly, overtly glancing past her head towards her distracted mother. "Perhaps this isn't what I thought it was..."
"Oh, it hurts a little there, but it's really all over, doctor," she corrected herself. At this point she still clearly hadn't divined my true motives; she simply didn't want to gainsay me in any way that might alert her mother to her ruse.
"Well, let me just check it out. Can you slide these off, please?" Indicating her underpants, I stepped around to the foot of the table and pulled a stool up. I sat down to face her crotch as she reluctantly rolled the dainty garment down her thighs, past her knees, over one foot, and finally off the other. She attempted to keep her little box sheltered from my view throughout this procedure, and a deep blush enveloped her body as she lay back once more, with her knees tightly clamped together.
My guess was that Jenny was mortified to be in such an embarrassing position in front of a man. The last time I had examined her she had been unperturbed by my scrutiny, but on that occasion she didn't have the guilty knowledge that it was all a consequence of her own "little white lie", a deceit which could land her in big trouble. She was ashamed of her actions, which made her more readily feel shame at her exposure.
Somehow her distressed demeanor reminded me of my own daughter when caught in a fib. This recollection only intensified my lust for that daughter's best friend.
She couldn't see my face from her supine position, and her mother, even had she been paying attention, was blocked completely from view by the intervening table. Jenny's discarded panties lay on the floor, off to the side where she had dropped them. I reached over and placed them beneath my stool, where they would be less of a red flag should her mother look up.
My prick twitched in my trousers – it was well on its way to full turgidity already. How different this examination was from the last! The craving that had once not dared to whisper its name was now growing hoarse from shouting it. My manhood was hearing those shouts loud and clear.
"Open, please," I quietly commanded.
She spread her thighs a bit, and I gently pushed her knees even farther apart, until her precious little cunt lay exposed to my despicable gaze. I stifled a gasp at the sight – her fat, pubescent labia were completely hairless, and only a dusting of fine blonde hairs above her slit marked that point, at the peak of her impudent young mound, where her pubic bush would soon sprout.
As I leaned in between her thighs, a slight whiff of her thirteen-year-old tang led to an immediate, involuntary, and intoxicating inhalation on my part. The delicious aroma drove a shudder throughout my body, and sparked an urge to devour the dish laid out before me. I resisted, for the moment.
Instead, I placed my hand up on her belly once more, and instructed her to indicate if she felt any pain. I moved my hand around a bit, pressing here, prodding there, to the accompaniment of her poorly played efforts at feigning symptoms. My hand moved down, until my fingertips rested directly on her pouting pouch, pressing into the yielding lip-flesh on either side of her tight slit. My breath grew ragged, her body tensed. Her mother's typing continued unabated.
"Jenny," I said, hoping the husky timbre of my voice would not draw her mother's attention, "How do you feel here?"
"I'm fine there, doctor, really. It's farther up."
"That's funny," I replied. "It looks a little sensitive." I traced an index finger through her groove, parting the resisting lips to slip along the moist trough. The slick sensation, and the quivering reaction I noticed in Jenny's innocent pussy, finally convinced me to take the next step. I only hoped her mother would take the bait.
"Oh my! What's this?"
This exclamation brought the clacking of Maggie Dormond's laptop to an immediate halt. Despite her apparent self-focus she was at heart as protective as any other mother. The tone of my voice and my troubling words took a microsecond to sink in and snatch her attention from her work and focus it foursquare on the welfare of her child.
"What is it doctor?" I rose to prevent her from strolling around the table to find me examining her daughter in such an unorthodox manner. My lab coat dropped around me, hiding the obvious lump in my crotch.
"Oh, it's probably nothing serious, but it's a good thing you brought her in. There is the possibility of a serious, but completely treatable, problem. I have to run a series of tests to be sure, and then maybe give her a shot or two." I noticed Jenny's eyes widen in alarm.
"Oh, Dr. Fenton, I really feel lots better now, I don't need a shot!"
"Be quiet, Jenny, and don't speak to Dr. Fenton in that manner! You will do exactly as he says, and will take any treatment he prescribes." To me, "I'm sorry Greg, she knows better than to contradict an adult. I'll make sure it doesn't happen again. But what about these tests," she asked, "do you really think it's serious?"
"Like I said, Maggie, it's probably nothing, but it will take a couple of hours and several tests to be sure it's not 'vaginismus singular'," I fabricated out of whole cloth. "Why don't you head back to the office? Jenny can stay here for the tests, and if I need to, I'll call you. Otherwise, I'll drive her home myself."
"Oh, could you? I mean if you really think that it's probably nothing ... Oh, but I can't ask you to do that! You've already stayed late on our behalf!"
"Nonsense, and besides, your house is right around the block from ours. It will be no problem at all."
Maggie showed no signs of resisting further. In fact, she was gathering her belongings and closing her laptop before I'd even finished my assurances. She was practically out door before she stopped herself and said: "Now you mind the doctor, Jenny. Don't let me hear about any more sass, or you know what I'll do about it!"
With that, she was out the door, leaving her naked thirteen year-old daughter in the hands of a healthy thirty-eight year old man with a hard-on. Thank God had I decided to go to medical school those many years ago!
Oddly enough, I suddenly felt more nervous alone with the naked teen than I had when secretly molesting her in front of her mother. Perhaps it was the fact that the older woman's presence gave me the security of knowing that I couldn't do anything too outrageous. With the chaperone out of the picture I felt butterflies in my stomach. I was about to put into action the shameful plan that had sprung into my head the moment young Jenny had disrobed.
"This is absurd!" my rational mind screamed at me. "This girl is a fair target for your fifteen-year old son, perhaps, but not for you! Not only is she a patient, but she's just thirteen! To attempt what you are contemplating would violate your professional ethics, society's laws, and the most basic fundamentals of right and wrong!"
My nether mind, however, was quick to rebut.
"Think of how hot this little bitch is! Besides, she's putting on an act to avoid something at school, so she deserves what she gets. Heck, you're probably saving her from worse punishment at home. And to hell with society; you're a scientist, man ... if it wasn't natural for you to mate with a girl her age, why would your dick be hard right now?"
In such a circumstance, you might not be surprised to learn that my well-formulated, cerebral arguments were easily brushed aside by my pathetic, illogical, and reptilian rebuttals. After all, my prick was stiff!
I locked the front door, turned out the light in my small waiting room, and returned to my patient.
"Jenny," I began, "I'm sure this is just a mild case of flu, but just in case, I want to perform a few tests." I began making some preparations.
"Really, doctor, I feel better already. I know you stayed late to see me, so you could just give me a pill or something and take me home if you want to, honest."
I chuckled in an avuncular fashion. "Now, now, Jenny, let's not be afraid of a shot or two. I know you must really be sick, or you wouldn't have risked crossing your mother, now would you? Cheryl tells me she's pretty strict with you girls."
"Is she ever, Dr. Fenton! I probably wouldn't have been sick if I'd known they were going to call her instead of Dad! Er ... I mean, I probably would have just suffered through at school, the best I could," she corrected.
"Then we'd better check you out completely ... we have to have some justification for your mother's trouble, so she doesn't suspect you of faking, right?" I approached the table once more, carrying my first "test". She looked delectable, leaning back on her elbows, wearing nothing but her little bra and her white socks, her knees once more pressed together, but she was unable to hide the precious peach of her immature cunt, given her broad pelvic arch and the slenderness of her young thighs. My cock, which had relaxed a bit while I had been fiddling around with my preliminaries, began to swell anew at the sight. "Now roll over on your tummy, sweetheart ... that's it ... relax your bottom ... relax, this won't hurt at all ... there!"
"What's that?" the surprised schoolgirl yelped.
"It's an enema nozzle, honey. As I lift this bag, gravity will drain its contents into your bowels. It's important that you hold the liquid inside you." I raised the prepackaged saline preparation, and it began to empty into her. The sight of the slender tube disappearing into her tight little rosebud, pinched between two adorable, unblemished, grapefruit-sized buttocks was delightful. She started to squirm in discomfort. I smiled to myself as I looked at the emptying plastic bladder – the label confirmed that I had, as intended, selected the largest size.
"Ohhh, that feels really weird, doctor! I'm not sure I can take any more ... I feel like I have to go!"
"Just a little more, Jenny ... and resist the urge, you can hold it in ... there! All done. Now clench down a bit as I pull the nozzle out, we don't want to spill any!"
I pulled the tube out and dropped the bag on the counter behind me before turning back to my "patient" and placing one open palm on the nearer upturned asscheek, and the other on the small of her thin back. I began to gently knead her bottom, and to lightly stroke along her vertebrae as I spoke.
"I know it feels strange, Jenny, but it is important you hold it in. I need to determine whether it's the condition I spoke to your mother about – 'vaginismus singular' – or whether it is something even more serious. Now, I want you to roll over on your back ... easy now, I'll help ... there."
She was now on her back, her knees drawn up so that her heels almost rested against her bottom. I noted with satisfaction the light sweat on her brow, and the distinct swelling in her lower belly from its sizable alien load.
"How are we doing, honey?"
"I feel like I'm cramping. Can't I go to the bathroom?"