You knock softly on the door, and your heart beats a little faster as a familiar, rich voice tells you to come in.

You open the door, and he’s sitting behind his desk, smart as always in his immaculate white coat, busy with some paperwork. You meekly approach the desk and wait.

“Sit, sit,” he says, waving a little impatiently at the chair on your side.

You sit down, trying to calm your pattering heart, while he finishes what he’s doing. “Right, Miss ... erm ... Humphries, what can I do for you today?” he asks, finally looking up.

“I’ve been getting this ... itching,” you begin nervously. He raises an eyebrow, and you feel the need to try to explain. “You know when you have an insect bite, or sometimes a scab, and it itches. You know you shouldn’t scratch it, but you do, and it feels so, so good.” You pause, but he’s still just listening patiently. “It doesn’t stop the itch though, and you scratch it again, and it feels even better. And you keep scratching, and it gets better and better and better. You know you should stop, but you feel that just a little more and ... and ... and...” You tail off, unable to put the rest into words. “It’s a bit like that ... only different.”

“And do you have an insect bite or a scab?”

“No. No, I don’t.”

“Is it just in one place?”

“Nooo, it’s in several places.”

“Is this a recent thing?”

“It’s been going on for a while,” you reply. “But I think it’s getting worse.”

“Hmmm,” he says, stroking his short, salt-and-pepper beard. “I think I need to examine you. Please take off your things and lie down on the examination couch.”

You almost say, “What, all of my things?”, but you’re afraid he might say no, and the idea of getting naked in front of him thrills you to bits. You take off your blazer first, laying it neatly over the back of the chair. You kick off your shoes, and then your hands shake as you undo the fastening on your skirt. You’d been secretly hoping and praying that this might happen, so you put on your sexiest underwear when you dressed that morning, and the itchy tingling between your legs intensifies as you turn your back and lower the skirt to your ankles, bending down to step out of it. You know exactly what view he now has, because you practiced in front of your mirror earlier: what there is of your panties will be stretched tight over the undeniably firm cheeks of your young bottom; the rest bare. You can almost feel his gaze on you, and your pussy moistens. With shaking hands, you `just about manage to fold the skirt and place it on top of the blazer.

Truth be told, the cause of the itchiness that you told him about has often, no, mostly been caused by thoughts of this man. His deep, dark eyes seem to drink you in, and his handsome, square-jawed face with full, sensuous lips makes you dream of him kissing you while his powerful arms envelop you.

Still with your back to him, you undo your blouse and slip it from your shoulders, quickly followed by your bra. Now naked except for your panties and bobby-socks, you carelessly drop them on your other clothes; all neatness forgotten as all you can think about is showing him your nakedness. All of it.

You put your fingers into the waistband of your panties and push them slowly down over your hips and your thighs to let them slide down to puddle at your ankles. The surge of arousal as you feel the cool air on your butt cheeks makes you feel light-headed. He can see my bottom! He can see my bare bottom!

As you bend down to pick up your panties, you’re sure that you hear a gasp from behind you. When you peek over your shoulder, you see his head drop, but you’re sure that he was looking at you.

You take the two steps to the couch and lie down on your back. When he stands up, he’ll be able to see your little B-cup breasts and your pussy, bare but for a spray of soft curls above! Your excitement is almost at fever pitch as you say softly, “I’m ready now, Doctor.”

“Good, good,” he says, standing and walking over to stand beside you. The inside of your vagina is no longer moist; it’s wet. For what seems like the longest time, he just stands there, his eyes travelling up and down your body. “Well, there’s nothing obviously wrong,” he says thoughtfully. “But I think we need to be thorough. When I touch you, please tell me when it itches, and if it makes it worse or better. OK?”