A Groping Appointment

The time I lied to my hot doctor, just so he could examine my large breasts.

Don’t ask me why, but I had a crush on my family doctor since puberty. I saw him a lot through my teenage years for minor things, and each time I left the surgery feeling flustered and embarrassingly aroused. He was polite, thorough, and never once looked at me inappropriately, which only made me want his attention more.

The summer I turned twenty, I came home from university and went to see him about changing my contraception pill, because I was having problems with the one I was taking. But after my perfectly innocent and genuine visit, I left the surgery feeling very naughty.

I won’t name my doctor, obviously, but God was he maturing like fine wine. Caucasian, in his late forties, tall, dark-haired, with kind brown eyes, and a calm, professional manner that made me want to bend over his desk and lift my skirt for him. I’d have his babies.

But he was sadly already married with two kids. I saw the framed photo on his desk. Plus he was too professional for all that nonsense anyway. I was just a silly, horny student, a 5ft 6ins curvy brunette, with blue eyes, a cheeky smile, and a full, round, 34DD bust.

However, he dominated my fantasies for weeks after that appointment. I’d lay on my bed naked, legs spread, ploughing my pussy with my dildo, while imagining it was his cock stretching my walls and filling me up.

A few days before returning to university at the end of the summer, I convinced myself to do the most dishonest and shameful, yet bloody damn exciting thing of my life… I made an appointment to see him again, under completely false pretences.

I told the receptionist I was experiencing “recurrent breast pains” that had been bothering me for over a week. It was a lie, of course. My breasts felt perfectly fine, heavy and sensitive as they always were, especially around my cycle, but nothing unusual.

I just wanted my doctor to see my breasts and have a good feel of them, give them a thorough examination, and hopefully leave him with a hard-on that he’d have to relieve. It would be a far more exciting “grope” than any guy in an unrestrained setting could ever give me.

Once the idea was in my head, I couldn’t stop thinking about it, especially when masturbating, so I arrived at the surgery wearing a modest cream blouse, with a high neckline, and a navy pencil skirt, the picture of a respectable young lady.

Underneath, I had chosen my prettiest white lace bra, the one that lifted and presented my full breasts beautifully, but I left my panties at home, allowing my freshly shaven mound to breathe.

My heart was racing so fast when I sat in the waiting room, and I almost fainted when he called my name over the intercom. But I was determined, and walked into his consulting room with taut nipples and arousal trickling down the inside of my thigh.

“Ella, it’s nice to see you again. What can I help you with today?” he asked with his usual warm, professional smile.

I sat down, crossed my legs, flicked my long, straight brown hair behind my shoulder, and launched into my rehearsed story, trying to sound convincingly anxious. It wasn’t difficult because I actually was anxious, just not for the reasons I was lying to him about.

“I’ve been having this dull, aching pain in my breasts for over a week. It comes and goes, but it’s been getting worse these past two days. I’m worried it might be something serious…” I lied.

He listened carefully, asked a few gentle questions about the nature of the pain, when it occurred, if there were any lumps, and if there was a chance I could be pregnant. I answered vaguely, blushing the whole time. Then he said the words I’d fantasised about.

“Alright, Ella, I think the best thing is for me to examine you.”

“Of course, Doctor,” I replied, nodding.

“But first, there must be a female member of staff in attendance,” he added, deflating my excitement as he called for one of the nurses, which I knew was standard practice, sadly.

When she entered the room, an overweight lady in her late fifties, a nurse I hadn’t seen at the surgery before, my doctor very respectfully asked me to remove my blouse and bra, and to then lie down comfortably on the bed for him.

Oh my God! This is really happening. I’m actually going to let him see and touch my tits under false pretences.

I stood up, turned slightly away from him and the nurse, and slowly unbuttoned my blouse. When I unclasped my bra and let it fall, my heavy breasts spilled free. Even in the clinical lighting of the surgery they looked full and soft, nipples already rock-hard from nerves and arousal.

The female nurse made me more nervous than the male doctor did, as I held my breasts and slowly sat on the side of the bed, slid back and then lay down on the paper-covered leather bed.

Christ, Ella, what are you doing? I asked myself inwardly, staring up at the ceiling while my doctor washed his hands and pulled on a pair of thin, blue gloves. The nurse simply told me to relax and rest my arms by my sides. I did, and felt the weight of my breasts fall slightly to the sides. Embarrassed.

“Just relax, Ella. I’m going to palpate the breast tissue systematically,” my doctor explained calmly. “Let me know if anything feels tender… okay?”

“Uh… yes… yes…” I muttered.

The moment his gloved hands touched me, I let out a tiny squeak as arousal rushed between my legs. He started with my left breast, pressing firmly but gently in small circles, working from the outer edge inward. Every press sent electric through me, and when his fingers moved closer to my nipple, I had to bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself from moaning out loud.

This is so wrong. I lied to a doctor just so he would feel me up. What kind of person does that?

The nurse stood with a stern look on her face, arms folded. But the shame only made me wetter. I could feel myself becoming seriously soaked, and my clit was throbbing with every careful squeeze of his fingers.

Should I tell him I’m also having pains in my vagina? Of course not, Ella!

He lifted the weight of my breast to check underneath, his thumb brushing perilously close to my aching nipple.

Oh fuck, touch it… just brush it once. I beg you, doctor. Give it a squeeze.

My mind was spinning with filthy thoughts.

What if he lost control right now? What if he squeezed them hard, pinched my nipples, told me how much he wanted to cover them in his cum?

“Now the other side,” he murmured, moving to my right breast. He repeated the thorough examination, kneading the soft, heavy flesh, checking every quadrant. I was breathing faster, my chest rising and falling under his hands.

I’m dripping. If he looks down at my legs he’ll see how tightly I’m pressing them together.

The contrast between his detached, professional demeanour and the dirty thrill surging through me was intoxicating.

Fuck off on your break, nurse, instead of standing there watching him like a hawk. I won’t file a law suit if he climbs on top of me, and takes me hard and deep on the examination bed for being a naughty girl.

“Is the pain more here?” he asked, pressing a particular spot.

I nodded breathlessly, even though there was no pain at all. “Yes… there…”

He continued thoroughly, checking both breasts and under my arms for any lymph nodes. I was close to an orgasm by the time he’d finished. When he finally stepped back and told me I could sit up and get dressed, I felt a flush of disappointment mixed with arousal that needed to be satisfied

“Everything feels completely normal,” he said reassuringly as I buttoned my blouse with slightly trembling fingers. “No lumps, no abnormalities. It’s most likely cyclical mastalgia. Breast pain related to your hormones. Common in young women with larger breasts. We can monitor it, but I don’t think there’s any cause for concern, Ella.”

I could barely speak. I dressed quickly, thanked him with burning cheeks, and left the room quivering, unable to look at the nurse. I headed straight for the ladies’ toilets, locked myself in the end cubicle, and yanked my pencil skirt up.

My pussy was drenched and puffy. The moment my fingers touched my swollen clit, I gasped and leaned back against the wall, one hand frantically rubbing tight circles while the other squeezed my left breast hard through my blouse, imagining it was my doctor.

He touched them… he actually touched my tits. His hands were all over them.

The memory of his fingers pressing into my soft flesh, lifting their weight, brushing near my nipples, sent me spiralling. I pictured him losing his composure, pulling my nipples into his mouth, telling me what a dirty little liar I was. Within minutes, I came hard inside the cubicle, biting my lip to stay quiet as my hips jerked uncontrollably.

I sat there for longer, recovering, breathing raggedly, ruined by the reality of what I had just done as it sank in. I had lied to my doctor. I had wasted his precious time and then shamefully masturbated in a public toilet. But I had done it. I’d turned my first outrageous fantasy into a reality.

However, that reality instantly turned into a nightmare, when I came out of the cubicle to find the nurse washing her hands in one of the basins. Her words still send shivers down my spine.

“Honestly, you girls today,” she scowled. “Shameless little tarts. You’re worse than men,” she scorned me. “If I catch you pulling a stunt like that again, Missy…” she waggled her finger at me as she left the ladies’ toilets.

I left the surgery with my face burning bright red with shame, feeling dirty and small. But in the days that followed, I couldn’t stop masturbating over it as the examination replayed in my head. The feeling of his gloved hands, my shameless arousal, the frantic orgasm in the toilet cubicle.

But the situation with the nurse, reading me like a book, left me feeling torn between deep embarrassment and the undeniable thrill of what I had done. It was reckless and dishonest, yet its still one of the most intense sexual experiences of my naughty life.

I never went back to him with another fake complaint. But whenever I see a handsome doctor on television or in a film, I think back to that afternoon in the surgery and feel a secret thrill.

It was one of the most brazenly sexual things I had ever done up to that point, purely because I fancied him and wanted his hands on my tits. But the biggest thing was learning that I had a growing appetite for sexual risk…