DD/lg – Not A Real Doctor

The best and basically only perk of being a counselor was, of course, getting a private room, and Kelsey managed to make it almost four days into the summer before one of Julia’s campers barfed in her bed in the middle of the night. They weren’t going to make the poor kid sleep on a bare plastic mattress, so the camper got Julia’s room, and, well. Neither Julia nor Kelsey got a room to themselves tonight.

The consolation perk was a smuggled-in bottle of cheap, nasty rum. They hadn’t actually drunk much–just a couple of swigs each to try and relax after their 2 am sheet-change wake-up call. Kelsey could still taste it on her tongue, though, and while it had helped make things fuzzier, it had made her feel warmer all over too. The warmth did her no favors. These tiny cabins had no AC, and they hadn’t even bothered pulling the sheets up when they’d climbed into the little twin bunk. Her skin was damp; she could feel stray hairs sticking to her temples, her forehead, and see her bunkmate’s doing the same.

It occurred to her to wonder if Julia’s mouth tasted like rum too.

“Julia?” she whispered, barely more than a breath.

“Mmmm,” sighed the other girl. “Hey, ’m real sorry about this. I can sleep on the… floor or whatever, if you want…”

“Don’t be ridiculous! It’s fine,” said Kelsey, her voice still soft. “I just wanted to see if you were still awake.”

“Not f’ long,” said Julia, scrunching her head back down into the pillow. “Thanks for letting me crash, I appreciate it.” Her eyes were dipping shut again, her lips parting slightly as her breathing slowed and deepened. “Just sorry it’s too hot to…” Her voice trailed off.

Kelsey blinked. “To what?” No response. She bit her lip. They were both exhausted, but… “Hey. Jules. To what?” she whispered, leaning down toward the other girl’s ear.

“Hmmm?” Julia inhaled sharply, eyes opening and struggling to focus. “Kelsey? Is everything okay?”

“Yeah!” Kelsey bit her lip. “Jeez. Sorry. I’m sorry. Go back to sleep.” Selfish, she berated herself. It’s three in the damn morning! Let your friend rest!

“‘Kay,” said Julia, sinking back down again. “Kisses. Cuddles.”

God dammit.

Kelsey lay back on her half of the bed, staring at the dark ceiling, feeling much more awake than she had a few minutes ago. Julia almost definitely didn’t know what she was saying–just talking sweet nonsense as she drifted off to sleep. Unless. Unless she was… pretending? To give herself an out? Kelsey could imagine herself doing the same thing all too clearly.

Kelsey thought hard through a slightly rummy fog. If Julia were not actually asleep, and really did want to… kiss and cuddle, then touching her would be fine. If she were actually asleep again already, and Kelsey were very careful, she wouldn’t necessarily even know, which wasn’t really all that bad a thing. It might even give her some nice dreams. Right?

So just one hand, resting on her waist, thumb under the hem of her pajama top.

Julia didn’t stir. Emboldened, Kelsey let her palm brush back and forth a little: despite the summer night heat, goosebumps prickled on Julia’s soft skin, over her ribs and farther up toward her shoulder. The moonlight through the window caught the tiny, fine hairs on her skin, and Kelsey was entranced. So entranced that it was almost an accident when her next brush touched the bottom of Julia’s nipple.

Julia might have inhaled a little deeper; it might have been a trick of the light. It might have just been a stirring in her sleep. But Kelsey, breathing faster and faster, found herself with half of this pretty girl’s soft breast in her hand. She still wasn’t sure if Kelsey was doing all this just to be cuddled–though a nagging voice in the back of her head said she already knew–but she didn’t want to move her hand. Not yet. She just wanted to marvel at the fullness, the gentle movement of breath, the–the sort-of-accident of it. No apologizing and jerking her hand away. No waking sleepy Julia.

Julia pushed her hips back against Kelsey’s leg.

Kelsey forgot to breathe for a bit. Soft jersey cotton against her bare thigh, and the curve of Julia’s back with her tank top rucked up to the bottom of her ribs. Kelsey knew that posture, thighs clamped together and knees a little bent, toes vaguely pointed. She’d woken up like that herself before. Julia was having a nice dream after all.

Cautiously, Kelsey scooted closer, trying not to shift the mattress too much, and touched her nose to the hair at the back of Julia’s neck. She smelled good, like girl and pine trees and campfire smoke, and a hint of sweat and floral shampoo. Opening her hand, she began to brush her fingertips very, very lightly along the inside curve of Julia’s breast. It hadn’t been her idea to put the two of them in the same bed, she reasoned. So there wasn’t anything really wrong with this. People in bed ended up touching. That’s just how things happened.

Julia turned restlessly, and Kelsey felt a moment of panic at being caught, but she was just shifting in bed–and throwing her leg back to get one of Kelsey’s thighs between both of hers. The movement had put her nipple right between Kelsey’s fingers, too, and she was arching into it, stiff and trembling with tension. Kelsy brushed it lightly, so so lightly, while her other hand found itself very near Julia’s waist. If Julia was as deep a sleeper as she seemed to be, then she probably wouldn’t even notice.

Kelsey tried not to reflect on the sheer sketchiness of that thought, took a breath, and slipped her hand into Julia’s pants.

She’d never done this before. “Practiced” kissing other girls in her bedroom, play-fight wrestling that ended with someone pinned, glancing over each other in the locker room or skinny-dipping–that was all well and good. But this was… more. She could feel the curve and dip where Julia’s hip met her belly. Kelsey realized her hand was trembling. She reminded herself, once again, that Julia was not apparently conscious, not a partner, just someone she was treating like…

Little curly tuft in her fingers.

Julia’s breathing was still deep and even, but not so slow anymore. Her little pink tongue touched her lips, and she swallowed, and Kelsey was holding her breast gently with one hand, holding the swell of her sex in the other. A little lightning bolt shot through her when she realized that. She was actually doing this. She was actually exploring with her fingers, finding the part of Julia’s lips and hesitantly opening them. Opening her.

Very warm, and very damp–no, not damp. Slick. Wet. Julia’s tongue flickered again, forming a few silent words, while Kelsey felt like she hadn’t let out her breath for a solid five minutes. Julia was starting to press her hips back again, keeping Kelsey’s thigh against her, as if she wanted Kelsey to trap her pelvis there, to give her room to squirm and buck. Kelsey did.

She’d started out barely daring to touch Julia’s skin, thinking the pressure would wake her, but she seemed to have only fallen more deeply into… whatever this was. She cradled her friend against herself, not caring now how warm their bodies were against each other, and nervously caught Julia’s nipple against her thumb. Roll and push and tug. It was stiffer than before, if anything, and responsive, yearning for pressure.

Then, very quietly, Julia mumbled one word Kelsey could actually make out. It was “Daddy.”

It dizzied her. Kelsey didn’t know what to think, what to do. How much of this was Julia aware of? How much would she remember? Who did she think–did she have someone who–what if.

What if she was Daddy, then? Just for one night?

The thought was a fucking rush, a flood of heat and need and desire from her spine down to the bottom of her belly. She wasn’t older or bigger than Julia–an inch shorter, in fact. But the thought of being some kind of authority figure to her, taking control. Taking care. Holding her, just like this. The breath she’d been holding rushed out of her, and she pressed the base of her hand against Julia’s pussy, feeling how it made her whimper and grind.

“Yeah,” she whispered, so soft she could barely hear it herself. “Daddy’s here.”

Julia was trying to hump her hand, trying to hump her leg: wherever her mind was, there was no more doubt about what her body wanted. Kelsey instinctively wanted to hold those wriggling hips still against herself, to make Julia struggle. (It was, she thought, what she’d want if their positions were reversed.) So she did, and Julia’s next breath was a quiet little whine. Her whole body rolled back and up, trying to get pressure up against herself, and when Kelsey shifted her hand she found Julia’s swelling, slippery clit between her fingers.

She was fucking a girl. She was fucking a girl at summer camp. The thought made a nervous, silent laugh twitch in her throat. People joked about the counselors sneaking off to the woods to get high and screw around, but here she was in her own cabin, with her friend jerking around like a fish on the dock, caught in her shaking hands.

“Daddy,” Julia mumbled, “please,” and Kelsey discovered that you can push your thumb inside someone and still rub their clit if you have short fingers. Her other hand moved reluctantly away from Julia’s breast to her mouth, and Julia seized on her fingers hungrily, suckling and letting out little sounds halfway between need and contentment.

The only problem with this setup was that Kelsey’s own clit was starting to send her stern messages about how flagrantly it was being neglected. Julia’s insistent butt had helped with a little grinding action earlier, but as she started to pull in on herself, hands clenching, belly tightening, Kelsey was left out in the cold–well, out in the heat and damp, but still. She couldn’t bear to pull her hands out of either end of Julia long enough to shove one down her pajama shorts.

But she could take a second, just a quick second, to leave Julia’s hungry mouth and fumble around behind her on the desk next to the bed. She wasn’t even sure what she was trying to find. Just something she could hold between her legs, between the two of them, anything that would fit right and give her a shape to–there.

Kelsey’s fingers found the textured surface of the extra-large Maglite her dad had given her to “find your way to the outhouse and fight bears on the way.” Definitely not what it had been intended for, but it would do. She fumbled it down to their tangled legs, trying not to smack either of them with it, and managed to get the shaft wedged against herself, braced against Julia’s hindquarters. The next time Kelsey squeezed Julia’s clit, the next time Julia squirmed, it pressed itself hard against Kelsey’s pussy, rigid through the sopping fabric of her underwear.

Fuck. Yes. Julia felt it too, and let out an inarticulate little noise before Kelsey pushed her fingers back in her mouth. Then they were riding each other: grind and squeeze and gasp and pulse, cicadas outside drowning the creak of the mattress, wet and breathless in the stuffy summer night.

Julia was getting close. Kelsey could feel it. Her belly was tensing and shuddering and her breathing had long since abandoned the slow rhythm of sleep; she was a hitching, heedless mess, and Kelsey wanted to find out what happened next. She used her hand to turn Julia’s face toward her, and it wasn’t a total shock when they made eye contact, but it sent a jolt through her all the same.

Julia’s eyes were glazed, unfocused, dilated with sleepy desire. Kelsey didn’t know how much she was seeing now, or how much she’d remember later. She just knew she was about to get off just humping her makeshift sex toy, and if she was that far gone, Julia had to be much, much farther.

It took them both by surprise, though. Julia suddenly jerked, with a sharp, half-choked breath, and Kelsey felt her tighten and convulse around her slippery thumb. The little mewling sounds coming out of her throat made her throb herself, and she kept riding the metal shaft between her legs as Julia shook and clenched and slowly sagged back onto the sweaty bed. She squeezed her eyes shut and opened them over and over, and Kelsey pulled her fingers out of her mouth, letting her gulp down deep breaths as her legs quaked with aftershocks.

“Oh fuck,” Julia said, finally, coming to herself. “Oh my god. Did I just… have a…” She hesitated. “A dream?”

Kelsey bit her lip. “I don’t know, princess.”

If the pet name was strange to her, Julia didn’t seem to notice. “I. Uh.” She shifted a little, and discovered the way their legs were positioned–and the flashlight pressing against her. “… Fuck. Wait.” She turned to stare at Kelsey’s face through the thick and heavy atmosphere in the room. “Did I call you…?”

Kelsey nodded.

It was hard to see, but Julia’s face seemed to flush bright red. “Oh Jesus.” She turned over, but didn’t pull away–just far enough to look the two of them over, and the mess they’d made of the sheets. She took a deep breath. “Can I call you…?”

“Do you trust me to take care of you?” said Kelsey, feeling the strange but gratifying new name thrill through her.

Julia swallowed and nodded, just a little movement in the dark.

“And are you going to take care of me back?” Kelsey grinned, wiggling, letting the flashlight bump her mischievously.

Julia caught her breath and nodded again.

“It only makes sense, then.” Kelsey smoothed the hair back from Julia’s damp forehead, then pressed her nose and lips to it. “I do have to say, though–if I’m going to be a father figure to you, I’m not sure I approve of your drinking.”

Julia squirmed and ducked her head. “Drinking?” she said in a small voice. “Drinking what?”

“Open your mouth for a second,” said Kelsey, pulling her close again, “and let me find out.”

He kept a Band-Aid and a tiny sterile wipe on him; she’d found them the first time she’d ever sat on top of him and pulled his wallet from his pocket to go through it (smirk on her face, pulse wild in her throat). “What’s this for?” she’d said, wrinkling her nose.

“Accidents,” he’d replied.

“I think most guys carry a condom for that reason.”

“When I do,” he’d said, “there’s nothing accidental about it.”

Now here she was with her legs across his lap, hands behind her on the bench, remembering that afternoon and watching ruefully as he cleaned and bandaged her scrape.

“Ouch!” she said.

“Don’t flinch,” he murmured. “If you’re very brave you’ll get a reward.”

“Fine,” she grumbled. There was a brief cold sting to it as the alcohol evaporated, but the the thing that made her wince was the thought of being seen like this. She’d indulged herself with the mismatched knee socks and pigtails that morning; she hadn’t expected to find herself in this position, her little skater skirt riding up, getting her skinned knee tended to as if… well.

He wasn’t technically old enough to be her father.

“I did tell you to tie your shoe,” he said.

“I know!” she said defensively. “But this girl walked by with a puppy, and–” she swallowed the rest of the sentence before she could dig herself any deeper.

He looked up, eyebrow raised, and offered a smile to someone behind her. She twisted around to see: oh. The woman she’d mentioned, smiling in sympathy, walking up while her dog raced happily around the off-leash park behind them.

“I saw you take a spill there!” she said as she approached. “Everything okay?”

“No permanent injuries,” he said, extending a hand over to shake. “I’m Drew. Fine-looking dog you have there.”

“Thanks!” she said. “I’m Natalie. And this is…”

“And this,” he said amiably, rubbing her leg, “is my little girl.”

She froze, mouth halfway open to introduce herself, suddenly uncertain. She took a breath to say something–but what?

“Fine-looking one you have there yourself,” said Natalie, eyes sparkling. They nodded at each other, very slightly. Then Natalie took a seat behind her on the bench.

What was going on? She still couldn’t seem to find the breath to say anything, but the flush of nerves she’d felt while he was tending to her had graduated to a full-on burning face. She automatically made room, twisting to pull her legs off his lap and sit down between them.

Natalie only moved closer, and casually ran one hand up her back, thumb brushing the nape of her neck over and over in a gentle, soothing motion. It didn’t actually soothe her at all, of course; she sat bolt upright and gripped her Daddy’s arm, mouth half open, unable to think of what to even say to this.

“She seems very sweet-natured,” Natalie smiled, and moved her thumb up to rub lightly under her ear, behind her jaw.

“She is,” he said. He could definitely see what Natalie was doing, but he didn’t seem to mind, and certainly didn’t object. “Doesn’t bite. Except when she’s playing.”

He started scratching the back of her head himself, doing it exactly the way he knew she liked–pushing outward with the backs of his nails, making her instinctively press against them with her head, tingling. Her hands gripped her skirt. Her face was still so hot, but they weren’t doing anything that was actually weird or embarrassing.

Right?

Natalie moved the hand at her jaw back to her throat, then ran it down her flank, stroking the thin shirt and making goosebumps rise on her skin. “She do okay with strangers?”

“We’re working on that. Why don’t you try her and see if she behaves?”

Natalie’s lips pressed against her hear, breath warm, lips soft. “Can you present for me, girl?”

She felt that hand drift to the side of her skirt and undo the tab, then to the back, and slide down underneath it. So. Okay. Now they were doing something a little more embarrassing.

But she felt her back arch and her hips push up a little anyway. Doing tricks for a stranger.

He had his hand on her neck now, slowly squeezing, almost holding her by the scruff. His other hand reached across her body and picked up the blue nylon leash from Natalie’s lap. He held it up, examining the clip at the end. “Do you know,” he said, “I’ve been thinking about getting one of these?”

“I say stick with a simple one,” smirked Natalie. “Works just as well as the fancy versions.” That cool, careful hand was slipping down into her the back of her panties, one fingertip teasing between her cheeks and making her breath hitch. She was rolled so far forward on her hips now that she was almost off balance, back a shaky arch, shirt tight against her breasts.

She started to say “Daddy, is this something you–”

She started to say “Daddy–I’m all blushy–”

She started to say “Daddy, I’m not a–”

She started to say “Daddy please–”

But all that came out of her throat was a tiny, high-pitched little whine.

Natalie’s hand was underneath her now, cupping her, finding her lips warm and her panties sopping. Natalie’s grin was a bitten lip and a searching expression, looking off in the middle distance with careful, probing fingers that easily wet themselves inside her. Natalie found her clit, and let out a little satisfied “ah.”

Her fists had twisted the skirt into themselves so thoroughly that she was vaguely surprised it hadn’t torn yet. There was no mistaking what was happening now: anyone who glanced across the path from the park would see a girl trapped between a man and a woman, held very still by the neck, while one of them quite obviously worked her pussy as if she were polishing a plaque.

Her face was so hot and she couldn’t seem to breathe all the way in. She felt paralyzed, shaky, helpless, used. She felt so fucking turned on she couldn’t think.

It didn’t take long at all.

When she came it was almost a surprise, and she couldn’t quite contain an embarrassing little grunt as her breath burst out of her. Her belly contracted and she nearly raised her fists to her mouth before she had the presence of mind to force them back into her lap. She felt herself dropping her face to her knees instead, legs shaking, Natalie slowly and carefully pushing her all the way to the end before that wicked hand finally withdrew.

Natalie popped her fingers in her mouth, a deceptively sweet little smile on her face. “Well,” she chuckled, meeting his eyes across her crouched body. “She is just a lovely little thing, isn’t she?”

“As sweet as they come,” he agreed.

Natalie stood and stretched, looking across the park to where her goofy retriever was bounding toward her, stick in his mouth. “Snickers and I should get going,” she said, “but any time you want to meet up for a playdate…”

“Oh, I think I know where to find you,” he said. Natalie grinned, and waved, and was gone.

“Oh my God,” she finally managed to say into her damp and wrinkled skirt.

“Shhhh,” he said, still rubbing the back of her neck. “You did so well, darling girl. Here, let me see your knee.”

She pushed herself up again, not yet steady, feeling as if her face must still be puffy and red from the exertion of… well, holding still. “Did you–was that–do you two–”

“Not something you need to worry about, princess,” he soothed. “Here. I told you if you were very brave you’d get a reward, didn’t I?”

“Yes,” she said, fighting to keep her voice in its normal register.

He leaned down, kissed her bandaged knee, and produced a tiny heart sticker from his pocket to stick next to it. “Such a good girl,” he said. “And only getting better.”

The Exam, Part Three

The study lasted–well, they later told her it was six weeks. She’d lost count by day four.

She returned to the doctor’s office each morning, and since Daddy had to leave early for work, most days she got belted into the back seat in her slippers and nightie and sleepy fuzzy hair. She always got put in a gown (and usually taken out of it) as soon as she arrived anyway. And it didn’t matter if she’d just had a bath or not; they always stripped her down and scrubbed her clean before they started.

Her head was different, inside and outside the doors. She knew that, but she found it hard to recall one version while she was living in the other. Her body felt different here, too. She wasn’t allowed to forget any part of her physical presence for long, and she became very used to any of the dozens of students treating her like a loose-limbed doll for checkups or demonstrations. She’d been hesitant about that, a little, at first. After a few days in the straps, she learned to comply.

Some days were play days, when she and other girls would be put in a room with toys and asked to try things or answer questions, while most of the staff watched from the other side of a mirror. Some days were Uh-Oh play days, when the straps came out, and the other girls got to make her the toy. Some days were good girl days, when they’d put sweet things in her mouth and sweeter things in her private parts, and she’d spend hours giggling and arching and edging and end up with a serious case of the squirmies.

Some days were bad girl days, when they’d put her on the table, and bring out the blindfold and the cold metal instrument tray and the cuffs. She didn’t like the bad girl days. Not even a little. No matter what they said.

The doctor was always there, even when she couldn’t see him. She grew to know his hands from everyone else’s: they way he was so careful with her, so precise, the way his palm on her back soothed her and the way his fingers inside her made her jerk and squeal. By the time Daddy came to pick her up, most days, she was well past the point of comprehending grownup words, but she could hear them quietly discussing her progress. She hoped the doctor always told her Daddy she was a good girl. She knew he sometimes didn’t.

There were two bad girl days in a row. Then three. Then four. Then this-many. She was very, very deep in scary space; she had stopped being able to come out of it even after Daddy took her home. She squirmed in the back seat, thumbsucking, trying to work up the nerve to say that she didn’t want to go back, please, please, it was a nuh-uh, it was too much.

That was when they kept her overnight.

She tried so hard to be brave, even when she could hear the other girls being shepherded off and picked up, even when she knew she was alone with all of them and the doctor was pulling on gloves and spreading her very wide. Even when she heard the click-buzz of the scariest implements, and felt the tip of the metal sound. Even when she felt the click of the oral speculum worked between her teeth.

They made a wet and thrashing mess of her. They reduced her body to a string of helpless muscles and raw nerves, and no matter how many times she inarticulately begged her they wouldn’t let her come, and then once she got really scared of coming they ignored her pleas to stop. This wasn’t punishment: there was no smirking or mockery, no attempt to see if she’d learned her lesson. This was a procedure. They were working, quietly and with professional competence, to break her.

The operation was declared successful at 5:34 am.

She woke up in her own bed with her Daddy stroking her hair. She was still aching, but her memories of the night seemed distant and foggy, locked in something at the center of herself.

“Shh,” said her Daddy. “You’re home now. The study’s concluded. You’re back here with me.”

“Do I have to go back?” she managed, curling instinctively around her blanket.

“No, no.” Daddy smiled. “The doctor wants to follow up with you, of course–he’ll be making a series of house calls.” Her heart skipped, for a complex and confusing number of reasons. “But all the primary work is done. Their next project is working with the data you and the others gave them.”

She wormed her head under the soothing hand, one fist against her lips, exploring the new space she’d found her head in. It didn’t buzz quite like it used to. Instead, very softly, it sang.

“Daddy,” she said, “how did the exam go?”

A little chuckle. “Oh, my little girl. You got the best possible score.”

The Exam, Part Two

They wouldn’t even let her keep her pretty little socks on.

Her daddy braided the rope into her hair while the doctor guided her hips to one side and slowly pulled her trembling fists away from her mouth. “Can’t have you hiding from the students, now can we?” he smiled, and carefully tightened the cuff around one wrist. “Besides, we don’t know where your fingers have been.”

“S-students?” she squeaked.

Her daddy began to loop the doubled rope in a cuff around her ankles, slowly pulling her head back, making her look up wide-eyed at the doctor as he cupped each of her breasts and palpated them. When it seemed he’d checked them out quite thoroughly, he shook a pair of clamps on a chain out of the pocket of his white coat.

“Nuh-uh,” she whimpered, looking down as best she could, increasingly unable to move her head to track them. “Nuh-UH.”

“What did we say about being bratty with the doctor?” purred her daddy, giving her a sharp little bad-girl spank between her legs.

“I’m sorry!” she gasped. “But I didn’t—I don’t—I’ve been GOOD—”

“Even good girls need to wear the right testing equipment.” The doctor patted her cheek, then reached down to grab her nipple and tweak back and forth a few times. She couldn’t help but let out a little whining sound when he tightened the first clamp onto it. “We have to make sure you fit in with all the others.”

“Others—” was all she said before her daddy, pulling on a spare glove, silenced her by pushing three fingers into her mouth.

Pacified, sucking automatically at them as they fucked against her tongue, she barely even noticed as the second clamp tightened down and the doctor unset the brake on the table’s wheels. Dazed, increasingly sunk in a very particular headspace, she watched them roll her—stripped, bound and exposed—out of the room and down a hallway. The wheels bumped over the threshold of an elevator, where a couple of other doctors glanced over at her with mild interest, and then turned away.

When they rolled her out, she saw a bank of other tables adorned with squirming, hogtied girls, and one empty spot in the middle.

“See? Nothing to fear. Still, we can give you a little something to soothe your nerves,” smiled the doctor as he pulled up a tray of gleaming surgical steel. The something in question turned out to be a heavy, bulbous plug, which he was able to work into her slippery ass without much trouble at all.

It worked, too, enough that once it was in, her daddy pulled out of her mouth and left her throbbing and panting and trembling—but not afraid. Being filled always helped her feel this way, like she was being used correctly, like she could stop guessing and flinching and just be where she was told to be.

“Acute regression,” the doctor was saying as his students gathered around, peering at her taut-bowed body. “Like most of the others in this group, we can prolong or intensify the effect with mild genital stimulation.” Some kind of plastic instrument pressed against her, parting her lips; a set of rubber nubs settled against her exposed clit and clicked to buzzing life. She squeaked, panting harder, looking up at them all in open-mouthed vulnerability as the flush spread from her cheeks down to her throat and chest.

The students all noted that down.

“Go ahead and form two lines to take a closer look,” said the doctor, “one on the left side of the table, one on the right. Remember, fresh gloves for each orifice! She’ll be staying with us during each day for the duration of the study, and released to her caretaker at night.”

Her daddy patted her hair as the anonymous people queued up to look inside her, one after another. It was clearly something they were getting used to practicing: speculum in, speculum open, a few swabs of the gloved fingers, speculum closed and out. The ones in front of her didn’t even bother making eye contact, just took her chin one by one and probed inside her cheeks, under her wet and gasping tongue. She would have been trembling even without the little instrument still teasing her clit.

Every one of them took a moment to toy with the plug and watch her react to it. Every one of them tapped a few times on the clamps, and scribbled a note or two.

By the time they’d all gone through both lines, she was a blinking, speechless mess, so deep in her own head that she couldn’t remember the way back out. “You’ve been SO brave,” she thought she heard the doctor murmur, bending down to stroke her ear while Daddy rubbed one thumb along the back of her neck. “And you’re all done for today! Tomorrow will be a little… longer, but you did just fine, and your Daddy and I agree that you can earn a new treat every time. Won’t that be nice?”

“Uh—uh huh,” she whimpered, even that little sound requiring an enormous feat of concentration.

“You’re here because you’re very, very special,” smiled her daddy. “I’ve always known it. The doctor here is just going to prove it. Isn’t that exciting, sweetheart? You and all your new little friends are going to be part of something absolutely wonderful.”

The Exam, Part One

She squirmed a little on the crinkly paper of the table. “Daddy,” she said in her smallest voice, “I’m scared.”

“Nothing to be nervous about, sweetheart,” Daddy said, stroking her hair and adjusting her headband. “I’ll be right here the whole time. And we’re only here to do what’s best for you.”

“That’s right,” said the doctor, closing the door behind him and flipping through her chart. “I’m sure this is all going to be quite routine, young miss. We’ll get you taken care of in no time, and then your daddy can take you out for a treat. Won’t that be nice?”

She bit her lip and nodded.

“Why don’t we start by taking off that pretty dress?” The doctor smiled and flipped her frilly hem with his pen. “I’ll need to listen to your heart and lungs, so I’ll just warm up my stethoscope.”

She’d known this was coming, but it still made her pink up a little. Sliding off the table, she held her arms up straight, letting her daddy gather the material and pull it off over her head. “Upsy-daisy!” murmured Daddy, giving her a kiss on the cheek.

The doctor did warm the metal disc with his hand, but she still involuntarily shivered when he first put it against her chest, sitting there in her bra and white panties and little lace-trimmed socks. “Breathe in and hold,” he instructed, his other hand gently pressed to her back. “Very good. And again…” He moved the scope, slipping it under the edge of her bra. “Again. GOOD girl.”

She tingled, goosebumps rising on her skin, and she was sure he could hear her heart skip as he moved the strap off her shoulder and the cup out of the way. “One more time. You’re doing just fine.”

Her daddy stepped forward to squeeze her knee. “Told you it was nothing to be scared of, didn’t I?”

“Yes, Daddy,” she said, a little more quavery than she’d wished.

“All sounds just fine,” said the doctor, looping the scope back around his neck. “Now let’s proceed with the manual exam, hmm? Go ahead and turn over on your tummy, and you can remove your underwear, please.”

She swallowed, then swallowed again, and looked to her daddy for reassurance. All she got was an amused expression and a little circling gesture. Definitely blushing now, she rolled over, putting her thumbs against her waistband and then hesitating at the sound behind her: latex gloves being tugged into place.

“This won’t hurt,” said the doctor, hand coming to rest on her hip. “Go ahead. Good girl.”

That damn phrase always made her pliable. She scooted her knees up and pushed her panties all the way to her ankles, then felt the doctor’s other hand on her knee. He guided her back down, knees apart, hips just an inch off the white paper as his fingers cradled her mound.

“Pass me that, please?”

“Of course,” said her daddy, audibly smiling.

Then the wet cool feeling of lube, startling as it slide between her cheeks, and he was pressing one gloved finger slowly into her ass.

“Daddy!” Her voice came out in an embarrasing squeal, and she bit her knuckles, looking back with a panicked expression as the doctor gently continued to work it into her. She could feel herself pulsing and relaxing, almost tugging him in, and her face was on fire.

“Shh, princess.” Cool hands stroked her hair, her cheeks, and gently brushed her eyes closed. “You’re doing so well. Just relax and let your doctor do his job.”

She tried so hard. Her legs trembled; her breath came shallow, hitching in her throat. The doctor had worked himself in deeply now, probing her in the most embarrassing place, and if that wasn’t enough, she felt as if she kept accidentally pushing her hips down against his other hand.

She couldn’t help it. Her hand tilted, pressed to her lips, and then she found herself sucking nervously on her thumb.

It helped. Fuck, it helped. Her whimpers subsided, and she felt herself relax, little rhythmic sounds of comfort coming from her mouth as her daddy brushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear. The doctor was pressing his hand up now, parting her pussy and wetting it with the lube that had dribbled down between her legs. Then his thumb was pushing into her—not too far, just inside, teasing her entrance even as the finger in her ass worked deeper.

The gentle hands continued to soothe her, cheek and chin and throat. “Everything seem all right down there, Doctor?”

“Absolutely.” He pulled out from both her holes, abruptly, and she gasped again. “I think the preliminary has gone just fine.”

“P-preliminary?” she mumbled around the thumb in her mouth.

“Go ahead and get her fully stripped,” the doctor continued, peeling off his gloves, “and we’ll move on to the therapy.”

(to be continued)

He could tell as soon as he walked in the door, the way she blushed and darted her eyes around, toe of one shoe twisting on the floor.

He didn’t ask at first. He took his time, removing his jacket and hanging it up, setting his briefcase on the table, unlacing his shoes. He let the silence lengthen. He let it build until she had to break it herself.

“Daddy?”

He didn’t look up at her yet. “Yes, little one.”

“I have to tell—um, did you have a good day at work?” She caught herself, remembering the protocol.

“It was fine, thank you for asking. And how was your day here?”

“Kinda boring. Um. Daddy.” She took a deep breath.

He pushed a chair out from the table. “Stand here,” he said quietly. “Hands on the back. Good posture. There’s my girl.”

She was shaking a little as she assumed her position. He stood and began to pull her clothes off, calmly, treating her as he would an easily-panicked animal. “Now,” he said, “your confession.”

“I played with your toys today, Daddy,” it tumbled out in a rush. “I’m sorry! I’m really sorry. I know I wasn’t allowed to. But I did almost all my chores, and I was so good, I was waiting for you, but I just got so bored, and then—”

He had her down to her underwear and socks now; he unsnapped her bra and gently tugged it off her shoulders. His hand drifted up her belly to stroke the underside of her breast. “These toys?” he said.

She bit her lip, trembling, and nodded. “And others. Daddy.”

“It’s not your fault, Princess,” he explained, his mouth close to her ear, making her whole body tingle. “My toys should have known better than to help you break the rules. So I have to punish all the toys that you touched. I have to remind them why they don’t disobey Daddy. You understand, don’t you, little one?”

“B-but Daddy, I–I mean they tried so hard, I—”

“Little one,” he murmured, a little growl in his voice, “you’re going to drop your panties to the floor now. You’re going to carry them to your room—in your mouth—and put them in your dirty girl laundry, and come back with the soft cuffs you keep in your special drawer. And then we’re going to play a little game with my toys together. Say, how long that pretty little bottom can keep from lifting off this chair.”

She swallowed hard, trying to keep her voice from going squeaky. “Yes, Daddy!”

“GOOD girl,” he chuckled. “I promise, tomorrow, you’ll all be MUCH better behaved.”

Remember, littles, if you don’t go to sleep Santa won’t come.

And neither will you.

“It’s a lovely little thing,” he murmurs in your ear as you rest yourself on his thigh, squirming a little. “Warm to the touch, and yielding. Find it for me.”

Shyly at first, then with some enthusiasm, you reach down into the pretty sparkly band of fabric and brush your fingers over yourself: smooth where he shaved you, velvet-soft where you can feel the beginnings of just a little swell.

“Don’t be shy,” he grins, and then both his hands are there, pressing to rock you back against him and pull you up a little bit under his fingertips. He doesn’t go underneath the panties, not quite, but the pressure is perfectly clear. You inhale.

“There. Try it like that. Like Daddy showed you.” You follow his movement, hand on the outside and pressing against your mound, then deeper under to rub the seam against your clit. It’s nothing you haven’t done before, not exactly, but it’s different somehow–like you’re acting as his hands, even as his other pair roams up and down your tingling back.

“A good girl knows how to play with the toys her Daddy got her.” He’s settling into the rhythm of his words, calm and low, his voice rumbling a little through his chest against your back. “You wouldn’t want me to think it’s not being put to good use, would you? I might have to take it away…”

Spurred on, fumbling a little with excitement, you slide your hand underneath again and spread yourself, wet your fingertips. It’s a lot easier than it was a moment ago. His hands move down to rub your thighs, encouraging you to spread a little wider. You feel yourself contract, pulse, hunger, and the sudden heat in your belly makes you lean your other hand on his knee for support.

“There we go,” he says, and the pleased tone in his voice is as effective as a vibrator. You’re rubbing yourself in earnest now, humping his leg and your hand–no, his hand–as your wetness begins to seep downward into the sparkly, lacy, glittery pretties he got to decorate his toy.

“It’s fascinating, isn’t it?” he whispers. “Beautiful little puzzle, little heat pump, the place I enter to bring you home.” You can’t quite stay quiet at that, all shyness gone now, rocking your throbbing clit like a clumsy teenager flooded with need. “You’re shiny and new every time I touch you, my present. And as long as we both want to play together, I’ll never need any new toys.”

Do you know what he likes about you, little girl? Your soft places. The parts of your body that seem to be made for squeezing, gripping, slapping. Exposing. Hurting.

Sometimes that will be your cute little butt, up in the air, wiggling over his lap as he raises his hand and lets you anticipate the fall. Sometimes that will be your pretty pink mouth, his thumb rolling from your lower teeth to your lip as he holds you firmly by the chin to make sure you know you’re being used. And sometimes, he’s going to tie you up, pull your clothes just far enough out of the way, and lean down as he pulls your crotch rope up to make you curl like a roly-poly bug.

It’s convenient, you see. He can grip and squeeze and pinch your sweet breasts, and then he can reach down just a little bit and warm up your naughty little pussy, and then go back and start again. He can do it as many times as he wants. He can make you very very wet, and very very sore. He will. And then maybe he’ll see how you react when he puts himself inside you.

He gets so hard, you see, and it really is your fault–you make him that way. So he needs to take some softness from you.

I’m sure you don’t mind. After all, good little girls share, don’t they?

The rope around her waist and under her crotch goes over a pulley. At the end of the pulley is a bucket. On the wall is a large television. On the television is all the hidden camera footage of her room for the last week.

Her Daddy already watched the tapes, and he’s marked certain time codes and synced them up to a mechanical hopper just above the bucket. Little Nessa was supposed to be on no-touch while Daddy was traveling on business, you see. And oh, little Nessa was naughty.

Each time the time-lapse video reaches an instance of Nessa sneaking a hand into her little cotton panties, the hopper drops a marble into the bucket. Each time it reaches a time when Nessa misbehaved in the extreme–when she humped the pillow, or the furniture, or her little playmate girl from next door, or worst of all, when she came–it drops a billiard ball.

There is one other complication to this setup. Strapped tight to the rope, above the bucket, is the big fat magic wand vibrator, set to high. The more the rope digs into her crotch, the more intensely the vibrations travel through it, into her aching lips and helpless clit.

Nessa knows she is not to come today. She needs to be a good girl, a very very good girl, no matter how much the rope makes her arch and squeal and squirm. No matter what, until Daddy gets home.

After all, if she can’t make it through this one simple task without indulging her greedy cunt, the hopper will drop its last prize: the bowling ball.

Trembling, tiptoed, slowly working herself back and forth against the painful-pleasurable-cruel taut rope, Nessa wonders exactly how heavy that ball’s going to feel, and whether Daddy will drill her three holes afterward too.