Almost Ethical

They should never have made me a doctor Randall decided. Or they should put something in the coffee to stop him feeling horny. He'd go to hell one day, he was sure of it.

He drew the curtain around the examination table and tried not to stare as the young woman obligingly unbuttoned her blouse. He breathed on his stethoscope. It was the oldest joke in the world and she smiled shyly and blushed at the same time. She had a lovely pair of tits, young and firm and pert. Pushed together and lifted up as if for presentation. Kissable tits, smooth white skin. A jade bra of lace and dreams.

She held her blouse and avoided his eyes, looked somewhere else. Shy and sexy with big, dark eyes, long, blonde hair about her shoulders.

"Deep breaths, Sandra?"

He held the stethoscope just above her breasts and feasted his eyes on them. He listened but he looked as well, admired, lusted after. He heard nothing untoward, only the deliberate heavy beat of his own heart.

"Can you turn around, please?"

It was beautiful and considerate the way she smiled and turned then thoughtfully gathered her long hair and held it aside so it wouldn't be in his way.

He listened again as he looked at the hooks that held her bra in place. Just two small, wire hooks. He was pushing his luck, getting into dangerous waters, but he asked her to unfasten it.

She reached back without a trace of hesitation. Her shoulder blades stood out beneath her skin and it was undone in a second. She held the cups in place with her folded arms and stared patiently at the white washed wall three feet away.

Randall liked it there behind the screen. It was a small space, private and intimate.

"I can't find anything out of the ordinary," he said, still listening, taking his time, thinking ahead.

Sometimes he couldn't help wonder how it felt to be an eighteen year old woman with a body like hers. To be lusted after and attract admiring glances wherever she went. Was she happy with the shape of her breasts? Did she feel sexy inside her body as she walked down the street? Or was it just a body she was born with? Was she vain? Did she touch herself in private? -What was it like?

He removed the stethoscope. "I'll just check your blood pressure, if you'd like to hop onto the table..."

It amused him that they insisted on calling it a table. It was a bed with a thin, black covered foam mattress, and cold silver rails. Something a dominatrix would have loved to own, but they called it a table not to make people nervous.

Now she glanced over her shoulder, so sexy, holding her bra in place. One jade strap had slipped from her shoulder. He saw the question in her eyes. She wanted to ask if she should fasten her bra, it was as clear as if she'd actually said it aloud.

He could have mentioned it himself. There was really no need for it to remain undone, for her to try and sit on the table and hold her bra in place as he took her blood pressure.

He deliberately said nothing and merely smiled expectantly and saw her change her mind about asking.

She blushed again as he wrapped the sleeve around her arm. An attractive, quiet young woman, not the sort that asked a lot of questions. Her short white, denim skirt pulled up to show her legs, her feet not quite touching the floor. She sat with her left arm across her breasts, her bra loose, her soft, full breasts pressed together. Both straps had now slipped from her shoulders. She watched what he was doing but avoided meeting his eyes.

Randall wished he could tell her how beautiful she looked but he took her blood pressure instead and was glad his white coat was baggy and concealed his growing erection.

"-That's fine," he said, stripping off the sleeve, the sound of Velcro tearing and the roar of blood in his ears. He wondered what the machine would show if he took his own blood pressure now? Something dangerously high. An unfastened bra, a short cotton skirt, panties -he assumed- and a shy, trusting smile were all she wore.

"Can you raise your head?"

He wanted to check her lymph glands, below her ears, each side of her neck. She submitted, looking up at the ceiling, and breathing quietly. He stood with his thigh touching her bare knee, her bra failing to do what it was designed for, her half revealed breasts slowly rising and falling. Her skin so soft and warm. She shivered as he touched her neck and they both smiled.

"Sorry," he said, when he saw goose bumps on her arms.

"Someone just walked over my grave," she answered perfectly.

There was nothing wrong with her neck, she had a beautiful neck.

"How do you feel now?"

"As if I've wasted your time," she said.

Her tone and expression seemed genuine. A touch of contrition in the way she regarded him made him want to say if that was the case she deserved to be spanked, turned over his knee, her short skirt raised, her panties tugged down.

He smiled gently instead.

"-No, honestly, I feel all right," she continued. "My mother insisted I come."

"It pays to be careful, but I can't find anything wrong. Come and see me if it happens again?"

She smiled and looked relieved, relieved and grateful. Beautiful and sexy and alive sitting there. Relaxed now.

There was no way he could think of to see her pussy, to have her lie down there as he pulled on a pair of plastic gloves, tight as a second skin.

"Okay then," he smiled, still aroused.

He turned away and pulled open the curtain and pretended to be looking elsewhere but watched from the corner of his eyes as she looked down at herself and adjusted and quickly fastened her bra.

"Thank you, anyway," she said a moment later, stepping through the curtain, still fastening her blouse. She shook back her hair and smiled her beautiful smile.

"No problem," he said. "Take care."

She nodded and turned to the door, too sexy for her own good.

Randall locked the door behind her. He wondered what she was thinking as she went outside into the sunshine, her modesty almost intact. Were her panties a little bit wet?

He sat at his desk and pulled open a drawer and took out a pair of flesh, coloured plastic gloves, thin as a condom.

He was convinced her pussy would have been as beautiful as the rest of her delectable body. A sweet, juicy, perfectly neat pussy. A peach of a pussy with plump, pouting lips, exciting to touch, better to kiss.

He opened his white coat then his trousers and pulled on the gloves before he took himself out.

He knew she'd have tasted like nectar, delicious female honey on his tongue, the musk scent of her pussy in his nose as he probed for her stiff, little clit and fucked her with his tongue. Suffocating down there between her smooth thighs. She would have squirmed and moaned and gushed. He would have had her juices all over his face, he would have rubbed his chin over her pussy, lapped at her, eaten her.

He held the base of his cock with his left hand and stroked with his right as he thought about her. A hot, young woman like that, she'd go off like a rocket if you knew what you were doing. One stiff, lubricated finger in her ass, two more in her pussy. He might have made her squirt, he knew how to do it. He'd have watched her climax one after the other, taken her up, brought her off, let her ride it out, taken her up again. Had her lifting her legs, writhing, thrashing around, hips pumping on that hard little table and grabbing the cold silver rails.

He began to stroke faster as he started to cum, felt everything, even his thoughts of her fade into the background as his thick cock spasmed in its eager rush to choke up its load.

He caught some of it in his left hand, pooled there, thick and hot. They should never had made me a doctor, he thought, as he raised his hand to his mouth and put out his tongue.

-God, she'd been beautiful.