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“Hello, Nikki.” Dr Mo smiles wide. The corners of his eyes crinkle. “I’m running a little behind as usual. Is that okay?”
“Yep, no worries,” you reply politely. You look back down at the Women’s Weekly recipes you’re only half-reading, ignoring the eyes on you. The waiting room smells of antiseptic and sickness. The aircon is turned up so high the receptionist is wearing a light sweater indoors, but even so your thighs are sticking to the shitty plastic cushion on your uncomfortable chair. Only the magazines and plants change in here, when they get too old to be useful.
Dr Mo turns to his receptionist. “No reason for you to run late too, Gladys. Go ahead and head out. I’ll close up after.”
“Won’t say no to that.” She beams at him, handbag already in her hand. “The grandkids are coming over and lord knows they’re a handful.”
“Well, of course they are. They’re ready for some spoiling.”
“That they are.” Gladys locks the front door to the medical centre and turns the sign to closed. “Don’t work too hard, doctor.”
“I won’t. Just Mrs Trinh and then Nikkie, and Nikki’s always an easy one. Aren’t you, Nikki?” He laughs a little, like a shared joke.
Jax and Tony would be pissing themselves laughing at this. Dr Mo just taps the clipboard in his hands for emphasis and keeps looking at you.
You shift in your chair and nod. “Easy,” you agree. “I’ll be quick.”
Nobody says anything about leaving a teenage girl alone in an empty medical centre to get her quarterly contraceptive shot from a male doctor. You suppose it’s because you’ve been coming here since you were a child. You wish it meant what Gladys thinks it does.
Dr Mo licks his lips. You look down and shiver in the cold air.
It’s summer so it’s still bright sunshine outside at six ‘clock.
“Ah, alone at last. Come through, Nikki.”
You stand up on suddenly shaky legs. A car pulls around from the back and heads towards the street. The older couple before you must have left through the side door.
There’s tinsel over the doors and a little fake green wreath over the big examining bench in the spare examining room. There are no windows in here so the little decorative touches make it homier than a bare wooden box. You asked once why he’d bother decorating the place since Dr Mo isn’t Christian but he says it’s just common sense in Australia. Everyone decorates.
This room’s a little bigger than Dr Mo’s usual and doesn’t come with the framed pictures of his family staring down at you.
Dr Mo asks, “How was your Christmas, Nikki?” with the same kind, grandfatherly voice he’d told Gladys to go home. “Were you a good girl for Santa?”
“Yes,” you say and you step out of your thongs in preparation. The tiles are a cool relief against your bare feet.
“How many gifts this year?”
“Six. Two from Bill.”
“And did you —” he points to his mouth – “six times? Yes?” He laughs. “Happy Santa.”
Dr Mo came to Australia way back in the day when we desperately needed doctors. He sounds like one of us now even though he doesn’t look like one of us, with his thin gold glasses and scruffy white beard. Hash says he moved down here from Brissie when there was some trouble over a young girl. Daddy says he’s the best damn doctor we’ve ever had.
“Good, good. I’ve got one more gift for you,” he continues and pulls back the curtain across the middle of the room. The examining table has been angled away from the wall and towards the middle of the room. The desk lamp is lit, shining a warm beam across blank forms and empty specimen bottles. You look around quickly but it’s the same anatomical posters on the walls of the muscular systems, the reproductive systems. You’d recognise those posters anywhere. You’ve examined every inch of them over the years, lying here on this table and staring at them while Dr Mo plays with your holes.
You must look blank because Dr Mo lifts his glasses off and tuts. “What are you waiting for – next Christmas?”
You wrench off your thin cotton top and let your tits drop free. No bra required at the doctor’s.
The desk light shifts suddenly, lighting you up like a spotlight.
“Lovely, lovely,” he rumbles, his shadow looming over the walls around you. “Now the rest.”
Your denim cut offs slide off just as quickly. No panties required at the doctor’s either.
Your quarterly check-up starts as it usually does: blood pressure, humiliating mole check across every inch of you – he particularly likes drawing circles around the ones on your back, like a little game, and measuring the ones on your areola; he scolds you because your tight nipples make that even harder so he has to bite your nipple to hold it in place for the measurement – then an oximeter while you recover.
“Nurse will be sorry she missed this. Come come. Lie down, dirty girl.” His accent slips when he gets excited.
Everything is cold – the fake leather of the examination table underneath you, the way it sits just under the aircon so you cannot escape the arctic temperatures pumping out; your nipples pucker painfully tight. You get yourself into your examination pose - legs spread as wide as they’ll go. He feeds them neatly into the stirrups on either side and straps your ankles firmly in place. You are spread like a wishbone, bare to the world, cunt offered up.
The lamp is blinding from the right. “Now for your surprise.” He holds what looks like a thick pen case up. You stare at it confused until he opens it and takes out what looks like a thermometer.
“Do you know what this is, Nikki?”
“A thermometer?”
“Tch, is that any way to say it?”
Dr Mo sounds put out and you scramble to reply, “No, no. Thank you, doctor. Please tell me.”
“Not exciting enough for you?” he says instead. “Wanted a big cock instead, dirty girl?”
The open-handed slap against your pussy isn’t very hard but it’s still a shock “Ow!”
He sounds like a kid at Christmas when he says, “Do you know how we take an animal’s temperature, Nikki?”
“Oh god,” you whisper. You do—you’ve been at Brady’s check ups.
Dr Mo winks and taps at your arsehole. “Up the bottom,” he says excitedly. “And this beautiful piece” – and now that you know what it is, all you can see is how long it is, thicker than the one you remember Dad putting in your mouth as a kid, before digital – “was made for big animals. Long and thick, extra durable. A vintage piece, Nikki. Imagine how many hundreds of rectums it’s seen – herds of cattle, horses. All those bottoms of animals. And now you.” He leans over, the light glinting off his spectacles and squeezes your arse-cheek. His fingers dig in as though he is trying to pinch the flesh away from your body. “Just another cow.”
“Th-thank you,” you gasp out, biting back your cries. Your legs shake in their bindings. Daddy says it’s the best thank you when men see you try to swallow down your pain, as if it’s a gift you’re trying desperately to keep.
“Let’s try it, hm?”
The thermometer pushes at your arsehole and you bear down, straining to let it in smoothly while he still grips your arse-cheek like a handle. You’ve seen the vet always use Vaseline when he checks Bailey. Dr Mo’s gift goes dry up your arsehole, twisting in, steady as a finger burrowing. You bite your lip when it settles three inches deep. Your hole twitches around the glass.
“Just relax,” he murmurs and taps the end so it jumps a little inside you. “Don’t crack this, Nikki. If you get mercury in the rectum, they will have to cut it out; all the flesh. Just imagine it.”
You whimper a little.
He giggles. “The thing is. That animals are unpredictable and sometimes thermometers got sucked in – the vet said he once had to put his whole forearm up a cow to get a thermometer back. Imagine that,” he says to you excitedly. “You like that? We can do that next time, hah?” He pushes it in a little deeper.
He’s narrating this to you like a bedtime story while your arsehole relaxes around the animal thermometer he’s using to take your temperature.
“I’ll show you after. There’s a little ring on these thermometers where you can attach a string with a clip at the end. On a horse, you clip it to some tail hair.”
There’s a tug at the thermometer and your arsehole clenches reflexively.
“Ohoho, good girl, don’t let it come out.” Dr Mo hums a little as he tugs on the string, gets it nice and right. It’s a short one, just a couple inches with sharp teeth at one end. “See.”
The headrest is slightly raised so you can see down the length of your body to where Dr Mo stands between your thighs. You can’t really see it, not from this distance, not half-shrouded by his fingers as he holds it for your inspection, but you nod anyway. It doesn’t matter what you see – he can see it so you nod.
“Now you don’t have a long asshole hair,” Dr Mo laughs. “So, here.” He pinches a pussy lip between his fingers. “Nice and fat for the clip.”
“Plee—!” You don’t even make it through the word when the alligator clip bites down. You can feel the teeth like a throbbing agony, fresh and hot, and you shudder against the sticky table.
“So nice.” Fingers pinch at the other bare pussy lip but it’s only a momentary diversion and Dr Mo rounds the table, coming up to your head.
“Open wide,” Dr Mo says when he’s standing at your head with his hands on your tits. His cock is hanging over your face.
You open obediently and swallow convulsively as Dr Mo forces his cock down your throat. “That’s it, thank me for your gift,” he moans when he’s seated himself half-way and you are breathing carefully through your nose. “Three minutes on the temp,” he says, setting his watch. “Let’s do a breast exam.”
Your arms are high over your head and clasped lightly around the backs of his heavy thighs, the way he likes. His hands are almost hot on your tits compared with the aircon and you gasp in some relief when he covers them as far as he can and squeezes.
He takes his time feeling for lumps in your breasts while you gag around his cock. His heavy body blocks the light and his balls slap lightly against the top of your head with his shallow thrusts. It is dark and musky between his legs. He’s given you a three-minute timer so you do your best to lick at his cock so he knows you’re trying hard to service him.
“That’s it, nice and deep,” he grunts when he pinches at your nipples. “Such nice, big breasts.”
“Mm.” Your throat is full and sore.
“What a good licker,” he praises and something warm blossoms in your chest.
“When I was young, the girls don’t have sex for fun,” he tells you. He has told you before. His words come faster, stripped of his usual polished way of speaking. “Is that good or bad, I don’t know. Maybe better to have a little sex, with a boyfriend and husband. But this? Only dirty girls do sex like this. Dirty sluts like you.” He tugs a little harder at your nipples, painfully stretching your tits by the tip. They wobble when he gives them a shake. You choke around his cock and he moans. “Dirty slut.”
You want to tell him to stop but you can’t.
“Come on, lick. Lick!” he urges. “Only one minute to get me off, slutty.”
From this angle there is not much more you can do beyond swallow around the cockhead in your throat and try and lick whatever parts of his cock you can reach in your stuffed mouth.
Dr Mo has moved on to slapping your tits a nice shade of pink.
Neither of you is surprised when his watch beeps and you are still gagging around an erect cock.
“Bad girl, Nikki.”
You cough and shake as you catch your breath.
He tells you your temperature is normal before he gives you your quarterly birth control shot, but he still has to examine you before you can leave.
You are used to being stretched. Daddy says holes are just like any muscle; they stretch best when you start them young and Tony and Jax started like that a lot. Almost everyone’s had a fist up you at some point, like a friendly hello or shaking hands, even Vice Principal Dickhead.
Not Dr Mo though. He likes to stretch you open with a speculum. Does all the work and saves having to put his hands inside your dirty holes, he says.
He doesn’t bother with lube again, just pinches your clit a little as he slides the cold blades of the speculum slowly into your cunt. The clamp and thermometer have been taken away.
“Like Pavlov’s dog,” he laughs when you start to juice up and he fucks you with the speculum lightly as your cunt gets hotter and the noises get louder. “Slutty puppy.”
Your jaw still aches and your head feels heavy as a wooden balloon, but you smile. That’s your name. They’re all your names, whatever men want to call you.
The pressure increases against the top and bottom of your cunt walls as he opens the blades. You try and relax, let the doctor do his job.
“Always have to use the big one,” he says, tutting again like you’re an irresponsible teen he caught smoking behind the milk bar. “Such a big pussy already and you haven’t even given birth. What will it be then? Just a big, loose ditch?” He laughs so you laugh and that makes him laugh harder. “Better take care your pussy doesn’t fall inside out.”
It doesn’t mean anything, the things he says when he’s opening the speculum wider and wider.
“Comfortable?” he asks gently and rubs a gloved hand over your thigh. Always gloves for this part. Hygienic. Dr Mo is always very careful with your cunt. “Now let’s see.”
He presses lightly on your mound then runs his hands around the curve of your legs where they meet your groin. He wiggles a finger at your pisshole. “Lymph nodes OK. Urethra looks normal. You haven’t had any UTIs or thrush, have you?”
“No, doctor.”
“Getting a good bladder wash every few weeks?”
The remnants of some black emotion sit on your tongue, thick as poison, and burning so hot you could spit coal in this man’s lying, monstrous face.
Dr Mo had been the one to suggest it – one of the parts of being a hole you most hated. The painful stretch of the catheter, the strange wrongness of water rushing up your pisshole and the games Tony played. The way they displayed you at your most vulnerable, squatting in the mud or over a big glass bowl, begging to be released, taking bets on how quickly you’d empty yourself. And you’d have to do it, no matter who or how many were watching.
The only time you fought it, Daddy fucked it out of you himself and made you lick up the floor after. Daddy’s little piss pinata. That was a long time ago, when you hadn’t properly learned that you were always meant to be a hole.
You swallow it down and return to yourself. “Yes.”
“Good, good.” He feels around a bit more, just for fun.
You jump when he squeezes your pussy lips, one by one. “Nice, fat vulva. Smooth.” Dr Mo leans down and runs his tongue over one. “Very smooth,” he says and looks up at you. “Did you wax before Christmas?”
“Yes. Tony waxed me.”
“I wonder if your Daddy has pictures,” he says and leans down to lick the other lip. “Smells clean.”
“Haven’t been fucked since this morning, doctor, and I washed before I came.”
“A clean pussy for her doctor. I’m honoured,” Dr Mo teases. “Now let’s see inside.”
The lamp is now pointing between your legs.
“Good colour. Nice and pink.”
He tweaks your clit playfully with his free hand and you clench around the blades.
“Good, good. Smooth muscle tone. Let’s see the cervix.”
You brace yourself. Long exposure has taught you how to control yourself when the thin rod pokes at that little ring at the top. It always stings and you shift uncomfortably.
“A little bruised, but nothing bad. Okay. Let me take this out then so I can examine you properly, hm?”
He doesn’t bother closing the speculum much. He likes tugging it out of you while he can still see deep inside your cunt, watch it spasm helplessly as he tugs and wiggles the metal instrument out. He particularly likes the bulge around your rim when only an inch or two of the blades remain inserted. He screws it back open again to its full width so he has the pleasure of twisting it out slowly while you let out little high-pitched whines.
“Such a nice pussy, Nikki. See, I give you such nice compliments.”
Your teeth are gritted. The joints of your hips and your jaw ache from the stretch. A low throbbing in your cunt reminds you of where the blades and the rod have been.
Gloved fingers push into you. Dr Mo is closer now, his hard cock still erect like a flagpole. You wonder if he takes Viagra 30 minutes before he sees you so he can play with you to his heart’s content.
Fingers poke into a cunt wall and feel around, palpating and pressing. “No polyps. Any pain?”
“Aches a little, doctor.”
“Different from usual?”
“No,” you admit.
“Probably just soreness. Lots of fucking at Christmas?”
“Yes, doctor. And after.”
“New Year’s?”
“Just family, doctor.”
“Oho. Of course,” he says. “And now for my fee.”
Dr Mo turns for just a moment then he moves forward until his cock notches against your cunt. He has a stupid half-smile on his wrinkled face. He blinks behind his spectacles. It takes a few tries until you can feel his cockhead catch the angle and start to push you apart. His beard sways in time. You groan as his long, thin cock pushes inexorably into your still-smarting hole. You take a deep breath as he shuffles forward, and his cock pushes deeper and deeper into your sore cunt.
“Tighter,” he says when he is finally in as far as he can go, leaning over you now. Your poor cunt twinges as you clench again. His lips are shiny and wet.
He pulls out half-way and slams in again, and you shriek a little at the way his cock feels like someone punching you in the cunt.
In and out. In and out. You gurgle and moan as he watches you, no pretense. He knows just how to make it hurt.
Dr Mo’s been looking into your holes since you hit puberty. He knows all the angles to best target your cervix, to really batter your insides. He treats you like almost like equipment – something to use in the right way for the outcome he wants.
He thrusts in sharply, rabbit quick punches in your cunt and your back bows up from the table as you try to process the sharp tearing ache.
“Tigher cunt,” he tells you, pausing to catch his breath. He grinds his cock into you and twists your nipples until you obey.
You lie there, legs strapped wide and take it in your suffering tits and your reddening cunt. You writhe like an eel under him when it is too much and it is always too much. He fucks you until you’re a limp rag and he collapses onto you when he is finally sated.
You are raw and aching from your throat all the way to the soles of your feet.
“Thank you, Nikki,” he says, standing up. He’s so gentle as he wipes at his softening cock and tucks it away.
He takes off his now soiled gloves and winks as he pushes them one by one into your exhausted cunt. “To keep you from making a mess of the car seat,’ he says. Dr Mo is always thorough. That’s what Daddy likes best about him.
He lets you sit up and gently stretch your legs, but before you can stand up and put your clothes on so you can walk out and not see him for another three months, he leans over and says, “I wanted to show you something.”
His smartphone is a newer model than Daddy’s, who just gets used to one thing and waits until it breaks before he changes it. Crystal clear screen. It’s like watching a little movie when he holds it up and presses play.
Static blares for a second. It’s clearly an amateur job, camera – likely a smartphone – flat on the bed between the forearms of a naked woman on all fours. Her face is a mess: dripping cum, mascara streaming black tears down her face, lipstick smeared in the corners of her cocksucking lips.
She’s rocking and singing.
‘We wish you—ow!—a merry Christmas. We—ah ah oww!—a merry Christmas. Nnghhh!—' the woman on the screen gurgles. A man bobs in the background, cut off at the chest, fucking viciously into her if the heavy slapping beat in the background are any indication. ‘We wish you – urk!” she chokes when a large hand wraps around her throat. “—a merry Christmas.” Her voice drops to a whisper and her eyes bulge. She scrabbles at the hand round her throat. “And—a –h-happy new -uh uh unnhhhuhuh --- yea—.” The hand pulls her upright, yanking her torso brutally into the camera’s view instead. A bunch of of gold streamer fringe dangles from each of her swollen nipples. They perfectly frame the ‘Happy new year’ scrawled across her belly.
“Your daddy sent it to me.”
It’s your face, angled downwards to face the camera; your voice half-singing, half-begging; your nipples and body hanging on display like a hooked fish. You remember trying to smile the way Daddy had ordered you and how the pain over-wrote that, twisting your face into ugly grimaces and throat-clogging tears.
Tears start in your eyes and you only realise you’ve cupped your hand protectively around your throat, when Dr Mo tugs at it.
“Now now, what’s this,” he says gently and twists your hand away. He brushes at the tears on your cheek and you see him lick his lips. “Aren’t you proud, Nikki? Wasn’t it a nice party?”
The video has finished playing and it’s only your scared, cum-splattered face frozen in frame. A big play button sits over your chin and chest.
“A nice party,” you agree and you clear your throat to cover the way your voice cracks.
Dr Mo smiles.