Your body moves before you can stop it, and a mix of shock and fear and something else you’re not really sure you want to admit that you’re feeling force your hands to push yourself off his shoulders, hauling you backward in a slight stumble.
Your abrupt reaction quickly puts some distance between you, but his other hand refuses to budge from its current resting place—your now very rigid waist. His grip on it actually seems firmer, if anything. You’re breathing hard, and the air enters and leaves your suddenly overactive lungs as if they’re trying to use up all the oxygen in the room.
You warily look at him again, only to find that he, on the other hand, is completely and utterly calm and unaffected. It’s as if he didn’t notice anything at all. And perhaps he didn’t, but you highly doubt it. I mean, how can a guy not notice when his penis is stiff?
You resist the urge to look down at it, forcing your eyes to stop well above his groin area. You’re not sure if you’re more afraid of confirming what you felt, or the possibility of him catching you red-handed staring at his Johnson. Either way, you manage to stop your eyes from wandering too far down, and they end up focusing on his.
His eyes are still on your belly, their pale blue hue so direct and piercing it’s almost as if he can see through your belly, and for a second, you actually picture him as Superman looking through your body with his awesome X-ray vision. You scoff at yourself internally at the silly thought as he remains focused on what he’s doing and completely unaware of his superhero role in your random thought.
His expression is thoughtful and focused as he proceeds to continue with his probing, gently pressing around the same region that caused your sudden jolt to see if it will happen again.
And eventually, it does, but a lot less dramatically this time as his fingers don’t apply as much pressure on you as they did before.
“Here,” he finally says, lightly tapping about two inches above your belly button. “This seems to be where your discomfort is originating from. You can feel a bit of unusual hardness right in this area here…almost like a mass.”
His fingertip circles the small patch of belly in question, warming the skin there. You don’t understand—and honestly don’t quite believe—how the hell a clinical exam is actually making you feel horny.
“You said they’ve been becoming more frequent recently?” he asks, removing you from your deviant thoughts.
“Yes,” you whisper. You don’t know why you’re whispering.
“Do you do a lot of abdominal or torso intensive exercises?”
“Yes. For vocal lessons.”
He looks up at you momentarily. “You sing?”
You nod. “Yes.”
“Hmm. I guess music runs in your family, too,” he says with an encouraging smirk. “And has this issue ever occurred while you were singing or during your vocal lessons?”
You nod more emphatically. “Yes, a lot of times. In fact, it kept happening quite a bit this morning. It’s never been this bad. That’s why I was concerned and came over here after visiting the school clinic.”
Somehow, you feel better after telling him that, like you’re sharing a problem with him that he wants to help you with, even though you know he’s just doing his job.
You’re still trying very hard to ignore the fact that you know his hard-on is still there, standing at attention in confinement just below you.
His hands move away from your body as he leans back in his chair, effortlessly draping the stethoscope around his neck once more before he proceeds to take down some notes in your folder.
Your skin suddenly feels so bare and cold without his fingers on you, and you hate that you feel that way. You shouldn’t feel this kind of lust for someone else’s husband. That’s plain wrong, and frankly, you’re angry at yourself for reacting to him the way you are. You seriously need to get a fucking grip.
His smooth, deep voice comes through again, forcing your attention back to what you actually came here for.
“Well, I read the note that Jane sent over and I have to agree with her,” he says. “As with pretty much any symptom, there are lots of possibilities and factors that cause and/or influence them. I can’t really tell you that much from just a physical exam, so the cause and full extent of the effects are inconclusive at this point.
“An abdominal ultrasound would be the first step in figuring out what exactly is going on. Depending on what we find, we may need to do an endoscopy as well. You also have the option of doing an endoscopic ultrasound, which is a combination of both procedures done at the same time.”
Just great. Any inkling of encouragement you might have felt coming here just went straight out the fucking window.
“How much would the endoscopy cost?” you ask, already dreading the answer.
“The cashier downstairs can give a precise breakdown, but after insurance, it should roughly be around—”
“I don’t have insurance,” you interject, cutting him off.
He pauses for a second, and you can see a glimpse of uncertainty flash in his icy eyes before he speaks again.
“Well then, you’re looking at about a hundred and eighty for a basic ultrasound, and three to four thousand dollars for the endoscopy. There’d be additional costs for a biopsy and, of course, surgery if it comes to that, but we’ll take it one step at a time.”
You feel all the energy rushing out of you as you exhale in a long, tired sigh. This day can’t get any more depressing.
“Isn’t there any other way to tell what might be wrong?” you plead. You hate how desperate your voice sounds, but you’re really at a loss right now.
His expression remains neutral. “Sure there are, but they’re much more expensive than an endoscopy if you want an accurate diagnosis. And we can’t treat what we can’t diagnose, Ramona.”
You’re at a loss for words, so you don’t say anything for several moments. Surprisingly, he doesn’t say anything either, and the resulting silence between stretches to a point way beyond comfort.
You find him staring at you intently again, his eyes incredibly focused, sending a rush of chills and shivers through your spine. You’re actually starting to feel cold even though his office is fairly warm.
His gaze quickly becomes too intense for you, and you have to break eye-contact in an effort to keep your frantically beating heart in your chest.
You quickly stand. “Well, thank you for your time, Doctor Frost,” you say, grabbing your bag and slinging it over your shoulder. You have no idea what you’re going to do or where you’re going to get that kind of money from, but you need to get out of here.
“Not a problem,” he says, standing as well and towering over you once again. You’re five-seven, but you don’t think you’ve ever felt so small in your entire life.
He extends his hand to you, and you hesitate for a split second before taking it. You hold your breath on impulse at the feel of his warm palm and strong fingers engulfing yours.
You sneak one more glance at him, and you meet his eyes again, his relentlessly intense gaze still on your face. You can’t even explain how paralyzing and intense they are, to the point where they actually scare you.
You can clearly feel your pussy throbbing through your jeans, and it’s pulsating with so much force that you’re afraid he might feel it, too.
Hot liquid oozes generously between your thighs, and you know you’ve had enough. You take your hand from his and practically run out of his office, not daring to look back.
***
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