Gyno Stories Medical Examination Clinic  Gyno Exams For You To Observe

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This is just the first part of a four part gyno story

TIFFANY ON THE TABLE
CHAPTER ONE

I know what boys like, I know what guys want,
I know what boys like, I’ve got what boys like,
I know what boys like, I know what guys want,
I see them looking, I make them want me,
I like to tease them,
They want to touch me,
I never let them.

Tiffany Daniels sashayed down the hall of her high school, singing softly to herself. None of the students could hear her; the song, an old ‘80s tune by The Waitresses she had heard at a friend’s house over the weekend, had stuck in her head, the way relentlessly catchy melodies so often do.

The other students might not have been able to hear what she was singing to herself, but they certainly noticed Tiffany. She was the queen of Daniels High School (named for her grandfather, Godfrey Daniels). How was she queen? Let us count the ways, as Tiffany so often did to herself:

She was a senior. A cheerleader. She was rich. Her family was established and well-connected, her daddy a member of the City Council of Beverly, Texas. And she was beautiful, heart-breakingly, staggeringly beautiful, in the way a pampered princess of 18 years can be. Long blonde hair that bounced when she walked, a knock-out figure with perfect firm tits and long, tanned legs, a cute little pug nose and a light sprinkling of freckles that gave her a resemblance to a certain teenaged tennis star who dates an older hockey player and is known for her I’m-so-fuckable- too-bad-you-can’t attitude.

And like some royalty, Tiffany knew she ruled. Sports hadn’t started for the school year yet, so she wasn’t allowed to wear her cheerleading uniform to school, with its ultra-short pleated skirt that swirled when she walked and made all the boys and most of the male teachers almost cross-eyed with desire. But she nonetheless managed to dress in a classy, sexy way that didn’t look slutty, with a plaid kilt-style skirt that fell to mid-thigh, white knee socks, expensive loafers, and an $80 white cotton sweater, very lightweight, that showcased her magnificent chest. As she bounced down the hall of Daniels High, she was the very picture of healthy, nubile schoolgirl eroticism.

"Tiffany, could I see you a moment please?" Ms. Warren, the Daniels cheerleader advisory, called out from her class to the passing senior. Tiffany stepped into the room.

"Tiffany, have you had your physical yet?"

"Oh, jeez, Ms. Warren," the teenaged beauty said, "I’m sorry. I guess I’ve been putting it off."

"Well, you can’t put it off any longer, dear. The deadline for the squad is tomorrow. And you know the rules: If you don’t have a signed doctor’s form and a complete physical every year, you can’t be a cheerleader."

"I know," Tiffany said, somewhat embarrassed by the intimacy of the topic. She hated going to her doctor for a physical, even though she was a woman, because it meant being naked, or nearly naked, and having her breasts examined for lumps and being on that God-awful examining table and having her legs up in the stirrups and all. After what Tiffany had been through in the past year Ñ the sexual degradation, humiliation and abuse that had been heaped on her by teachers, relatives and even strangers in a bizarre string of horrifying ordeals Ñ she could barely stand to be naked in the shower, let alone in front of a stranger.

She thought quickly. "But it’s Wednesday, Ms. Warren. I think my doctor isn’t in the office today."

"Look, it’s best to just get this over with, and not take a chance of missing the deadline," Ellyn Warren retorted. "I know a doctor that a couple of the other girls on the squad have used, and she keeps me office hours on Wednesday. I could write you a pass and you could get this over with right now."

"She? The doctor’s a woman?"

"Of course, honey," Ellyn Warren said. "I know how you teenaged girls feel about going to male doctors. Dr. Weston is very nice. Tell her I sent you and what it’s for, and she’ll do a super-quick exam and get you out in 10 minutes tops."

"Well, OK," Tiffany said reluctantly. She had no more excuses, and she did have to do it. Better to get it over with.

Fifteen minutes later Tiffany swung her red Miata into a parking space at a nondescript office park in Beverly, the kind where all the gray brick buildings look just alike. That song was will going through her mind, and she was enjoying singing:

"I got my cat moves, that so upset them
Zippers and buttons, fun to frustrate them
They get so angry
Like pouty children denied their candy."

She found the sign out front indicating that this was the office of Dr. Nancy Weston, and went inside. A matronly receptionist, chubby and graying, greeted her, pushed a clipboard at her with a page of personal information to fill out, and Tiffany sat down to write, and then to wait. The waiting room was empty, and in just a few minutes the receptionist, whose nametag read "Hope," called her name.

"How are you, honey?" she asked with a voice that sounded like too many cigarettes.

"Fine."

"Step into Exam Room 1, take off your clothes and put on the gown. The doc will be with you in a second." Tiffany did as she was told, and stripped down to her knee socks (for warmth), lacy white cotton bra and white Victoria’s Secret panties. She put on the thin cloth gown, and awkwardly tied it behind her back and around her neck. She could still feel how much of her back side was exposed by the long slit in the gown. Before she even had a chance to sit up on the examining table, Hope was back.

"Come on out here, hon, I got to take your weight and height."

The 18-year-old cheerleader stepped nervously into the hall and climbed up on the scale. The receptionist wrote her weight, 115 lbs., and height, 5 foot 7, on the clipboard, and Tiffany was about to step down when she heard a male voice say "Holy shit!"

She whirled around and saw two construction workers, who had
appeared as if from nowhere in the corridor. They were big, burly guys in the late 20s, dressed in jeans and white T-shirts, and both wore belts hung with tools. "Yowsah!" said the other man.

The two workmen were openly ogling the poor girl. From their view of her back as she stood on the scale, she knew they could see a lot of her bare back and much of her naked legs. The way the gown was tied they couldn’t see her panties or ass, and if she had stopped to think about it, Tiffany often was seen by hundreds of men at the beach wearing a bikini that exposed far more of her succulent flesh. But this wasn’t a time for such rational thought, and the flustered schoolgirl was deeply embarrassed to have the two strangers so openly checking her out.

"Don’t you men have some work to do?" asked the receptionist harshly. "Get back to your dry-walling!" The workers held their gaze for a few more moments, and Tiffany could feel their hot, lustful stares burning into her skin. Then, disappointed that their show was over, they went back into another exam room.

"Sorry about that, hon," she told Tiffany. "That wasn’t very nice. Still, you can’t blame red-blooded American men for noticing a pretty little thing like you."

Tiffany knew she was trying to make light of the situation, but she felt sick to her stomach, somehow violated. by the eyeball-rape. She moved quickly back into her exam room, and shut the door behind her. God, why did they have to make these places so freezing cold? she thought. She was getting goosebumps on her arms, and underneath the cotton gown, her nipples had sprung to erection from the cold. They brushed against the front of her gown when Tiffany hopped up onto the examining table and sat on the white paper that had been rolled down there.

There were no magazines, so Tiffany just sat. A boombox sitting on the counter against one wall was playing soft music, some sort of light classical that was obviously intended to relax patients, but little Tiffany was far from relaxing. She was no longer singing "I Know What Boys Wants," because her cockiness had been punctured by the brief encounter with the lecherous workmen. Soon there was a gentle knock on the door and in walked the doctor.

"Hello," he said. "I’m Dr. Steadman."

"But, uh, you’re supposed to be a, uh, woman," Tiffany stammered.

"Well, obviously I’m not," he answered. "If you mean Dr. Weston, she had a family emergency. I work for the same HMO, and they called me and asked me to fill in."

Tiffany didn’t know what to say or do. She was already in the gown, in the exam room, and her sponsor was expecting her back soon with a signed physical form. She hated the thought of being examined by a man, but it was better just to get it over with. It didn’t help that Dr. Steadman was incredibly handsome. Tiffany figured he was probably in his late ‘20s, not long out of med school. He was tall and well-built, with close-cropped dark hair and piercing eyes.

"Your chart says you’re here for your high-school physical," he said.

"Cheerleading."

"Oh, you’re a cheerleader? Lucky you. I should have known."

Was he flirting with her? Tiffany wondered. What did he mean by that?

"Very good, Miss Daniels. Please untie your gown behind your neck and let it drop forward. I need to check your breathing." He picked up the end of the stethoscope that dangled from his neck.

"Untie my gown?" Tiffany said. "Can’t you listen through my gown?"

"Miss Daniels," he said sternly. "You let me be the doctor, and you can be the patient, and we can both get on with this." His tone left little room for her to argue.

Reluctantly, Tiffany reached back and untied the string at the back of her neck. As soon as it was loose, the gown fell forward, exposing her 36 C breasts nestled snugly in their bra. Even through the cotton, the nipples, pink and hard as little pebbles, felt the cold air in the room and poked out even more. She was embarrassed by her erect little nubbins, but hoped the doctor saw this sort of thing all the time.

"This will be a little chilly," Dr. Steadman said as he approached with the stethoscope. "Can’t be helped." He placed the icy piece of metal on her chest between her tits and instructed her to breathe. The familiar ritual was repeated as he moved the stethoscope around her chest, and then on several spots on her back. Tiffany started to calm down a little from the clinical nature of what was happening.

"Now we have to check for any nodes in the breasts. Please lay back on the table."

"Dr. Steadman?" the nervous girl squeaked. "Is that reall necessary? I mean, I’m only 18, so I don’t think that’s a problem, and uh, I was hoping this would just be quick so I could get back to school."

"Miss Daniels, I’m getting tired of having my authority challenged!" Steadman snapped. "Now quit yapping at me, take off your bra and lay down!"

The busty girl had no choice. Reluctantly, she unhooked her bra and set it aside. Her sweet adolescent breasts were now on full display, and Tiffany prayed the door to the exam room was locked, so those horrible workmen would not "accidentally" come in and see her. She lay down on the paper, her arms at her sides, her body rigid with anxiety. Her breathing was shallow, and her perfectly formed knockers rose and fell, rose and fell, in a delightful rhythm.

"Please try and relax, Miss Daniels. I’m not going to hurt you." She couldn’t help it, she squeezed her eyes shut, and the she felt his hands on her left breast. They were incredibly warm and soft. Dr. Steadman began to rub her breasts in circles, giving her a standard breast exam. His touch was so tender, Tiffany thought, and she found herself relaxing, the tension melting away as she lay back with her eyes closed. The hands started at the outsides of her breasts and worked inward, slowly, in circles, headed toward the nipple.

To her dismay, Tiffany found herself wishing he would hurry up and get to her nipples. They were so cold and so hard, and she knew his soft, warm fingers would feel fantastic there. This wish confused her: this was a breast exam, for God’s sake, not an erotic massage. Still, she couldn’t help the tickle in her brain.

Dr. Steadman finally reached the nipple of her left breast, and Tiffany surprised herself by gasping with pleasure when his fingertips made contact with the aureole. He immediately stopped. "Is everything all right, Miss Daniels?" he asked.

She opened her eyes and looked at him leaning over her. "Yes, I’m sorry," she replied.

"This is not supposed to be sexually stimulating, Miss Daniels," he said in a clinical voice.

Tiffany blushed scarlet. Oh Jeez, she thought, he can tell this is turning me on! How embarrassing! I’ve got to get a grip on myself. But she was also aware that her sweet teenage pussy was beginning to secrete a little bit of juice.

Dr. Steadman turned his attention to Tiffany Daniels’ right breast, and she closed her eyes again. The physician’s sensitive fingers again worked their magic, and the beleaguered teenager was again assailed by inappropriate sexual feelings. Again, he reached her nipple and brushed it with his fingers, and Tiffany moaned softly and squeezed her naked thighs together. She was getting wet between her legs, and praying it wasn’s so much as to make a spot on her panties!

"You may sit up now, Miss Daniels," the doctor said, and Tiffany sat up swiftly. The intensity of her sexual arousal, coupled with sitting up so quickly, caused her to be light-headed for a moment, and she swayed a bit, leaning toward the doctor. Steadman reached out and caught her.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

"Yes, sir, I’m sorry. Please, I, uh, I don’t know..." She knew she was babbling, but couldn’t stop.

"We’ll continue the exam now," Steadman said. Tiffany didn’t even think to ask if she could out her bra back on, but sat on the exam table, her naked breasts practically at eye level with the doctor, the front of her panties under the gown glistening slightly with a dab of her own juice. Steadman quickly ran through taking her pulse, blood pressure, checking her eyes, ears, throat and reflexes. The schoolgirl began to settle down and return to normal.

"OK, we need to do a pelvic," the doctor said matter-of factly. "Take off your panties, then lay back, and out your feet in the stirrups.Ó

This was the moment Tiffany had been dreading. She was about to expose her most intimate part to a total stranger. And even though he was a doctor, a professional, there was the added problem of having been slightly turned on be the breast exam. Her mind swirled with confusion, but she didn’t want to be reprimanded again, so she obediently hopped down off the examining table, reacher under her gown and pulled off her panties. Then she climbed back up, lay on her back, and scooted her bottom down so that her legs were lined up in the proper position. She lifted her feet up and placed her heels carefully into the metal stirrups that jutted out from the end of the table.

There is no more humiliating position for a woman, Tiffany thought. She and her friends sometimes joked nervously about how much they hated gyno exams, how demeaning it was just to have your legs lifted and spread and your private parts so blatantly exposed. Never mind what the doctor did down there, that was just too awful to even talk about!

Dr. Steadman pulled thin latex gloves onto his hands. At least he’s being very professional about all this, Tiffany thought. She waited, dreading his touch. Or at least part of her was dreading it. Another part of her brain Ñ the primitive part, that controls sexual response and operates independently of the rest of the brain Ñ was somehow craving his touch on her bare pussy. "Shame on you, Tiffany Daniels," she thought.

The physician stepped to the bottom of the table and lifted her gown, so that it formed a tent over her upraised knees and she could not see what he was doing. Then she felt him push a finger into her vagina. She was relieved that it didn’t feel particularly good or bad. He slowly inserted his finger into the nervous adolescent, so splayed and
vulnerable, until it was all the way in..

"Miss Daniels," he said sternly. "I see you’re not a virgin."

"What?" Tiffany practically yelped. "What?"

"I’m simply stating a fact," he said. "Your hymen is gone. You’re not a virgin. And don’t give me any of that silly teenage girl crap about tampons or gymnastics or horseback riding."

Tiffany was stunned. How dare he speak to her like this? She started to get up from the table. Any incipient sexual feeling had vanished completely, and she just wanted to get dressed and get away from this awful man.

She was part way up when Steadman snarled at her. "Lay back down immediately, Miss Daniels!" She froze.

"This is not an optional series of tests, Miss Daniels. I’m sorry if you’re distressed that I found out that you’re sexually active, but that’s too bad, honey. Now get back down on that table!"

Poor Tiffany was mortified. The exam had started off bad when she realized her doctor was a man, then had seemed OK when she was mildly aroused by him and he seemed to be professional. But now he was yelling at her, and practically calling her a slut. It was horrible, particularly for a princess like herself who almost always got her way. But what could she do? She obeyed Dr. Steadman and laid back down on the table.

"Now, Miss Tiffany Daniels," he said, "I have to step out for just a minute. You will continue to lay exactly as you are and not move one muscle. If I come back and you have moved a muscle, I will call your cheerleader sponsor at school, whose number is on this form. I will tell her that since you are sexually active, I need to test you for sexually transmitted diseases. I can, if I choose, make it sound very ugly over the phone, implying all sorts of things. By the time I hang up, your sponsor will think you’re practically dripping with the AIDS virus. Do you think a development like that might put a little crimp in your plans, Miss Daniels. Hmm?"

He was taunting her, threatening her. It was too awful, Tiffany thought, just too awful. But he was leaving her no choice. She wanted to tell him that she had never willingly had sex with anybody, that every sexual encounter she’d ever had had been the result of blackmail or drugs or threats or outright force. Men seemed to always find ways to
manipulate her, and that’s why she wasn’t a virgin. She wanted to tell Dr. Steadman all this, but how could she? With tears glistening in the corners of her eyes, she laid back down on the table and kept her feet in the stirrups. Dr. Steadman took the clipboard with the form she needed and left the exam room.

Continued in Chapter Two

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