BDSM examination with enema and humiliating anal

Thursday. I stopped by to see my old friend, German Borisovich—we went to medical school together, but he'd later gone into private practice. He'd opened a small office on the outskirts of town, where he saw patients with the most delicate problems. German was a forty-five-year-old man, lean, with long, musical fingers and a perpetually squinting gaze that somehow made his patients uneasy. His white coat fit him perfectly, revealing a starched shirt underneath. I'd just dropped in for a chat, a cup of coffee from his old Turkish coffee pot—the office hours were already over, and he'd dismissed the nurse. We were chatting about trivial matters when the doorbell rang insistently. Herman winced and glanced at his watch. “Who’s going on there?” he muttered and went to open the door. A girl of about twenty-two stood in the hallway, wrapped in a long cloak despite the warm weather. Slender legs in black stockings and expensive shoes peeked out from beneath the cloak. Her face was pretty but pale, and her lips were bitten. "Herman Borisovich? You were recommended to me... very urgently," she babbled, looking around nervously. “The reception is over,” he replied dryly. "Please, it's a matter of life and death," her voice trembled. "Or rather, my reputation. I'll pay any price." Herman exchanged glances with me and shrugged. "Come in. Tell me." The girl walked into the office, still wrapping herself in her cloak. I remained in the chair by the window, silently watching. Herman sat down at the desk, steepling his fingers. "I'm listening." "My name is Alice," she began. "I work as an escort... high-end. I have a contract with someone in a week; he pays a lot of money for virgins. I haven't been a virgin for about five years, but he has his own doctor who checks me. I need a certificate proving I'm a virgin... well, or surgery, I heard they do that." Herman leaned back in his chair. Something ominous gleamed in his narrowed eyes. "Take off your cloak," he ordered. Alice hesitated, but unbuttoned her shirt. Under her coat, she wore only lace lingerie, which concealed nothing. Small, firm breasts with protruding nipples, a flat stomach, and narrow hips. She must have come straight from a call-out. "Well, well," Herman stood up. "So, you've decided to deceive a serious man? And did you know, Alice, that I know a lot of... serious people in this city?" The girl turned even paler. "What do you mean?" "The fact is that your client is a long-time patient of mine," Herman lied, and I could tell from the barely perceptible smirk on his face. "And I'm obligated to inform him of this attempted fraud." Alice's legs gave way and she grabbed the edge of the table. "No... please... I'll do anything." "Anything?" Herman approached her closely, circling her like a predator. "Then you'll have to undergo a full examination. A real one. And treatment. You can't even imagine the state your body is in after five years of being a whore." Tears rolled down her cheeks. She nodded silently. "First, take off everything. Absolutely everything. You can keep your shoes on—I love the way your heels click on the tiles." Alice pulled down her panties—black lace, soaking wet from fear or something else. Her pubic area was shaved bald. Her labia majora were pressed tightly together, concealing her internal organs. "Go to the chair," Herman pointed to the gynecological chair standing in the middle of the office. "And fasten your legs into the holders." "Why fasten it?" "Because I said so. Or do you want me to call right now?" Alice climbed onto the chair and fastened the straps around her ankles with trembling hands. Herman approached her, lowered the chair back to a nearly horizontal position, and secured her wrists in leather loops at her sides. Her legs were spread wide and raised, leaving her in a completely vulnerable position. "I don't need an anesthesiologist today," he said to me. "Will you play along, like in the good old days?" I grinned and put on the gloves from the box on the table. "With pleasure, colleague." Herman lit a bright lamp, pointing it at Alice's crotch. He began by spreading her outer labia with his thumb and index finger—slowly, savoring the moment. The labia minora were pale pink, almost invisible. Her clitoris was hidden beneath the hood. "Look," he said to me. "This is a typical sign of overstimulation. There's no hypertrophy of the labia minora, but the clitoris is enlarged. Let's check sensitivity now." He took a small metal spatula from his pocket and lightly tapped the hood of her clitoris. Alice twitched in her restraints. "Don't move. I'm studying your reflexes." Then he began to insert his finger into her vagina—first his index finger, slowly, millimeter by millimeter. It was hot and tight inside, despite his professional history. "Hmm, the tone of the walls is decreased. Clear signs of frequent use," he commented, as if giving a lecture. "Give me the dilator." I handed him a metal instrument with curved jaws. He inserted it into Alice and began to spread her—first one click, then two, three. Her insides opened up before us, glistening wetly in the lamplight. Her cervix glowed pink deep within. The girl moaned, not so much from pain as from humiliation. "She's healthy," Herman stated. "Now let's examine the anus. Considering anal sex is so fashionable these days, I need to check for fissures and hemorrhoids." He lowered the chair so that Alice's pelvis was raised above her head. Her anus—a small, wrinkled pink ring—was now right in front of our faces. Herman lubricated his finger with Vaseline and, without warning, inserted it all the way inside, twisting it around. "Oh," Alice breathed out. "Shut up. Relax your sphincter. I said relax," he abruptly added a second finger, stretching her from the inside. “It looks like her anus is better developed than her vagina,” I noted. "Right. We'll fix that. We'll perform a full bowel cleanse now. It's a necessary procedure before the restorative therapy. Get your system ready." I rolled up a stand with a rubber bag filled with water. Herman selected the thickest tip in the set—transparent, ribbed, about four centimeters in diameter. He generously lubricated it with lidocaine ointment. "This is so it doesn't hurt too much. Although, frankly, I don't care," he told the patient. "You're about to feel the fullness. Don't you dare squeeze, or you'll rupture your intestines, and I'll call an ambulance with a detailed description of your lifestyle." Alice closed her eyes. Herman began to insert the tip—slowly, with a rotating motion. The skin around her anus turned white from the tension. The tip sank deeper and deeper, until it was about fifteen centimeters in. The girl whined softly. “I’m opening the tap,” Herman announced. Water began to fill Alice's intestines. Her belly began to swell before her eyes—first a small bulge under her pubis, then a wave that rose higher. She moaned louder and bit her lip. "Be patient. The first liter is always the most unpleasant." I watched, mesmerized. Herman closed the tap when the bag was empty. He removed the tip—Alice's anus was left gaping, pink, and wet. "Now let's press it," he said, inserting a special rubber plug on a short holder into her ass. "Let it rest." He unbuckled the seat belts. Alice, unsteadily on her heels, climbed down from the chair. Her belly was rounded, as if she were four months pregnant. She took a few steps, holding onto the wall. “So, how does it feel?” Herman asked. "I... I need to go to the bathroom." "It's too early. Just wait five more minutes." He checked the time on his phone. Alice paced the room, squeezing her thighs together, trying to hold the water in. Her face flushed, beads of sweat forming on her forehead. I noticed a glistening of moisture between her legs—natural lubrication mixed with the remnants of Vaseline. "An interesting reaction to humiliation," I remarked. "The usual," Herman replied. "It's time. Go to the bathroom, that door over there. And don't even think about locking the door." Alice rushed to the toilet. We heard her loudly and painfully defecate. Meanwhile, Herman was filling up the toilet a second time—this time with a weak chamomile solution that smelled like medicine. The procedure was repeated three times. Each time, Alice grew weaker, her legs trembled, but she no longer cried. Instead, her breathing quickened, and her nipples hardened to the limit. I saw her involuntarily clench and unclench her buttocks, as if begging for more. When the cleansing was finished, Herman took out of the closet something resembling a dildo, but made of medical silicone - long, with thickenings, with a wire leading to the control unit. "This is a rectal vibrator for prostate stimulation. You don't have one, but it has the same effect on the rectum. It's designed to restore sphincter tone and vaginal walls through the posterior wall," he explained. "Get back in the chair." He re-buckled her, this time securing her hips with an additional belt. Alice was completely immobilized. Herman lubricated the silicone device and began inserting it into her stretched anus. It went in easily—the previous procedures had done their job. Then he turned the vibration on low. Alice's body arched as far as the straps would allow, and a surprised sob escaped her throat. “Do you feel the back wall of your vagina vibrating?” Herman asked. "Yes... yes..." "Okay. Now we'll add clitoral stimulation." He took a small, soft-padded clamp and carefully secured it to the base of Alice's clitoris, pulling back the hood. A wire also connected to the clamp. The second control unit came to life, and Alice screamed—her clitoris began to throb under the influence of electrical impulses. "Don't you dare cum without my permission," Herman barked. "This is a medical procedure, not a brothel." I stood nearby and felt my own panties become damp from what was happening. Herman noticed this and glanced at me. "Girlfriend, want to join in? The patient needs some extra nipple stimulation. I think your tongue can handle it." I didn't refuse. I walked up to Alice's head, leaned down, and took her hard nipple into my lips. It was salty with sweat and vibrated in time with her moans. I began working my tongue—circling, sucking, lightly biting. “Power to second stage,” Herman announced and turned the regulator. Alice was convulsing in orgasm. Her body shook, her legs strained against the straps, a hoarse cry tore from her throat. The vibrator continued to work inside her rectum, the stimulator tormented her clitoris, and my mouth never left her nipple. The orgasm progressed into another, almost without a break—her internal muscles contracted with such force that they pushed the vibrator out a couple of centimeters. “Put it back in and hold it,” Herman commanded me. I dropped the nipple, walked around the chair, grabbed the base of the device, and with great effort pushed it back into her backside. Then I began moving it—pulling it in and out, simulating friction. Alice no longer screamed, but merely opened her mouth silently, like a fish out of water. "Now it's your turn," Herman handed me a second identical device. "I know you've wanted this for a long time." I didn't mince words. I pulled off my jeans and panties, climbed onto the edge of the gynecological table next to the chair, knelt down, and leaned forward, supporting myself on my elbows. My own backside—not so young, but still firm and elastic—was at Herman's disposal. He lubricated the massager and entered me from behind—at first tightly, then more easily. My anus had become accustomed to such play over the years of our friendship. “Both instruments to maximum,” Herman said and turned both controls. The world exploded. I felt a vibration in my rectum, it reverberated into my uterus, my clitoris, my nipples. I moaned loudly, uncontrollably. Next to me, Alice screamed, overcome by a new wave. Herman stood between us, looking from one to the other, his face an expression of absolute, unadulterated superiority. My orgasm came suddenly, almost painfully—I collapsed onto the table, breathing heavily, feeling everything inside me contract. The device continued to hum, and I couldn't stop convulsing for another minute. Herman turned off both devices. Silence fell over the office. He pulled the massager out of me, then out of Alice. She lay motionless, only her chest heaving. Herman unbuckled the straps. "Get dressed. I'll write you a certificate." Alice slowly slid down from the chair, pulled on her lace underwear and cloak. "But there's a condition," Herman said, filling out the form. "You're to see me every Wednesday at this time for a preventative checkup. For six months. There's no charge—the treatment will be free. But if you miss even one appointment, information about your deception will be reported." "I... I can't every Wednesday... I have work," she whispered. "Then you'll adjust your schedule. After all, your health is more important," he said with a wry smile. "And one more thing: for each checkup, you'll wear what I tell you to. Today it was a raincoat, next time it'll be a school uniform. I'll send you a shopping list." Alice nodded. I noticed a strange mixture of fear and anticipation in her eyes. Herman rolled the certificate into a tube and tied it with a rubber band. "How do I deliver it to the client?" Alice asked. "Now this is the most interesting part of our treatment," Herman said, stepping closer to her. "Bend over and spread your buttocks." She obeyed. Her anus was still slightly open, pink and pliable. Herman inserted the folded document—it went in easily, disappearing about ten centimeters inside. "Now the panties and tights will hold it," he said. "You'll give it to the client right when we meet. I think he'll like the temperature of the document." Alice straightened her underwear and straightened up. She took a step toward the door, then turned around. "See you next Wednesday," she said quietly. "I'm looking forward to it," Herman replied. "I'll prepare something new. I just received catheters of various diameters and a deep irrigation solution. It should be informative." When the door closed behind her, Herman turned to me. "Will you stay? There's still coffee and time." "I'll stay," I replied, still feeling a pleasant languor below. "But only if you put on your white coat. It suits you like a glove."