For Your Own Good

medfet enthusiast, 23, they/them

[brattydrench]

I hate how much I need these appointments.

Every single week I’m back in that freezing cold doctor’s office, shivering as he locks the door behind me with a calm click. “Strip. Everything off,” he orders without even looking up from his chart. The room is always ice-cold, my nipples hardening instantly the second the air hits my skin. I fold my clothes neatly on the chair like he expects, then stand there naked and exposed while he circles me slowly.

He starts with my breasts. Rough, gloved hands grope and squeeze them, lifting and pressing, pinching my sensitive nipples until I whimper. “Still too sensitive here,” he mutters clinically, twisting one harder just to watch me squirm. He comments on my weight, my posture, how soft my belly is, slapping my abdomen lightly to watch it jiggle. Every little flaw is noted out loud in that detached, professional tone that makes me feel like a piece of meat being examined.

Then comes the worst part.

He guides me onto the table, forces my legs up into the cold metal stirrups, spreading me obscenely wide. Thick leather restraints buckle tightly around my wrists and thighs, pinning me completely. I can’t close my legs. I can’t even shift away. I’m completely helpless, cunt on full display under the harsh lights.

The doctor sits between my spread legs and begins the pelvic exam. His gloved fingers probe roughly around my entrance, spreading my lips apart without any gentleness. He slides two thick fingers deep inside me, scissoring and stretching me open while he measures and inspects. The speculum comes next — ice-cold metal that he forces into my tight hole without warming it. He cranks it open wide, stretching my walls painfully as he shines a light inside me, commenting on how wet I’m already getting.

“Patient is exhibiting clear signs of arousal again,” he says flatly, like I’m not even there.

His fingers find my swollen clit and start rubbing — firm, clinical, merciless circles. No matter how much I struggle against the restraints or beg him to stop, he doesn’t. He just keeps rubbing faster, occasionally slapping my exposed cunt when I squirm too much. The wet, filthy sounds of his gloved fingers pumping in and out of my dripping pussy echo in the quiet room. He adds a third finger, stretching me brutally while his thumb grinds hard on my clit until my thighs are shaking uncontrollably.

I fight it. I really do. But I always end up cumming hard around his fingers like a pathetic, restrained little slut — walls clenching and gushing all over his hand while he watches with cold professional interest.

By the time he’s done, I’m a dripping, trembling mess. He finally removes the speculum and restraints, hands me a single thin wipe like it’s nothing, and says, “Clean yourself up. Same time next week.”

I know I should stop going. But I’ll be back. Naked. Shivering. Restrained. Until he finally says I’m “cured”… even though we both know I never will be.

[gouged-doll]

[doctorlarch]

Been thinking about this picture a lot recently.

Do you know where these fingers are going?

[nosoc0mial]

I'm blushing!

[nightofthelivingzed]

the gloves stay on during conceptual nonsex

[nosoc0mial]

Choking and struggling as a gloved hand tilts my head back and starts to thread an NG tube into my nasal cavity. It burns and feels like an invasion of my body all the way down. Once it's in place, I can feel the tension inside me, the way the plastic tube grates against my throat. It hurts to swallow. Even the tape on my nose holding it in place is agitating. I find myself caught between wanting to beg my doctor to take it out, or learning to live with it trapped in bed out of fear for the pain and discomfort of removal. I miss being allowed to eat, to leave my bed, but the wires, tubes and restraints will keep me there forever.

[nosoc0mial]

I’m not the anon who messaged you initially but I think about your tdick examination post all the time. The frequency of going in every two weeks, my doctor becoming more familiar with my body than I am. Heightened sensitivity meaning it’s almost too much. Wondering if it’s obvious how aroused it makes me. Dreading the exam but also realizing it’s getting harder and harder for me to orgasm without it. Trying to find an excuse to go in sooner.

anon. This is so perfect I have nothing to add

[nosoc0mial]

why could I genuinely go for being clockwork orange'd. Like sign me up actually

[mabduct]

Are you ready?

The doctor carefully picks up a sterile glove, unfolding it with precision. He slides his left hand into the glove, the smooth, shiny surface of the latex gliding easily over his skin.

He wriggles his fingers as they sink into the glove, snug and tight. Each finger conforms perfectly, the material stretching slightly to fit, accentuating his fleshy palm and fingers.

He rubs his fingertips together, feeling the smoothness and ensuring the glove sits firmly, without any folds or discomfort.

He repeats the process with the right hand, the glove sliding over his skin like silk, the tight fit making his fingers look sleek and polished.

Once fully gloved, the doctor smooths his hands, the latex now perfectly molded to his fingers and palms, full and taut. The gloves glisten under the surgical lights.

He sits down on the stool, between your legs, spread wide by the stirrups. He picks up the tube of lubricant and squirts a dollop onto his index and middle fingers. With his thumb, he rubs the lubricant over his fingers, coating them generously.

He turns his attention to you. He rests his other hand on your inner thigh. It feels smooth and cool, sending tingles up your spine.

Then he says, “shall we begin?”

[fullofmarbles]

punch biopsy rambles

punch biopsies are just so hot. imagine the anticipation, knowing the sting will come from deep inside your womb but not knowing when. just needing to hold still as medical tools insert into your parts. the cramping as your cervix is dialated and then again as the biopsy is taken. perhaps a cruel doctor says that the results came out normal but he wants check weekly...

[6etwellsoon]

[andmybody2surgeons]

Access is a scalpel of a word. A surgeon's word and so secretly deviant. It's plain as day and often just slips in and out of conversations without being noticed. It overcomes a problem you didn't realize was there. A check for resistance that comes with no barrage or force. It is introductory, before any action can be taken. But it is also a reward and hard-fought over.

Things are accessed. Visible body parts: eyes and fingers and kneecaps. Faces and throats are meant to be touched. The exam table makes this possible. Once you're on it, it's not a negotiation anymore. It was until then. You were under a spell, the doctor's demeanour and disarming smile, or their insistence through those surgical words they like to use that imply something bad might happen to you if you don't get onto the table. Not because of him, per se, just the way our bodies work. Chest pains, invisible erosions. You need to sit still. The doctor will work around you for now. But even a visual inspection can feel searing and invasive. The doctor has gotten pretty good at telling when he is being lied to.

Hard to see places are accessed. Turn your head, please. Lift this out of the way. Open your mouth. Bend over for me. The world of medicine is the uncovering of secrets. Secret histories, secret evidence, secret recesses unknown even to ourselves, accessed through orifices. Evidence of last night is still inside you. Doctors want to put every piece of you under their bright lights, on screens and printed out. Accessed only by medical professionals. They want to document you, understand you.

On the operating table. Engineered for the purpose of access. Buckles and straps, arm rests and leg rests that separate with a wider range of motion than physically possible but this table beats its closest competitor by mere degrees and that's dollars in your pocket if you think about it. Can the doctor see okay? More light. Angle it this way. It's about clarity. Get rid of this, the surgeon's gloved fingers point between the patient's legs. What's the hold up? The nurses remove the offending piece of clothing. Underwear. They tug it down jerkily and hand it off to somebody. It'll be turned inside out and held under a light, learned from, looked at and touched by more strangers before it returns to its rightful owner. The gloved fingers motion again. Still no good. Shaving cream and disposable razors strip the patient of the last shred of dignity they had.

That's better, the surgeon remarks. There you are. The patient is reduced to their genitals which are smooth and soft. Doesn't matter who. But always exciting to look at, and as unique as a face. The patient is reduced to whatever part is being worked on, bare skin an electric contrast to whatever blue or green surgical drapes they have chosen for the procedure. It covers their limbs and their face, hiding any resemblance to a human being. (The surgeons too are shapeless in their gowns, faceless behind their masks, the only thing with any real definition, and connection to the human form, are those hands in their tight, pristine rubber gloves. In rubber they are again unfamiliar, transformed into bright white tools of the trade.) The work area defines scope, boundaries and off-limits. It helps the doctors concentrate and compartmentalize. For the next little while all that exists on the table is just flesh, tissue, ligaments and muscles. It reacts and tightens. The doctor's fingers spread pussylips and the opening yields completely to one, possibly two. Nobody will say anything if there are two inside it. It is a simple check, visual and digital, for obstruction or anything alarming. The doctor feels for the g-spot. Just to check. There isn't much to be done until he can see.

Even the most willing body fights back in its own way. Gravity. Natural tightness. Nervousness. Never been fuckedness. Knees need to be pried apart and set in place with restraints. Hands kept from covering up, tied down too. It's for your own good. The speculum or other vaginal instrumentation locks in place and provides the surgeons access and visualization. That's better. You're in discomfort and that's better. Cranked wide open, all stretched out. Access to the womb not far away, through another orifice.

And when you recover, when you get better, laid up in one of the beds with the others, you'll be seeing a lot of the doctor. They let him go anywhere. Easy access to patients is key. Sweet dreams.

[patient667]

[clinicalbitemarks]

stethoscopes are one of the weirdest things that turn me on. it's so strangely intimate to me when they slip it just under your shirt, warning u that it's gonna be cold. telling you to take a couple deep breaths as their gloved hand rests on your shoulder, and the silence that follows when they quietly direct you to take a couple more deep breaths as they move the cold disk across your chest.

[nosoc0mial]

Lowkey need to get shot and fall to the ground dramatically thinking this is the end as blood pools underneath me only to wake up in a field hospital with several people around me trying to dig the bullet out of my side with fingers and forceps while I beg them to stop and scream and writhe in pain while im held down

[nosoc0mial]

Thinking abt this again. Being held down and told to keep my composure while I can't. Begging them not to send me back out there and they do, only for me to come back on a psychiatric hold a few weeks later for my disobedience. Turns out there are far worse places for a soldier than the battlefield.

[nosoc0mial]

Oh to be injured and/or recovering from a surgery and put on bed rest. Doctor's orders. Of course, I can't seem to get it through my thick skull that I still need to stay down or I'll never heal. Every time I try to move, I just risk popping my stitches or injuring myself further. As hard-headed as I am, the doctor eventually mandates that I be restrained and monitored for the duration of my recovery. That is only after I manage to harm myself badly enough to end up back in his arms, lying there in all my pain and misery, exposed on his table. It's the only place I belong. Twitching while the needle pierces my skin again and again.

[nosoc0mial]

the medplay revolution happening on tiktok is really making me laugh like YUP!

[nosoc0mial]

The stinging sensation of a needle as it pierces my gums. The aching sensation of my jaw trying to close while the mouth prop is clicked open one move of the lever at a time. The straining of my neck as I realize my head is strapped into place. The way the lights above my head leave circles in my eyes, making me feel dizzy as a strange numbing sensation starts to take hold alongside the ache of the needle.