the doctor is in
you’ve been experiencing troubles with orgasm and it's stressing you out, until you finally decide that it’s about time you make that appointment with your gynecologist.
gynecologist!nanami x female!reader wc. 4.7k cw/tw. explicit sexual content, doctor/patient, medical examination, unprotected sex, semi-public sex, vaginal fingering, masturbation, pleasuring, edging, teasing, overstimulation, deep penetration, cunnilingus, nipple play, pussy spanking, shameless smut 18+ mdni
“So, uh… Dr. Ieiri isn’t available next week?”
You fiddle with the tips of your hair, the phone pressed between your shoulder and ear as you lean against the kitchen counter. The clinic receptionist on the other end sighs apologetically.
“Yes. She’s been assigned to a medical mission overseas for six months. But she personally referred you to another physician in practice. Would you like me to schedule you with him instead?”
You hesitate, now holding the phone in your hand.
“Him?”
“Yes. Dr. Nanami’s one of our most experienced gynecologists.” There’s a pause. “Unless you’d prefer to wait until Dr. Ieiri returns?”
You tap your fingers nervously against the kitchen counter. Six months is a long time to wait when you have already spent an entire month agonizing over this problem of yours.
“No, it’s fine,” you say. “Schedule me with this doctor.”
The clinic smells of antiseptic and faintly of lavender, the kind of sterile comfort that’s supposed to put you at ease.
Except that it doesn’t.
You shift in one of the leather chairs in the waiting room, knees pressed together, while flipping through a magazine you’re not actually reading. The articles are blurring together—something about seasonal allergies, a recipe for avocado toast, and whatnot.
Truthfully speaking, you’ve never been this nervous for a doctor’s appointment.
“Miss?” A nurse calls your name, clipboard in hand. “Dr. Nanami will see you now.”
The hallway feels longer than it should. Your sandals squeak against the linoleum, making the sound too loud in the quiet. The nurse stops at the last door on your right. She knocks twice before twisting the door knob open. You step inside and the door closes behind you.
The office is actually spacious, sunlight filtering through half-closed blinds. There’s a desk sitting in the corner, with neat stacks of files and a computer. Meanwhile, the other side of the room is parted with a long white curtain and you catch a glimpse of the gyno chair behind it.
Nanami stands from his swivel chair when you enter. You watch the way his broad shoulders stretch the crisp white fabric of his coat. He has blond hair that is neatly side parted, there’s also glasses perched on his nose.
“Good morning,” he says, his voice low and smooth. “Please, have a seat.”
He gestured to the chair across from his desk and you sit. You put your purse beside you. He sits back down while adjusting his glasses, and opens the folder laying flat on his desk. Probably your file.
The silence stretches a bit too long. You pick at the hem of your skirt.
“Dr. Ieiri usually-”
“Handles your case, yes.” Nanami nods, eyes still on the paperwork. “She gave me a thorough briefing.” He looks up then, and his gaze is steady behind the lenses. “But I’d like to hear it from you directly, if you don’t mind.”
Your mouth goes dry. You’ve rehearsed this in your head a dozen times, but now that you’re here, the words are like a lump in your throat.
“It’s… hard to talk about,” you tell him.
His expression softens just slightly.
“It’s okay. This is a safe space.” He leans back in his chair, hands inside the pockets of his white coat. “Take your time.”
You exhale slowly.
“Okay. Well, I’ve been having trouble lately. With orgasms,” The word feels embarrassing, though it really shouldn’t. “I don’t think I’m… having it. I don’t feel it.”
Nanami doesn’t react beyond a slow blink. “How long has this been going on?”
“About a month,” you answer. “At first I thought it was just stress, but then…”
Your voice trails off. The memory of that last hookup—the one with the guy who should’ve been perfect—flashes in your head. He has skilled hands and a body built for pleasure, but still, nothing.
Nanami’s pen scratches against paper as he jots something down.
“Any recent changes in medication? It says here that you take birth control pills.”
“No.” You shake your head. “Everything’s the same as always.”
He hums. “And prior to this, you had no issues achieving orgasm?”
“None.” The word comes out too fast, as if you’re defensive. “Sorry. It’s just frustrating.”
“Understandable.”
He sets the pen down and folds his hands on the desk. His fingers are long, surprisingly elegant for a man his size. You catch yourself staring and force your gaze back to his face.
“Have you attempted solo stimulation since this began?”
Heat creeps up your neck. “Yes. Toys, fingers—still the same problem.”
Nanami nods slowly and you bite your lip.
“Physically, there’s no immediate cause for concern based on your file. But I’d like to perform a pelvic exam to rule out any underlying issues.” He gestures toward the curtained area. “Would you be comfortable with that?”
Your stomach knots. You’ve had exams before, but never with a male doctor.
But it should be okay, right? He’s a professional and won’t definitely judge you or anything.
“Okay,” you say, because what else is there to say?
Nanami stands, motioning for you to follow him behind the curtain. There, the gyno chair looms. He snaps on a pair of blue gloves.
“You can undress from the waist down. There’s also a paper drape.”
You swallow hard and obey, sliding your panties off with trembling fingers. The paper drape rustles as you arrange it over your lap while you shiver at the chill of the stirrups against your bare feet.
Nanami adjusts the stool between your legs. “Just relax,” he murmurs. “This won’t take long.”
The lube is cold when Nanami squirts it onto his gloved fingers, the sound thick and slick in the quiet of the room. You flinch as the chill of it lingers in the air between your legs. His other hand presses gently on your lower abdomen, the warmth of his palm seeping through.
“Breathe.”
You inhale sharply as his fingers glide between your folds, parting them enough. There’s no hesitation when he slips two fingers inside you, the stretch just shy of uncomfortable.
“Tell me if you feel any discomfort,” he tells you, his gaze fixed on where his fingers disappear inside you.
You bite your lip, trying to ignore the warmth pooling low in your belly. It’s ridiculous. This is a medical exam, and yet your body reacts like it’s something more.
Nanami’s fingers curl slightly inside you, pressing against your inner walls, and you stifle a gasp.
“Hmm.” His brows furrow. “No signs of atrophy or abnormal tension.”
He withdraws his fingers with a slick sound, snapping off the gloves.
“Physically, everything appears normal.”
You exhale shakily while your legs are still splayed open. “So… what does that mean?”
Nanami reaches for a fresh pair of gloves.
“It suggests the issue may be psychological.” He meets your eyes but his expression is unreadable. “Have you considered that possibility?”
You swallow hard. “I-I don’t know?”
He nods, as if already expecting that answer.
“I’d like to perform one more test.”
His fingers hover above your inner thigh and you bite down on your lip.
“What is it?”
Nanami looks at you over his glasses. “A clitoral sensitivity assessment.”
A clitoral, what?
You just nod at him and look up to the office’s ceiling. The paper drape crinkles beneath your fingers as you grip it tighter. You suck in a breath as his fingers glide over your folds before they settle on your clit.
His fingers move in slow, circular motions. You bite your lip hard enough to stop yourself from making any sound. The touch is probably nothing for him but it’s everything for you. You hate the way your body reacts to such detached touch. Heat floods your cheeks when you feel yourself growing wetter under his ministrations.
You look down and your eyes meet his. Nanami’s expression still doesn’t change. You grip the sides of the chair when you feel your hips almost twitching involuntarily.
“Responsive,” he notes, almost to himself.
Something sparks low in your belly when he switches techniques—short, rhythmic taps that make your legs tremble. The sensation builds unnervingly fast, your thighs pressing together around his wrist.
Nanami pauses. "Too much?"
You shake your head, unable to speak. His fingers resume, slower now, drawing out each stroke until you're arching off the chair.
“Interesting.” His voice sounds thicker. “You're reacting well physically.”
The air suddenly feels electric. His fingers press hard that makes your toes curl, and you hear yourself letting out a whimper. Nanami’s gaze flickers up to your face.
Nanami withdraws his fingers with a slow drag that makes your thighs twitch. You exhale shudders, you’re feeling flush and oversensitive down there as he snaps off the gloves. The paper drape crumples when you shift off the chair, hastily putting on your panties back up.
Behind the curtain, Nanami washes his hands at the small sink. You watch the flex of his forearms beneath rolled-up sleeves—the same arms that just had you trembling beneath his touch. He dries his hands before gesturing for you to return to the chair across from his desk.
“Practically, everything appears normal,” he says while adjusting his glasses. “But given your symptoms, I’d like you to conduct a self-assessment before our follow-up.”
You blink. “A self-assessment?”
“Yes. It’s a detailed log.”
He slides a printed sheet across the desk. It’s a chart with time slots and blank fields.
“You have to note every attempt at stimulation, its duration, what are the methods used, and your psychological state beforehand.”
His pen taps on the parts of the sheet that you need to write on. You trace the empty boxes with your eyes.
“And… this will help?”
Nanami leans back.
“It’ll determine whether your block is situational or psychological.” His gaze drops to your face. “Unless you’d prefer a different approach?”
There’s something in his tone—not quite suggestive, but not entirely clinical either.
You cross your legs, suddenly aware of the dampness between your thighs.
“No—no, this is fine. I’ll try it your way.”
He nods. “Good. Be sure to be thorough and precise.” His pen hovers over some thick record book. “Same time next week?”
The clinic’s AC hums as you tuck the printed sheet into your purse. Nanami stands when you do, his height forcing you to tilt your head up.
“One more thing.” He stops you at the door, voice low. “If you experience any unusual reactions, call the clinic immediately.”
That night, you run a bath but not completely full. The water’s a bit scalding when you sink in, but all your worries seem to fade away the moment your fingers press on your clit. You try to mimic Nanami’s exact circular motions. You grip the tub’s edge when your hips jerk up.
Your fingers slide between your legs and you plunge two fingers deep in your pussy. You imagine it’s Nanami’s fingers as you curl your fingers upward, chasing that spongy spot. The bathroom tiles echo with the sloshing of water along with your breathy moans as you pleasure yourself.
All you can think about is how Nanami’s touch had been unfairly good.
The water turns lukewarm too fast and your fingers aren’t enough anymore. You rise from the tub and you pad toward the shower. The tiled floor is cool beneath your feet as you twist the shower faucet.
You sink to your knees, then lower yourself fully onto the floor, legs splayed wide. The water beats down on your head, catching on your parted lips, down to your body as you drag your fingers through your folds again. This time, you don’t think about any technique you usually do. You think about Nanami’s gaze and how he would watch you come undone on his fingers.
Your hips jerk when you press two fingers deep again, scissoring them the way you think he would. You imagine his other hand—the one that had pressed on your abdomen, sliding up your inner thigh.
“Fuck,” you gasp as your back arch.
Your own wetness turns your fingers slippery. Your free hand palms up your breasts, massaging each of them in circular and pulling motions while thinking it’s Nanami’s large hands doing it. You tug and roll your hardened nipples between your fingers and you bite down on your lip.
You can’t believe it but you think you’re getting close now. So close. Your vision blurs as you chase your high. Nanami’s voice echoes in your head and you whimper. Fingers plunging deeper and faster.
“O-Oh my god—more, more, more!”
Your orgasm slams into you like a wave. Your thighs clamp while your toes curl as you convulse through your climax. The pleasure crests, leaving you limp and gasping under the shower.
For a long moment, you just lie there. It’s the first orgasm in weeks and it leaves you shaking. You should feel ashamed that you just masturbated at the thought of Nanami, but you can’t bring yourself to care one bit.
The printed sheet Nanami gave you becomes your secret obsession over the next few days. You fill in every blank with precision, just like he had told you. Now, every time you masturbate, it’s him that you all think about.
Sometimes you think it’s weird that just imagining him gets you to your climax, but you just shrug it off. You don’t even put up a porn video anymore.
The following night finds you sprawled across your bed with your favorite vibrator—a sleek purple thing you used to swear by—but tonight it might as well be a piece of nothing. You toss it aside after five minutes of fruitless buzzing and resort to your fingers instead.
With eyes squeezed shut, yu recreate the exact pressure of Nanami’s gloved fingers circling your clit. You grasp on the sheets when you imagine his other hand pinning your wrists above your head while he whispers praises in your ear. Six minutes later, you came with a choked gasp.
By Saturday afternoon, you’re bouncing up and down on your largest dildo that’s suction-cupped to the coffee table. You’re riding it slowly while thinking it’s Nanami’s cock—thick and straining—against his slacks as he watches you. Your orgasm hits so fast you nearly fall on the floor.
The pattern continues until the follow-up appointment arrives.
The clinic smells the same—antiseptic and lavender. But this time, your pulse thrums for entirely different reasons. The receptionist greets you with a smile, her fingers clicking across the keyboard.
“Dr. Nanami’s running on time. He’ll be right with you.”
You nod, gripping the strap of your purse tighter. The waiting room chair feels warmer than last time.
The nurse calls your name sooner than expected. The hallway stretches and contracts as you walk. When the door opens, you catch Nanami already standing by his desk. The sunlight catches the edge of his glasses as he looks up your way.
“Good morning.” His voice hasn’t changed. He gestures to the chair. “Right on schedule.”
You sit down and Nanami does the same a second later. He drops a folder onto his desk with a soft thump, and he folds his hands over it.
“How was your week?”
“Oh. All is fine,” you say, though your fingers tighten around the strap of your purse.
“And the log I gave you?”
You reach into your bag, pulling out the folded sheet and slide it across the desk toward him.
Nanami unfolds the paper and his eyes immediately scan the contents. The silence stretches as he reads, and you focus on the way the sunlight catches the faint stubble along his jawline. His fingers tap once against the desk before he looks up.
“Interesting,” he says, adjusting his glasses. “You’ve been quite thorough.”
Heat creases the back of your neck. Of course you were thorough. Every single entry is branded into your memory. Nanami flips the page over, though there’s nothing written on the back. His thumb brushes the edge of the paper.
His gaze lifts. “You responded well to clitoral stimulation in particular but penetration still seems inconsistent.”
“Yeah. It’s… hit or miss.”
He hums, folding the sheet neatly in half.
“Physically, there’s no abnormality. But your logs suggest a psychological component.” His chair creaks as he leans back. “Tell me—during these sessions, were you distracted?”
You blink. “Distracted?”
“Were you feeling anxious, nervous? Or any other thoughts?” His eyes drop to your hands. “Perhaps… performance pressure?”
Heat floods your cheeks so fast. The truth sits heavy on your tongue—that the only thing distracting you was how badly you wanted it to be his fingers instead of your own.
But of course, you can’t say that.
“No,” you lie. “I just couldn’t get there.”
Nanami’s glasses gleam as he tilts his head. He stands up and he gestures toward the curtained area of the room.
“I’d like to try something different today.”
You follow him behind the curtain, your pulse hammering in your throat. The gyno chair looms just as before. He sits on the stool and crosses his arms over his broad chest.
“Undress,” he says, voice low. “Completely.”
You obey without hesitation. The air is cool against your bare skin as you peel off your clothes. You climb onto the chair, legs slightly trembling as you settle your feet into the stirrups. The paper drape rustles beneath you and then he hands you another to put it over your lap, but it does nothing to hide the fact that you’re completely exposed to him.
Nanami looks at you in a way that makes your skin prickle. His folded arms stretch the fabric of his white coat, the muscles in his forearms tense as you spread your legs wider.
“Show me how you do it.”
Your fingers tremble when you touch yourself. It’s different like this—performing under his gaze. The first brush of your fingertips against your clit makes you whimper. Nanami’s eyes track the movement as your fingers work.
You let out what seems like a moan when you slide two fingers inside your soaking pussy, curling them the way you imagine he would. Nanami doesn’t blink when you start thrusting shallowly, your wrist twisting at an angle.
“Faster,” he murmurs. “You’re holding back.”
Your hips jerk up when you follow his instruction. As you speed up on chasing that spongy spot, your thumb circles your clit in rough, uneven strokes.
Your fingers stutter when the rustle of fabric cuts through the wet sounds of your own hand working between your legs. Through half-lowered lashes, you watch Nanami shrug off his white coat. Your breath hitches as he rolls up his sleeves.
Still seated, he drags the stool closer to you. The sudden proximity sends a jolt through you. Before you can even process it, his hand wraps around your wrist, pulling your fingers free from your dripping pussy with an obscene pop.
Nanami’s eyes lock onto yours as he brings your glistening fingers to his mouth. His tongue swipes over your fingertips, savoring your taste. You barely have time to gasp before his tongue drags a flat, wet stripe from your entrance to your clit. Your hips jerk up, but his hands clamp around your thighs to pin you down the chair.
“Hold still.”
His tongue delves deeper, flicking against your aching clit in quick strokes that have your toes curling. You fist your hands in the paper drape, tearing it as he laps at you.
“Ah! Shit, Dr. Nanami-”
The honorific cracks halfway when you feel a finger pressing hard on your entrance while his tongue works your clit. The dual stimulation makes your thighs shake, but his grip keeps you spread wide for him. You hear it—the wet sounds of his mouth on you and the ragged breaths escaping your lips.
Your back arches off the chair. You’re dimly aware of one hand leaving your thigh, then the sharp click of his belt buckle. You hear his slacks being pushed down. You can’t bring yourself to look, not when his tongue is doing that twisting thing that makes you see stars.
Nanami stands up abruptly, his belt buckle clinking on the tile floor. Before he can say anything, you sit up and grab him by the nape of his neck, pulling him down into a bruising kiss. His lips part with a surprised exhale, and suddenly you’re tasting yourself on his tongue.
His hands, which had been gripping your thighs moments ago, now slide up to cup your tits, kneading them with a roughness that makes you whimper into his mouth.
He breaks the kiss only to duck his head and capture a nipple between his teeth. The sharp sting melts into warmth as he sucks, his tongue swirling in circles. You arch against him, fingers tangled in his perfect blond hair to drag him closer.
“P-Please—oh my god!” you gasp when he switches to the other, his free hand pinching the wet peak he just abandoned.
Nanami hums against your skin, the vibration makes your thighs clench. His thumb brushes over your nipple, now swollen and oversensitive, and you hiss through your teeth.
His mouth is back on yours, swallowing the needy and high sounds you make as he pushes two fingers inside you again. The stretch burns—his fingers are thick and longer than yours—and you rock against his hand instinctively to chase that delicious pressure of his palm against your clit.
“Do you want it?” Nanami murmurs against your lips. His glasses are askew, fogged. “Do you want me to fuck you?”
Your answer is a broken whimper. You nod frantically as your nails dig into his shoulder through his dress shirt. Nanami withdraws his fingers with a slick sound that makes you shudder. His hands grip your hips, dragging you forward until your ass teeters on the edge of the chair.
You look down between your bodies just as Nanami frees his cock from his briefs—thick and already dripping. He strokes himself slowly, his broad palm gliding up his thick length while his eyes stay locked on you. His thumb swipes over the leaking tip, spreading the precum, and your legs wrap around his waist to pull him closer.
You watch as he reaches blindly toward the small drawer beside the chair. He pulls it open and grabs a foil packet of lube. He rips it open and squeezes a generous amount onto his palm before slicking himself up.
Nanami slides his cock through your slick folds, the heat of him dragging against your clit in a slow, torturous stroke.
“Do you really want this?”
His voice is low and rough. Again, you nod frantically while your hands take a hold of your thighs spread open before him. His glasses catch the light as he tilts his head.
“I need you to talk,” he says, before slapping his cock onto your drenched pussy. “I don’t take answers like that.”
“Y-Yes!” The answer bursts out of you. “Please, fuck me!”
Nanami rubs his cock against you again. “Where?”
Your thighs tremble when his tip almost catches at your entrance. He’s pressing just enough to make your breath hitch.
“Inside. I want you inside me.”
He exhales sharply. His glasses are fogged when he finally pushes in and it’s splitting you open in a way that makes your vision blur. The stretch burns deliciously, his thickness drags against your pussy walls that haven’t been properly filled in weeks.
Nanami stops halfway. “Look at me.”
You force your eyes open. His face is now closer than you remember—blond strands falling out of place, his jaw tight with restraint. His hips jerk forward when you clench around him, drawing a groan deep from his chest.
“Fuck,” he grits out. “You’re taking me so well.”
The praise makes your thighs shake. You rock against him instinctively, but he holds you still with a firm grip. His cock twitches inside you when you whine.
“Be patient.” His voice is rough. “We’re doing this properly.”
He pulls out almost completely—just the head catching at your entrance—before slamming back in with a sharp thrust that punches the air from your lungs.
“Doctor—!” The moan rips from your throat as he bottoms out inside you.
“Nanami.” His breath ghosts over your lips. “Call me Nanami.”
Your nails scrape down his clothed back as he thrusts in again, the force of it makes the chair creek.
“N-Nanami—nngghh!”
“Good.”
His praise sends a shudder through you. His pace is relentless now, each snap of his hips drag against that spot deep inside you. His glasses slip down his nose and he takes them off with a frustrated grunt before tossing them onto the nearby counter. You watch the way his throat bobs as he swallows hard.
Nanami pulls out and you whimper at the sudden emptiness. His hands grip your waist and lift you effortlessly off the chair. Your legs wobble when your feet hit the floor, but he steadies you quickly.
He turns you around and his large hand splays across your back to bend you over. You try to hold onto the stirrups but his hands grab yours so fast. He plunges his cock back inside you again. The angle is deeper and the tip of his cock kisses that spot up inside—your cervix. You moan in both pleasure and pain.
“Look at you,” Nanami growls. “You’re taking me so deep.”
“Na-Nanami—ah! S’too much- I can’t-”
Your knees buckle, but one of his hands locks around your hips. The slap of skin to skin echoes off the clinic walls, mingling with your ragged breaths. You roll your eyes and you see stars burst.
His thrusts turn punishing. You feel him everywhere—the heat of his chest against your back, the ache in your shoulders from having your arms pinned behind you, and the brutal snap of his hips. You feel your slickness dripping down your legs as he fucks you senseless over and over again.
“You’re close.” Nanami’s teeth graze your earlobe. “I can feel you clenching around me.”
He’s right. There’s the coil in your belly that’s starting to tighten unbearably, it’s making your toes curl against the cold floor.
Nanami lets go of your pinned wrists and his hand slides between your thighs. His fingers find your clit, circles them with rough motion, and you shatter. Your back arches as your orgasm crashes through you with a force that whites out your vision.
Still, Nanami doesn’t stop.
“One more,” he groans. His cock pulses inside you as he chases his own release. “Come on, give me one more.”
You sub when his fingers redouble their efforts, the oversensitivity is now tipping into sharp pleasure. A few more thrusts and your second climax hits like a sucker punch. Nanami follows with a groan, his hips stuttering as he spills deep inside you.
Nanami fucks into you with a few more slow, deep thrusts. His cock throbs inside you, still spilling thick ropes of cum that mix with your own slickness. When he pulls out with a nasty squelch, you feel the warm rush dripping out of your swollen pussy almost immediately.
Your legs give out, but before you can fully drop to the floor, Nanami catches you. His hands are firm around your waist as he lifts you back onto the gyno chair. Your sweaty back presses into the cool leather.
Nanami reaches for the tissue box on the counter, tearing off a generous handful. He puts your feet on the stirrups before wiping between your thighs, cleaning the mess of cum trickling out of your pussy.
You’re like a limp, boneless heap on the gyno chair. Nanami is still wiping away the sticky evidence between your thighs. When he finishes, you expect him to step back and return to that clinical detachment he first had, but instead, his lips press a soft, unexpected kiss on your lower abdomen.
“How are you feeling?”
You blink up at the ceiling, then to him. “Wonderful.”
Nanami huffs a quiet laugh, and you find yourself grinning despite the absurdity of the situation. He grabs his glasses from the counter and puts them back on.
“Well,” he says, adjusting his glasses. “Looks like we just found a way for you to orgasm.”
You snort before slapping a hand over your face. You peek through your spread out fingers and you see him looking at you with a smug look on his face.
“Maybe we can continue this somewhere much more private next time?”