Treating Fiona

I'm a doctor with an exclusive private practice in central London and it's the end of the working day. My receptionist has gone. Unexpectedly, the front door buzzer sounds. I answer. It's a woman, a patient I've seen once or twice before, Mrs. Fiona Collingwood.

Mrs. Collingwood is 29, beautiful and very wealthy. She has raven-black hair and penetrating blue eyes, a rare combination. She's also a widow, her husband, who was also my patient, having died three weeks previously - heart failure following a stroke. He was a successful property developer, twenty years her senior.

I watch her come up the stairs towards me. She's in mourning, dressed all in black. She wears an expensive, fashionable topcoat, knee-length with a stand up collar that would frame her throat if it were buttoned. Underneath she wears a simple black dress, also knee length and straight cut. She wears gloves, black stockings and high-heeled patent-leather shoes. She also wears a hat, a small pillbox hat with a veil, a net lace veil that stops short just above her mouth. Her makeup is perfect. She tells me that she's sorry she's late for the appointment.

She doesn't have an appointment; I know that and so does she. However we both pretend that she has. I show her into my consulting room. It's warm in there, so she takes off her topcoat puts it on a hanger on a wall peg. As she turns away I notice that the stockings have seams – very fashionable, very fifties. She sits, crossing her legs. Her dress is sleeveless with a boat neckline that reveals her cleavage. Round her throat she has a simple black satin band with a large pearl set in the centre: It's evidently real. Without her coat, I see that her black gloves are elbow length. She crosses her hands prettily across her lap, her small, black patent-leather handbag on the floor beside her.

I sit opposite and ask what the problem is. She tells me that her husband was a workaholic and after three months of marriage she was required to become only a trophy wife, dressed fashionably and expensively with copious amounts of jewellery. She tells me that their sex life petered out three months after the wedding and that she's been celibate since. I ask her why she hasn't taken a lover. She says that she never wanted the likely complications. I ask her what, as her doctor, she would like me to do for her. There's a pause; she hesitates briefly then, looking directly into my eyes, says that she would like me to give her body a very-detailed personal examination.

It's clear now that we both know exactly what she means and what she wants. I tell her that she will need to undress. She stands and looks at me directly. Her hand goes behind her back and I hear the sound of a long zipper being lowered to just beneath her slender waist. The straps on her shoulders slip forward and the dress falls silently to the floor. She steps out and drapes it on the chair. She is wearing a bra made from black lace and fine silk and a matching black G-string. I can glimpse the whiteness of her skin, and the shadow of her black pubic hair through the lacy front. The seamed black stockings are hold-ups. I move towards her. The scent of her expensive perfume and the smell of her hair are overpowering. Fiona Collingwood has the most perfectly proportioned body. Her breasts are full and clearly natural, her hips slender and her waist narrow.

The moment has arrived to begin the very-detailed personal examination that she asked for. I reach behind her and unclip her bra, slipping the straps over her arms. It falls from her shoulders, revealing her exquisite breasts. My hands envelop them, enjoying their fullness. I massage them firmly but gently, my fingers pulling and tugging at the hardening nipples. I look at her face. Her eyes are closed and her head has fallen slightly back, her lips slightly apart – Mrs. Collingwood clearly loves the attention her breasts are receiving. I bring my mouth on to each in turn, letting my tongue and lips savour the rich warmth and taste of her skin. I raise each breast in turn and kiss beneath it, moving my lips up to tease the nipple with my tongue hardening my lips and tugging it, then sucking and engulfing it into my mouth. My cock is rock hard in my pants. I love the feeling of constriction, it delightfully extends my feeling of anticipation, the moment that will soon arrive when it is released and enjoy the rich pleasures that will certainly follow. I want all this to last and I suspect that Mrs. Collingwood does too.

Releasing her breasts with some reluctance I drop to my haunches and bring my nose and mouth to smell and nuzzle her waist and downy stomach. I ease the tips of my fingers between her thighs indicating that she should part her legs. She steps slightly aside and I am able to slide my fingers between her legs and touch the silk where it covers the lips of her cunt. It is soaking wet. Then, slipping my fingers into the top band of her knickers, I peel them down to her knees, my hands caressing the swell of her buttocks as I do so.

The first sight of Mrs. Collingwood's beautiful pubic mound sends a pulse of excitement through me. I push my mouth and nose into the dark pubic hair and let my tongue explore the fold that opens into the soft outer lips of her moist cunt. I lower the G-string to her feet and indicate she should step out. Immediately I pick up the small bundle of lace and damp black silk and thrust my nose and mouth into it, inhaling deeply. The taste and smell are intoxicating. I return to the delicious source of my pleasure. I reach round, grasp her buttocks, pull her to me and bury my nose and mouth into the moist depths of her cunt. To my delight, Mrs. Collingwood slightly parts her knees and thrusts herself forward allowing my tongue and lips greater access.

After several minutes of exquisite pleasure, I stand to fully take in the sight of Mrs. Collingwood's virtually naked body. She looks at me with a smile at the corner of her lips, one leg slightly bent, her arms held slackly at her sides, her shoulders held back and breasts thrust forward. She is posing for my approval. I realise that everything has been planned to the last detail; the throat band, the long gloves, the stockings, the black patent shoes and the little veiled hat, especially the veiled hat. All designed to display her beautiful white torso at its most erotically desirable. She could be a model in a Helmut Newton photograph.

I decide it is now my turn and sit in the chair facing her. I beckon her across and indicate that she should kneel. Mrs. Collingwood knows exactly what to do, but she makes me wait, She slowly and deliberately removes her gloves, lifts her veil, comes forward, and kneels.

She glances up to me as if waiting for a signal. I nod and her fingers immediately reach for my belt buckle. Clearly, Fiona Collingwood has done this before, but her eagerness suggests that perhaps not for some time. My belt released, she speedily releases the waist fastening and carefully lowers the zip. My cock is so hard and the bulge in my trousers so prominent that this has to be done with care. The gap in the front of my boxers gives her fingers easy access. She reaches in a hand; I feel her fingers closing over my rigid member, and without undue haste, as if enjoying the moment of exposure, she slowly releases my erect cock. She holds it carefully with her left hand and gazes at it intently, the pupils of her eyes dilated, her lips slightly parted. Ridiculously, she seems almost entranced. Then, with the fingers of her right hand she touches the circumcised hood and strokes its velvety surface. I realise that she has forgotten me altogether, for her, only my cock exists, the inescapable proof of my irresistible desire for her and her body and doorway to the excitement and delights of lust.

Almost instinctively she leans forward and closes her mouth over the head. I feel her tongue and lips engage with it, savouring its texture and taste before starting to fuck it with her mouth.

The intense pleasure I feel is wonderfully enhanced by the sight of the deep red of her painted lips engulfing me and her elegant fingers, with their expensively manicured nails, stroking my shaft. All my senses delight in the contrast between the primitive baseness of her activity and the sophistication of her expensive accoutrements, the stockings, gloves, hat, veil and perfume, thrilling proof that despite all that, basically we are driven mostly by prurient carnality.

Fearful that her expertise could, all too quickly, make me cum, I touch her face. She looks up, surprised. I tell her to stop and stand up. Fastening the waistband of my trousers but leaving my rampant cock exposed, I lead Fiona to the examination couch, and position her so that her legs hang partially over the end. Then, standing between them, I lift and spread her legs wide, revelling in the sight of her fully displayed cunt, the whiteness of her thighs and the delicate black lace of her stocking tops.

Now my mouth, lips and tongue get to work once again. They search out and stimulate her inner thighs, groin, pubic mound, stomach, tits and nipples. I finger fuck her; gently at first then harder, her wetness allowing four fingers to probe deeply. I reach up and search with my fingers for her G- spot and her gasp tells me that I've found it. Now my mouth is all over her cunt; fingers and tongue seeking out her clit; sucking, licking it soft and hard as it swells under the touch of the tip of my tongue. Then the first orgasm overwhelms her and the soft flesh of her inner thighs and the surface of her stomach flutter as she cums with high-pitched cries and moans carried on panting breath.

Only now do start to fuck her, first teasing her cunt lips with the swollen head of my cock, then entering her slowly, listening for her gasp as I fill her. This will be only the first fuck, so I take my time using long slow strokes, filling her fully, pausing, then thrusting again, hard. The beautiful Mrs. Collingwood is taking huge pleasure in this. Each time I fill her cunt to the limit with a sharp thrust, she expels a breathy "Oh " as if taken completely surprise. I pause briefly and lean forward to play with her tits and suck on her nipples and I see a serene smile. I gradually increase the pace of my thrusting and her body responds to the rhythm, her tits bobbing back and forth with each thrust. Soon she is panting and asking for it faster and harder. Then suddenly she cries out and cums with a great shudder; the muscles in her legs and feet twitching so uncontrollably that one of her shoes falls to the floor.

I slowly pull out of her. I am still hard, having used all my will to prevent cumming inside her as she reached her climax. I look down at this delightful creature, her legs splayed wide, her cunt glistening with the moisture that flows from it and trickles down her inner thighs. The look on her face is one of complete satisfaction, her lips forming a smile of utter contentment. I sit in the chair to get my breath and let my pulse slacken. Mrs. Collingwood rolls onto her side and pulls her nylon-covered legs up. She looks at me across the room very intently, one finger gently tracing the surface of her lips, back and forth. She seems to be wondering what next, but there is a definite hint of satisfaction in the gesture. I smile inwardly. Of course, her contentment derives from that fact that she has obtained exactly what she set out to achieve. She is rejoicing in the power of her female sexuality. She is replete.

I ask her to come over and lean forward over my desk. She knows that I didn't cum when we'd fucked on the examination couch - she knows there is more. She smiles and dutifully obeys.

Although I have had the pleasure of appraising from the rear the naked arse of a beautiful woman proffered in such a way on many occasions, it is a sight that never fails to thrill. The exquisite roundness of the buttocks emphasised by the narrow waist; the indentations each side of the spine just above the pelvic bone; the glimpse of the outer labia pouting between the slightly parted thighs. This view is something to be experienced with more than just the eyes. I use my hands, my fingers, my lips and my tongue and my nose, all my senses, to explore every detail of what is before me. No part of this escapes, and I take my time. That Fiona Collingwood appreciates my act of worship is subtly conveyed; a cheeky rotation of the hips as my tongue and nose seek those tantalising lips between her legs; an intake of breath as my hands part her cheeks, my tongue rimming her arsehole and my finger invading it.

My cock pulses with expectation. I part her legs and slide my glistening cock into her cunt from behind. It slips in as smooth a silk. I hear her intake of breath, a kind of release from the tension of waiting. I'm there. I grasp her hips and take a moment to revel in the slenderness of her waist and the light covering of sweat on her lower back. Now slowly, oh so slowly, I start to fuck Fiona Collingwood for the second time. I reach round and my finger discovers her clit buried in a well of slippery softness. This fuck will now build like the crescendo in Wagner's Leibestod. The pace of my thrusts increases, then slows a little, then gains some pace, now thrusting harder, now softer. But always building, harder, faster. My finger's pressure on her clit echoes the changes in the rhythms of my cock, building, building. Oh yes. Fiona is so coming with me on this fuck. Her hectic panting and small cries beat a rhythm that synchronises with the thrusting of my cock. Now they increase in volume, intensity and pitch. She her arse backs into me as the pace increases meeting thrust with thrust and soon we are both bursting to cum.

Fiona's huge orgasm precedes mine by only a fraction of a second, the flesh of her thighs quivering uncontrollably against mine. Her cry is so loud it could devastate the walls of Harrods and echo through the whole of Knightsbridge. I spurt into her for so long I wonder if my balls will shrink. Her upper body collapses onto my desk, her legs start to sag. I slip out my softening cock and a stream of glutinous cum follows it, banding itself between my cock and Fiona's pounded cunt as if reluctant to let us part.

***

Sitting once again in my office chair I watch the beautiful Mrs. Collingwood getting dressed. The sight is almost as pleasurable as was the removing of her clothes. Observing her transformation from eager, submissive slut back into wealthy, elegant, sophisticated woman is incredibly rewarding, as is mine, from sexually depraved lecher into highly respected, successful physician. I delight in our ability to be both.

She makes to leave, then stops and pauses at the door. She thanks me for the consultation and tells me that she has made another appointment for the following week. I tell her that I look forward to that, but should her condition fail to improve, perhaps she'd call my secretary and arrange a house call. She assures me she will.