Tomi's guide to bed wetting

MY BOYFRIEND'S FATHER IS MY GYNO

“Babe, I think I need a full body check-up,” I told Jake over the phone, my voice a little hesitant. “I’ve been feeling itchy down there for a couple of weeks, and my boobs get's a bit too tender sometimes. I think it's best to get everything looked at properly.”

Jake chuckled on the other end. “A full p***y check, huh? Damn, baby, can you come over? I’ll do it for you—hands on inspection and all. Babe, be serious, I have to know if I'm coming down with something besides it's been a while since I got a full body check up,” I replied seriously.

He laughed again. “Okay, okay, Mama...send me the invoice when you get there.”

A few days later, I was in the private examination room at the clinic, already changed out of my clothes and completely naked under the thin hospital gown. I lay on the examination table, heart beating fast, legs slightly parted in the stirrups. The nurse had told me a new doctor would be assigned to me shortly as my old one and Ben transferred.

The door opened.

"The moment I saw who it was, my stomach dropped."

Dr. Ethan Reynolds walked in, tall and broad-shouldered, a clipboard in hand. Salt-and-pepper hair, sharp jaw...and those deep-set eyes–just like Jake's. It was my boyfriend’s father.

Oh my goodness, I mentally scolded myself. How did I miss the last name? Reynolds. Of course, it’s Reynolds. Why didn’t I check?

He looked up from the chart, his expression perfectly professional, calm, and detached. Not even a look of recognition from him.

“Good afternoon, Miss Smith. As you know, I’m Dr. Reynolds,” he continued, still not acknowledging me. “I see you’re here for a full body check-up with a specific complaint of itching in the vaginal area and some breast tenderness. We’ll go through everything step by step.”

My cheeks burned with shame. This was Jake’s dad—the man whose house I’d visited for family dinners. And now I was lying here naked, legs spread, while he prepared to examine me.

He washed his hands thoroughly at the sink, then pulled on a pair of fresh gloves with a sharp snap.

“According to your complaint, you feel itchy down there,” he said, voice steady and clinical. “But first, let’s do the breast examination as per standard protocol.”

He moved to the head of the table. His gloved hands were warm as he gently parted the paper gown, exposing my bare breasts. He started with the right one, palpating carefully, fingers pressing in slow, firm circles around the tissue, checking every quadrant.

“Any pain or tenderness here?” he asked.

I shook my head, biting my lip. His touch was professional, but knowing it was him made my n*****s tighten instinctively.

He moved to the left breast, repeating the same slow, methodical examination, pressing and rolling the tissue between his fingers. Then he paused.

“I’d like to check if your breasts are responding normally to stimulation. Is that okay with you?”

"'Yes...I said my voice small and shaky.”

He removed the gloves for a moment, then palmed my left breast fully, his large, warm hand cupping the soft weight. His thumb brushed over my already-hard n****e, circling it slowly, then pinching it gently between his thumb and forefinger. A gasp escaped my lips. He repeated the motion on the right breast, then leaned down and took my left n****e into his mouth.

The heat of his tongue sent a jolt straight between my legs. He sucked gently at first, then harder—his tongue swirling around the sensitive peak, flicking the tip. Spit glistened on my skin as he switched to the other n****e, sucking harder, teeth grazing lightly. Pleasure bloomed low in my belly, mixing with burning shame. I could feel myself getting wetter, my p***y throbbing under the gown.

After a long moment, he pulled back, lips slightly shiny.

“Breasts are fine and responsive,” he said, voice returning to that calm, professional tone that had no evidence of what just happened. He put on a fresh pair of gloves. “Now, let’s address the itching. I’m going to examine your vaginal area. Is it okay for me to touch?”

"' Yes, sir...I whispered”

He sat on the stool between my spread thighs and gently parted my labia with two fingers. Cool air hit my slick folds. He picked up a magnifying glass from the tray and leaned in close, studying every inch with clinical focus—slowly tracing the outer lips, then parting the inner folds wider to inspect the pink tissue.

“I don’t see any visible irritation or rash,” he murmured.

When he slid one gloved finger along my slit, an accidental soft moan slipped from my lips.

Dr. Reynolds paused. A low, amused chuckle rumbled from his chest. “Naughty girl,” he murmured, his voice dropping just a little. “Muscle memory, I understand. Nothing to be embarrassed about.”

He continued the examination, now using two fingers to stroke along my slick labia, spreading them wider, tracing every fold carefully. He circled my swollen c**t with the pad of his thumb with light pressure that made my hips twitch. Then he slid one finger just inside my entrance, feeling the tight, warm walls. He curled it gently, pressing against different spots, checking for any tenderness or unusual sensitivity. Another involuntary moan escaped me as he stroked a particularly sensitive area.

“Very responsive here as well,” he noted, still sounding mostly professional, but his voice had grown huskier. He withdrew his fingers and removed the gloves again.

“I’d like to do one final check to see if there’s any unusual sensitivity or reaction. Is that alright?”

Breathless and burning with shame and arousal, I whispered, “Yes…”

Dr. Reynolds leaned in. His tongue swiped slowly through my folds—a slow glide from my dripping entrance all the way up to my swollen c**t. I gasped sharply, my hands fisting the paper sheet beneath me.

He did it again, slower this time, savoring my taste. His tongue circled my c**t with firm pressure, then dipped lower to push inside me, f*****g me with slow strokes. The sounds of his mouth on my p***y filled the quiet room The slurping and slick glide of his tongue, my own helpless whimpers growing louder with every passing second.

He sucked my c**t between his lips, humming deeply so the vibration buzzed straight through me. Two fingers slid back inside, curling against my g-spot while he licked and sucked relentlessly, alternating between long, licks and quick flicks of his tongue.

Pleasure built quickly and intensely. My thighs trembled in the stirrups. My moans grew louder and unrestrained as he devoured me drawing out every sensation.

“c*m for me, Selena,” he murmured against my dripping p***y, his voice low. “Let me feel how your body responds.”

The orgasm hit me hard. I cried out unable to hold it back, my p***y spasming around his fingers, gushing onto his tongue as spasms ripped through me. He licked me through every shudder, drawing it out until I was limp and panting on the table, my body still twitching with aftershocks.

Dr. Reynolds finally pulled back, lips and chin shiny with my release. He stood slowly, his voice returning to that calm, professional tone as he removed the last of the gloves.

“Everything appears perfectly healthy. No signs of infection or abnormality. You can get dressed now.”

He gave me one last look, eyes dark with something unspoken, before turning toward the door.

“Take care, Miss Smith. If the symptoms persist, feel free to book a follow-up.”

I lay there, chest heaving, p***y still twitching, my own wetness and his saliva leaking onto the paper beneath me. My mind was spinning with shame, shock, and the undeniable thrill of what had just happened with my boyfriend’s father. And we had a family dinner on Saturday...gosh, how will I live through the guilt?