Susan was a pretty girl even for an adult woman, I thought as I sat in the examination room at the new doctor’s office. Thirty-two years old, she had dark auburn hair, pale skin with a dusting of freckles, and those big, liquid-green eyes that darted about sheepishly. My wife. It’s amazing, I mused to myself, how young she seemed sometimes. Pale and freckled, with a slight, kittenish frame, her red hair cut just a little long to tumble softly past her shoulders, she could pass for a young woman still in her twenties.

Even at forty-one, I knew I was still in love with her, the same girl I married eight years ago when we both were young. She’s a wallflower, but a good one, I thought with satisfaction, and we got along great. Her and I were good together, our sex life quiet and tame, and it had been that way for years. Slow, mostly missionary position in the dim light of the bedroom, while she bit her lip and breathed soft moans into my neck.

She started having this dull pain in her tailbone area, by her butt, about a week ago, which she and her previous doctor blamed on a spasm in a muscle, and it had been bothering her during meals and such. Susan had been popping pain pills, doctoring up her usual bashfulness with hasty explanations like, “It’s just stress.” Finally, after agreeing to an outpatient procedure where the doctor gave her a pain-numbing injection near her anus, she agreed to let me come with her to this new doctor’s appointment to get checked out.

“Just in case I clam up and have a hundred questions for him,” she whispered, biting her lower lip and tracing the curve of my wedding band as she sat.

She was a bundle of nerves, the poor girl. But not, apparently, in an unattractive way, because she had a way of getting my attention even when she was nervous, which I noticed today as we were seated in that spotless, suburban clinic with pastel wallpaper and decorative clip-art posters with magnifying glasses and brooms on them. It was one of those new-age spa kind of places that made me feel out of place, but she liked it, the light lighting up her flushed face and bright-green eyes. She’s a hot-looking girl, my Susan.

The nurse was a brusque young woman, dressed in a pale blue scrubs and hair tie. She took Susan’s blood pressure, placing a cuff around her small arm. A digital thermometer was prodded under her tongue as she scribbled notes onto her laptop.

“Any pain after the injection?” she asked, standing next to the computer stand.

Susan’s head whipped up from her fidgeting in the exam chair, her bright red hair bouncing as she shook her head.

“Good. Strip from the waist down and put this over your hips,” the nurse said, pressing a crinkly white paper gown into Susan’s hand. “Wait here.” She quickly exited.

Susan shot a glance in my direction, her dark eyes swimming with liquid surprise.

“Dave, don’t look!, turn around, privacy please,” she whispered loudly.

I just gave her hand a squeeze, and she relaxed, folding her jeans and cotton white panties at her feet on the examination room chair. She was toned from all the yoga, and I could see the soft slopes of her inner thighs, pale with an hourglass-shaped crease at her top. Her calves were pale and shapely, and her short red curls bounced up off the table when she climbed on it, the gown hiking up to frame her small, smooth hip.

There was a knock, and the doctor entered the room. It was just him, the doctor. No grungy interns or resident young doctors, just the big man himself. He was a large, middle-aged man, no more than 5’10” but with wide shoulders and a thick frame. Broad African-American features with gleaming high cheekbones and short-cropped, salt-and-pepper hair gave him a military bearing under the white light of the clinic’s fluorescents. A stiff, white lab coat hung off his wide frame, his undershirt white and baggy over his muscular chest. The doctor didn’t even wait for Susan to sit up and pull the paper gown back down, but instead closed the door with his shoulder and snapped open a pair of latex gloves with a pop that made Susan jump.

“Mrs. Harper?” he greeted with a deep, velvety voice, carrying an educated Southern accent. “And you must be Dave.”

Susan gave a shy bob of her head, embarrassed.

“I hear you’re new to me. The tailbone issue, right? Let’s see that muscle spasm hasn’t kicked up again,” he said, busying himself with the antiseptic soap dispenser, the hiss of the stream washing over his hands and wrists as he washed his hands.

I thought Susan’s cheeks were red before, but as Dr. Brooks reached out to pull the paper gown away and take the paper cover off her ankles, her flushed face was positively crimson.

The exam table heaved itself forward so she was reclined on her back, her knees bent and feet dangling in the stirrups. That broad expanse of supple ass was entirely bared and available to the doctor, her thighs spread to either side, her pale bikini line and bright pink folds of inner thighs, along with the telltale cinnamon red curls of her pubic hair, all glistening and on display under the bright lights of the room. Dr. Brooks pulled up a stool and sat at the end of the long exam table, his wide palms cupping his hands to lift the paper gown out of Susan’s way.

“Easy, darlin’. Deep breaths. Try and relax,” he said.

I shifted nervously in the corner chair. The mix of the smell of sanitizer and the strong, musky scent of my embarrassed, prim wife combined to make my cock throb in my jeans. I could see everything now: her smooth lower stomach, glistening slit of pussy, on display for this broad African-American man to poke and prod at will. The doctor’s shoulder humped at my periphery, and I saw his backside move to one side as he approached Susan, pulling her flesh smooth with his outstretched hand. His chest swelled as he breathed deeply, his armpits filling the room with that earthy sweat smell that I think women in heat can pick up from a man’s body, that instinctual, smoky scent that comes from an active testosterone gland.

He leaned over, his nose almost brushing her upraised chest, his nostrils flare.

“Fine tissue,” he said softly. “Looks like it’s healing nicely.”

His gloved finger teased the outer labia apart, then slid into the tight space.

“Hmm,” he murmured, drawing it out again, smiling, the dark black of his finger contrasting against the pale white of her cunt.

Susan whined softly. “Oh,” she gasped, her hand flying up to her face, nails raking her palm as she tried to contain herself. My cock was painful in my pants.

He pushed her ass cheek aside with his left hand and admired that dark rosebud of her virgin asshole. She had a deep, puckered tone that was undeniably tight and virginal.

“I think I’ll just have to see how it’s looking inside,” the doctor said in his deep, smooth baritone.

He coated his right index finger with some lubricant from the pump dispenser, and it was loud in the small room, that squirting slap of ankyolastic liquid gel against his fingertip. Dr. Brooks spread her ass cheek again with his left hand, and I could see the inside of her hot pink asshole—a pink dripping star in that dark cleft, shiny with juices. Her asshole, an elusive patch of skin on her sweet young body that I had never seen her offer to me. Not until now, not to this man with those smoky breaths and the hard dark features and broad shoulders.

He rolled the slick finger to its side, curving around her sweet pink hole before pushing it against the pucker.

“Ready?” he asked softly. “Push back against it,” he instructed gently. “Just take it easy.”

Susan obediently did as she was told, and he pressed forward.

“Okay, just like that. Hold still. It’ll hurt a little,” he said.

He plunged the finger into that tight heat, wet sounds of suction and friction filling the air. She yowled a low cry, the kind of throaty scream that Susan made when she was really, really enjoying our sex and we were rolling around on the bed, me taking her hard and deep.

I tried to calm myself, shifting in my seat, when he twisted his finger, searching for that spot.

“Ohhhhhh,” Susan murmured dreamily, and I swore he was stroking her as he teased her asshole.

“There it is. Feel better?” he asked, pulling his finger out slowly, dragging and grinding.

Susan gasped again. “Yesssss.”

He straightened, resting his hand on the edge of the exam table as he glanced in my direction. His brown eyes were wide and steady, his lower lip caught in his teeth. He pulled on the latex of his gloves, the plastic tearing loudly and snapping back into place. My cock was pounding hard and wet in my pants, the rush of watching her unravel under his hands overwhelming me until I came, a silent, shameful flood soaking my jeans as I gripped the chair.

Susan stood shakily, adjusting her paper gown and tossing the gloves out of her way as the doctor dropped his voice and caught her by the wrist as she was about to leave the room.

“No signs of infection,” he smiled broadly. “You’re golden, Mrs. Harper.”

He thumped a large hand against her clammy thigh as she shivered and ducked out the door, still not meeting my eyes.

In the car, Susan remained oddly silent, her hands tucked between her thighs as she reached for mine. Her touch felt different—electric, charged with something unspoken that hung heavy in the air. I gripped the steering wheel, my jeans still damp from the shameful rush in the exam room, my mind replaying her moans under Dr. Brooks’ hands.

At home, Susan moved slowly, peeling off her clothes until she stood in the bathroom, bent over the sink in nothing but those tight, shiny panties, the lace clinging to her soaked pussy. She turned to me, her green eyes dark with something wild, and climbed into my lap on the bedroom chair, her body pressing against mine.

“Dave?” she asked when she finally sat in my chair, her voice raw as her hips ground against me. “I wanted him to do it.”

I swallowed hard, my cock straining in my jeans. “Who?”

“Brooks, the doctor,” she snapped, her eyes flashing darker than I’d ever seen. “I know you saw. I wanted him to fuck me, hard. Right then. To take me with those big, strong hands, tear me open with a big, hard black cock.”

Her red hair whipped at her shoulders as she ground her pussy harder against my hand, her words igniting me. My mind spiraled, picturing her splayed out for him, but a question clawed at me.

“So… what about that other doctor?” I asked, trying to sound casual, my voice tight. “The one who checked you out before. He had big hands, too?.”

She dropped her eyes, red hair falling over her face like a curtain. “Yeah,” she whispered, her hips slowing but still pressing into me. “He liked to play around with my ass, make me squirm on his table. My first doctor.”

Her confession hit like a spark, fueling my arousal and dread. Had she already crossed that line, her shy facade unraveling under other hands before today? I wanted to know—and God help me, I wanted to see her taken like that again, her secrets spilling under another man’s command.