15-08-2026, 02:48 AM
(This post was last modified: 15-08-2026, 02:50 AM by kslibrarygirl. Edited 1 time in total. Edited 1 time in total.)
She understood immediately. The kind of deep, intense sex that left a man sore in places he didn't want to talk about in a crowded OPD.
"I'll need to examine you properly," she said, voice even. "Come with me."
"Take off your pants and underwear and lie on your side," she said, prepping her hands. "I'll be careful."
He obeyed stiffly. When he turned onto his side, the strong, heavily muscled thighs came into view, dusted with dark hair, the skin still marked in places by the rough work of scaffolding and cement. The curve of his ass was solid, masculine, the kind of hard flesh built by labour rather than gym.
Ananya stepped closer. The cream silk of her saree whispered against her legs. She could feel the weight of her own breasts shifting as she leaned in, the blouse pulling tight across them. She kept her expression clinical even as a small, unwanted heat flickered low in her belly.
She started with the thighs - palpating carefully along the inner surfaces, feeling for any strain or swelling. Her gloved fingers pressed firmly into the dense muscle. He flinched once, then stayed still. The warmth of his skin came through the thin latex. She moved higher, methodically, checking the attachment points near the groin.
"Does this hurt?"
He grunted. "A little."
She continued, professional, thorough. Then she asked him to shift slightly so she could examine the gluteal area. Her hands moved to his ass - firm, deliberate pressure along the muscle, checking for referred pain, for any deep tenderness that might explain the groin discomfort after rough penetration. She pressed with the heels of her palms, then with her fingertips, separating the cheeks just enough to assess the external tissue. It was all necessary. Standard. She told herself that twice while she did it.
Yet her pulse had quickened. The solid heat of him under her hands, the way his body tensed and then slowly relaxed under her touch, the faint scent of male sweat and dust that clung to him - it all pressed against the careful walls she kept around herself. Her saree felt suddenly too thin. The heavy sway of her breasts as she leaned over him made the fabric of her blouse drag against her nipples. She was aware, sharply, of how close her own body was to his, of the soft, full curve of her ass beneath the silk, of the fact that her husband was two thousand kilometres away abroad while she stood here with another man's bare flesh under her hands.
She finished the external examination, then spoke quietly.
"I'll need to do a brief internal check as well to rule out any deeper injury. It will be quick."
He nodded without looking at her.
Ananya reached for the lubricant, her movements steady even as something restless coiled inside her. She was still the doctor. She would remain the doctor. But the body inside the saree - the youthful, big-titted, curvy-assed body that so many men stared at - was already reacting in ways she refused to acknowledge out loud.
"I'll need to examine you properly," she said, voice even. "Come with me."
"Take off your pants and underwear and lie on your side," she said, prepping her hands. "I'll be careful."
He obeyed stiffly. When he turned onto his side, the strong, heavily muscled thighs came into view, dusted with dark hair, the skin still marked in places by the rough work of scaffolding and cement. The curve of his ass was solid, masculine, the kind of hard flesh built by labour rather than gym.
Ananya stepped closer. The cream silk of her saree whispered against her legs. She could feel the weight of her own breasts shifting as she leaned in, the blouse pulling tight across them. She kept her expression clinical even as a small, unwanted heat flickered low in her belly.
She started with the thighs - palpating carefully along the inner surfaces, feeling for any strain or swelling. Her gloved fingers pressed firmly into the dense muscle. He flinched once, then stayed still. The warmth of his skin came through the thin latex. She moved higher, methodically, checking the attachment points near the groin.
"Does this hurt?"
He grunted. "A little."
She continued, professional, thorough. Then she asked him to shift slightly so she could examine the gluteal area. Her hands moved to his ass - firm, deliberate pressure along the muscle, checking for referred pain, for any deep tenderness that might explain the groin discomfort after rough penetration. She pressed with the heels of her palms, then with her fingertips, separating the cheeks just enough to assess the external tissue. It was all necessary. Standard. She told herself that twice while she did it.
Yet her pulse had quickened. The solid heat of him under her hands, the way his body tensed and then slowly relaxed under her touch, the faint scent of male sweat and dust that clung to him - it all pressed against the careful walls she kept around herself. Her saree felt suddenly too thin. The heavy sway of her breasts as she leaned over him made the fabric of her blouse drag against her nipples. She was aware, sharply, of how close her own body was to his, of the soft, full curve of her ass beneath the silk, of the fact that her husband was two thousand kilometres away abroad while she stood here with another man's bare flesh under her hands.
She finished the external examination, then spoke quietly.
"I'll need to do a brief internal check as well to rule out any deeper injury. It will be quick."
He nodded without looking at her.
Ananya reached for the lubricant, her movements steady even as something restless coiled inside her. She was still the doctor. She would remain the doctor. But the body inside the saree - the youthful, big-titted, curvy-assed body that so many men stared at - was already reacting in ways she refused to acknowledge out loud.
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