Room With A View

If you say the word "speculum" to just about any woman over the age of eighteen, odds are that she'll cringe. I clearly remember my first run-in with this medieval torture device. I was just barely eighteen, at my first ob-gyn appointment. Like most teens, my appointment was with my mother's ob-gyn. A male ob-gyn. I was still a virgin. No one had hardly explored that area, let alone looked at it. And here I had to let a strange man inspect me?! Not to mention the fact that my mom had told me "don't worry, you'll like the doctor. He's handsome. He looks like Omar Sharif." I had no idea who Omar Sharif was (I now know he was in Doctor Zhivago, which I've still never seen). What if I was attracted to him? What if my body liked him? What if I got aroused, and he noticed? Oh no!

It seems that ob-gyn offices are specifically designed to prevent any type of physical arousal, though. They're cold. Beyond cold: they're fucking freezing. To this doctor's credit, he was nice, patient, humorous. I suppose it could have been worse. He went over the entire exam procedure, step by step. He even held up sample speculums, calling them "those duck-billed thingies." His sample speculums included nostril-sized, which he claimed would be used on me that day, and elephant-sized. It would have been nice, however, if he had thought to warm up the damn speculum before the exam. Nostril-sized or elephant-sized, I could have sworn a fucking Popsicle had been shoved up my vagina.

Who would have thought that, so many years later, while watching free, web-based porn, I'd come across a medical fetish site with speculum videos? Who could have predicted that I'd watch these videos and get incredibly wet? Not I. And yet, surprisingly enough, it happened. I mentioned this to Sir, and he, too, was intrigued by the idea. One evening we purchased a clear plastic speculum from the local porn shop. This speculum, somewhere between nostril-sized and elephant-sized, lacked the medieval menace of the metal monstrosities in the ob-gyn office. In Sir's hands, it was no longer a frightening device.

On my knees, ass in air (Sir's favorite position for me), I could hear him fidgeting with the speculum, trying to figure out how it worked. I had already investigated it earlier in the day, but I wasn't about let him know that. It was good to know that we were both a little nervous about this new toy. Finally, it was in, extended, and I was spread open. Uncomfortable? No. Incredibly erotic? Yes. Nothing screams vulnerability and trust like being exposed in such a fashion in front of your lover. I could hear the awe and appreciation in his voice as he described the scene. Suddenly, he repositioned the speculum, so that he could access my g-spot. Now, we've discovered almost a new form of bondage. As he stroked that knot of flesh with his fingertip, I was helpless. I could not clamp down on him; I could hardly squirm. When I came, he witnessed my orgasm through clear plastic walls.

Since our first experience with the speculum, we've expanded our horizons a bit. Sir bought a slightly larger, medical-grade speculum for our enjoyment. There's nothing clinical about it, I assure you. With me held open in such a manner, Sir has been able to tease my body in new ways. He has tickled the walls of my pussy with silky little pint brushes, tormenting the pink recesses of me, painting my flesh - nipples, face, lips - with my own wetness. We've even played around a bit with a camera. Having to explain a stray photo of your interior to a friend ("Damn! I dunno what that is... Someone take a picture of their hand?") really keeps you on your toes. I know Sir enjoyed every moment of that. And I doubt for one moment our friend bought my excuses.