The physiotherapist
When I’d visited my sister on the east coast, some couple of years ago, she’d told me of a scandal which had filled the newspapers at the time. It was the case of a man, a builder by trade, who had been posing as a physiotherapist, and had been molesting women.
I remembered it quite clearly. My sister had related all of the juicy details. The man had simply rented a small office, put an add in the local newspaper, and been very selective in the “clients” that he chose, telling others that he worked at the hospital and only did consulting after hours, and that he was simply too busy to see them.
At the time, my sister and I had searched out an old newspaper, and had found his advertisement:
Dr Radinov, Professional Physiotherapist ……. after hours appointments only. Phone XXXX XXXX
Now I couldn’t believe my eyes as I looked at the almost exact advertisement in our own local paper.
My sister had told me at the time, that the pervert had simply disappeared, and that the police had no idea where he was. Had he come way over here to the west coast? I supposed that it was certainly far enough away, and it was a good two years ago since he’d tried his perverted deception.
The idea tempted me. Dare I do it? I suppose that it would be exciting just to phone; I wouldn’t go if I thought it risky.
I picked up the phone and was almost trembling with sexual excitement as I dialled the number.
Brrr, Brrr, the phone rang.
There was a short delay, then a male voice answered: “Dr Radinov speaking.”
I trembled and thought of hanging up, but then spoke up: “Hello, I wonder if it would be possible to make an appointment.”
“Hmm, I’m extremely busy,” the voice replied, “I work at the hospital during the day, and only treat patients in the evening.
It had to be him, I thought. He hasn’t even changed his story one bit.
“Can I just take a few details,” the voice continued, “let’s see …. female,” he said as if checking off a list. “Age?” he asked.
“Eighteen,” I answered.
“Not married I suppose?” he asked with a chuckle.
“No.”
“No of course not at your age, ….. er, ….plenty of boy friends though I suppose?” he tentatively added.
“Well, no actually.”
“What, not even one,” the man’s voice asked.
“No,” I again answered, trying to sound a bit sad.
“Well, that’s getting away from the issue, isn’t it,” he laughed. “What problem do you have?”
He caught me off guard, because strange though it may seem, I hadn’t actually thought of what to say was wrong with me.
“A sore leg,” I answered, saying the first thing that came to mind.
“What area of the leg?” the man’s voice asked.
“My thigh,” I answered, beginning to feel sexy, then added, “more up into the groin.”
My hand slipped up under my skirt. I slid a finger into my now slippery pussy.
“Have you had anyone massage it for you …… your mother, sister …. a friend?” the man enquired in what I thought an odd voice.
“No, I have no one who I could call on to help,” I answered, trying once more to sound sad.
You don’t live at home with parents?” the man’s voice questioned, almost sounding excited.
“I’m a student. I rent a small room,” I answered, then added, “I have no family.”
“Well I think that I could just squeeze you in,” the man said, sounding pleased. “Er … I don’t suppose that you could come now? I have a cancellation,” he told me.
I asked where his consulting rooms were, and on being told, I said that I could be there in half an hour’s time.
Hanging up, I laughed to mysefl – what questions to ask just to treat a sore leg – parents, friends, age, where I live – he was certainly choosing his victim carefully.
______________________________________________________
I hurriedly put on my sexiest underwear, consisting of a pair of white lace pants that were only little more than G-string size; a pretty little half cup bra, though I supposed that he wouldn’t get to see that; and a white, cotton top which clung quite suggestively to my small breasts. To complete my outfit, I wore a shortish, slightly flaired skirt, with heeled sandals, of which I’d been told looked sexy.
Getting off the tram at the location that I’d been directed to, I found the well lit building on the corner. In the lobby I perused the office directory, and saw a small, printed sign, simply with the words: Dr Radinov.
Almost trembling with excitement, I alighted from the lift at the sixth floor, and was confronted by a door with the same small, printed sign: Dr Radinov.
I knocked and pushed the door to go in, but found that it seemed to be locked.
It wasn’t until then that I wondered how safe this was, but the door opened, and a middle aged man, short and stocky, and somehow looking nothing like a health professional, though wearing a white coat, stood holding the door open. “Come in Yvonne,” he said in a friendly enough tone.
I stepped into what was a quite tiny room, the furnishings of which consisted of a desk with a few medical books prominently displayed, a chair, a narrow, white sheeted examination bed such are as found in doctor’s rooms, and other than that, a couple of physio charts hanging on the walls.
The “doctor” offered me a chair, then sat himself behind the desk.
For a moment he seemed at a loss as to how to approach the situation, but then he half asked, half stated, “you live by yourself, you mentioned?”
“Yes,” I said, intent on making him know that I wouldn’t be telling anyone about this little exploit, “I just rent a room, and have no really close friends that I confide in.”
“Well yes, that’s fine, there’s plenty of people who keep to themselves,” he said, standing up and obviously relaxing somewhat.
He asked about my sore leg, so I spun a story.
“Let’s have a look,” he said, beckoning me to stand up.
He then squatted down, taking my calf in both hands, and slowly moving his hands upwards, pretending to be feeling my leg structure.
In the hands of a real doctor, this wouldn’t have had the least sexual significance, but in the hands of this pervert, I was filled with sexual excitement, not that I expected it to go past the touching and looking stage.
At first he seemed uncertain just how far to feel me, being happy to fondle from my calf to half way up my thigh, but then he eventually gained confidence and holding my thigh with both of his hands spread around it, he pretended to be intent on feeling the muscles and tendons as he moved his hands around, squeezing lightly, and gradually moving further up my thigh, an inch at a time.
After some minutes he was squeezing and feeling my thigh right up towards the top, and I could just feel his wrist slightly brushing against the mound of my pussy.
The hem of my short skirt had simply lifted with his hands as he had moved upwards.
“Hmm,” he said, pretending to be deeply absorbed, “I can feel some tightness there – is it tender?
“Um,…. perhaps just a little,” I answered softly, trying to control my voice and not sound excited.
The “doctor” now stood up from his squatting position before me. “I’ll just check your spine,” he told me, “quite often pain radiates to different parts of the body, and where you feel the pain is not necessarily where the problem is.”
He got me to lie face down on the examination bed, and he then, pulling my top up just a little from the waist, began lightly, with a hand either side of my spine, feeling and massaging.
“Can you just pull your top up a bit,” he asked after a minute, “I don’t want to stretch it.”
I lifted myself slightly on one arm, and pulled my top up above my bra to around my armpits, then sunk back down onto the bed.
Continuing up my back and reaching my bra strap, he then said, in what I thought sounded a slightly husky tone of voice, “can you just undo your bra strap for me.”
I reached back and unclipped the two hooks. He continued caressing, up and down my back, from the back of my neck, right down to the waistband of my skirt.
Again his slightly husky voice came: “would you undo your skirt please.”
Oh God! I felt so very sexy. I quickly undid the hooks and small zipper at the side.
I felt his hands moving down onto my waist and lower. I thought of how this man, posing as a doctor, was really just a builder feeling and touching me – a perverted deviant, a lecherous creep.
I hardly knew what I was saying, but I heard myself saying that “I should have taken my skirt off, that it will be getting all creased.”
“Yes,” the pervert “doctor” agreed almost too readily, “it probably would be best.”
I half knelt up on the narrow bed. My small top was still scrunched up around my armpits, and my bra still being undone, hung loosely from the shoulder straps, and I could feel that my breasts were half exposed .
I could feel my face flushing profusely, and kept my gaze down, but knew the the “doctor” would be having a good look at my naked breasts.
Pulling my skirt down over my legs, I slipped it off over my feet, and tossed it towards the nearby chair, having no idea whether it landed there of not, so quickly did I lay back down to hide my extreme embarrassment.
It was indeed extreme embarrassment, but it was also extreme lustful excitement.
I knew that I must be such a sight, laying there face down, with only those tiniest of panties that only covered the crack of my buttocks and nothing more.
“I’ll just give you a good all-over massage, and that might take the soreness away in your leg,” I heard the “doctor” telling me.
I felt him pulling my top off over my head and shoulders. “I don’t want to get oil on this,” I heard him saying by way of excuse. Then it was my bra being slipped off over my arms.
Oh God! I wished that he would pull my pants off as well.
I lay there, my heart pounding. His large, now oily hands gliding all over my back.
My pussy was so wet that I wondered whether I might leave a wet patch on the sheets.
His hands now slid right down onto my buttocks, slithering over me, then with a hand spread on each cheek, he pressed and massaged, before then sliding his hands down over the backs of my thighs.
I lay there, face down, almost panting with lustful feelings. On and on it went with him fondling and massaging every inch of the back of my body. Oh how I longed to roll over and give myself to him to do what he wished with me. But oh, I dare not do that.
I would have kept laying there, loving what was happening to me, but eventually he said, in a somewhat odd tone, that I had best get dressed.
I sat up and swung my legs off the bed and stood up, letting him see my nakedness.
I dressed myself, keeping my gaze downcast in embarrassment.
When I was fully dressed, the “doctor” told me that there wouldn’t be any charge, that he really only handled the few patients of an evening, as a free service to students and such like myself. He asked me not to mention it to my friends, as otherwise he would be flooded with people wanting free treatment.
I assured him that I wouldn’t tell anyone.
“Would you like to come again tomorrow?” he asked almost eagerly, “I’m sure that it would help get rid of that soreness in the legs.”
“Yes, if you would,” I answered, probably sounding equally as eager.
“I can fit you in tomorrow night at the same time,” he told me.
I glanced at the clock on the wall of the foyer as I was leaving. I’d been there well over an hour.
____________________________________________________________
The next night I wore different, but similar, clothes. I was there right on the stroke of eight o’clock.
“Come in Yvonne,” the doctor greeted me in a completely relaxed manner, in contrast to his tentativeness of the night before.
“How are your legs after the massage?” he enquired.
I told him that the treatment had done me lots of good.
“We’ll continue the same treatment,” he said eagerly, “undress and hop up onto the bed.”
I undid the few top buttons of my light blouse, and pulled it up over my head. I then reached behind my back and, deftly unclipping my bra, unashamedly took it off so that my breasts were exposed to the “doctor’s” gaze. I then slipped my shoes off, and slid my skirt down over my legs, then stepped out of it.
I stood there naked all but for a little pair of semi-transparent pants, through which I knew that the rest of my body would be able to be vaguely seen.
After climbing up onto the bed, and once more laying face down, the lecherous “doctor” wasted no time in going to work with oil and massaging hands.
On and on, all over my back, my buttocks, and my legs, did he massage and fondle.
Perhaps he had planned it out, or perhaps it was just a spontaneous thing, but one way or the other, after some time, he told me to roll over onto my back, so that he could do the front of my thighs.
I was thrilled at the suggestion. My heart was pounding with excitement as I rolled over.
The “doctor” stood down near my feet, and used both hands to firmly massage my thighs, while the whole time looking gloatingly at my naked body.
I closed my eyes and relaxed.
Each leg he did for some time, then I felt his hands on the insides of my knees, just putting a little pressure to spread my legs slightly. I didn’t resist.
Now the massaging was with a hand on each thigh, with his fingers slipping through the copious amount of oil, right down the insides of my thighs.
“Should I massage your groin to get rid of that tenderness there?” I heard him softly asking almost in a whisper.
I answered with the single word “yes.”
He was pulling my pants down.
I was naked.
He spread my legs a little more. I knew that my pussy would be gaping open and that he would be looking lustfully at it.
His hands now slithered between my legs, his thumbs sliding across my groin, his hands pressing against my vulva. I was panting lustfully.
“Is that good?” his voice reached me.
“Mmmm, lovely,” I sighed.
All pretence was now gone. His fingers slithered through my wet, slippery pussy, then began exploring inside me. I lifted my legs, bending my knees and spreading my thighs wide open.
His mouth pushed against my pussy, and I felt his tongue lapping at my juices.
He stopped and I opened my eyes.
He was stripping naked. I saw his beautiful, large, hard cock sway out in front of him. “Do you suck?” he asked bluntly. I answered by slipping off the bed and squatting before him, taking his gorgeous cock deeply into my mouth.
He groaned and took my head in his hands, and began to slowly fuck my mouth.
“You suck like a slut,” he moaned in a rough voice. I showed that this was true by taking him right to the back of my throat.
He was moaning and groaning lustfully.
“Oooo, fucking bitch, you’ll have me blowing down your fucking throat,” he eventually gasped as he pulled his cock from my mouth.
“Get on all fours, and I’ll fuck you like a dog fucks a bitch,” he ordered.
I eagerly obeyed.
We fucked and fucked and fucked.
He pulled out and rubbed his dribble of cum onto my anus, then slowly slid his cock into that hole and began to fuck me in this third way.
I rocked back and forth, pumping my body onto his cock as he pumped his onto mine.
“Tight fucking whore,” he finally gasped, and his long, hard, grunting thrusts told me that he’d filled my body with his cum.
___________________________________________________________________
Late that night we drove to my rented room.
I stuffed all of my belongings into bags, and took them to his car.
We drove to his house. This was were I was to live now. This was where I was to be his to own, to use, to treat as he wished.
This was to be my heaven.
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