Tracey sat in the waiting room at the Acident and Emergency department of Eastfield General Hospital red faced. She had been red faced when she had arrived four and a half hours before and she was still red faced. It was nearly her turn to be seen.
At the far end of the room she saw the doctor put down her cup of coffee, fold up her copy of the Daily Mail and yawn. She pressed a button. Tracey gulped. It was her turn!
Tracey sat in the cubicle with the doctor - a slip of a girl who looked about sixteen. 'Oh My God!' she thought, 'even the doctors are looking young now.'
Petite, buxom, blonde, Tracey was twenty-six and had at last landed a steady job. The job offer had arrived that morning. She was to start on Monday.
No more working in that shop. Work that had got her into this situation in the first place. She had thought that the shop was going to be a pawn shop and it had turned out to be a porn shop. That was how she had succumbed to the temptation to use the...
"You've got what? Where?"
The doctor was trying to keep a straight face.
"It's the end of a Fanny Tickler," Tracey felt her face burning as she stammered the words, "Mark II," she added as if that made a difference.
"And what on earth is that and what were you doing with it?"
"It goes up your fanny and tickles it," Tracey was getting hotter and redder by the minute. This was the moment she'd been dreading. She was going to have to explain.
"It was a special treat," she blurted out, "I'd just found out I'd got a new job."
I must here explain to those readers who are not conversant with the English vernacular, that the word 'fanny' in this context refers to a girl's pleasure hole and that the 'Fanny Tickler' in question was a vibrating girl's self-pleasurer. Tracey had treated herself to a Mark II, which had an additional attachment for stimulating the adjacent pleasure spot.
She had been tempted into giving herself a treat when she got the job offer, and now she wished she hadn't, or at least she wished she had screwed the end on tight.
The Fanny Tickler Mark II had lived up to the hype that had so tempted Tracey. Unfortunately in all the excitement the end had come off and was stuck up poor Tracey's pleasure hole. Red faced and stammering she was trying to explain this to the doctor who was clearly tryiing in vain to suppress a serious attack of the giggles.
"...and the end came off," Tracey finished her explanation.
"Well..." (Hee hee hee) "we'd better..." (ha ha ha)" "get you into..." (Ha ha ha) "the gynae examination room" (ha ha ha ha ha).
She rushed out leaving poor red faced Tracey womdering what would happen next.
What did happen was that a little slip of a girl in a nurse's uniform appeared. Her name badge declared her to be 'Angelica - Student Nurse'. She led Tracey off to a large room with white painted walls and an examination table.
"Take your clothes of Miss and lie down on the table."
"What - all of them?"
Angelica looked puzzled as if she didn't know the answer to the question.
"I think so Miss."
She too was having difficulty keeping her face straight and rushed out leaving Tracey to it. Poor Tracey. She slowly took her clothes off and left them on a chair until she stood naked and shivering in the room. She'd only been trying to give herself a treat and this was how it had ended up.
The doctor came back in.
"Well you didn't have to take everything off," she said.
Tracey moved over to her things.
"We haven't got time for that now. Lie down on the examination couch," the doctor had put on a thin plastic glove and was lubricating her fingers.
Oh dear, Tracey did as she was told.
"Draw up your knees and open your legs."
Tracey did as she was told again – better get it over with! The fingers probed between her vaginal lips and slipped inside. In and out and in and out.
“What’s the matter?” said Tracey, “Where’s it gone?”
“Oh dear. I’m afraid you’re a bit capacious in there,” said the diminutive doctor, “my short fingers won’t reach to the end. I can’t get it out!”
She pushed harder. In out - in out – in out.
“Oooooh!” Tracey was getting a bit excited.
“I give up,” said the doctor, “oh dear," she didn't look too happy, "I'm going to have to send for the professor.”
Poor Tracey, rather damp and rather flushed could only nod her head in agreement.
Professor Sir Galahad Codd MB ChB FRCSE KBE wasn't too happy. For him professoring meant walking round shouting at medical students not coming to the aid of incompetent junior doctors, but all the other consultants were at an international conference, an international conference to which he had inexplicably not been invited. He was not a happy man. He stroked his voluminous beard and sneered at Tracey in a supercilious way.
"I'm Professor Sir Galahad Codd," he barked, "but you can call me Professor. You're the silly girl who was playing with herself I suppose."
Tracey nodded red faced as Professor Codd grabbed her right ankle and fastened it firmly in some sort of contraption.
"And now you expect us to sort you out," the other ankle was firmly fastened.
At that moment the little nurse, Angelica, poked her head round the door.
"The students are here," she said.
"Well send them in," barked Codd, cheering up immeasurably. He would have some medical students to shout at. The day wouldn't be entirely wasted.
"But..."
"Send them in. Didn't you here me?"
"I just thought. Considering the..." she nodded at Tracey.
"Oh she won't mind. She plays with herself."
Oh No! Not a bunch of medical students! Tracey tried to escape, but her legs were held fast in the stirrups.
A group of four boys trooped in. Tracey looked at them in disbelief. 'I'm twenty-six and I must be getting old' she thought, 'everybody looks so young'.
The boys looked open mouthed.
"Are we supposed to...?" one of them started.
"Yes, yes, of course," snapped Sir Galahad, pressing a button.
A motor whirred and Tracey felt her legs hoisted up in the air and separated wide apart. Her bottom slid forwards until the naked Tracey provided a magnificent view of both her intimate holes to the assembled multitude. To struggle was impossible. She was held fast in the most embarrassing of positions.
"A most ingenious device of my own design. The patient is presented and immobilized for examination," proclaimed Sir Galahad, grinning, "Explain to the young doctors Tracey, why you are here."
Tracey didn't think it was possible for her face to go redder.
"I'd just heard I'd got a new job and I was giving myself a treat."
"What sort of a treat?"
"I was using a toy," Tracey stammered, burning with shame and only too well aware of the eyes glued to her holes.
"What sort of a toy?"
"A Fanny Tickler Mark II. You put it in your fanny and it tickles your clitoris. The end came off," Tracey wailed. She wriggled her bottom, but she was held fast. She couldn't escape. She had never been so humiliated in all her life.
"You!" Sir Galahad barked at a gangly youth, "examine her vagina."
"Me?"
"Yes you, of course, what are you waiting for?"
The gangly youth stepped forwards and peered closely at Tracey's private parts.
"Not like that stupid boy! Don't they teach you anything nowadays. Get a glove on and stick your fingers in."
The gangly youth nervously went in search of an examination glove.
"You and you!" Sir Galahad snapped at a podgy student and a spotty one, "show me how to feel her breasts. We may as well make use of demonstration material while we're at it."
The two students poked nervously at Tracey's bosoms, prodigiously large and firm they stood up vertically like twin peaks.
"Not like that! They're not giant blancmanges with cherries on the top - even if they do look like them. Put your hand flat on them and roll them round and round, then give them a hard squeeze!"
"Oh! Ooh! Ooooh!"
Simultaneously Tracey felt both breasts squeezed and two fingers go up her vagina.
"What can you feel boy?"
"Er... Nothing Sir."
"Good God!" Sir Galahad was getting more and more exasperated, "You boy!"
Sir Galahad enjoyed calling medical students 'Boy'. It reminded him of his old student days under his mentor Sir William Smellie. He had been a Smellie boy, and now he carried on the tradition.
"You boy," he shouted at the one student not somehow occupied with various parts of Tracey's anatomy, "what do you do now."
"I don't know Sir..." He stammered.
The puce faced Sir Galahad nearly exploded.
"Stick a finger up her..."
Tracey hadn't thought things could get any worse. Now she knew she had been wrong.
Held immobile with both her ample bosoms being freely massaged, two fingers up her front orifice and an indeterminate number up the rear she closed her eyes and thought about her new job. She visualised the letter informing her of her acceptance 'We are pleased to offer you the post of Social Studies teacher at Eastfield Comprehensive School' - her dream come true! She wondered what the pupils would be like.
Rupert Chambers had never had his fingers up a girl's secret place before; indeed he'd never even seen a girl's secret place before.
He wondered if he should tell the old bloke with a beard that they weren't medical students. He thought perhaps not, it might upset him.
It had been his lucky day, being chosen to go on the school fact finding trip to the hospital. And next week they were getting a new Social Studies teacher!