5. Three
They put her on her side on the table.
The chair was dead against the cabinet, paper shredded on the floor, speculum tray shoved.
Diane’s ripped tan hose hung at her knees, pumps half-off, spanked hips red, navy skirt a belt that covered nothing.
Clean-shaven pink dripping down her thigh onto the vinyl.
One trainee stayed buried in her cunt so she wouldn’t go empty.
The other spit on his fingers and worked her ass — slow, church-committee tight, a place her husband had never asked about — while Hale finally left the counter.
The doctor she’d come to see. The man who’d said it wasn’t necessary.
He put his cock on her tongue. She opened.
She moaned around him, pearls ticking the white coat, and looked up at Hale while a trainee pushed into her ass an inch at a time, spit and her own slick easing it.
The one in her cunt held still until she was full of both, stretched pink and stretched ass and a doctor in her mouth.
“That’s three,” she got out when Hale gave her air. Chin wet. Knot ruined. “That’s a real exam. You left. You watched. Now you’re in it. Don’t you any of you stop. The gown can stay. The nurse can wait.”
They didn’t stop.
Short strokes, careful then not. The trainee in her ass found a rhythm against the one in her cunt, a filthy grind that made Diane shake on the vinyl.
Hale used her mouth the way he’d used a chart — like he owned the room — then sloppy, like he’d lost the room.
She drooled on him. She backed onto his staff.
She took all three: throat, cunt, ass, a conservative woman stuffed in Exam Room 3 with her blouse open and her hose around her knees and her husband nowhere on the clipboard.
The clean-shaven pink was stretched shiny around one cock.
Her ass around another.
Her mouth around the lie that had walked out for a file.
Room 3 locked itself around the wet sound of it. Hale’s hand was in her hair now, not on a knob. Diane moaned on his cock when the trainee in her ass bottomed out and the one in her cunt spanked the red hip he could reach.
The door was shut.
Not for long. A squeak lived in the hall that hadn’t decided whether it was a nurse yet. Diane didn’t close her knees. She had three men to hold them open.
The door opened anyway.
A nurse. Scrubs. A chart that was not Hale’s lie.
She stood in the frame for three long seconds and took the whole appointment in one look: Diane on her side on the vinyl, Hale’s cock on a church-committee tongue, one trainee buried in the clean-shaven pink, one in her ass, ripped tan hose a cuff at her knees, pearls ticking the white coat,
hips red from spanking, spit stringing off the speculum tray, navy skirt rolled into a belt that covered nothing, blouse open, beige cups under her tits.
No one pulled out. Diane moaned around her doctor on purpose — a wet, filthy sound — so the nurse would hear what Exam Room 3 was for.
The nurse’s mouth opened. Closed. Her eyes hit Hale’s coat, then Diane’s face, then the stretch of shaved pink around staff, then the place the second trainee disappeared into her ass.
She stepped back. The door clicked shut.
Footsteps went away fast down the squeaky linoleum and did not come back with security, with another physician, with the gown off the hook.
“She looked,” Diane got out when Hale gave her air.
Wrecked. Laughing. Mean. Chin shining.
“That’s your staff. She can put it in the notes. Keep fucking me. I hiked my own skirt. I pulled them out. I’m not covering now. If she comes back she can watch like you watched.”
They kept fucking her.
Hale’s hand tighter in the listing knot, doctor-grip, the chart gone.
The trainees ground her between them — cunt and ass, short sloppy strokes that made her drip off the table edge onto shredded paper in a tick-tick the alcohol wipes couldn’t explain.
The one in her pink spanked the red hip he could reach.
The one in her ass breathed against her spine.
Diane shook and took it and drooled on Hale.
She came on both trainees at once, a hard clutch, shaved and stretched, a wet slap against vinyl that the closed door only half hid.
They didn’t stop for the aftershock. Hale stayed on her tongue.
The gown on the hook had seen a nurse and done nothing.
Room 3 smelled like wipes and sex and a secret that now had a witness who had chosen the hallway.
Diane swallowed what Hale leaked and looked up at him, eyes wet, conservative knot ruined, pearls crooked.
“Not on me yet,” she said. “In me. Then on me. That’s the last box. Don’t you waste it in my mouth if you want my face. The nurse already knows. My husband checks a box at home. You finish the exam. You come on the patient who hiked her skirt.”
Hale didn’t pull out of her mouth.
The trainees didn’t pull out of her body.
The door stayed shut on a hallway that had already looked and left, and Room 3 kept the wet rhythm of three men in a woman who had come in for routine.
They stayed stacked in her until the rhythm broke.
Diane took it on her side until the vinyl stuck, then on her knees when they rolled her — Hale still in her mouth, one trainee still in the clean-shaven pink, one still in her ass, spanked hips red, ripped hose a tan joke at her knees.
She moaned around her doctor and backed onto his staff and the table walked a useless inch.
Pearls turned around. Knot gone. Blouse off one shoulder.
She came again, smaller, oversensitive, pink clutching, ass clutching, a wet shake that made Hale hiss.
She laughed around him. Nobody mentioned the nurse.
Nobody mentioned the clipboard on the counter.
Hale’s white coat hung open. The gown on the hook had survived a witness and done nothing.
“Now,” she said, pulling off Hale, spit shining on her chin, church-committee mouth ruined.
“On me. Face. Tits. The pink you said wasn’t necessary. That’s the last box on your chart. Then I put the gown on like a joke and I walk out like a patient. My husband checks a box. You finish on the box I hiked.”
They didn’t pull out on that sentence.
They held one more stroke. Two. Buried. Deciding.
Diane backed onto both trainees until she was full to the hip and sucked Hale once more, looking up at the man who’d left for a file, and she waited for the exam to spill where she told it to spill — not in her, on her, a mess the alcohol wipes would have to lie about.
Room 3 held its breath with four people in it and a nurse already in the hallway who had chosen not to come back.