The Mercer Effect

I sit on the edge of the exam chair, wearing just a thin gown.

Latex snaps through the quiet as the black gloves stretch over his hands and tighten around his wrists. I don’t hear him coming, but I feel him getting closer, no word said.

Before I can even take a breath, two fingers press against my neck.

My pulse takes off under his fingertips, pounding hard against them. The touch is cold, but there’s something in charge about it. I stay frozen, breath stuck in my throat.

There’s no question about how I feel. No asking permission. Then his voice comes, deep and cold.

"You’re too tense, Mrs. Bennett. Learn to relax and follow my instructions, or we’re wasting our time."

Mark sits in the corner in an armchair, one leg crossed over the other, nodding along. To him, this is just a doctor doing his job, strict and professional. He’s paying good money for this, and all he can think is, finally, someone who knows what he’s doing.

I stay sitting there, his fingers still on my pulse, which I can’t seem to calm down. He isn’t gentle about it. His sharp look makes it clear there’s no room for excuses.

Without saying anything else, he gives me a quiet command, his voice low and controlled.

"Move back, Mrs. Bennett. Put your legs in the stirrups."

I swallow, gripping the gown between my fingers.

"Yes, Dr. Mercer."

Cold air slips under the gown, raising goosebumps on my skin as my knees open and my feet settle into the stirrups. I’m completely exposed.

Mark sits in the corner, right in my line of sight, and still feels like he’s miles away. Every now and then he looks up from his phone, totally relaxed.

Then the shame hits me. It’s suffocating. Mixed in with it is some ugly, forbidden rush of excitement that runs hot through my blood. My husband’s only a few feet away, sitting back in his chair, while I lie here naked in another man’s hands.

Heat rushes to my face. My heart’s pounding hard in my chest, stuck somewhere between guilt and a pleasure I don’t want to admit to myself.

He doesn’t rush any of it. Everything he does is cold and controlled. His hands move down off my neck, slowly tracking the line of my body.

"Relax," he says. "I’m checking your muscle tension."

His fingers press against the inside of my thighs, and my skin prickles up. The touch feels nothing like what I expected from a doctor.

He keeps his eyes on me the whole time, watching my reaction without a word. My breath catches in my throat. I look toward Mark. Still sitting back, scrolling on his phone, completely unaware of what’s happening.

Dr. Mercer doesn’t move away. He stays right there, watching me in silence.

His fingers stay put one second longer. Then his hand goes straight between my legs, going inside, into the wetness of my pussy.

My stomach cramps up in painful spasms. Wetness pools around his fingers. Shame burns through me...

He doesn’t miss a single detail. I feel his fingers moving inside me, checking each muscle as it tightens up.

He leans over me and looks down, hard to look away from.

"Relax your muscles, Mrs. Bennett," he says, calm. "Take a deep breath. Hold it until I tell you to let it out."

He pushes his fingers deep inside me, moving slowly, no rush at all, measuring every tremor in my body. My breath catches in my throat. I grip the sides, and a quiet, muffled sound slips out of me.

With his fingers inside me, my body reacts against my will. I tighten around them, muscles contracting in a reflex I can’t control.

Dr. Mercer stops dead. He doesn’t move his hand an inch, keeping it still inside me. He felt that. Felt every bit of it.

I slowly lift my eyes. Our eyes meet. There’s no surprise in his green eyes, no professional confusion, just cold certainty that he felt what my body did.

He doesn’t say a word, but the faint twitch at the corner of his mouth and the press of his thumb against my clit make everything clear.

Dr. Mercer doesn’t break eye contact. His eyes hold mine while the flush spreads up my neck and chest. His fingers start to curl inside me, hooking upward with just enough pressure to punch a gasp right out of me.

"You’re still tense, Mrs. Bennett," he says, voice low and rough. "Relax completely. Let me see how well you follow instructions."

Every instinct in me screams to pull away, to close my legs. Yet my hips do the opposite, pushing a little closer to his touch as his fingers go deeper.

"Mark," I whisper, unable to even look his way.

Mark clears his throat, casual as anything. "Everything looking good, Doctor?" he calls out, light, like he has no clue what’s happening under the sheet.

Dr. Mercer doesn’t even turn his head toward my husband. He keeps his eyes locked on mine as he answers.

"Everything is proceeding as required, Mr. Bennett," he says, calm.

That contrast, the polite lie to my husband next to what his fingers are doing inside me, sends a hot wave of panic and need crashing through me at once. My body arches up against my will, hips chasing after his hand. A quiet, wet sound slips out of me, covered by the low hum of the machine.

His gaze watches my face. He slowly pulls his hand back, leaving me aching and shaking. His fingers trail down my inner thigh.

"Now," he says, voice lower. "Spread wider for me, Mrs. Bennett."

He keeps his eyes on me as he reaches for the tray beside him. The instruments clatter sharply.

Not a stethoscope. Not a pen. He picks up a short speculum instead.

"Look at me, Mrs. Bennett," he says quietly, holding it in his hand. "Don’t look at your husband. Look at me."

The instrument hurts going in. My head spins as it slowly opens me up, stretching me wide. It hurts, but the heat inside me makes it hard to think straight. I curl up, head falling back, a soft, shaky gasp leaving my lips.

"Please," I whisper, nails digging into the leather beneath me. "Don’t... please, don’t do this."

He ignores me completely. His face stays cold while he watches me shake, his hand holding the metal open inside me, leaving me completely exposed.

He leans in close to my face and drops his voice.

"Control your breathing, Mrs. Bennett," he says, flat. "Stay still. I’m in charge here, and you do as you’re told. Do you understand me?"

"I... I understand," I manage, my voice shaking.

He doesn’t ease up on the pressure at all. Instead, he grabs a small flashlight in his other hand and brings it closer, shining the light between my thighs as he looks me over while I burn with shame.

Mark’s voice comes out flat and far off. "Hurry up if you can, Doc. We’ve got traffic to beat."

Dr. Mercer doesn’t answer him. The light’s shining right between my legs, showing everything. I’m wet around the speculum, and it’s running down onto the paper under me. My body’s reacting in a way that goes against everything I just begged him not to let it do.

He reaches over with two fingers from his other hand and presses them against my wet pussy, spreading it across me.

"Look at the paper under you," he says quietly, keeping his voice low so that Mark can’t hear. "You’re making a mess of the equipment, Mrs. Bennett."

I lie there, legs still wide apart, as the speculum slowly slides out of me. It comes out with a wet pull, leaving me sore and stretched. My legs shake in the stirrups, and the wetness runs down onto the paper under me.

He pulls the gloves off his hands. The rubber snaps loudly in the quiet room as he takes them off and throws them into the trash.

He doesn’t look at me. He turns toward my husband and puts his hands in the pockets of his coat.

"Clean yourself up and get dressed. I’ll be waiting for you at my desk."

He leaves me alone. Sticky trails run down my inner thighs, a deep ache sitting low in my stomach. My hands shake as I pull my underwear back up, the damp fabric rubbing against my sore pussy, bringing back everything he just did.

I wipe myself down with paper towels, feeling lost every time I look at my own fingers. I pull my skirt back up, still shaking from it.

Mark, slouched in his chair, is still on his phone. He looks up when he sees me and gives me that relaxed smile. Right then, it feels empty and makes my skin crawl a little.

He pulls me in closer, arm around my shoulders, a loose hug. Then his hand moves down to my knee, rubbing at my skirt.

"You good, babe?" he asks, casual. "You look a little pale. What’d the doctor say?"

His touch does nothing for me. Warm but empty. My heart’s still pounding hard as I try not to let Mark see any of it on my face.

"I’m fine. Just a little dizzy from the heat," I say through gritted teeth, looking away from him and digging through my purse for something to do with my hands.

Across the desk, Dr. Mercer looked up. His eyes met mine, and I could still feel the weight of everything he had done.

"Mr. and Mrs. Bennett," Dr. Mercer said, leaning forward with his arms on the desk. "Let’s talk about your wife’s test results."