A Visit to The Doctor

A place where users can post their wonderful stories.

A Visit to The Doctor

Postby Miki Yamuri » Sun Nov 11, 2018 7:55 am

A Visit to The Doctor - Miki Yamuri


I did not write this story and I make no claims as to its content. This story has been accredited to me, however, I am simply providing a service to the SissyKiss community. If you are the original author of this story, and you wish for me to remove it from SissyKiss.com, let me know.


------------------------------------------------------
------------------------------------------------------

The day started off more or less normally; Cathy was cooking breakfast as I came into the kitchen. I smiled to see her at the stove cooking something – I couldn’t tell what it was yet – in her lightweight bathrobe over her filmy nightgown. God she was gorgeous, and she was mine!

Let me get the basic descriptions and background out of the way. Cathy and I had been married about 8 years now, and we both loved each other (yes, it may be old fashioned, but we had a monogamous, loving relationship). She was 5’ 11", long blond hair, blue eyes, and a figure to die for. She worked out regularly and was proud of the way she looked. She was also quite strong, a combination of her weight training and her Scandinavian heritage.

I, on the other hand, was pretty much the average geek. I was 5" 9", and weighed about the same as Cathy. I had auburn hair, which I kept pulled back in a ponytail (as was considered stylish by us computer types at the time), and since my job involved sitting in front of a computer, I guess I’d have to admit that Cathy was definitely the stronger of us as well. But somehow we clicked, and the physical differences didn’t matter. Or, perhaps they helped. You see, in our relationship, Cathy was the one in charge.

I don’t mean that she was dictatorial, or that I couldn’t say boo. It was that Cathy was the leader, or would usually be the one to come up with the ideas on what we would be doing. I usually went along, both because it was easier and because it was usually better her way anyway. Probably an outgrowth of this attitude carried over into the bedroom. Cathy was, more often than not, on top. Also, we experimented with things like bondage, light spankings, roll play, etc. As you might expect, we both seemed to enjoy things where she was in charge. What might come as a surprise was that we both seemed to get off on some things that were embarrassing to me, where I was put in a slightly humiliating type of situation. Things that made me feel sort of squirmy inside, and gave her a feeling of power. Following these scenarios, a prolonged and intense lovemaking session always followed.

So, that being said, I walked over to Cathy, hugged her from behind and asked her what’s for breakfast. She responded, "Is my wittle boy hungry?" That clued me in that something was up. "First, we need to get you dressed, and then you can have your breakfast."

OK. I wandered into the bedroom and she followed closely behind. "Before you get dressed, you need to shave."

"I already did," I replied. I stroked my face which felt smooth. I wasn’t very hairy, and could often go two or three days without a shave and nobody would notice. More of a reddish downy growth than a beard, but I thought I looked better clean shaven anyway.
(Not that I had a choice, I probably couldn’t have grown a beard if I tried, so I never did.)
"That’s not where I meant," she said with a grin. I looked at her askance, and she simply pointed below my belt. "If you’re nervous about a razor down there, you can use this instead." She handed me a bottle of hair removing cream.

I wasn’t thrilled about this, as my ‘manly’ growth down there was not overly thick to begin with. My arms and legs were also sparse, so the thought of getting rid of that made me uneasy. But Cathy wanted me to do it, so I took the bottle and went into the bathroom (yes, I didn’t want to use anything sharp ‘down there’). A quick shower with warm water, and then I applied the cream. Cathy reached into the shower, took the bottle from me and then proceeded to coat me more heavily. However, she decided to do a more complete job, and coated my legs, chest, underarms, buttocks and any other area where body hair might grow. It started to tingle, and then began to become uncomfortable. Finally, time was up and I could rinse off. The lotion ran down the drain, along with the residue of my hair.

I stepped out of the shower and Cathy held up a bath towel for me to dry off with. She gently patted me dry, cautioning me not to rub as my skin would be a little tender. Then she took some baby oil and gently rubbed it into some of the more sensitive areas. That felt good, and I started to respond, however Cathy told me that breakfast was waiting, and I was not going to get a quickie. Rats!

I started towards my underwear drawer when Cathy told me, "I’ve got something new for you to wear today. Something more fitting for your new look." I must have looked a little confused because she told me to lie down on the bed. I did so, and she walked into the closet and returned carrying a bundle which she sat down on the dresser. She went back into the bathroom and returned with a bottle and a towel. "Lift your hips up," she told me, "And let me place this under you to keep the blankets clean. I did so. Then she picked up a large bundle of cloth and slid it underneath me. Of course she was delighted when I reflexively ‘saluted’ her. She leaned forward and kissed the tip of my stiffening penis and just said, "Not yet."

As you have guessed, I was being diapered. Now this wasn’t really anything new; we had played regression games before, so I was not all that upset. In the past, I actually have enjoyed this; I get to be the center of attention and have no worries or stress. I don’t have to make decisions and I know I am loved. However, this time Cathy had a different idea.

She grabbed a jar of what I thought was probably some sort of baby ointment. What I didn’t know was that Cathy had done some compounding recently. She had taken a neutral body cream and ground up a bunch of poison oak into it. She took this concoction and liberally rubbed it all over my bottom, making sure both buttocks were well coated. She gently rubbed it in until most of it had been absorbed, and then she reapplied another thick layer.

She pulled the cloth up between my legs and snugly secured both sides, which were lined with Velcro. I had just been diapered. Of course it wasn’t over. I had to raise both feet so she could slip on some plastic pants to cover the diaper. Naturally, these were in a pink nursery print, and the openings were trimmed with lace. She slid them up my legs, made me raise my hips and pulled them up over the diaper. Carefully, just like any mother would, she tucked the openings up under the diaper to make sure that nothing could leak.

Then she repeated the process with a shimmery satin and lace cover panty. Finally she let me stand up to see, and it was as bad as I had thought.

Of course I wasn’t done. She decided I needed something on top to match, so she just happened to have a lacey bra in my size, which it turns out, is a 34AA.

I won’t bore you with the rest of the day; we stayed home and played house. Use your imagination. I was surprised, however, when I was allowed out of the diaper to use ‘the potty’ like a big boy. I was put back in the diapers afterward, though, with another rubbing of ointment. By the end of the day, Cathy’s plan was starting to work, and I started to develop an allergic reaction to the poison oak. By night time, my backside was a maze of red pimples and blotches, and it itched to no end. It was driving me crazy! Cathy decided that, for my protection you understand, she would put a par of mittens on me. These were thickly lined canvas on the inside, but shimmering lace and satin that matched my diaper cover on the outside. They had no fingers or thumbs on them, and secured snugly around my wrists. Once in place, I basically had minimal to no use of my hands. This way, she said, I wouldn’t be tempted to rub at my reaction site.

She made a phone call, but I was in the other room so I couldn’t hear what was said.

However, she did tell me that she had made an emergency appointment for me with a physician. First thing tomorrow I would be seen by someone who specialized in this sort of thing. "Good," I thought. "I’ll see an allergist and get something to stop this infernal itching!"

You may imagine my surprise when, upon awaking the next morning I was not allowed to use the bathroom or get changed. Cathy told me that the doctor would probably want to see my diaper to be able to tell what was causing the rash. She simply gave me some things to wear over my diaper and bra.

Finally, Cathy added a shirt and shorts for outer wear. (Summer in Texas, it gets hot. Light weight things are a must.) The shirt was a lightweight pastel, and something seemed wrong about it. Then I realized that it was buttoning up the wrong side – she had given me a woman’s blouse. There were some seems that tailored it, but fortunately I was sort of slender so it fit OK. The collar, however, was gently rounded, which was definitely not in style. Plus, it was light enough that I’m sure if you tried you could see the bra lines.

I was worried that nothing I owned would be able to fit over the diaper, and I was probably right. However, Cathy had a new pair of shorts for me that managed to cover them. She told me that she had made some adjustments to them to make them fit better. What she had done was to buy a pair of lady’s shorts so the hips would be big enough. Then she had undone the inner leg seams and sewed in snaps. The end result was a pair of shorts that could be unsnapped for easy changes, just like a little child would wear. This was really embarrassing.

It takes a while to tell it, but in reality it only took a couple of moments and I was ready to go. Cathy, of course, had gotten ready while I was still asleep. As we headed towards the car, I asked her, "Could you please take off these mittens? I promise I won’t scratch (although my backside was killing me, and I couldn’t wait to scratch at it!).

"Of course not," she responded. "And, for today you will call me ‘Mommy’ unless you want a spanking – which would really sting with that rash of yours. And I mean it; no matter where we are or who is there, I will pull down your pants and blister your behind if you don’t behave." Then she smiled again and finished, "Which would be appropriate given what you’re wearing, wouldn’t it?"

"Yes, mommy," I gave in and stated meekly.

Nervously I went with her into the attached garage and got into the car. Cathy got into the driver’s seat and then opened the garage door. I was not too nervous, since nobody could see me get into the car, and the windows were tinted so probably nothing unusual would be noticed. I hoped. Cathy drove us into town, and I was surprised when she stopped at a new medical building. She got out and told me to come along. Nervously I unbuckled my seatbelt and got out, looking nervously about.

"Come on, Bob," she called, holding out her hand to me. "Honestly, you’re as bad as a little baby."

I took her hand, feeling more like a little child than ever as she more or less pulled me along into the building, down a hall and up to a door that read ‘Dr. Lynn Adair, Family Practice’. We walked in to a waiting room that had about 7 or eight younger women, each one with at least one young child or infant. We walked up to the front desk, and I was sure that everyone was staring at me.

"May I help you?" asked the young girl at the front station. For some reason, when she looked at us she seemed a little puzzled. I hoped that my bra or diaper weren’t showing!
"Yes, we have a 10:00 appointment with Dr. Adair for Bobby Harrison," replied my wife in a nonchalant manner. (I was usually Bob or Robert; Bobby?)

She looked at us quizzically after checking her computer. "We have a Bobby Harrison down for a new patient visit to treat diaper rash. But I guess there’s been a mistake."

"No," commented my loving, caring wife. She continued loudly enough so that the entire waiting room could hear, "This is bobby, and he has a nasty diaper rash. I think he needs some kind of ointment for his little bottom."

I heard several giggles behind me, and I’m sure my face must have turned beet red. "Oh, I see. Well, we normally see mostly young children, but I guess that this would be appropriate." She handed my wife a clipboard and told her to fill out the forms. We sat down and I looked at the clipboard as Cathy started to fill it out (she has much, much better handwriting than I do).

Meanwhile, I hadn’t been to the bathroom yet, and the urge to go was getting unbearable. I told Cathy that I really had to use the facilities, but I couldn’t see any. Since she had finished with the paperwork, she handed the information to the receptionist and asked her where the men’s room was.

"I’m sorry, we don’t have one here. The closest would be downstairs in the cafeteria area. Cathy returned to tell me, but before I could leave we were called back (actually, they called "Ms. Harrison"). Cathy stood up and started towards the door. When I paused (I did have to go fairly badly by now) she simply said, "You can hold on for a few minutes more, can’t you? This will be over with quickly."

She held out her hand to me, and without thinking about how it might look I naturally took her hand and followed her through the doors – just as if I were a little child. As I went through the door I saw a few indulgent smiles on the faces of some of the other women in the waiting room. But, perhaps that was just my imagination.

We were led back to one of the exam rooms, where we sat and waited. I looked around at the room and saw mostly what you’d expect in a doctors exam room; there were assorted cupboards and drawers for storage of medical items. The exam table that I was sitting on seemed a little short to me, but I guess it had slide-out portions to it. It also had two poles sticking up on either corner, with some metal fittings on top. These were kind of strange, I thought. (Yes, I was innocent and had never seen stirrups on an exam table before.) The posters on the walls were standard medical types, but something was just a little off, although I couldn’t pick up on what it was. There was one of a woman breastfeeding, and another on mammograms, another on pregnancies. Then I realized that the room was done in a light peach pastel and started to figure out that this was a room normally used for female patients. Oh well, I guess it didn’t matter.

More time passed, and I was becoming desperate. Cathy sat there nonchalant, but I was starting to squirm and wriggle in my chair, and was even opening and closing my legs to try to stave off my urges. Finally Cathy asked me what was wrong.

"I told you, I’ve gotta go!"

"Well, you can’t very well leave the office like that, can you? But try to hold on. However, if you can’t at least you’re well dressed for it, aren’t you? It’s OK, baby. I’ve got a change in your diaper bag." She held up what I thought was a large purse. I finally looked closer at it (OK, so sue me. What man really ever looks at his wife’s bags? As long as they carry whatever she needs, who cares?), and I saw that this bag was a fabric tote bag, done with pink flowers and teddy bears. There were several outer pouches which contained a baby bottle and a bottle of baby powder. Inside was a folded changing mat, a very large diaper, some pink print plastic pants and a pair of frilly rhumba pants.

A few minutes later and there was a knock at the door and the young female medical assistant walked into the room. She said to Cathy, "I need to get your pressure and temp, and then we need to walk out to get your height and weight…"

In no time, I had a thermometer stuck in my mouth, and then my pulse was taken. Then the MA told me to follow her. Uneasily I got up and followed her out the door.

The height and weight station was, unfortunately, right in the center of things, across from the main nurse’s station where several corridors intersected. I guess it made sense, so that it was easy to access for everyone, but I hated the fact that it did put me on display for everyone there, who were all women naturally. I walked out behind the MA carefully, trying not to waddle due to the bulk between my legs.

I heard several snickers, but no matter which way I turned, there were young women smiling and giggling at me. I couldn’t help myself. At that point I was so ashamed I tried to turn back, but there was the nurse right behind me, pushing me towards the scale as if I were a reluctant child. Then, distracted from tying to hold out, my bladder let loose and I started to flood the diaper. Once it started, I couldn’t stop it. Not even thinking of how it would look, I tried to press against myself with my hands, but once it began there was nothing I could do.

"Look, I think he’s actually peeing himself," commented one of the nurses there.
I must have frozen like a deer in the headlights. Maybe I thought if I didn’t move, or act strangely, nobody would notice. I calmly stepped onto the height/weight scale. The MA, looking a little flustered, gamely wrote down the measurements. Meanwhile, one of the more mature ladies there – maybe 40ish – walked over behind me. With a comment to the crowd behind me, "Instead of wondering, when you see a little baby – or even a big one – you just check like this." With that, she calmly reached down and pulled open the snaps at the legs of my shorts (which left them ballooning open like a skirt). She calmly lifted the shorts up to display my frilly diaper cover to all, and then she matter-of-factly stuck her hand up inside.

"Yes, he’s definitely wet." Then she patted my bottom and then my now-sagging crotch. "I guess he’s a heavy wetter too. Better tell his mommy he’ll need to be changed soon." She snickered, along with the rest of the staff. Then she asked the MA who was now standing next to me, "Betsy, I assume this is the patient you were referring to?"

At a not from the MA, the lady continued, "I’ll go talk to his mommy myself. She’s in room 8?" With that, she turned and went down to the room I had recently vacated, where Cathy waited. Meanwhile, Betsy, the MA, finished taking my height and weight and entering my numbers into a chart. Once finished, she then led me back to the exam room. I followed behind her meekly, my face burning red with embarrassment, and my shorts still undone and flapping about me like a miniskirt.

"…So you understand that there are written protocols that have to be followed for every patient, including Bobbie? This wasn’t something we actually considered, and I guess I’ll revise things later, but legally now we have to proceed this way."

The lady, who, I took it, was the office manager, was clearly finishing up a conversation with Cathy.

"Certainly, and we apologize for the confusion."

"Oh, not at all. We normally see young mothers, and Dr. Alison will take care of their younger children until they establish with a pediatrician. We’ll just look at it as if he were your baby, for now."

"Oh, he is – today," replied Cathy, "Right, Bobbie?"

I got a look, and I knew better than to argue. "Yes, mommy," I said in a whisper.

"What’s that, sweaty? I couldn’t hear you." I also got another look that told me I had better behave, or else.

"Yes, Mommy," I replied louder.

As the lady snickered, Cathy patted me like I was a good dog.

"I’ll enter her as your dependent, wearing diapers, which would put her at an equivalent age of two or under. There, that has all the forms filled out. Now, it will be a few minutes before the doctor is ready to see her," said the office manager. "Perhaps you would like to change her first?"

We both looked at her and she clarified. "According to the paperwork, we are treating your baby, Boby. That way we stay in legal compliance with Dr. Adair’s written policies. Of course, he will be treated appropriately. Now, I noticed that bobby wet himself. Would you like to use the exam table to change him before the doctor comes in?"

"Oh yes, that would be wonderful."

"Certainly; I’ll have one of the MA’s show you how to pull it out. She would be happy to help you, if you like."

"Oh, that would be lovely. Little children are such a handful, sometimes." With that, they both chuckled and the manager walked out. I could hear her down the hallway calling out, "would one of you please go help Mrs. Harrison change that wet baby?" I also heard several giggles and laughs as well.

It couldn’t have been a full minute when three of the women up front walked into the exam room. They were all giggling and acting very cheerful. To make matters worse (if possible), I doubt they were even as old as I was. You would expect most nurses to be at least in their mid-thirties or more. These, however, were medical assistants who just had to finish a six month course after high school. So they were naturally having fun (at my expense) at this twist of events.

One of them took charge. "If you’ll just scoot your baby up on the table," she told Cathy, "we can get her ready to be changed." I cringed, but what could I do at this point?
Following Cathy’s stern look and gentle prodding, I sat back on the table. I was pushed back so I was laying down, my hips just on the edge and my legs dangling down. A strap was placed across my chest and pulled tight to keep me from accidentally rolling off the table. It coincidentally secured my arms and held me helplessly in place. The MA’s pulled my unbuttoned shorts up about my hips to fully display my diapers and panties. They pulled the panties down, leaving me in a very soggy diaper. Then two of the girls each took a foot and raised it up and placed it in the stirrup at the corner of the table. They made some adjustments to the stirrups and then shifted them, so that all of a sudden my legs were pushed back and spread widely apart. Then they pushed a lever somewhere on the side of the table and the section under my hips dropped away.

Before I could do anything, my diaper was unpinned and dropped away from me, leaving me fully exposed to these three young women. There were immediate peals of laughter, and I heard one of them go to the doorway and say loudly to the others at the central station, "You’ve gotta see this. She’s got him shaved as smooth as a baby!

Meanwhile, I could feel several hands at once wiping me with diaper wipes, and then spreading lotion all over. I am ashamed to say that I was soon quite hard down there from all these ministrations, and there was no way I could hide it. "Baby really likes getting changed, doesn’t he," said one of the nurses. With that, it seemed that more lotion and powder were gently but steadily rubbed in, and soon I was thrusting my hips up and down in an involuntary effort to finish things off. However, Cathy warned them, "You had better be careful or my little baby will have another sort of accident."

I was so embarrassed, but yet I couldn’t help myself. Unfortunately I was not allowed release. Soon a fresh diaper from Cathy’s bag was placed under me, pinned into place, panties replaced and I was allowed up.

"If you’ll remove ‘her’ clothing to get ready for the doctor, it would be helpful. Normally, we have grownups slip into a gown, but children can just leave their bra and panties on."
So in just another minute, there I sat on the edge of the exam table wearing (you guessed it) my diaper (with plastic panties and satin over-panty) and the matching satin bra and mittens.

A few more minutes passed, and finally in walked the doctor. Dr. Adair was a striking woman in her mid-thirties. She immediately scanned my chart and then addressed herself to Cathy. "I’ve been briefed by
Marcia (the office manager), so we’ll just proceed. With that, she began to listen to my heart and lungs, and tapped on my joints, checked reflexes, etc. Any questions, however, she asked Cathy – not me.

"I understand he is a heavy wetter. Does he have bowel incontinence as well?" Cathy told her that for the most part I was OK, but I might have the occasional accident. (I could have died.)

"I understand he’s developed a diaper rash. So I need to consider what his normal diet is. Is he being breast fed?" (What???)

"I really hadn’t considered it," Cathy replied, nonplused. "I didn’t think it possible."
"Of course it is. It takes a little work on your part, but it really is healthier for your baby." (I really didn’t like where this was heading.)

She was very professional, but eventually I found myself being laid back on the table. Once again the strap was placed over my chest and arms and secured and my diapers were taken off again. I was poked and prodded. "That is a nasty rash," commented the doctor. "I see why you’ve got those mittens on him. It must itch like crazy."

"That, and they do keep him from playing with himself as well."

The doctor looked at her with a smile. "I guess all little boys try to do that, don’t they?"
Finally the ‘exam’ was finished, or so I thought. The doctor looked at the chart and hmm’d. She walked to the door and opened it. "Marcia," she called out, "How was Bobbie’s temp taken?"

I heard a reply, but couldn’t make out what was said. However, I knew that they had used the standard electronic thing in the ear. I started to try to tell her that but she apparently didn’t want to listen to me. Dr. Alison was apparently more used to dealing with babies than her staff let on, because she simply reached into her pocket and pulled out a pacifier and stuck it in my mouth. "Here," she said, "Just suck on this and be quiet like a good baby."

She said to Cathy as an aside, "We get these for free from the drug reps, so I always keep a few in my pocket for fussy babies. Have her keep it in till he gets home and he’ll feel more secure.

There was a timid knock at the door, and Dr. Alison walked over and opened it. I couldn’t see it from where I was, but I heard her say, "You know what the protocols are for patients in diapers, don’t you?"

"Yes, doctor," I heard in reply.

"Then you’ll need to retake his temperature correctly."

"Yes, doctor," I heard again, this time with a little giggle.

In walked the young MA who had taken my vitals originally. She walked over to the cabinet and put on some gloves, then picked up an old fashioned thermometer and dipped it into a jar. Still giggling she walked over to stand between my legs. She reached down and all of a sudden I felt something cold, stiff and slippery slip into my anus. She pushed it in and left it there. Then she told Cathy, "Someone will be back in a few minutes to read the thermometer.

About five minutes later, I was almost reduced to tears. Every thirty seconds or so, a different MA would walk in, snicker at me laying there helpless and exposed to the world, and would reach down and pull out the thermometer, make a show of reading it and then slowly replace it. A few would take time to turn it around a few times, or push it in and out to get it just right. After a few times, my penis decided to just stand at attention, and even began to dribble a little pre-cum. Once this was discovered, of course, the MA’s seemed to delight in prolonging their ministrations. Finally the last one said that my temp was normal, and she would get me ‘cleaned up’.

The next thing I knew, she had taken a wipe and was gently wiping down my anus. Then she stuck her finger and the wipe up inside me, gently rubbing it all around. Once again, to my shame, I started to respond and I felt my hips try to thrust against her hand.

Before anything could happen, though, she finished her wiping and calmly straightened up, went to the sink, washed and put away the thermometer. She swished out of the room with taunting sway of her hips and left me there, pinned down and aroused.

The Doctor returned and, apparently oblivious to my current state, noted to Cathy that I seemed to be in good shape, other than the rash. She wrote out a prescription and gave it to Cathy, saying "Just have this filled at the pharmacy, and rub it on him periodically. He has a contact dermatitis, and this should clear up in a few days. Meanwhile, try to keep it dry, so frequent changes are in order. Also, I’d like to see him back in about a week to follow up. Meanwhile, call me if it gets any worse.

With that, she handed Cathy the script and walked out the door. The MA, meanwhile had returned and was rubbing my backside with a white, pasty ointment. Finally my diaper was re-secured, panties put back on and my shorts fastened.

As we left the office, the scheduler called out so that any new patients who might not have been there initially could hear, "We’ll see you next week to check up on bobby’s nasty diaper rash. Meanwhile, make sure you change him often, especially when he goes poo-poo in his diaper."

With Cathy securely holding my hand, I exited to a cackle of motherly laughs.
Over? Not quite. I still have to go back next week.

re-pinned my diaper. My legs were lowered from the stirrups and my plastic panty and lace and satin cover panty were replaced.
Miki Yamuri
 
Posts: 240
Joined: Mon Jun 23, 2014 3:06 pm

Return to The Story Circle

Who is online

Users browsing this forum: No registered users and 3 guests

cron