Valentine /gfd/ Part 1

As an average, upstanding citizen of New Meridian, it's your right to have soem sort of health care. That said, your insurance is absolutely awful and so your selection of clinics is very slim and generally unappealing. You suppose you need to afford to eat before anything else. From the looks of it, your choices are a Dentist who does non-teeth work on the side, a physician whose motto is "All your limbs intact or (half) your money back!" and...a totally new clinic with no current or prior patients and no information other than an address. It's also the cheapest of the three. Against your better judgement, you decide to go with the devil you don't know and go to the third option. At least you don't get a vibe that whoever's running this clinic won't mistake a handheld drill for a tongue depressor.

 

As you follow the directions you printed out, you realize just how out of the way this place is. You've taken some turns down alleys you didn't think existed and maneuvered in between half a dozen buildings you didn't think had room for a human being to fit through. However, you do eventually find the place. It's a small, but stable, somewhat new-looking little shack, no larger than a one-person apartment. Above the door is a somewhat dim neon sign (still being the brightest thing in the back alley it's situated in, as there are no windows anywhere on the building) which reads "Valentine Medical Examinations and Experimentations". Certainly not the catchiest name you've ever read. Or the most encouraging, for that matter. "Experimentations"? You suppose that if you're the only patient, they won't be able to see you as expendable, and so you use what little confidence that flimsy justification gives you and walk up to the door. There's a sign hung on the door which says TO SCHEDULE AN APPOINTMENT, KNOCK ONCE. TO DROP OFF A DELIVERY, KNOCK TWICE. You try to block out the thought of the sort of deliveries a place like this gets and knock on the door one time. After waiting a solid twenty seconds or so, you go to knock a second time, hoping that whoever's inside doesn't mistake it for some sort of delayed delivery, but before your hand manages to make contact with the door, you hear a handful of quick clicks, clacks, and clunks before the door swings open suddenly. You pull your hand back to your sides in an attempt to look like you knew what you were doing.

 

You didn't know who, or what, you were expecting was going to answer the door, but it certainly wasn't this. Standing in front of you, back-lit by surprisingly bright fluorescent lighting from within the small building, was a tall, buxom woman, her muted-blue hair tied back and underneath an almost stereotypical little nurse's hat. She was wearing a face mask over her nose and mouth, as well as some sort of patch over her left eye (these two tidbits were giving you mixed signals about the safety of the establishment, but at least there were some good signals, you think). Her only uncovered facial feature, her right eye, wasn't looking at you, but at a clipboard she held in her hand. It seemed relatively cold (unlike her skin, which looked somewhat pale, but not devoid of color), but not detached. In fact, she seemed to have a great interest in what she was reading. After a few seconds of silence, in which you realize that her pupil, situated in a small sea of blood red, is in the shape of a medical cross, the eye gazes back at you, and you hear the woman speak.

 

"Ah, here is my first patient. I almost thought nobody would bother volunteering." Her tone almost sounded like she was talking to herself, especially considering that she next says, "Alright, boy, come on in, I don't have all day to dilly-dally. I'm expecting a package." You quickly and nervously oblige, almost afraid of what this woman would do if you didn't follow her directions. She has an aura of authority about her, one that you can't quite explain, and you aren't quite sure if you find comforting or distressing. It may be because she stands what feels like 5 or 6 inches taller than you, and you have never had a girl tower over you like that before. Even the tallest girls you've met were only around 5'8", just barely above you. The woman who answered the door moves out of the way, revealing that the entire building is one room filled with medical supplies. You suppose she didn't think she needed a waiting room. She motions towards a padded examination table, one you generally always see in a doctor's office. Almost relieved by the normality of it, you quickly remove your shoes at the door and climb up, sitting on the cushion patiently, your socks barely grazing the tiles on the floor as you allow them to swing lightly back and forth, waiting for the woman to bring her attention back to you.

 

In the better light the inside of the clinic, you manage to get a better look at the woman other than her face as she files away some papers, gets some of her supplies in order, and other such small chores in preparation. She may be tall, but she's certainly able to fill out her surprisingly short-skirted garment. Her long legs begin at slim calves and blossom into full thighs as they go up, stopping at the edge of the skirt, which is somehow consistently able to conceal her butt, but from the strain of the fabric and width of her hips you can tell it's just as shapely as the legs that carry it. Her waist tapirs in sharply from her hips, but still manages to have enough substance to it to not look sickly or unnatural. The main attraction, however, lies further above. During the few times she turns around your way while shuffling about, you get glimpses at her absolutely massive chest. Her breasts swing, sway, and jiggle more than any pair you had ever seen while still remaining within the tight confines of her clothing. She must have some sort of built-in support to keep anything from spilling out, you think to yourself, as they seem to be positively bursting out from their containment with every movement, and yet manage to refrain from letting even the slightest hint of her unmentionables slip. You would be impressed with the set up if you weren't so impressed with the rack itself.

 

She turns around, seemingly complete with her tasks, and looks at you. Instinctively, you tighten up your face just in case your mouth was open in awe at her body. However, you can't seem to take your eyes entirely off of her breasts. Every time you move your gaze up to the woman's face, your eyes instinctively dart back down. Eventually, the woman gently takes your chin in one hand and tilts it up to meet her own gaze, "My face is up here, you realize," she says in a monotone, "or do I have to prescribe you some contact lenses?" You wonder whether or not she's joking, given her serious disposition, but rather than get caught up in that thought you decide to immediately apologize as she removes her hand from your face. Your face red with embarrassment, you look off to the side and ask when the doctor will be able to see you, hoping that you can put this incident behind you and get on with it.

 

A light, low chuckle hums from behind her mask before being quickly stifled, "Actually, I AM the doctor. Didn't you read the sign? I'm Miss Valentine, medical professional among other things. I wear this nurse's outfit mainly because I need the freedom of movement for my full-time position." Full-time position? Your brain racks itself wondering what kind of woman runs a medical facility in her spare time.You quickly dispel your immediate thoughts of the doctor as a stripper, even though you do note that if she wanted to, she'd do a damn good job. She's even got a good name for it, you brain smugly adds. Alas, despite the way she dresses, this Valentine seems to have too much self-respect to bare herself to the world like that. That could be the reason her clinic is so hidden away, you ponder.

 

"Now, don't try and think too hard about it. I'm your doctor now, first and foremost, and I'm the one who should be worrying about the facts. For instance, I can tell there's something else puzzling you..." she reaches to her bosom with both hands, heaving them upward with her forearms in a sort of makeshift cradle, "36E, all natural. I'm very proud of them. But, this isn't about me. This is your physical, so we may as well get started."

 

The bulk of the physical proceeds as normally as possible, much to your surprise. She checks your ears, your eyes, your reflexes, the works, all without saying anything more than what was needed for the examination to move along. The only two things out of the ordinary are the two massive 36E tits continuously pressed up against your shoulders, your back, your leg, and even your chest while she was checking on your tonsils. Their softness was almost as overwhelming as their malleability, squishing against you without the slightest twinge of discomfort from the mysterious buxom physician. If the sight of her body hadn't noticeably aroused you, its touch certainly did. By crossing your legs and turning away from her as nonchalantly as possible, you attempt to hide your erection from Valentine as effectively as possible whilst remaining aloof.

 

Alas, your charade was all in vain, as after the routine exam finishes and its results are recorded on her clipboard, Valentine looks at you with what you interpret as a bemused expression and says, "Well, that should be about it. Your body's in perfect working order, some things more so than others," she looks down at the tent pitched in your pants, "although I do think you're better off with a quick preventative shot before I send you on your way."

 

A shot? That's all? You sigh, relieved that some of the more dangerous, sharp medical equipment hung on the walls of the clinic won't be used on you (at least not today). Despite being generally timid, you've never been one to shy away from a needle. Valentine, rather than turn around and reaching for a cabinet, as you'd expect her to, reaches her free, non-clipboard hand with a learned, routine motion into her vast cleavage. She rummages around for a moment, causing several jiggly tremors in the vicinity, but eventually pulls out a small case of syringes. In the time it takes for your brain to process the logistics of such a case being stashed away in such a manner you hardly notice that the needle has already pierced the skin on your arm and the medicine already injected. Valentine disposes of the syringe and places the case in a drawer on a desk.

 

"There you are, then. I figured you'd probably be a little squeamish, so I decided to distract with something I knew you'd rather be fixated  on." Great, you didn't even get to show off the one cool brave thing about you.

 

"Now, let me see what kind of band-aid's I've got. Hmm...well, I guess it's something." Valentine turns around holding a box of pink baid-aids with small heart decals. She takes one out and applies it to the spot where the needle penetrated, "Sorry, but it's all I've got. I'm sure the hearts will help the healing process." She traces a heart with her finger around the bandage while letting out an amused "Hmph". You force a weak laugh out, trying to distract her from the fact that you're blushing so hard. She's treating you like a kid, you tell yourself. Granted, Valentine is much, much more attractive than your old pediatrician, so at least this is an upgrade. In an attempt to sound more adult, you ask Valentine what the shot was filled with.

 

"Oh, it's a new concoction of mine, actually. I've been studying some aspects of male anatomy and psychology recently, and discovered something of a widespread chronic condition that nobody has been really treating effectively. Until now, at least, I hope. Now, I'm going to need you to come back in one month for a follow-up dosage. Is the 13th good for you, perhaps around 5:45?" You nod. "Good, I'll pencil you in."

 

Valentine ushers you out the door somewhat urgently, although without any break in her demeanor. You recall she said she was waiting for a package, so you oblige by getting your things together as quickly as possible. You gesture a quick goodbye to Valentine, who nods in acknowledgement, despite already having turned her attention back to her clipboard. As you open the door to leave, you hear her verbalize, "See you next month," you exit the door-way and attempt to slowly close the door, so as not to disturb her, when you overhear, "...cutie." It was soft, almost under her breath, but your heard it right before you closed the door with a thud.

 

Your entire commute home is confused by the utterance. Valentine may be less than conservative about her body, and she seemed relatively affable, but she didn't seem like the flirtatious type. On top of that, why you? If she wanted to, you were certain she could get any man in the world, with a body and brain like hers. This being the case, you just can't understand how an awkward new acquaintance such as yourself could be considered "cute". It must've been in a sort of joking way, you convince yourself. She thinks I'm cute in a sense that I just keep embarrassing myself in front of pretty girls, you rationalize, since this certainly wasn't the first time you've done so. You suppose that it doesn't matter if your doctor cracks a joke at your expense, so long as they do their job. It's just that it had to be what must've been the sexiest woman you had ever seen. Like, unimaginably attractive, and yet entirely real. You saw her, felt her in a sense. As you go to sleep this night, after having relieved yourself of the arousal Valentine had given you, you think about how long a month really is.

 

For the next few weeks, your thoughts are filled with Valentine. You can't be bothered to look at porn when masturbating when you have her memory, and you've been masturbating more often recently. Sometimes you're even going second and third rounds consecutively, all while thinking of Valentine's perfect body. What was the word she used back then? "Fixated," right. You really were fixated on her. It took all the willpower you had not to physically cross out the days on your calendar leading up to your first scheduled check-up with Valentine. This time, you think to yourself on multiple occasions, I'll take the shot without being distracted. Easier said than done, adds your subconscious, remembering how utterly enchanted you were by Valentine's breasts.

 

---------

 

And so, the 13th of the month rolled around. You put on your nicest casual clothes and set out for Valentine Medical Examinations and Experimentation. You double-check the time on your watch as you knock just once. 5:45 sharp, and as if she had been as acutely aware of the appointment as you, Valentine opened the door, once again with clipboard in hand. You know you can't help yourself from staring, but you try your hardest to stare into her eye rather than her cleavage. Valentine's visible eye looks down at you with the same professional, academic glaze as a month ago, but somewhat closer, and still with some amount of warmth, "There you are, right on time. Very punctual, I like that. Follow me." Valentine turns an about-face and walks into the clinic, motioning once again to the examination table with her free hand.

 

As you enter the building, your eyes never leave your physician's frame, feeling almost magnetized. You can't tell if it's a new thing or something you just didn't notice last week, but her step seems to have a little more sway in her hips. Either way, you're getting to appreciate the business down below her rack, and business seems to be booming. Her hips extend just wider than her shoulders, enough to be visibly apparent, and the exaggerated (but otherwise subtle; you'd need to be paying very close attention to notice) movement shows off some jiggle of it's own. It's not the wild, caged beast sort of jiggle her breasts have, but you feel as though that's not really necessary. Wanting to be ready before she turns around, you hurry to the examination table once more, again removing your shoes and sitting with your legs dangling over the edge. Your big toes very lightly rest against the floor tiles.

 

"Ready for your shot?" Valentine asks whilst turning to you with a similar syringe to last time, you realizing that she thinks you can't take the needle. You reply that you are, and that she doesn't need to distract you this time. You pull your sleeve up to your shoulder, revealing that the pink bandage from last time is still there, much to the surprise of Valentine, and in a sense your own as well. In a way, you had forgotten you even had it on and never bothered to take it off. Blushing slightly, you peel the bandage off to allow the needle to be placed in the same spot.

 

"Aww, that's really sweet of you, keeping that on. Alright then, get ready for this, it's gonna sting a little." Valentine takes the needle to your shoulder, injecting the medicine once again into your bloodstream. Without distraction, it does, in fact, sting. It stings like a motherfucker, actually. Ouch, you hear yourself mutter under your breath, as you try to hold back anything more, including the light watering of your eyes. You suppose that it has been years since you last had to get shots.

 

"Oh, I'm sorry, but it is necessary. I'd give this to you in supplements, but I'm not that far along in my development, and honestly it seems to be more potent in the bloodstream anyway," you'd never heard a vaccination described as 'potent' before, "Now, let me get another one of those band-aids for you. Same as before, sadly. That package I was waiting for wasn't full of masculine bandages, you know." Valentine stretches the fresh bandage over the injection point, leaning in to make sure it was stuck correctly. Once again you feel the sensation of her bountiful bosom rubbing against your shoulder. Your erection doesn't feel it's away around the situation this time and is set to full attention at once. You had hoped this wouldn't happen, especially since you had masturbated three times a little while before leaving just to make sure you wouldn't get a boner in front of Valentine again.

 

Suddenly, however, a new sensation rocks your body. Valentine leans in a bit further and kisses your arm right on the bandage. You can feel that her mask is still on, but you can also feel her lips, soft and warm, behind it. Your already-hard erection becomes rock hard, straining your nicest pair of underpants. If she were to touch it directly, there'd be no stopping it. You feel totally at Valentine's whim, and all she's done is tease you in such minor ways. You beg and pray to whatever force may be listening that she doesn't make note of your hard-on once more. It falls on deaf ears.

 

"Oh my. That's certainly a consistent phenomenon," Valentine says, pointing in the general direction of your junk, somehow still managing to keep her professional tone, "I take it you REALLY like coming to see the doctor, don't you?" Sheepishly, you cross your legs and avert your gaze to the side of the room, nodding so as to acknowledge the question, but she continues on regardless of your response, "I'm very flattered, honestly, but more than anything, I'm intrigued. I AM a woman of science, you know, and I've never had much chance to study the male-specific anatomy. Considering your anatomy seems very ready and willing, I'd like to propose a little...case study." In a sudden, swift motion, Valentine takes your chin in her hand like she did before, and once again forcefully focuses your attention on her face.

 

"You think I'm attractive, don't you?" Very much so, you answer automatically. "Have you masturbated while thinking of me? Has my body been on your mind when you've ejaculated any time in the past month?" ...Yes, a few times, you manage to say. "I can tell it's been more than a few times, but still, it's good to know. Now, considering just how rabid I know boys like you can get around women like me, I do appreciate your tact and restraint, and as such I'm going to ask you to exercise some of that restraint for me in the name of science. I'll certainly pay you for your service, of course." You agree immediately and gratefully, almost more excited about helping out this woman you barely know than the prospect of having additional income.

 

"Wonderful. Now, you won't need to disrupt your daily routine or sit in some big machine or anything like that. This study is going to be very simple. All I need you to do," Valentine points a finger directly at the tip of your dick, hovering mere inches away from it, "is not ejaculate for a week."

 

The smile that had been slowly growing on your face at this turn of events dissipates, and your expression turns into one that you can only assume is of abject horror. In shock, you attempt to protest, rationalize, and plead all at once, almost babbling until Valentine's gloved pointer finger (the same that had just been pointed towards your nether regions) was presses to your lips as the doctor shushes you like a teacher would a student.

 

"Oh, don't be so melodramatic. I've been wondering about the effects of short-term orgasm deprival on men, both physically and mentally. Note that I say short-term. A week is hardly any time at all, and given how you've neglected to even once grope or prod me in your two visits, I can tell you've got the willpower to make it. Trust me, I may be trying to learn more about male anatomy, but I know enough to assure you that a week without won't make you explode." You feel like it might. If she had asked you to do this before, you might have been confident in your ability, since you only masturbated on average one or two times a day mostly out of boredom, but now, after the month you've had, masturbating essentially every time Valentine's image flashes through your mind. Dozens upon dozens upon dozens of times, probably around 80 times in the last 30 days, you have cum to the thought of her body just from memory. Even shortening that time down to seven days sounds like hell, especially because you know your mind will now be filled with memories of her swaying hips, her warm lips on your shoulder, her playful joking about your attraction. You may not have touched her, but good lord did you want to. It was all too much, at least until Valentine's arm moved once again, this time to your shoulder, bracing against it.

 

"I guess this probably sounds much harder than I think it will be. I do suppose it is pretty hard to break a habit, especially just for a week..." Valentine looks away and brings her other hand to her chin, her eye squinting as if in thought. Suddenly, her eye opens wide and her pointer finger shoots in realization, "I've got it! A little bit of Pavlovian conditioning ought to do it!" She quickly turns around, rummaging through some drawers, before turning back around to you with a large glass jar filled with small, individually-wrapped lollipops. "I'm not a psychiatrist, but I do think this should work. What's your favorite flavor?" You look into the jar and pick out your favorite. Valentine swiftly, faster than you can follow, picks out each and every lollipop of your favorite flavor. Dozens of them are now in her hand. She places them down on a table next to her except for one, which she unwraps.

 

"Now, what we're going to do is have you become able to supplement masturbating with sucking on a lollipop. We're going to do this by associating what you find attractive with this new action. Now, take this, and when you get the urge to masturbate, put it in your mouth." Valentine motions her hand forward to hand you the candy, but as you take it from her, her other hand snatches your other wrist and pulls it close to her. Your face is pulled directly into the soft mounds of her chest without warning, and suddenly the hand which handed you the lollipop is felt against the back of your head, pushing you further into her seemingly endless bust. You struggle to get free, for in spite of the wonders you're feeling you realize that you are unable to breathe, but Valentine's strength proves to be greater than your own, her grip unbreakable, yet soft. After several seconds of this panicked bliss, the doctor lets you loose, and after gasping for air, you've noticed that you've practically soaked the front of your underpants with precum. In any other circumstance, you would ask to be excused and jack off into oblivion, but for Valentine, you abstain. Shaking somewhat, you bring your hand up to your mouth and place the lollipop inside. The taste is wonderful, better than any candy you've ever eaten in your life. Every fiber of your being slowly lets part of its tension subside as it is diverted from carnal sexual desire to even simpler pleasures. Your attraction doesn't go away, and neither does your erection, but you feel like you don't need to take care of them right now.

 

As you're gathering your things together, putting your shoes back on and such, sealing your plastic bag of lollipops given to you free of charge, Valentine walks up to you innocently, reminding you, "Now, whenever you get dirty thoughts about me, what are you going to do?" She bends forward a little while doing this, both making it feel like a light reprimand and also making sure that her cleavage is aimed directly at you. Instead of answering with words, you remove a lollipop from the bag, unwrap it, and place it in your mouth. Valentine stands up straight and proceeds to lightly pat you on the head in response to this. "Good boy. Run along now, and remember, no ejaculating AT ALL. Not ONE drop, okay? I can't have my study tainted." You reply with a simple and affirming mm-hmm, taking in the flavor of the lollipop for all it's worth as you close the door.

 

Your commute home this time features you wondering exactly what the hell had just happened in there. You played right into Valentine's hands, agreeing to not cum for a a full week, letting her move you around so effortlessly. Pressing you tightly against her bosom without so much as a warning...You place another lollipop in your mouth. You count that there are only about 40 left in the bag. It's going to be a LONG week.