I sat on the examination table, my short, plaid skirt exposing most of my thighs. If I wiggled just a little bit, my nude, wet cunt and my fiery-red, perfectly-trimmed pubes would be on display. The very thin halter top, nothing more than an almost-diaphanous triangle of white cotton with a spaghetti-strap tie to hold it onto my neck and two similar ones tied across my back, accentuated my high, firm breasts; the material was so thin that the rounded contours of my tits could be easily seen through the material, and my areolas darkened the fabric around my hard, jutting nipples.

While the place somewhat resembled a typical examination room, complete with medical charts and diagrams on the walls and the ever-present, rolling table filled with bizarre, potentially torturous medical instruments, this room was much larger than the oversized-closet variety. Two rows of bench seats lined the wall, facing the padded, paper-covered table I was seated upon. Eight people of various sorts, medical doctors, gynecologists, and psychologists specializing in sexuality, mostly, sat opposite me on the stadium seating, their facade of detached professionalism fading as they gazed upon me, their subject, in all her horny glory.

“The subject, Krystal,” the lab-coated doctor addressed the room, “is what one might call hypersexual.” He turned to me. “Isn’t that right, my dear?”

“Well, I disagree, Doctor Smith,” I replied, noting that his eyes were riveted to my prominent nipples—pure medical curiosity, I’m certain. “The medical definition of being hypersexual is that it’s problematic and interferes with the person’s life. I’m just pretty much always horny and dripping wet.” 

”That’s right,” he proffered. “Krystal, here, not only has an incredibly high, extremely heightened sex drive and sensitivity, but her vaginal secretions are quite voluminous.”

“That’s just so clinical. I’m always fucking horny, can never get enough, I cum easily and often, and my pussy is always so wet that it drips down my legs.”

“Furthermore,” the handsome, gray fox, Dr. Smith stated. “Her mind is always fixated on sex, to the point of perverse.”

“That’s not true,” I defended. “I also like to garden,” I paused, blushing, “especially naked.”

Doctor Smith shook his head with slight amusement. The gray sideburns of his otherwise brown hair made me wonder if he’d look sexy with his head between my legs, with my thighs clamping down on his ears as he licked my clit.

“Before we conduct the educational exam, do you have any questions,” he asked the panel of doctors.

The five men and three women couldn’t contain their excitement. I smiled as they shouted out their questions in unison, my hand covering my giggling mouth. I knew my boobs were bouncing as I laughed, but if I was going to be the subject of a medical board examining me for being a sexual freak of nature, I was going to have fun with it.

“Please, please,” the head doctor shushed their cacophonous outbursts. “One at a time. You,” he pointed at a sexy, blond, woman wearing fashionable, smart business slacks, a white blouse, and a blazer.

“Hi, um, Krystal, is it?” I nodded. “Doctor Christine Aguilerra, Psychologist, “ she introduced herself. “Do you only engage in intercourse with others, or do you also masturbate, and, if so, how often?”

“It depends on the day,” I admitted. “Maybe eight to ten times per day…”

“Good God, woman!” she exclaimed. “Is that in addition to having sex with others, as well?”

“On a slow day, yes. When I’m really horny, I get myself off closer to twenty times a day…plus sex.”

“How do you maintain a normal life?” the man beside her, obviously a doctor, queried.

“It’s not hard, but I do like it when it’s hard.” Some of them chuckled. I counted off my masturbation habits on my fingers. “When I wake up, in the shower, on the way to and from work, at work, at home, and basically whenever and wherever I feel like it.”

“Your bio says that you’re married. Does your constant, abnormal arousal affect your marriage?” another head-shrink asked me.

“Abnormal? Really? Not at all. Look at me,” I gestured to my body. “I’m not hideous or anything. What man wouldn’t enjoy a horny redhead with an ass like mine that always wants to fuck his brains out?”

“Last question,” Doctor Smith stated. He was chuckling.

“Doctor Bernstein, gynecologist. Are you faithful to your husband, or do you cheat on him?”

I laughed at that. “No, silly. It’s not cheating if he watches. Before you ask, I have maybe a dozen or so regular to infrequent lovers, plus all my playmates in the medieval group. We’re both comfortable with it.”

“Medieval group? Is that code for being in a sex cult?”

“No, a medieval group. You know, strap on armor, wear cool wench dresses, say things like ‘M’lord,’ and screw our brains out.”

The barrage of questions continued. Can I function without sex? Do I enjoy sex or does it leave me dissatisfied? Do I orgasm? Are my orgasms vaginal, clitoral, or anal? For the record, all of the above. Am I horny right now?

“No,” I interjected, pulling my thin top over my lust-heated breasts, “they’re real, See?” They all stared at my exposed breasts as I proudly basked in the warm spotlight of indulging my exhibitionist tendencies.

“If that’s all the questions, for now,” Doctor Smith stated as he donned blue, rubber gloves he’d retrieved from the rolling table, “we’ll start the demonstration.”

He turned to me. “If you’re ready, please remove your underwear.”

“Oh, I never wear panties,” I confessed. “My pussy is always so wet that they’re useless.”

Taking the doctor’s hand, I bounced off the examination table, standing beside him. My tits bounced, enticingly, bringing all murmurs from the observing medical professionals to a halt.

Doctor Smith began his observational comments. 

”As you can see, the subject is already in a heightened state of arousal. Note the flushing of her skin, especially here,” his gloved hand caressed my thigh, “here,” his other hand ran over my taut, quivering stomach, “and in the secondary sexual organs.” His fingers delicately traced the contours of my breasts, gently tweaking my nipples.

“Mmm, harder.” I felt my sexual nectar pouring out of my cunt, burning my inner thighs with sexual fervor.

“Don’t be shy; you’re all here to learn from experience,” he told the assembled professionals. “Come see how she responds to touch. This is a rare, medical marvel.”

“Umm, oh, yes,” I moaned. “Cum touch me.” I doubt they got my inference, but all three of the lady doctors and a few of the males approached, putting on gloves.

I neither understood why nor cared, but the sight of those blue, nitrile gloves running over my body ignited my flesh and caused my heart to beat loudly. I moaned in pleasure and peeled off my already-loosened top.

“As you can see,” Doctor Smith continued. “With minimal stimulation, Krystal is already purring, and her body is responding with extremely heightened arousal. Feel free to examine her fluids.”

“Yes,” I condoned with enthusiasm, “finger my fucking cunt. See how wet I am.”

At first, with some professional trepidation, one of the lady doctors slowly reached out and delicately moistened her finger with my juices. She examined her glove, noting the dark, wet spot, and then plunged her hand between my soaked folds and caressed my pouting, drenched lips.

“Ah, feels so good. More. I need more.”

I looked around. The bevy of doctors had left their benches, crowding around me, caressing me with their gloved hands, staring at my exposed tits. My eyes closed, and my head tilted back as I let the lusty sensation of more than a dozen hands rub all over my body. Soon, I was moaning, and my hips were humping the air in desperate need.

“Yes,” I sighed, my voice filled with wanton begging. “Finger my fucking cunt; stroke my clit. Feels so good.”

“As you can see,” Smith’s voice interrupted my bliss. “The subject’s body responds with excited arousal that’s off the charts. Furthermore,” he added, “in this state, Krystal has said that even slight amounts of pain become erotic to her.”

He turned to me. “If you don’t mind turning around and bending over the examination table?”

I knew what he was going to do. I turned and bent across the paper-covered, sterile, padded table, pressing my chin against the seat cushion. Spreading my legs, widely, I reached back and hiked up the hem of my very short, tartan miniskirt. My round butt was exposed; I gyrated my hips a bit to entice my audience, grinding my clit against the edge of the cushion.

His hand lightly spanked me, the rubber glove adding a more resounding thwack to the sound. I moaned, wiggling my ass and arching my back to stick it out even further.

“Note that, at this point, her primal instincts are taking over and most sensations are directly translated into pleasure.” He paused. “That’s not too hard, is it, Krystal?”

“Too hard? Spank my slutty ass harder, you fucking wussy. Punish me; I’m such a bad girl. There’s, like, nine of you. Spank me like you mean it.”

Multiple slaps, spanks, and caresses warmed my thighs and buttocks. Ranging from very light to stinging, the group of smiling professionals, their faces flush with their exertion or arousal, spanked me. The feeling of getting spanked by multiple hands at once was erotically overwhelming.

“Spank my cunt, too. Please, don’t stop.”

At my urging, the spankings continued, and hands over my thighs and back were a welcomed delight. One of the attendees, a female, I assumed, from her accuracy and the perfect amount of pressure, fulfilled my desire to spank my hot, swollen, mound between my outstretched thighs.

“Ahh, ummm, fuck, I’m going to cum. Don’t stop, harder, faster.”

Moaning and grunting, completely out of control, my fingers dug into the vinyl cushions of the examination table as I wailed in ecstasy. “So good; cumming!”

Gentle, gloved hands reached out to steady me as my body convulsed with horny heaves. When that first, torrid, extremely intense orgasm subsided, they helped me onto the table. I peeled off the tiny excuse for a skirt and sat there, brazenly nude, as their hungry eyes feasted on my flesh.

“Another medical mystery,” the hosting doctor began, “is that, unlike most people, the subject requires almost zero recovery time. Care to tell us about it, Krystal.”

Shrugging, I explained. “I don’t have that ‘don’t touch me’ post-orgasmic sensitivity. After my first orgasm, I tend to need more, and more, and still more, the harder the better. I'm a freak, I know.”

“Your clit doesn’t hurt if it gets touched immediately after orgasm?”

“Nope. See?” I grabbed the doctor's hand and pulled it over my swollen clit. “Stroke it, pinch it, flick it; it just gets me off.”

My sexual honey was pouring out of me, puddling on the brown cushion. The paper covering my seat had soaked itself into mushy transparency. The aloof doctor fingered my clit.

“I need fingers in my fucking cunt and at least two up my ass. Don’t be shy, doctors.”

“Better yet,” I heard Doctor Smith correct. “How about the speculum?”

“Fucking fuck me with it! Please.”

“Where’s the lube…” he began.

“You don’t need any fucking lube.” To demonstrate, I plunged two fingers into my dripping cunt, moaning with delight. I fucked myself hard and deep, the one doctor’s fingers still stimulating my slit.

“Note the sloshing sounds due to her incredible volume of lubrication.”

Pulling out my fingers, long tendrils of my sex-honey stringing off of it, I said, “just fucking slam that thing inside me. I need to be filled up.”

The cold, phallic instrument gleamed under the bright examination room lighting. It was smooth and shiny, about the size of a small cock. With a smile, Doctor Smith waved it in front of my eyes, then gently inserted it into my drenched cunt. The feeling of the smooth steel against the velvet-lined walls of my pussy made me moan, loudly.

“Keeping flicking my clit. Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck; I’m cumming again.”

I saw myself surrounded by lab coats, suits, and the amused, enthralled faces of my examiners. Their hands reached out, kneading my overheated flesh, tweaking my nipples to elicit more lusty screams and begging, and roughly stimulating every nerve in my body.

“Now, we'll spread it open, so you can observe how her vagina responds in the throes of passion.”

I felt the tool widen inside me, stretching my cunt out. My pussy was so wet that my spasms edged it out, making the doctor push it back in. “Yes, fuck me with it; feels so fucking good.”

They “oohed” and “awed” over the flood of creamy lubrication pouring from my overheated snatch, commenting on how my cunt walls visibly contracted and pulsed. One of them placed their hand on my upper, inner thigh, one finger lightly grazing my asshole. That set me off once more.

“Yes, please stick a finger in my ass. I’m going to fucking cum, again. Fuck my ass; fuck it hard.”

I heard clanging on the table, and my eyes saw a white-coated doctor grab some instrument and hold it aloft. Then, my entire body bucked, passion consuming me, as I felt the cold instrument invade my sphincter.

“Yes,” I screamed, “fuck my ass with it. Fuck me, oh fuck.”

An intense orgasm, surging to intensities beyond my wildest dreams, ripped through me. The combination of hands everywhere on my body, my cunt being spread, the wet fingers sliding over my clit, and the medical tool shoved deep in my ass forced my soul to surrender to the horny assault.

“No, please don’t pull them out,” I begged. “I need more, so much more.”

“In this stage of arousal,” at least Doctor Smith’s voice was somewhat shaky, “the subject derives pleasure from almost everything. Heat, cold, gentle, or rough, she seems to enjoy it. Feel free to experiment to edify your knowledge of her heightened state.”

“And somebody please shove a fucking cock in my mouth. I can’t stand it.”

No hard, throbbing cocks were offered, but one of the women, a youngish brunette very smartly dressed, offered me two of her blue-encased fingers to suck on. I fellated her fingers, my eyes closed, as various instruments, hands, fingers, and unknown objects caressed and probed my flesh.

“So fucking hot,” I mumbled through her hands stuffing my mouth.

“As you can see,” the doctor droned on, “the further the subject descends into lust, the more she feels the needs. It becomes a self-feeding cycle, textbook hypersexuality.”

Something frigidly cold was being run over my nipples, contrasting with the fiery hotness of some barbed, metallic medical device that had been run through a Bunsen burner searing my thighs. Fingers probed, fucked my mouth, and spanked my body.

“Fuck, fucking fuck, fuck me; I’m fucking cumming, again.”

My vision blurred, then dimmed, as wave after wave of orgasmic rapture tore through my core. The crests of my cumming contrasted throughout my essence, mirroring the conflicting sensations being lavished upon my writhing, nude, flesh.

As I came down from the divine heights of physical pleasure, all hands, objects, probes, and fingers ceased giving me pleasure. I was a naked, quivering mass of horny satisfaction.

“As you can see, the subject is now, finally, fully sated. Unlike any other subject you’ll encounter, her arousal transcends normalcy, but, she can be satisfied.

“The fuck you say. I’m still horny.”

More questions and answers followed, me fingering myself to two more orgasms as I relayed my sex life and my kinks, and I answered all their questions to satisfy their professional curiosity. Then, thanking me and shaking my juice-coated hand, they all piled out, except for one.

Doctor Christine Aguilerra, the Psychologist, waited until the others had left. I had wiped myself dry and was dressing. My mind was running through the list of the places I tended to frequent; I was still horny enough to go looking for some sexual trouble.

“May I ask you to dinner, Krystal?” she asked, sheepishly. “Um,” she quickly interjected. “For psychological research, of course.”

“Of course,” I giggled, noting the look in her eyes and how she blushed. “I’m free this evening. My treat.”

“Um, what should I wear?”

I smiled and looked her over. “With your amazing, pussy-drenching looks, I’d suggest a tight pencil skirt, no panties, and a cleavage-revealing top. Pick me up at, say, eight? My address is in my bio.”