When the pandemic hit New York City, I went into lockdown. I stayed in my little apartment, alone, venturing out as little as possible. I lived, like millions of other New Yorkers, on delivery. I was lucky to have a job—I work as a programmer at a tech company—and I worked remotely, spending my days coding and my nights trying to avoid panic by watching porn and jerking off.
The longer the lockdown lasted, the more the nightmare scenarios played in my head. One that haunted me was that there would come a moment when I'd need some kind of routine medical treatment and have to go to a doctor's office or clinic or hospital, and that this would expose me to the virus. I have to say, I got a little fixated on this idea. I'd message my friends at work, and they'd try to talk me down, but I couldn't let the idea go. It wasn't until I started seeing ads for telemedicine services popping up online that I figured out my plan: if worst came to worst, I'd keep myself safe by using one of these online medicine practices.
Well, worst came to worst. It was about 2am when I was woken up by a searing pain in my belly. It was really bad. Cut-right-through-you bad. I walked around my tiny studio apartment for about an hour, trying to make myself feel better, but nothing worked. Finally, I opened my laptop and started Googling tele-medecine clinics until I found one that seemed legit and that took my insurance.
After I connected, a chatbot took my info and insurance card and payment information and asked me a bunch of questions about my symptoms and my medical history. Honestly, I was impressed by the tech. Then the bot told me to wait—a doctor would be with me within five minutes.
Sure enough, just a few minutes later, a video chat window popped open and Dr. Popova appeared. She was sitting in a well-lit examining room, dressed in a white lab coat with a stethoscope draped around her neck. She was beautiful and pulled together—her black hair pulled back tightly, her bangs covering her forehead. Her lipstick was a bit redder than I would expect from a doctor. Her eye makeup maybe a bit too sexy for a doctor. Fuck I thought she was maybe too hot to be a doctor—then I caught myself. What was a doctor supposed to look like? And besides, the pain in my belly was my main focus, and I was grateful to find a live doctor in the middle of the night—that fact that she was hot was somewhere between a bonus and a distraction.
"Jonathan... Barker?" She asked, looking into her chart.
"Yes," I said.
She looked up at me, straight into the camera. Her face was sympathetic, but she was all business. "It says here you're having abdominal pain?" she asked.
"It also says here that you have a Smart Watch. That is good. Would you be able to download an app so that I can read your vitals through your watch?"
I nodded again. "Good," she said. "I'll text a download link to your mobile."
She had just the slightest hint of an accent. Eastern European, maybe? I worried momentarily about downloading some random app, but the clinic seemed legit and I was in a lot of pain, so I installed the app. While I was doing this, she seemed to be busy elsewhere. She sat, typing into her computer, picking up a pen from time to time and writing on some unseen pad. There was something odd about her examination room, but I couldn't put my finger on it.
After I downloaded the app, I opened it and tapped through a few screens to connect it to my watch. When I did, I heard a chime on her end, and she looked up at the screen. "Ah, very good," she said. "I am now connected to your watch, and I can see your vitals." She brought her pen to her lips while she looked at the screen. I realized what was bothering me about the exam room. It had a window in the background, and daylight was coming in from the outside. It was the middle of the night here—where was she?
"OK, your temperature is a bit elevated, as is your heart rate," she said, "I can't see your blood pressure though because your model of watch does not have that capability—I may need to send you another diagnostic unit, but for now I'm just going to ask you some questions, OK?" she said.
"OK, but I'm curious Doctor," I said, "Where are you?"
She looked up, a little surprise on her face. "Moscow," she said, offhandedly. That took me aback, but before I could say anything, she said, "Can you show me exactly where you feel pain?"
I have to admit that she made me nervous. Her looks were part of it. She really was a sexy doctor. And the Russia thing freaked me out a bit too. But the pain in my abdomen was flaring, so I tried to focus on the exam at hand. I was wearing a T-shirt, and I pulled it up to reveal my abs, feeling a bit self-conscious, and pointed to a spot in the middle of my chest. She seemed to lean in closer to her screen, then said, "Can you turn on the light there? I'm having a hard time seeing."
I stood up and turned on another lamp, then came back to my desk. I saw her squinting again, and she said, "Please remove your shirt."
I did, and now I was cold and a bit embarrassed. I'm not a bad-looking guy—I keep myself in shape—but I'd been locked up in the apartment now for weeks, and had been majoring in pizza delivery and beer. That was starting to round out my belly a bit more than I'd like.
"Show me again where the pain is," she said. I pointed to the spot. She said, "OK, does the pain radiate? Do you feel it anywhere else? Is it dull? Sharp? Do you feel it in your chest? Your groin? Your anus? Does your penis hurt?"
I was taken aback by this last set of questions. Why in the world was she asking me about that?
She said, "Good. Because some American men call me just to start talking about their sex organs, and I cannot abide that. So I always ask so that we can get that out of the way."
I said, "Well, I guess I can understand that, because you really are a very beautiful woman."
As soon as I said that, her face changed, and I knew I had made a mistake. She had been facing away from the screen, typing, and suddenly, she looked at the camera with fury in her eyes.
"What did you say!?!" she demanded.
"I'm sorry, Dr. Popova. I was just trying to be friendly."
"OK, stand up!" she ordered. I stood up—it felt like I had no choice. "Take off sweatpants," she said. Her English suddenly seemed worse, her accent stronger. "You want to be examined by beautiful Russian lady doctor? OK I give you beautiful Russian lady doctor exam."
Honestly, that wasn't what I wanted. I wanted the pain in my abdomen to go away. But at the same time, I'd been alone in my apartment for weeks, and I was horny, and I actually did have a long-standing fantasy about a sexy "lady doctor" to use her words. Anyway, what would you have done?
"Take off sweatpants!" she said again.
I stood up and dropped my sweatpants to the floor. I wasn't wearing any underwear—it was the middle of the night and I'd just pulled these sweats on for the video call. I stood in front of the camera, hands covering my junk, buck naked. Camera pointing at my mid-section. I felt my manhood begin to swell.
"Hands at your sides," she ordered.
Reluctantly, I obeyed. She looked for a moment, then said, "Turn around and show me your ass," she said. When I did, she said, "Very nice. You are good-looking American man."
" Now bend over," she said. "Bend over and spread cheeks! I want to see pink American asshole!"
I mean look, I was horny, but I wasn't THAT horny. This was definitely going too far, so I turned around.
"Oh you don't want to show me your virgin American asshole?" She smirked at me, "OK, instead we examine your small American penis. Show me! Take it in your hand and show me."
I was halfway hard by now and was starting to think with my dick, so I did. "Come closer to camera. Let me see." I did. I was getting harder by the second. The pain in my abdomen, the reason that I called in the first place, was receding. I was focused on the sensation in my cock.
"Your cock is small," she said. "It is nice cock, but small."
Honestly, my cock isn't small, unless I guess you're comparing me to porn stars. I started to defend myself. "My cock isn't small."
"Be quiet!" She said. "How many cocks do you see in your line of work?"
"Um, none?" I said, realizing I was going to lose this battle.
"That's right, none. Whereas I..." she paused dramatically, looking into the camera right at me and speaking very slowly, "I. See. Cocks. Every. Single. Night." She paused dramatically. "I sit here and I see cock after cock after cock. And your little American cock," she held up two fingers, close together, and then laughed. "Your cock is very small cock." She was grinning at me now. There was a twinkle in her eye.
I was starting to wonder exactly what kind of doctor she was that saw cocks every single night, but she interrupted me.
"OK Mr. American Small Cock Virgin Asshole," she said. "I want you to stroke your cock for me."
"Doctor Popova," I started, but she interrupted me.
"This is an important part of the examination for abdominal pain." Her grin was getting wider now. Her Russian accent came and went disturbingly. One minute she sounded like a hard Russian donimatrix. The next, a medical doctor with a slight English accent. Now the doctor was back. "If you were really having a serious problem, your pain would increase while you stroked, but if it's not serious, then your pain should be reduced by this activity."
Fuck. Ok, I started to stroke my cock.
"NO! Not like that!" she interrupted me, and I stopped immediately. "Spit in your palm! Make it wet. Stroke with wet hand! Make your hand wet and keep it wet. And stroke slowly. We need time to complete this examination and we can't have you ejaculating in the middle of the exam."
I spit in my palm and began stroking again. It felt good, and I forgot about my abdomen.
"Take your left hand and put it under your testicles." I did. "Now keep stroking, that's it..." I was now rock hard. "I see your vitals from your watch," she said. "Your heart is beating faster. Do you like this?" she asked.
"Yes, I do."
"Call me Doctor when you speak to me."
"Yes Doctor," I said.
"That's better. Mmm, yes, I bet that feels very nice," she said warmly. "Keep going, and relax into the feeling. Focus on how very good it feels now."
I did, and I closed my eyes, imagining her sexy mouth, her red lipstick, her red lips wrapped around my cock.
"Step back," she said, "I need to observe your face." I did, moving away from the camera so she could see me standing there, naked, from head to toe, stroking my cock the whole time. I had to slow down because I could feel myself getting closer.
"How does your abdomen feel now?" She asked, "Does it feel better?" There was tenderness in her voice.
"Yes, it's much better, Doctor" I said.
"Good," she said slowly. "Stroke yourself while I watch your...data stream." Was there a little laugh in her voice?
She said, "There's still a bit more to this exam. I want you to keep stroking, but do not ejaculate, no matter what. Move as slowly as you have to, but do not stop, and do not ejactulate. Can you do that for me, Jonathan?"
"Oh god," I groaned, nodding.
"With your left hand, I want you to begin squeezing your testicles. Squeeze until you feel pain, then hold that pressure there. Tell me when you feel pain."
I did. I squeezed my balls until they hurt. Fuck. "It hurts, Doctor." It was also turning me on.
"Good," she said. "It is supposed to hurt. Now keep squeezing. This will help us understand your abdominal pain. Do you feel abdominal pain anymore?"
I kept squeezing and stroking. "No, Doctor, " I told her.
"Stop! Hands at sides!" she ordered. The tenderness was gone from her voice.
I did as I was told, my cock bobbing in the air, my balls aching. I was breathing hard.
"Tell me how your abdomen feels."
The pain was gone! I told her, "I'm feeling much better, Doctor, but now I really need to cum."
"Come close to the screen and sit back down. Keep your hands where I can see them. I will give you your instructions now."
Again I did as I was told, sitting down, my rock hard cock calling for my attention, my hands on the desk. I couldn't wait for this call to end so that I could get off.
"Now, it appears that you have a simple case of heartburn, but it might be something more serious. I can't fully diagnose it without additional equipment. I can send you an overnight package—it might take an extra day or two because of the lockdown. The package will contain some remote-testing equipment that allows for a more thorough examination. All this would be covered by your insurance. Would you like me to do this?"
I was relieved that she thought it was heartburn—though the extra tests couldn't hurt, right? "Sure, that sounds good." I wasn't sure what exactly I was agreeing to though, because I was a bit distracted by my cock. All I wanted was to get off the call and attend to my throbbing cock.
"Good," she said. "Now you have to do a few more things between now and when the test equipment arrives. First, it's important that you do not bring yourself to orgasm nor allow yourself to ejaculate, is that clear?"
What the fuck? "Are you kidding me, doc?"
I thought she would get mad at me again, but instead, a grin appeared on her face. "Look here Mr. American Small Dick Virgin Asshole," she said, "First of all, call me Doctor. You will call me Doctor because I AM a doctor. You have a condition that's serious enough to wake you up in pain at night, and all you can think about is your small American penis? No! As your doctor—and I'm telling you this for your safety—you must avoid orgasm. Can you do that?"
I was annoyed, but not convinced. Still, to get her off the phone, I said, "Ok doc, sure whatever."
I could see the anger on her face. She paused for a moment, looked at her chart, then said slowly, coldly, "Jonathan Barker of 52 Second Avenue, New York, NY. I have your credit card number. I have your insurance so I know your employer. I have a video recording of this entire session. You will do EXACTLY as you are told, or you will find that all of this information—and all of this video—has been posted on the internet and shared with your employer. Is that what you want?"
My heart dropped into my stomach. What kind of scam was this?
"Um... no?" I said, now feeling deep middle-of-the-night fear and dread.
"Good," she said. "Now, listen carefully." She was cold, professional, detached. "Your watch is transmitting arousal data to the app that you downloaded to your phone. I will be able to see when you are hard. I will see if you touch yourself. This is allowed. In fact, I encourage you to touch yourself as much as you please, especially if your stomach pain recurs. Touching yourself will help you, do you understand?
She continued, "Yes, touch yourself as much as you like, but under no circumstances may you cum. I will see if you cum. Do not cum. Do not take off your watch. Do not disconnect the watch from the app. Do not delete the app. If you do any of these things, we will publish your video examination."
"Do you understand?" There was no warmth in this question. This was pure threat.
I nodded again.
"Very good. Now, I'm going to send you a diagnostic machine. It will be there soon. Your watch battery charge should last until then. When you get the diagnostic machine, you will need to get back in touch with me immediately so that we can complete the examination. I will send you an email with all the details you'll need to reach me again. Do you understand?"
I nodded again and added, "Yes Doctor."
At that, she smiled. There was a twinkle in her eye too—like suddenly she was having fun, like she had won a prize or something. I was furious. I was scared. I was humiliated. And I also felt an intense attraction to her at that moment. She seemed to sense that. I saw her look over her shoulder in both directions. Then she took the pen she'd been holding and put it gently between her teeth. She cupped her hands under her breasts and lifted them gently. I could see them rise behind her lab coat. "Now Jonathan," she said, with a soothing note of sympathy in her voice. "It will only be a couple of days until we can complete the examination, and I promise you that—if you're good—your patience will be rewarded the next time we speak."
At that, she winked, pursed her lips around the pen she held in her mouth, bounced her tits at me one more time, and smiled. Then the screen went black.