Probed, Exposed, and Dominated: Zeek’s Examination Room Fantasy with NurseDomme Jessica

Dear Domme Jessica,

I’ve played this scenario in my mind over and over—the thought of ending up under your strict supervision, but not for comfort or solace. No, it’s the kind that leaves me stripped bare, humiliated, completely at your mercy. I imagine myself hobbling into your realm for a supposed first aid after a rough session, each bruise and ache a testament to the ordeal I’ve endured. Yet, under your expert hands, this routine check morphs into a full-blown examination that peels away any semblance of dignity I might have clung to.

I’d arrive, every muscle in my body screaming, every bruise a shade deeper, anticipating the rigorous care only you can provide. Your gaze would sweep over me—clinical, sharp. Even though your voice would be soft at first, the underlying command would be unmistakable, reminding me of the control you wield over me.

“Let’s begin with a thorough examination,” you’d say, a calm authority in your tone that brooks no argument.

The humiliation starts as soon as I begin to strip, your eyes dissecting me as each piece of clothing hits the floor. I’d be vulnerable, every welt and mark exposed under the harsh light for your scrutiny. “Bend over the exam table, spread your legs,” you’d instruct, snapping on your gloves with a sound that signals what’s to come.

Your touch, though cold and professional, would start innocently enough—palms assessing the damage across my back and thighs, fingers probing for tenderness. But soon, the true nature of your ‘care’ would reveal itself. You’d part my cheeks, your lubricated fingers pressing insistently at my entrance. “This won’t hurt,” you’d murmur, a hint of amusement coloring your tone, though we both know the lie for what it is.

The violation begins with your fingers sliding into me, deep and deliberate, exploring, probing as if I were nothing more than an object on display. The humiliation would engulf me, burning hotter with each question you pose.

“Do you often experience discomfort during penetration?” Your professional detachment only heightens the shame as I confess my reactions. “And does Annie ensure you’re properly prepared before she uses her strap-on?” you’d continue, pressing deeper, eliciting responses that only serve to embarrass me further.

Suddenly, you’d increase the pressure, a second finger joining the first, stretching me, testing my limits as you comment clinically on every reaction you elicit from my overwrought body. I’d be helpless, entirely at your mercy, your examination thorough and demeaning.

But it wouldn’t end there. You’d produce a speculum next, displaying it before my eyes—its cold, metal gleam promising nothing but further humiliation. “We need a closer look,” you’d state, and without waiting for consent, you’d insert it, cranking me open, exposing my most intimate depths. The cold metal would stretch me painfully wide, an unbearable exposure that sends waves of humiliation crashing over me.

As I’d tremble on the brink, you’d finally remove the speculum, but relief would be fleeting. Replacing it, you’d select a larger implement—a toy or perhaps an anal plug—guaranteed to test my endurance further. “This will aid your recovery,” you’d smirk, sliding it home as I moan and squirm, utterly dominated by your treatment.

When you’re done, my body would be quivering, my mind fractured by the ordeal. You’d peel off your gloves, cleanse your hands, and regard me as if we’d merely finished a routine procedure.

“There, all taken care of,” you’d say, your tone dismissive, light, as though my debasement was a mundane task.

And as I lay there, processing the depth of my submission, I’d realize this isn’t just about enduring physical discomfort—it’s about the total surrender of control, the profound humiliation of being so completely dominated. Deep down, I’d recognize this brutal treatment as exactly what I crave, what I need.

Thank you for indulging this scenario, which completes an assignment from my wife.

Yours in absolute submission,

Zeek