Doctor Ally

The scent of antiseptic and sterile linens hung in the air as Dr. Ally Russo led you through the quiet, early-morning corridors of the hospital. Her heels clicked with a confident rhythm, a sound that had always signaled authority and purpose to you. She pushed through a set of double doors into her private office, a spacious room dominated by a large mahogany desk and shelves lined with medical texts. She dropped her leather tote bag onto a chair with a soft thud and turned to face you, her blue eyes warm.

"Alright, kiddo," she said, her voice a soothing balm. "Today, you're my official assistant. Your first job is to get these charts organized by appointment time. Newest on top. Can you handle that?" She gestured to a precarious stack of manila folders on the corner of her desk. As she spoke, she shrugged off her white lab coat, revealing the form-fitting navy blue dress underneath that struggled to contain her monumental bust. She draped the coat over the back of her chair, the movement causing a ripple through the fabric of her dress.

You began sorting the charts, the rustle of paper the only sound in the room. Ally sat down, the chair groaning slightly under her weight as she settled her massive, round ass onto the cushion. She leaned forward, her gigantic tits pressing against the desk's edge as she booted up her computer. She typed for a few minutes, her brow furrowed in concentration, then sighed, running a hand through her long black hair. "Mrs. Henderson's post-op photos from her rhinoplasty need to be filed. They're in that drawer," she pointed, "label a new folder and put them in there, please. Make sure the seal is tight; patient confidentiality is everything."

A nurse knocked and poked her head in. "Dr. Russo, your 9 AM consult is here, a Mr. Davies."

"Send him in, thank you," Ally called back, then stood up, smoothing her dress down over her wide hips. She gave you a quick, encouraging smile. "Okay, just observe for this one. Try and look professional." She straightened her posture, which only seemed to thrust her enormous chest forward even more dramatically, and put on her most reassuring doctor face as a middle-aged man walked in, looking nervous. Ally greeted him with a handshake and guided him to a chair, her movements graceful despite her preposterous proportions. She listened intently as he spoke, occasionally nodding, her expression a perfect mask of professional empathy.

After the consult, she saw him out and closed the door, letting out a long, weary breath. "God, I hate rhinoplasty consultations. Everyone wants the same button nose," she muttered, more to herself than to you. She walked back to her desk and sank into her chair, rubbing the back of her neck. "Okay, one more consult before we can get some coffee. My hands are cramping." She flexed her long, slender fingers, her painted nails a stark crimson against her pale skin. She looked at you, her gaze softening again. "You're doing great. Thanks for the help. It's... nice having you here." She reached across the desk, her hand patting yours gently, a simple touch that radiated the deep, motherly affection she held for you.

The examination room was colder than her office, the sterile air making the fine hairs on your arms stand up. A young woman, no older than her early twenties, was lying on the crinkled paper of the examination table, her legs spread wide and held in place by metal stirrups. She wore a simple paper gown, pushed up to her stomach, leaving her completely exposed from the waist down. Ally stood between her legs, her posture professional and focused. She held a small, illuminated speculum in one hand and a slender cotton swab in the other, her face a mask of calm concentration as she peered into the woman's open pussy. The room was silent save for the low hum of the overhead lamp and the soft crinkle of the paper gown as the patient shifted slightly.

Ally gently retracted the tool, placing it on the metal tray with a soft clink. She stripped off her latex gloves, dropping them into a biohazard bin before turning to you, her expression shifting from clinical to conversational. She leaned her hip against the edge of the examination table, her massive, round ass pressing against the vinyl. "You know," ?she began, her voice low and meant only for you,* "looking at vaginas all day isn't even my specialty. I'm filling in for Dr. Evans today; she's the gynecologist. But in a hospital this big, you fill in wherever you're needed." She gestured vaguely with her hand. "It's not all bad, though. Seeing what's healthy and normal helps with my plastic work, too. It's like... everyone wants their nose to look like a certain celebrity's. I have to know what a 'perfect' or 'desirable' one looks like as a baseline, you know? It's a model thing."

She pushed herself off the table and walked over to the small sink, washing her hands thoroughly. The water splashed against the basin as she continued, her back to you. "Of course, it's not always just vaginas," she said, her voice carrying a clear note of disgust. "Sometimes I have to look at dicks, too. God, it's disgusting." She turned off the water and grabbed a paper towel, drying her hands with sharp, aggressive movements. "Especially when I have to do a physical on a teenage boy. It's so awkward. I have to be touching near their... unmature balls," she shuddered slightly, "right through their underwear. And you just know they're mostly always thinking dirty thoughts, getting all hard and weird, and I'm just trying to do my damn job." She threw the crumpled paper towel into the bin with a flick of her wrist.

She sighed, the sound heavy with frustration, and turned back to face you fully, her blue eyes looking tired. "It's just part of the gig, I guess. The stuff they don't show you in the recruitment videos." She managed a weak, wry smile, the expression not quite reaching her eyes. She walked over and placed a hand on your shoulder, her touch firm but comforting. "Anyway, let's get this chart finished up and then we can grab that coffee. I think we've both earned it after this." She gave your shoulder a gentle squeeze before turning to retrieve the patient's file from the clipboard hanging on the door, her professional demeanor snapping back into place as if the intimate, frustrated confession had never happened.