The Sample
An SPH Experience by Adventurous-Door-704.
“It could be serious,” she said, her brow furrowed with worry. “Skin cancer. Melanoma. You need to see a dermatologist.”
I tried to brush it off, but she was relentless. Within a week, she’d made an appointment. The timing was unfortunate—our kids had a school event that day so that she couldn’t come with me. I’d be going alone.
I didn’t think much of it. A quick examination, a professional opinion, maybe a prescription cream. In and out. Simple.
I was so fucking naive.
—
The dermatology office was in a medical park on the west side of town. I parked my car and walked toward the entrance, noticing immediately that the reception area was visible through large glass windows. Inside, I could see the staff—young, attractive women moving about in scrubs.
My stomach tightened a little, but I pushed the feeling aside. I was there for a medical issue—a legitimate concern. There was nothing to be embarrassed about.
The receptionist who checked me in was maybe twenty-two, with auburn hair and a friendly smile. She handed me a clipboard with paperwork.
“Fill these out. Someone will be with you shortly.”
I took a seat in the waiting room, filling out the standard forms. Medical history. Current medications. Reason for visit. I wrote “dark spots on genital area” and felt my face warm slightly.
Within fifteen minutes, a door opened, and a voice called my name.
“Daniel?”
I looked up. Standing in the doorway was a young woman—barely twenty, I guessed—half Asian, with delicate features and dark hair pulled back in a ponytail. She was tiny, maybe four-eleven, with a slim figure that her scrubs did little to hide. She was, quite simply, gorgeous.
“Hi, I’m Jenny, the medical assistant. Come on back.”
I followed her down a hallway, trying not to notice the way her scrubs hugged her hips as she walked. This was a medical appointment. A medical appointment. I needed to stay focused.
—
The exam room was smaller than I expected, with an examination table in the center and cabinets lining the walls. What caught my attention immediately was the glass wall facing the parking lot. The glass was heavily tinted—you couldn’t see in from outside—but the sight of it made me uneasy.
“Have a seat,” Jenny said, gesturing to the table. “The doctor will be in shortly, but I’ll need to get some preliminary information first.”
I sat on the crinkly paper covering the table, my legs dangling over the edge. Jenny stood before me with a tablet, asking standard questions about my medical history. I answered mechanically, my mind already racing ahead to the examination itself.
“So,” she said, glancing at her tablet, “it says here you’re concerned about some spots on your genital area?”
“Yes,” I said, my voice tight. “Dark spots. On my penis.”
She nodded, her expression professionally neutral. “And how long have you noticed them?”
“A few weeks. Maybe a month.”
“Any pain, itching, discharge?”
“No. Just… there.”
“Okay.” She set the tablet down. “I’m going to need to examine the area. Could you please remove your pants and underwear?”
My heart rate spiked. “Right now? Just… here?”
She smiled, seemingly amused by my discomfort. “Yes, here. This is an exam room.”
“I thought the doctor would—”
“The doctor will examine you too. But I need to take a look first, note the location and appearance for her records.”
I hesitated, my hands resting on my belt. This wasn’t how I’d imagined this going. I’d thought a doctor—someone older, more clinical—would be doing the examining. Not this gorgeous young woman who looked like she should be in college.
“Would you prefer a full-body skin exam?” she asked. “Since you’re here, the doctor could check for any other concerning spots.”
“No,” I said quickly. “Just… just the local area. Just the penis.”
She raised an eyebrow slightly, and I immediately regretted how that sounded. Like I was there specifically to have a young woman look at my cock.
“I mean, my wife was worried about these spots, and she couldn’t be here, so I just want to make sure everything’s okay. She insisted I come in.”
The excuse tumbled out of me, and Jenny’s expression shifted to something I couldn’t quite read. Amusement? Understanding? I couldn’t tell.
“Okay. Please remove your pants and underwear. Completely.”
“Completely?”
“Standard procedure. The doctor will want to see the full area.”
I took a deep breath and stood up. My hands were slightly shaky as I unbuckled my belt, unbuttoned my jeans, and pushed everything down—pants, boxers, all of it—to my ankles. I stepped out and stood before her, completely exposed from the waist down.
“Have a seat at the table,” she said.
I sat, the paper crinkling beneath me, acutely aware of my nakedness. Jenny pulled a stool over and sat in front of me, her face now at eye level with my crotch.
—
I’d always been a grower, not a show-er. In my twenties, I’d measured myself at about six and a half inches hard, with decent girth. But over the years—maybe age, maybe weight gain, maybe just natural changes—I’d noticed I wasn’t quite what I used to be. The last time I’d measured, maybe six months ago, I’d come in at just under five inches erect. Still normal, still functional, but… less.
Flaccid, I’d always been small. Maybe three inches on a good day. But in situations like this—nervous, exposed, embarrassed—I tended to shrink even further.
Right now, sitting naked on an exam table with a gorgeous young woman staring at my cock, I was probably showing about two and a half inches. Maybe less.
“Okay, let’s take a look,” Jenny said, leaning in.
She reached out with gloved fingers and gently lifted my penis, examining the shaft. Her touch was clinical, professional, but having an attractive woman this close to my cock was having an effect I couldn’t control. I felt myself starting to stiffen slightly.
I closed my eyes and thought about anything else. Baseball. Taxes. The kids’ school event. The spots. The potential for skin cancer—anything to kill the arousal.
When I opened my eyes, I was only semi-erect—maybe three and a half inches, thickening but not fully hard. Better than nothing.
Jenny continued her examination, her face inches from my penis as she studied the dark spots. She turned my cock this way and that, examining every inch of the shaft, the head, even the underside.
“I see them,” she murmured. “Three distinct spots on the shaft. Dark pigmentation, irregular borders.”
She was so close I could feel her breath on my skin. My cock twitched involuntarily, and I saw her lips curve into a small smile.
“Everything okay?” I asked, my voice strained.
“Fine,” she said, still examining. “Just noting the location and appearance for Dr. Warren.”
She continued her inspection for what felt like an eternity but was probably only a minute or two. Then she sat back, removing her gloves.
“Okay, I’ve got the preliminary information. Dr. Warren will be in shortly to examine you herself.”
She stood and left the room, and I was suddenly alone—naked, half-hard, sitting on an exam table with a glass wall behind me.
—
I sat there for several minutes, trying to calm down. My erection faded, leaving me soft again—maybe two inches, my cock shriveled against my thigh. I glanced at the glass wall. The tinting was heavy; I couldn’t see anything outside. But the knowledge that someone could be standing right there, looking in without my knowledge, made my skin prickle.
The door opened.
Jenny returned, followed by another woman—taller, maybe five-eight, with brown hair and sharp features. She looked to be in her late thirties, attractive in a severe way, wearing a white coat over scrubs.
“Daniel, this is Dr. Warren,” Jenny said. “She’ll be performing your examination.”
Dr. Warren nodded at me, her eyes briefly flicking to my naked lower half. “Nice to meet you. Jenny tells me you have some concerns about pigmentation on your penis.”
“Yes,” I said. “Dark spots. My wife was worried.”
“Wife couldn’t make it today?”
“No, she… she had to stay with the kids.”
“Mm.” Dr. Warren pulled on a pair of gloves and sat on the stool Jenny had vacated. Jenny remained standing by the door, her arms crossed, watching.
“Hop up on the table,” Dr. Warren said.
I was already on the table, but I shifted, repositioning myself. Dr. Warren leaned in, her face now inches from my cock.
“Let’s see what we’re working with.”
—
She examined me thoroughly—more thoroughly than Jenny had, if that was possible. She manipulated my penis, turning it, stretching it, examining every millimeter of skin. Jenny watched from the doorway, and I caught her trying to suppress a smile more than once.
My cock had shrunk even further under the scrutiny. I was probably showing two inches now, maybe less—the head barely visible, the shaft retracted. The embarrassment was overwhelming.
“How long have you had these spots?” Dr. Warren asked, still examining.
“A few weeks. Maybe a month.”
“Any changes in size or appearance?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Any family history of skin cancer?”
“Not that I know of.”
She continued her examination, her gloved fingers prodding and pressing. I stared at the ceiling, face burning, trying to dissociate from the situation.
“Well,” she said finally, “the spots are concerning. Irregular borders, dark pigmentation. I’d like to take a sample for biopsy.”
“A sample?” I looked down at her. “Like… a biopsy?”
“Yes. We’ll numb the area and take a small tissue sample. Send it to the lab.”
My stomach dropped. “You’re going to cut my penis?”
“A small incision. Local anesthetic. You won’t feel anything.”
I swallowed hard. “Okay. Sure. Whatever you need to do.”
—
Dr. Warren stood and moved to a cabinet, retrieving supplies. Jenny stepped forward, her eyes on my cock.
“His penis is quite small,” Jenny said, her voice low but not low enough. “Especially for a man his age.”
My face burned. I couldn’t believe she’d said that out loud.
Dr. Warren glanced at my shriveled cock and then at me. “Some men are smaller flaccid. It’s not uncommon.”
“But he’s barely showing two inches,” Jenny continued, a hint of amusement in her voice. “I thought you said he was in his thirties?”
“He is,” Dr. Warren said, her tone clinical. “Size varies. Now, let’s prepare for the biopsy.”
I wanted to die. I wanted to disappear. Here I was, naked on an exam table, my tiny cock on full display, while two attractive women discussed my size like I wasn’t even in the room.
Dr. Warren returned with a tray of instruments. She sat back on the stool and examined my cock again.
“I’m going to administer the local anesthetic now,” she said. “You’ll feel a small pinch.”
I felt the needle slide into the shaft of my penis. I winced but didn’t cry out. The pain was sharp but brief.
“Okay, that should take effect in a minute,” Dr. Warren said. “Jenny, hand me the scalpel.”
Scalpel. The word sent a jolt of fear through me. I looked down at my cock—now even smaller, if that was possible, shriveled in fear.
“Wait,” I said. “You’re going to—”
“Just a small sample,” Dr. Warren said. “You won’t feel it.”
She reached for the scalpel.
—
I don’t know what I expected. Maybe a punch biopsy, like I’d had on my shoulder once. A quick, relatively painless procedure. But Dr. Warren brought the scalpel to my shaft and made a quick, precise cut.
I cried out. Despite the anesthetic, I felt it—a sharp, burning sensation that made my whole body tense.
“Almost done,” Dr. Warren said calmly.
She made another small cut, and I felt her remove a piece of tissue. My cock had shrunk to its absolute minimum now—maybe an inch and a half, the head barely visible, the shaft retracted almost entirely into my body.
“There we go,” Dr. Warren said, holding up a small piece of tissue. “Jenny, prepare this for the lab.”
Jenny took the sample, her eyes flicking to my cock. A smile played at her lips.
“Looks like someone’s shy,” she murmured.
I wanted to crawl into a hole and die.
Dr. Warren applied a small bandage to the cut on my shaft. “You’ll want to keep this clean and dry for a few days. No sexual activity until it heals. Results should be back in about a week.”
She stood, removing her gloves. “Any questions?”
I shook my head, unable to speak.
“Okay. Jenny will give you your aftercare instructions at the front desk.”
They both left the room, and I was alone again—naked, bleeding slightly, my cock bandaged and shriveled to an embarrassingly small size.
—
I dressed quickly, wincing as my underwear brushed against the bandage. My cock was still tiny, still shriveled, the memory of the examination fresh in my mind.
I walked to the front desk, where Jenny waited with a clipboard. The receptionist—the auburn-haired woman who’d checked me in—was also there, sorting papers.
“Here are your aftercare instructions,” Jenny said, handing me the clipboard. “Keep the area clean and dry. No sex for at least a week. Call us if you notice any signs of infection—redness, swelling, discharge.”
I nodded, taking the clipboard.
The receptionist glanced up, her eyes briefly flicking to my crotch. A small smile curved her lips.
“All done?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said, my voice tight.
“Great. Just sign here.” She pointed to a line on a form. “And we’ll call you with results in about a week.”
I signed, my hand slightly shaky.
“Hope everything’s okay,” the receptionist said, her tone sweet but her smile knowing. “Must be hard, having something wrong with your… little situation.”
She emphasized the word “little” just enough to make it clear she knew. She’d seen me. Or Jenny had told her—or both.
My face burned.
“Thanks,” I muttered.
I took my paperwork and walked out, feeling both women’s eyes on me.
—
A week later, the results came back. Benign pigmentation. Nothing to worry about. I’d stressed for nothing, endured that humiliating examination for nothing.
But here’s the thing: in the years since, that memory has become one of my most frequently revisited fantasies. I think about it when I’m alone, when I’m touching myself. The embarrassment. The exposure. Two attractive women examining my tiny, shriveled cock while I lay naked and helpless. The scalpel. The bandage. The receptionist’s knowing smile.
“Your little situation.”
I came home from that appointment and fucked my wife harder than I had in months. The humiliation had transformed into something else—something that made me harder, made me last longer, made me come more intensely.
I’ve never told anyone about it. Not my wife, not my friends, no one. But in the privacy of my own mind, that afternoon at the dermatologist’s office has become a cherished memory. A moment of pure, unadulterated humiliation that, for reasons I don’t fully understand, makes me harder than almost anything else.
Sometimes I wonder if they knew. If Jenny, Dr. Warren, and that receptionist knew exactly what they were doing to me. If they understood that by examining me, by commenting on my size, by smiling and giggling and emphasizing the word “little,” they were creating a memory that would fuel my fantasies for years to come.
Probably not. It was probably just another day at the office for them. Just another patient with a small cock and a skin concern.
But for me, it was the day I discovered something about myself I hadn’t known before.
I get off on being humiliated.
And that afternoon—naked, exposed, tiny, and cut—was the most erotic experience of my life.
The End.
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