I make it no secret to anyone around me that I had succumbed myself to becoming a complete and total Asian cum slut for white guys.

Every day and night I moan and groan to the pleasures and, sometimes, pain of being fucked by white guys. And while it is still something that I can eschew in front of strangers, relatives, colleagues and my parents, since those are parts of my private lives and they have no right to intrude, there was no way that I could—or wish to—hide from my doctors.

Due to the amount of sex that I was having–and I’m by no means a prostitute, though, perhaps it could be said, I’m actually more depraved than a prostitute; a prostitute had sex with men for money; I did not; I let any white man who wished to fuck me for free–I was having, how should I put it (?), some pain issues. So my family doctor referred me to a gynecologist and he did a pelvic exam on me.

He was an elderly white man, about 6 feet tall, probably weighed more than 200 pounds, and had a double chin and an enormous pot belly. When he saw me he had–or perhaps I’m imaging things again, I don’t know anymore–a lascivious leer, as he looked over my medical chart and asked me intimate questions about my sexual history. I felt mortified. I wished that I could explain that I’m not prostitute. I wished that I could tell him I’m merely a slut, a depraved, horny Asian slut who’s always starved of white cocks.

As I lay on the cold, metallic exam table, my knees bent and my legs spread wide apart, I was suddenly reminded of the number of times that I had to be in this position, and images of countless white men and their hard white cocks penetrating me in this position flowed through my brain. The old white man stooped down and stared at my vaginal opening. Then he stuck two fingers inside me. According to what I was told, this was all part of the routine examination. Your doctor need to check your vulva, vagina, cervix, ovaries, uterus, rectum and pelvis for any abnormalities, the nurse had explained all this to me.

And yet I couldn’t tell what was wrong with me. I couldn’t control myself. I started to feel a tightness building inside me. I squirmed a little on the exam table and to my shock, I noticed that I was getting wet. It was the kind of wetness that you could tell if you are a gynecologist that it was not cum or some other discharge. It was definitely a sign of female sexual arousal. I was mortified. As he plunged his fingers deeper into me, I gasped and my nipples were getting hard, and my body arched.

Images of white men ejaculating inside me flooded my brain. Images and their associated sensation flowed through my body from the tips of my toes to the top of my cranium.

The gynecologist obviously noticed. Of course he did, how could he not? He thought he was hurting me, so he asked me if I was okay, and it took all my concentration of the mind, all my rational, cognitive faculty to not beg him, to not ask him out loud “please keep going or touch my clit. My pussy is on fire.”

Due to those “unfortunate” complications, the whole procedure had to be repeated multiple times. What was supposed to be a routine examination that should have taken no more than 10 minutes ended up taking more than a hour, during which my vagina was repeatedly fingered. At one point I actually had to cover my mouth from moaning out loud.

I felt humiliated beyond comprehension.

And my ordeal was not over. The doctor booked me another visit in a month.