Message-ID: <19356eli$9901260427@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Archived-At: <URL:http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/Year99/19356.txt>
From: al_steiner@hotmail.com
Subject: The Blood Pressure Check by Al Steiner (FM, blackmail)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d
Path: qz!not-for-mail
Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam
Approved: <usenet-approval@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded <story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Story-Submission: <story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Original-Message-ID: <78in0e$8ut$1@nnrp1.dejanews.com>

As always, feel free to archive, repost, be appalled by, criticize, or
anything else.	But please leave the author’s name and the original text
intact.  Send comments to al_steiner@hotmail.com



THE BLOOD PRESSURE CHECK
				By Al Steiner


	I have a medical history of high blood pressure.  It’s not
surprising, even though I’m only twenty-eight years old.  My parents were
both hypertensive, as were my grandparents.  The life-style that I live
doesn’t help much either.  I drink beer and smoke marijuana, both to excess,
on my days off.  I smoke cigarettes and drink coffee every day.  I don’t get
much exercise either.  My doctor has given me some pills to keep it down and
for the most part they work pretty well; except for in one particular
instance.

	I’m a pilot for a skydiving company.  I fly the big, twin-engine
plane that takes up loads of beginning skydivers and the instructors that
accompany them.  As a pilot, I’m required to take a physical every two years
to maintain my license requirements.  Six years ago when I stumbled across
this job (intending to do it for a year or so until I found something
better), Skyflight Skydiving School was owned by a jovial, hard-partying man
named Rod Pilfer. Skydiving back then was largely unregulated and Ron, who’d
burned more than his share of greenbud with me and tipped back several
hundred cases of beer with me over the years, didn’t worry himself over
things so petty as certifications and medical checks of his employees.	I
could have been unlicensed completely and Ron wouldn’t have given a shit, as
long as I showed up to work each day and flew the damned plane.  When I
needed a new “yellow card”, as the medical certification card was known, I
would simply fill out the required FAA forms, entering any information that I
wished, and a physician friend of Ron’s (who was also partial to greenbud,
beer, and free skydiving) would simply sign off on it.	Everything nice and
legal though the spirit of the law had of course been grossly raped.

	But times change, the one constant in life I guess.  Several
preventable skydiving accidents in the Western United States brought
increased regulation of the industry.  In addition to this Ron sold the
company two years ago to a national corporation, traded on the stock
exchange, that started it’s existence by swallowing up more than fifty
independent skydiving schools around the country.  We were now corporate
employees and though my salary didn’t increase any, and though nobody bought
a new plane or new equipment for the school, we all quickly discovered that
there was a vast difference between working for Ron and working for a
corporation.  Everything was impersonal; money was the bottom line.

	One significant thing to change was the manner in which our pilot
physicals were done.  We were required to go to a local medical clinic when
the time came for re-cert.  It is rumored that the clinic in question was
owned by a subsidiary of the Parent Corporation.  I don’t know if that is
true or not, but the first time I went there, shortly after Ron had sold out,
I found that they most certainly were NOT friendly, perpetually stoned Dr.
Young.	They put me through a thorough exam, following the FAA checklist step
by step.  I passed in all regards except for my blood pressure, which had
been 170/110, well outside the passing range prescribed by the FAA.

	I squeaked through by applying every ounce of charm and persuasion
that I possessed to the elderly nurse that had taken it.  I told her that I
was on medication for the blood pressure and that I monitored it regularly
and that it was NEVER that high, that I had a phobia about having my pressure
taken when the results meant my job.  That was certainly true in all regards.
 My pressure that morning had been a sedate 136/74.  But as I drove to the
med clinic and as I waited in the waiting room to be called I’d done nothing
but think about what would happen if my pressure was outside parameters.  My
body flooded with nervous tension as I considered this and, sure enough, it
became a self- fulfilling prophecy.  The nurse, fortunately for me, took pity
on me and marked down 158/88 on the form, just two points on both numbers
inside the guidelines.	I left the clinic elated, knowing that I was safe for
another two years.

	But two years passes quickly.  My card was approaching expiration
once again and the dweeb that ran SkyFlight called me into his office about
two weeks ago.	Dave Pelican is a thirty-five year old accountant that the
Parent Corporation sent out to run the place.  He’s never skydived in his
life, despite many offers from the instructors to show him how to do it. 
He’s respected by his employees about as much as the LAPD are respected in
South Central LA and is probably wise not to go up and give the business a
whirl. I’m sure that somewhere in accounting school they teach you not to
allow people that don’t like you to toss you out of an airplane wearing a
chute that they’ve packed.

	“Bob,” He told me when I reported to his office that morning.
“According to the computer your medical exam card expires in twenty days.”

	“Sure does boss.”  I told him.  I knew the fact well and had been
worried about it for the last two months.  I’d come to a plan of sorts in my
mind to keep the pressure down for the exam.  Now it was time to see if it
worked or not.

	Dave slid a pre-printed, corporate form across his desk to me. 
“Here’s the authorization form for your new physical.  Be sure to have the
copies to me before your expiration date.”

	“You got it boss.”  I assured him, taking the form.

	“Thanks.”  He said absently and then moved on to another subject.
“I’ve been going over the cycle time for drops and it’s been creeping up
again.	Now I’ve talked to the instructors about this already but you’re the
one who is in control of turn-around time.  The industry standard, as you
know, is fifty minutes between cycles.	Your times have been averaging….”  He
said a lot more but I tuned him out.  I’d heard this lecture before.  I
nodded and gave uh-huhs in all the right places and shortly he released me.
Later that day I called the med clinic and made my appointment.

	Two days before the physical I called my doctor’s office; a huge HMO-
based conglomerate with more than fifteen physicians and twenty PA’s.  I told
the faceless person I talked to on the phone that I had to take a flight on
an aircraft the next day to go to a funeral and that I had a phobia about
doing such things.  Could they maybe prescribe something to keep the anxiety
down?  I was gambling that nobody would look deeply into my chart where it
plainly said that I was a pilot.  It was a gamble I won.  Two hours later I
was picking up a prescription for two Valium at the neighborhood pharmacy.

	The day of the physical itself I took three of my blood pressure
pills in the morning instead of the usual one.	I drank no coffee.  I smoked
no cigarettes.	A half-hour before leaving I popped both of the Valium.  I
figured that all of that would probably do the trick.  My blood pressure
before I left the house was 112/60.

	Despite all of this however, I felt anxiety creeping in as I drove to
the clinic.  What would happen if it were high again?  I obviously could not
count on sympathy from the nurse as a given factor.  What would I do if I lost
my pilot’s license?  I didn’t know how to do anything else.  I’d end up a
street bum or worse.

	I checked in at the front desk of the clinic and sat down to await
being called.  The Valium was working on me; I could feel it trying to mellow
me out, but the anxiety was stronger.  I willed myself to relax.  If my
pressure was low at home, it could be low here too.  The only thing working
against me was my own traitorous body, which was pumping adrenaline out into
my blood like I needed it to live

The anxiety worsened once I was called and placed in an exam room.  I sat on
the table, looking around at my surroundings, fidgeting nervously.  There
were anatomical charts posted everywhere, drawings made by small children, a
sink, a box of gloves, examination instruments. I tried to focus on some of
these things, willing myself to relax but it was to no avail.

The nurse entered to take care of the portions of the checklist that didn’t
require the doctor.  It was not the kindly, elderly nurse from before but a
young, very attractive oriental with a heavy accent.  She wrapped the blood
pressure cuff around my arm and applied her stethoscope.  As she inflated the
cuff I took a deep breath, willing my pressure to go down.  I could feel the
beating in my arm as the cuff deflated.  Her eyebrows raised a tad as she
listened.  When she was done, she frowned slightly and reinflated the cuff,
taking the pressure again.  When she was done with the second one, she looked
at me pointedly.

“Your pressure kind of high.”  She told me.

“What was it?”  I asked, sighing resignedly.  All my careful planning for
nothing.

“One sixty-four over one hundred six.”  She answered.  “That too high.”

“Yeah,” I nodded.  “I know.”  I took a deep breath, moving on to plan two;
friendly persuasion.  “Listen…” I said, and began explaining to her about
phobias and lost jobs and becoming a street bum.

She listened to my spiel but was having none of it.  She seemed quite
appalled at the suggestion that she write down a number a little lower than
what she’d actually gotten.  “Doctor will talk to you.”  She told me firmly,
ending the discussion.	She took my pulse, checked my eyesight, and sent me
off to the bathroom with a urine cup for the diabetes check.  When this was
all done I went back to the exam room, undressed to my underwear as I’d been
instructed, and put on the little gown that barely came to my upper thighs.
I sat modestly on the exam table, feeling like a condemned criminal awaiting
execution.

The doctor came in about five minutes later.  She was about forty-five years
old, slightly chubby but not grossly so.  Her face was plain, her head topped
with a mop of short, mousy brown hair.	She wore gray scrubs underneath a
white lab coat.  Her eyes appraised me as she entered, carrying my chart in
her hands.  She closed the door behind her.

“Hi.”  She said.  “I’m Doctor Jovy.”

I returned her greeting while she peered closer at my chart.

“An FAA physical huh?”  She said, more to herself than me.  “Your blood
pressure is too high.  It’s outside of parameters.”

“I know.”  I said, nodding.  “I have this phobia about having my blood
pressure taken you see.  Usually it’s…” I went back into my spiel again. 
Maybe the doctor would have a little sympathy.

She listened to my tale of woe, her face giving no indication whether or not
she pitied me.  When I finished she said, “Well, let’s do the rest of the
physical and then we’ll retake your pressure.  Maybe it’ll come down a little
and I can pass you.”

That was kind of a vague declaration, one that only increased my anxiety, but
events were clearly outside of my control.  She ran me through the standard
regiment of tests; listening to my lungs and heart, checking my hearing and
peripheral vision, checking my reflexes, making me run in place to check my
exercise pulse rate.  She had me stand and drop my underwear while she probed
my scrotum with a gloved hand and checked me for hernias.  All of this I
passed with flying colors.  Finally the last test was done and I pulled up my
underwear and sat back on the exam table.  She told me to roll up my sleeve
once again.

She applied the cuff and took my pressure herself, frowning as she did so.
“One sixty-two over ninety-eight.”  She declared.  “A little better but it
don’t quite ring the bell.”

“Damn.”  I muttered, frustrated, angry with my body, which couldn’t relax
itself.

“I’ll tell you what.”  She said.  “Why don’t you lay back on the table and
relax for a few minutes.  Think happy thoughts, try to will your pressure
down.  I’ll come back in a few minutes and take it again and we’ll see what
happens from there.”

“Okay.”  I nodded, feeling miserable.

I tried to do as she said but it was hopeless.  I was now facing the very real
possibility of losing my job and livelihood.  I couldn’t have been tenser if
one of the wings had suddenly fallen off of my plane at ten thousand feet
(after all, I was an accomplished skydiver too, a benefit of employment, and I
never went up without a parachute on).

She returned about five minutes later and shut the door behind her.  She asked
how I was feeling and I replied that I was miserable.  She gave me a slight
smile and then picked up the cuff and put her stethoscope in her ear.  I knew
before she even pumped it up that it was still high.

She shook her head sadly after releasing the air from the cuff.  “One eighty-
six over one hundred and twelve.”  She announced increduoulsly.  “You really
do have a phobia about this, don’t you?”

“That I do.”  I agreed miserably.

“Lay back again.”  She suddenly told me.  “Let’s see if we can get you
relaxed.”

I nodded, knowing it wasn’t going to work but seeing no option.  She told me
to close my eyes.  I did this also.  Suddenly her hands were upon me,
massaging my bare legs at the thighs.  She squeezed and kneaded the muscles
firmly, working her way north.

I jerked upward, surprised at what she was doing but she hushed me, pushing
me back to the table.  “It’s okay.”  She assured me, smiling.  “I’m going to
relax you, just lay back and be quiet.”

She continued to massage my legs, her hands working their way upward.  I was
surprised to find that it actually felt pretty good, her hands were soft and
feminine.  To my horror and surprise, I sprang a woody which, I was sure, was
pushing the front of my gown up noticeably.  What the hell was she doing?  Why
was my body reacting like this to it?  The doctor wasn’t ugly but she wasn’t
attractive either.  She was several years older and twenty or thirty pounds
heavier than what I was normally attracted to.  If I’d seen her in a bar I
never would have given her a second glance.  But my dick apparently had lower
standards than my brain.

She reached my upper thighs, now caressing more than massaging, and then her
hands were underneath the hem of the gown.  Her knuckles brushed against my
underwear-covered cock, making it twitch.  She gave up the pretense of massage
and began rubbing me through the cotton, squeezing my cock gently.

“Doc?”  I said, confused, looking at her face.  She had lust in her eyes.  She
was licking her lips.

“Shhh.”  She hushed me.  “I think I’ve found the problem.”  She grabbed the
waist of my underwear and tugged on them.  “Lift you hips.”  She told me.

Numbly, I did as she said.  She pulled my underwear down my legs and off,
dropping them to the floor at my feet.	She pushed the gown up onto my
stomach, leaving my erect dick waving in the breeze.  Her hand closed around
it and she began to move it slowly up and down, her eyes glued to it.

“Are you relaxing?”  She asked softly.

“I think so.”  I told her, finally seeing where this was heading.

“I don’t think you are.”  She replied.  “Let’s relax you some more.”

With that, she leaned forward and took me into her mouth.  Her lips and
tongue began bathing my cock with warm saliva as she moved her head slowly up
and down upon me.  Her hand began caressing my balls, feeling them, fondling
them.  I groaned in pleasure.  Off all the things I’d envisioned happening
today, a blowjob from a middle-aged doctor certainly had not been part of the
equation.

She sucked me for about a minute or so, just long enough for me to really get
into the sensation, and then she pulled back, looking at me pointedly.  “I
think you look a little more relaxed.”  She told me, opening her lab coat and
letting it drop to the floor.  Her hands grabbed the tie strings on her scrub
bottoms.  “But now I’m all tense.  You don’t want a tense doctor, do you?”

“No.”  I said, catching her drift quite nicely.

She smiled, releasing the bowknot on the scrub bottoms and letting them drop
to the floor.  Her legs were a little chunky but weren’t bad to look at.  Her
crotch was covered with a pair of white, cotton panties.  Moisture was
staining the strip that covered her vagina.  She stepped out of the scrubs
and then pushed her panties down, stepping out of them also.  Her bush was as
black as night and very thick.	I could make out a hint of her vaginal lips
peeking through the center of the tangled mass of hair.  Her odor struck my
nose.  It was sharp and very strong.  It had the effect on me that nature
intended of it.

She pulled herself onto the table, straddling my legs.  Slowly she began to
work her way towards my crotch.  She grabbed my cock with one hand and, as her
pussy came even with it, rubbed the head briefly through the swollen, very wet
lips.  Without inserting it, she continued moving forward, trailing her pussy
across my stomach and chest, and leaving a trail of moisture across my body.
She inched forward until her pussy was hovering right over my face.  I could
see the swollen lips now.  They were pink and puffy and nearly dripping with
her secretions.  Her clit was poking out of its hood.  The odor was
overwhelming in strength, seeming to make the humidity in the room rise.  Her
thighs were trembling.

“Well?”  She whispered as I stared at her pussy.  “Why don’t you relax me?”

I reached up and pulled her down onto my face, plunging my tongue between the
wet lips of her pussy.	She tasted tart, very strongly but I quickly got used
to it.	I fancied myself an accomplished pussy eater and I gave her my very
best, knowing that my job was probably riding on this.	I plunged in and out
of her, licked up and down, sucked each individual lip, and then finally went
to work on her clit.  I began to tease it with my tongue, making brief stabs
with the point and then finally sucked gently upon it.	She moaned mutely as
I did this, her sweaty, chunky thighs clenching around my ears.

She grabbed my hands and pulled them up under her scrub shirt, placing them on
her bra-covered breasts.  Her tits were pretty large I discovered and I
squeezed them through the bra for a moment and then forced my hands under the
cups, grabbing her bare flesh.  She moaned her approval as I tweaked her large
nipples with me fingers.  My mouth continued it assault on her clit, which
caused her crotch to begin slamming up and down on my face with increasing
rapidity.

She groaned and slammed her way through an orgasm, her vocalizations kept
muted.	Finally when her hip thrusting came to an end, she pulled her pussy
off of my face and moved it back south.  My hands slipped out from beneath
her bra and grabbed her slightly flabby waist.	She took hold of my cock once
again, poising her pussy over the top of it.  She rubbed the head through the
crease of her lips a few times, sending tingles through my body and
lubricating the top of my cock.  She then placed the head firmly between her
lips and allowed gravity to pull her down, engulfing me within her body.

I have to admit that it felt great, attractiveness or lack thereof aside. 
Her muscles clenched me in an experienced way as she began to move her pelvis
up and down upon me.  Juice began running down the shaft of my cock.  A loud
squishing sound accompanied each thrust.  She threw her head back and moaned
as she rode me.

She pumped up and down for a few minutes, making both of our respiratory
rates increase, and then she reached down to the bottom of her scrub shirt
and pulled up on it, removing it and tossing it over her shoulders, leaving
only an enormous bra between her bare tits and me.  This barrier was quickly
taken away as she reached behind her back and unfastened it, letting her
large tits bounce free.  They sagged considerably downward as their support
was removed and tossed over the good doctor’s shoulder to the pile on the
ground.  They certainly weren’t the nicest tits I’d ever seen before but they
weren’t repulsive or anything.	That was a good thing because once they were
free she leaned forward and shoved the left one into my mouth.	I sucked her
large nipple roughly, tonguing it while my hand squeezed and caressed the
right one. Her pelvic thrusts increased in speed and my own pelvis rose up to
meet each thrust.  There was a firm slap each time our pubic regions came
together.

 Briefly I wondered if people outside could hear what was going on.  What
would they think?  What would they do?	What would happen if one of them
decided to open the door?  But, like everything else about this doctor’s
visit, events were outside of my control.  If the doctor wasn’t worried about
this, why should I?  I concentrated on my fucking and sucking, giving her the
best I could offer.  The rich smell of fresh sex filled the room, making it
almost steamy in there.

It took what seemed like an eternity but finally she moaned her way through
another orgasm, her pelvis slamming mercilessly into mine.  Once that was over
with I sensed that time was growing short and it would be a good idea to come.
I concentrated fully upon the sensation of her silky smooth vaginal wall
rubbing against the sides and head of my engorged cock.  She really was a
pretty good fuck, I had to admit, better than I ever would have thought based
on exterior examination. I sucked harder on her tits, my hands now squeezing
the soft, flabby cheeks of her ass and pulling her roughly down onto me.  She
really seemed to like this.  I began to grunt with each thrust and soon the
feeling of impending orgasm was working its way through my body.

Orgasm slammed into me a moment later and I unloaded my balls, shooting jet
after jet of thick cum into her heaving body.  She groaned her approval as I
ejaculated.

Finally the thrusts slowed to a stop and she removed herself from my body.
Both of us were sweaty and stinking of lust.  A thick drool of sperm oozed
out of her as she stood back on the tile floor, running down her legs.	She
grabbed a handful of paper towels from the dispenser and wiped it away,
tossing them into the wastebasket.

She looked at me, a smile on her face.  “Wow.”  She said.  “I’m VERY relaxed
now.  How about you?”

I nodded enthusiastically, unable to formulate any words.

She picked up her panties and bra and quickly donned them, casting the
occasional nervous glance at the closed door behind her.  She then picked up
her scrubs and put them on.  Last, but not least, her lab coat was pulled back
around her shoulder.  She did this all silently, as I watched.

Finally, when she was fully dressed once again, she spoke.  “You look very
mellow now.”  She told me.  “I think your blood pressure is about one sixty
over ninety-two.”

This alarmed me to no uncertain degree.  That was two points outside of
parameters.  “But Doc,” I said.  “That’s not passing.”

“It is and it isn’t.”  She answered, smiling knowingly.  “I can pass you with
that blood pressure and issue you your yellow card as long as you’re under a
doctor’s care for hypertension, which you are.”

“Really?”  I asked, not knowing that particular piece of fine print.

“Indeed.”  She said.  “But…”

A catch.  There was always a catch.  “But?”  I asked.

“But, I can only issue a card that’s good for three months, renewal for
another three months pending a satisfactory return blood pressure.”

I stared at her, shocked.

“After two three month rechecks, if your pressure is still good, we can then
issue you the full two year card.”  She smiled.  “So, I guess I’ll see you in
three months then.”

“But my employer…” I started.

“Will probably pay for it.”  She assured me.  “And if they don’t,” She
shrugged, unconcerned.	“I guess you’ll have to cough up the twenty five
dollar fee for that yourself.”	She smiled, turning towards the door.  “Be
sure to make your appointment during the hours of 9:00 and 3:00 on a weekday.
 Ask for Doctor Jovy by name.  See you then.”  She told me, widening her
smile.	“I’ll be looking forward to it.  The receptionist will give you your
card.  Have a NICE day.  I know I will.”

She slipped out the door, closing it behind her.  Numbly I picked up my
clothes and began putting them on.  Oh well, I figured, mentally shrugging.
The first rule of life is: You gotta do what you gotta do.




-----------== Posted via Deja News, The Discussion Network ==----------
http://www.dejanews.com/       Search, Read, Discuss, or Start Your Own


-- 
+----------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `--------------+
| <story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us> | <story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us> |
| Archive site +----------------------+--------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ |
<http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/>----<http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/faq.html>