





                       FOREIGN FORMS

                             by

                          Joe Doe
 

AN AMERICAN COUPLE WITNESSES AN EXTRAORDINARY EXAMINATION ABROAD. 

          

"NEXT!" the nurse boomed. 

My wife and I watched as a petite and extremely pretty female of 
Japanese descent approached the scowling nurse behind the desk.  
Like many well-kept Oriental women, she could have been of almost 
any age, from early 20s to late 40s.  By her dress, carriage, and 
demeanor, I could tell she was definitely a woman, but I still 
thought of her as a "girl." 

"Nationality?" the nurse demanded. 

"American," the girl said, softly, offering some documents.  "I've 
already had my physical, and I just need you to validate the form 
indicating that I’ve had my shots." 

Susan and I leaned in a bit closer, since those were the same forms 
I needed to get validated.  It was a routine procedure, typical of 
the kind of bureaucratic hassles one experiences living abroad.

"You need exam," the nurse rasped, in her broken English.  "Jus' 
'cause you pretty American girl, you think you get away with 
ever'thin'.  But you wrong.  I don' care if you rich.  You go 
behin' curtain an' take off clothes.  All clothes!  Ever'thin' 
off!" 

The Asian-American girl looked around the room nervously.  It was 
full of dark-skinned factory workers and villagers awaiting routine 
medical procedures.  Since she was so pretty -- and a foreigner -- 
all of the men (and many of the women) were clearly amused at the 
thought of her undressing. 

The primitive, crowded clinic was not the sort of the place where 
a modest young American businesswoman would want to take off her 
clothes. 

"Hurry up," the nurse barked.  "Don' have all day.  You no 
especial...no especial." 

The girl nervously went to the center bay and carefully pulled the 
curtain shut.  The curtain left her exposed from the knees down and 
the neck up.  We could see her blushing and biting her lip as she 
reluctantly began stripping behind the flimsy barrier. 

The nurse nodded to her smaller assistant, who then walked behind 
the curtain and flipped on a bright light.  Unknown to the girl 
this perfectly revealed the silhouette of the small portion of her 
striptease that the ragged curtain hid. 

The nurse returned to her paperwork as the girl stripped. 

"Is there a gown I can wear?" the girl asked, nervously.  "When 
will the doctor get here?" 

"No doctor," the nurse said, rising from her chair.  "I examine 
you.  I go over you real good." 

The embarrassed girl gasped and let out a squeak as the nurse 
pulled the curtain back and revealed her to the room.  She was 
wearing nothing but minuscule white panties with little purple 
flowers on them, and her hands immediately flew up to cover her 
tiny breasts. 

"Close the curtain!" the girl gasped. 

"You not especial, American," the nurse sneered as she turned off 
the light.  "I in charge here.  We no in America, anymore.  You 
strip when I say, an' go where I say.  Now I weigh you, Miss 
Skinny." 

The pretty girl tried to turn towards the scale that was right 
behind her, but the hulking, dark-skinned nurse would have none of 
it.  She grabbed the petite, half-naked girl and dragged her across 
the examination floor and back towards the scale in the waiting 
room. 

The muscular nurse was almost a foot taller and a hundred pounds 
heavier than the blushing Oriental.  With one hand around the 
girl's neck and the other gripping her ear, the nurse easily 
dragged her forward into the crowd of grinning villagers. 

The tiny girl uncovered her breasts and grabbed the end of the 
counter in an attempt to keep from being dragged into the chuckling 
crowd.  Her resistance was rewarded with a series of sharp slaps 
across her panty-covered bottom. 

She gave up, and the nurse brusquely pushed her onto the scale.  
Clearly mortified, the girl stared straight ahead at the wall and 
tried to ignore the crowd.  "Hands at side," the nurse barked.  
"Hands at side." 

A few of the crude factory workers whistled as the girl's small 
tits came into view.  Her nipples were erect. 

"Need to weigh YOU," the nurse said.  "Not weigh underpants." 

The embarrassed girl gasped as the burly nurse briskly whisked her 
underpants down to her ankles. 

She struggled to keep her panties on, but, when she bent over to 
retrieve them, she was rewarded with another nasty SPANK! across 
her upturned bottom.  "Hold estill," the nurse said, in her heavily 
accented English.  "Need naked, for right weigh." 

The nurse easily wrested the girl’s panties off her feet.  "These 
whore panties," she said, contemptuously, as she held up the 
garment in front of the grinning men.  "Pink form for you," she 
added, stuffing the underpants into her pocket. 

For no apparent medical reason, the nurse insisted that the 
blushing girl turn and face the room for "correc' weigh."  The 
audience, which had been enjoying a view of her pert backside, 
watched closely as she turned. 

Her breasts were small, and her pubic hair was closely trimmed.  
She was naked except for the elegant and expensive wire-rimmed 
glasses that further marked her as an intellectual, an outsider, 
an American. 

The scowling nurse finally smiled as she slowly...slowly...slowly 
adjusted the balance weights, obviously reveling in the proud and 
educated American’s humiliation and discomfort. 

When they went back to the examination table, I thought for a 
moment the nurse was going to take the girl's blood pressure. 

The girl gasped as the nurse snapped the first metal examination 
stirrup into place. 

"I don't need a pelvic," she cried.  "I was examined back in the 
States, and I filed my papers with the government.  I just need 
you to stamp my papers." 

"You a whore, a 'puta,'" the nurse sneered.  "Mus' check whore 
pussy for bugs an' lice an' disease.  You filthy.  You dirty 
American girl.” 

The patient struggled hard, but it took the hulking nurse only a 
minute to strap the woman's arms to the frame of the table. 

And it took even less time to strap her feet into the stirrups. 

"You too dry, an' I don' have lube," the nurse said, wickedly.  
"I use this an' get you wet." 

I watched spellbound as the nurse took a big vibrator out of a 
drawer, plugged it in, and switched it on. 

"Please, no!" the girl shouted.  "Not in front of everyone.  Close 
the curtain." 

"In America I clean toilets for 3 years," the nurse said, as she 
held up the pink vibrator in front of her patient's face.  "Clean 
your crappers 3 years.  American women, they think they so 
especial.  You not especial here.  Here, I in charge." 

I watched, mesmerized, as the nurse began to slowly masturbate the 
horrified girl with the vibrator. 

I turned to look at my wife, who was also watching spellbound as 
the nurse expertly performed her work. 

"Make her juicy," one man said. 

"Yellow Yankee 'puta,'" a woman spat. 

"I think she in heat," another man said.  "I smell her from here." 

I looked at my wife closely; the effect on her was electric.  She 
was sitting in her chair with her hands between her legs, and I 
could clearly see her nipples poking through her white blouse. 

I could tell Susan was aroused, but no one in the room was looking 
at her.  All eyes were focused on the examination table. 

The nurse brought her bound captive to one orgasm...then two...then 
three....  She didn't stop until the girl was panting on the table, 
a wasted wreck. 

When she was at last satisfied that the girl was sufficiently
self-lubricated, the nurse replaced the vibrator and put on a 
pair of dishwasher's rubber gloves.  She then began examining 
her patient's crotch, with great gusto.

The examination was vigorous and prolonged, but finally she 
stepped back and laughed.  "No bugs...no disease....  All good."
  
She bundled up the girl's clothes and tossed them into a cheap 
cardboard box, which she handed to the assistant nurse, who carried 
it away somewhere.  Presently, she returned with a bowl of pinkish 
foam that the big nurse proceeded to spread thickly over the bound 
girl's crotch. 

"This burn an' itch, but clean off hair for a month.  Whore not 
have hair.  Hair on whore pussy breed disease," the nurse said. 

The girl lay passively on the table, too exhausted to protest.  
The nurse opened up the girl's mouth, pulled back her lip, dried 
it off, and began to tattoo something onto the underside with an 
electric device. 

"What's she doing?" my wife asked. 

"They register prostitutes with the government here," I explained.  
"The assistant at the desk is filling out a pink form.  After the 
girl's registered, she'll have to go in for a 'pussy check' once a 
week at the police station, where they'll examine her for disease.  
I don't imagine she’ll like having to stand in the lobby of the 
station naked for an hour every week waiting for some tubby vice 
cop to order her up on his desk for an examination." 

Susan said nothing, but I could see that her fingers were busy.  
Fortunately, everyone in the station was still staring at the 
foam-covered patch between the naked girl's legs, and no one was 
paying any attention to my wife. 

When the tattooing was finished, the nurse used a pitcher of ice 
water to rinse off the girl's crotch before releasing her straps. 

"She's pretty," my wife said, considering the girl on the table.  
"But I'm prettier." 

"Papers say you stay at Hilton," the nurse said, as she pulled her 
victim off the table.  "This bus token get you back.  Bus stop a 
mile down road.  You walk.  Good exercise for you." 

"But what about my clothes?" the girl asked. 

"I keep clothes an' purse, check for lice.  Come back tomorrow.  
You wear this home." 

The nurse handed the girl a flimsy paper gown.  Although she was 
short, the gown only covered her crotch if she hunched over, a 
position that forced her bottom to stick out of the back of the 
gown. 

"I give forms to police," the nurse said.  "Police send you to 
'chulo' -- pimp.  He put you to work quick." 

"I'm not a whore!" the girl shouted.  "I'm negotiating a business 
deal." 

"Chulo call men you negotiate with, ask if they want fuck you," the 
nurse said with a laugh.  "He call factory, so all men in this room 
can fuck you, too!  They fuck you good, American whore.  You not so 
proud then, I think." 

The nurse glanced out the window.  "You go now!" she said.  "It 
rain soon, an' pretty dress not so good in rain.  I turn in papers 
an' pink form an' passport to police.  They give to pimp, an' he 
put your eskinny American ass to work.  You leave country when HE 
say!" 

The nurse once again slapped the girl's exposed behind, and she 
obediently scampered to the door while trying unsuccessfully to 
cover her nakedness.  The men and women in the room laughed and 
jeered. 

My last sight of the girl was through the window as she gingerly 
ran barefoot down the dirt road towards the bus stop. 

"Next!" the nurse barked. 

I was more than a little nervous as I approached the desk with my 
passport and form. 

Like the businesswoman who had just left, I was an American who 
needed to have his inoculation form stamped. 

The nurse said nothing, but quickly reached for a stamp on her desk 
and stamped my form.   She looked past me towards the waiting room 
and called out, "NEXT!" 

I looked at her in surprise.  Was I done already?  My processing 
had taken less than 5 seconds! 

"Excuse me," I heard my wife's voice say.  "I'm with him, and I 
need some help, too.  I was wondering if you could check my blood 
pressure." 

I looked at her in surprise.  Why would my trim, athletic wife need 
to have her blood pressure checked?   

Susan handed over her passport to the scowling nurse, softly 
saying, “I’m an American, too....  A tax attorney.  Can you help 
me?" 

"Pink form," the nurse said, as she handed my wife's passport to 
her assistant.  The assistant gave my wife a playful wink and 
began copying my wife's name onto a dreaded pink form. 

The nurse turned back to my wife and frowned.  "You go behin' 
curtain an' take off clothes," she barked.  "All clothes!  
Ever'thin' off.  You hurry.  You not especial." 

Susan feigned confusion.  "But I could just roll up my sleeve...." 

Her resistance was rewarded with a sharp slap across her bottom.  
She quickly scampered into the examination bay and carefully closed 
the curtain.  The nurse walked in behind her and turned on the 
light so that the silhouette of her undressing was visible to the 
crowd. 

Every eye in the room was glued to my wife as she slowly unbuttoned 
her blouse.  Her expression was tense, but I also detected just 
the faintest trace of a smile. 


END



Edited by C. Lakewood 
