Page 8 of Dying for the Doctor

It made me feel beautiful for a moment.

Something I’ve never felt in my entire life, not once, not even close.

Doctor Drake raises an eyebrow as he peers down at me. “Soap model? Do they still advertise soap?”

I laugh involuntarily, shrugging as I sit up straight and hold my shoulders back, letting my bedraggled hair flop any which way like a mop. “I have no idea. Don’t watch TV, don’t go onSocial Media, and I block all internet ads when I do online research.”

Drake raises his other eyebrow. “So you’re ultra-focused on your PhD. No wonder you’re wound tighter than my cock.” His blue eyes go wide and he blinks twice, his big Adam’s apple moving as he swallows thickly, his cheeks darkening with color. “I mean wound tighter than my . . . clock. My watch, I mean.”

A giggle bursts out of me, and although his involuntary slip should have ratcheted up the awkwardness, for some reason it does the opposite. The tension breaks and my shoulders relax, my body settling back against the soft pillow, my breathing slowing to a steady pace as I smile up at Doctor Drake.

He’s clearly grinning beneath his mask, his eyes narrowed to mirth-filled slits of iridescent blue. For a moment he looks boyishly young, even though he’s probably ten years older than I am. It’s more noticeable because he actually looks younger than he did when he first walked into this room. There was a heaviness that hung around him earlier. Maybe even a darkness.

Though the darkness is still very much there in him, I realize when I see Drake’s gaze flick down to the hint of cleavage that’s peeking out the neckline of my awful hospital gown that looks like an oversized bib, like I’m about to sit down at an all-you-can-eat ribfest in rural Texas. Squirming my oversized butt beneath the sheets, that flash of insecurity and self-consciousness makes itself known again.

But it’s not as overwhelming as before, and when Drake’s gaze moves slowly down the outline of my not-so-petite body beneath the sheets. I notice how his breath catches, how he swallows thickly, how there’s bulging movement at the front of his pants again, like in his mind the sheets are gone and my legs are spread wide, his gloved fingers already working their way into my vagina, doing whatever needs to be done to get me to that place which I’ve never been able to get to by myself, haven’teven really attempted to reach very often, certainly not in the past two years as my PhD deadline loomed closer while my thesis seemed to get further away from completion.

“I’ve never done this before,” comes the whisper from my throat as I watch Doctor Drake’s gaze stop right where my hips quiver beneath the sheets.

“You don’t need to do anything.” Drake drags his gaze away from the outline of my hips. It seems to take some effort for him to do it. “I’m going to do everything for you. You just relax and let it happen, Wanda.” Now he smiles with his wicked blue eyes. “Remember, I’m a doctor. It’s just a clinical procedure. Simple as clockwork.”

“Cockwork?” My face reddens at my audacious little joke, but Drake chuckles deep in his throat, a mirth-filled growl that makes my toes curl and makes my pussy tighten in a way I don’t think it ever has, didn’t think it even could. “Sorry. Couldn’t resist.”

“Perfect. That’s exactly what you need to do. Not resist. Relax and let it happen.” Drake nods once, then frowns like he’s thinking. A moment later he’s striding across the room to the medical cabinet. He snatches a tube of something from the shelf, walks back over to the bed.

I glance at the tube. It says K-Y JELLY. My eyes go wide. Pussy tightens to where I don’t think even a pencil could fit inside right now.

“The nurses use it for rectal thermometers.” Doctor Drake squeezes a blob of the white creamy lubricant onto his purple-gloved fingertips, then spreads the lube so all five digits on his right hand glisten under the warm lights of this suddenly-hot hospital room, like the temperature just got ratcheted up to scorching the moment I realized where those thick long fingers are headed.

“Shh,” whispers the masked Doctor, stroking my hair gently with his left hand, the one without the lube. “Lie back, Wanda. Relax and let the doctor do his work. Let your body do what comes naturally.”

What if it naturally wants to pee, comes the mortified thought as my self-consciousness tries to stage an intervention, my common sense tries to push through the overwhelmingly surreal sense that this fantasy is more real than reality, that yes, it totally makes sense that a doctor making me come in my hospital bed will fix all the broken parts, mend my damaged heart, cure my sickness, heal my wounds.

It’s ridiculous, but damn, it does feel real in this moment. The way he’s gently stroking my hair is so relaxing, so soothing, so lovely . . . oh, now I’m lying down on my back, head resting on my soft pillow, body settling into the cozy groove of my warm mattress, sheets slowly getting pulled down, down past my tingling breasts, now past my quivering hips, and he’s still caressing my hair like I’m his little pet, his perfect patient, oh, and I feel the cool air swirling beneath my gown now, which means the sheets are gone, nothing but this hospital robe that felt like a crinkly bib earlier but is now a silk negligee, no underwear, bare bottom and naked pussy, and, oh God, my legs are being spread apart, and are those his fingertips snaking up the tender skin of my inner thighs, circling their way to my trembling clit, slick fingertips teasing their way past my quivering lips, gloved thumb pressing gently on my little hood, now pulling it back, oh fuck, what’s happening, how can it possibly feel like this, how can this possibly be happening, is it really happening, is anything real at all, oh, oh,oh!

My head jerks up and my eyelids pop open and I let out a shuddering moan as my body convulses like I’m dying. Time seems to stop, and my mouth hangs open as I stare down along my body, see my gown pushed up over my hips, my moundraised, Drake’s thumb and fingers buried in the delicate curls hiding my sex, his hand moving back and forth as I shudder and shake.

“Oh, shit, what’s happening?” My words come out as urgent gasps through my shuddering breaths. Drake’s gaze is locked on my face, his eyes penetrating my soul even as his fingertips slide into my slit, spreading my opening gently and carefully, gloved fingers gliding past my slick labia, entering my vagina, curling gently as his fingertips drag against the inner walls, now two fingers, oh, oh, and he’s making little circles at the rim of my pussy, coaxing my hole to open wider, oh damn, oh hell, ohfuck!

And now my vision goes black and then suddenlyexplodesinto light, streaks of purple and red and blue and violet, and I know I’m coming, I know I’m going, I know I’m being reborn, I know I’m dying.

My head slams back into the pillow as the orgasm rips through me like I’ve been struck by lightning. My hips jerk upwards, the motion driving Drake’s fingers deep into my pussy and making me whimper and wail, thrash and flail. I have no idea if I’m being loud or not, if I’m screaming or sighing, being born or dying. All I know is that my body has never felt this way, that I’m somehow outside my body yet totally inside it, deep inside, so damn deep inside.

“That’s it, baby,” comes the doctor’s growling voice, his own arousal unmistakable, his own desire rippling dangerously through the crackling air surrounding my squeaking hospital bed. “You’re perfect, Wendy. That’s perfect. Come again. Come all over my fingers. There we go. Perfect. You’re fucking perfect, Wendy. Oh, hell, you’re so perfect. So mine. So fuckingmine!”

His unexpectedly personal words unleash another vicious climax, and I squeal in shock as my pussy clamps tight over Doctor Drake’s fingers, locking them in place as he fucks mewith them, his thumb grinding into my clit and sending torrents of ecstasy through my heaving body.

I come again, yet again, once more and again, still again, oh again, yes again, fuck again, body jerking, neck straining, lips quivering, eyelids fluttering, each successive orgasm so intense that only when I feel the doctor’s masked face buried in my bush, his tongue pushing through the surgical barrier and entering my pussy to join his fingers that I realize he just said I’m his, all his, totally his, is now eating me out as he finger-fucks me to glory, that mask now ripping off his face as he growls into my bush, slides both hands under my big ass, raises my hips off the mattress and drives his thick tongue all the way into my cunt.

My vision is a blur of colors and patterns, my body a mess of sensation so vivid it can’t be real. My hands are buried in Drake’s hair, my fingers clawing and digging, holding on as he laps at my pussy, then drives his tongue back inside and curls it up to bring forth the crescendo to my climax, the peak of my passion, unleashing an avalanche of ecstasy that has me tumbling down a rabbithole of ruinous pleasure, totally annihilating my grip on reality, shattering me while making me whole at the same time, for all of time.

My breath comes out in short, savage spurts like I’m an animal in heat, a she-beast being taken by her feral mate. Drake is hungrily kissing my wet mound, still carefully fucking me with his gloved fingers as I slowly come back to the real world, his gloved hand snaked up beneath my scrunched-up gown, fingers pinching my left nipple as I whimper and shudder, groan and mutter.

Now Drake senses me relax, and he looks up from between my legs. His eyes are blurry with arousal, like he’s as messed up as I am right now, as unmoored from reality as I feel right now. Then he blinks twice and snaps back into focus, like he’s only just realized his mask is off and his face is covered with a mixtureof lube and pussy-juice. “Oh, fuck me. Are you all right, Wanda? Listen, I—”

But the rest of whatever he’s saying is drowned out by the real world violently knocking at the door.

“Wanda?” comes Mama’s voice from outside the door, high-pitched with concern. “Wanda, it’s your mother. Are you all right? Doctor Lenworth is here to see you. He says Doctor Drake isn’t supposed to be in there. Wanda, can you open this door, please? Your father and I are worried. Why is the door locked? Doctor Lenworth says—”

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