Page 10 of Damaged
Dr. Graveheart’s eyes finally make their way back to my face. Tipping a bottle of alcohol that I'm sure he pulled from the locked cabinet onto the little cotton ball in his hand, he says, “This might sting a bit,” before dabbing it to the cut over my eye. The smell from the liquid saturates the room as if he had poured out the entirety of the bottle.
My eye twitches a bit from the vapor of the liquid, not from the pain. But other than that, no other indication that he just touched an open wound crosses my face.
It does sting a bit, but nothing on my scale of pain. The corners of his lips lift into a dark smirk as he presses even harder, making me hiss. That’s the only show of any emotion crossing his face, and that’s honestly more than I’ve seen from him yet.
He knows of my predilection for pain and seems to want to test it. I don’t give any more reaction as he continues cleaning down my face, as my eyes focus on his steel gray blue eyes.
Covering the cut with two small butterfly stitch bandages, he moves around to my back and begins cleaning the wounds on my lower back. I take a deep inhale of breath through my teeth at those, for some reason, they seem to hurt a bit more.
The pain from him cleaning my wounds is making my heart race. I'm enjoying the pain mixed with the caretaking just a little too much.
Working quickly to clean me up, he covers that area with a bit of gauze and some waterproof tape. I zone out as he does everything he needs to, just as I’m trying to calm my racing libido.
I can feel the throbbing down between my legs at my core.
This isn't good.
This is my doctor.
After everything that needs to be treated is, he cleans up the empty packages, throwing them in the waste receptacle. Walking back around, he puts the alcohol back into one of the overhead cabinets and locks it.
He turns back around, leaning against the counter, crossing his arms over his wide chest. His light steel blue eyes roam my naked body as he studies me.
Normally, I wouldn’t feel anything from being naked, but his perusal of me makes me feel a bit aroused yet uncomfortable for feeling like that. This man is nearly twice my age.
“Is that it? Can I go back now?” I ask, shifting to move off the table.
“Not yet,” he says, pulling a small rolling desk chair out from under the counter and sitting down. He’s no longer eye level, but he still feels large in this tiny ass room. “I know our session isn’t until tomorrow, but let’s talk now.” He crosses one leg over the other, leaning back in the small office chair, resting his clasped hands on his knee.
Looking down at my own naked form, lifting an eyebrow, I then look at him through my lashes. “Like this?” I ask, hoping he will get the hint.
One side of his mouth lifts in a sinister smirk that absolutely doesn’t reach his eyes. If anything, it makes him look even moremenacing. His eyes begin a downward trajectory of my body, slowly moving over every intimate part. I feel his focus on me as if it were a physical touch.
Caressing.
Arousing.
And totally forbidden.
Without me even wanting it to, my body reacts to his attention. My nipples harden, and my pussy gets wet. For some wild and crazy reason, my psychiatrist is an area I would have never thought to go.
Which makes me want to play even more. He hasn’t shown me any kind of attention like this during the sessions we’ve had.
Dr. Graveheart is an older man, probably in his mid to late forties, but with no gray hair whatsoever. His jet black hair is shaved on the sides, faded up to slightly longer hair on top, styled to within an inch of its life–enough to grab onto, but not enough to fall into his eyes. High cheekbones, a chiseled jaw, and a plush bottom lip but thinner top one…he’s not a bad-looking man. Not someone I would chase after, per se, but pretty hot for his age.
By the time his attention reaches my face again, he answers me. “Sure. Why not?”
My eyes flit from side to side, trying to gauge exactly what he has planned if my being naked isn’t an issue. Maybe he just wants to make me feel uncomfortable to knock me off kilter. He probably thinks I will answer more honestly.
My honesty usually depends on the question asked. If it’s something I don’t mind telling, then I’m honest. If it’s something I hold as one of my closest secrets, then I make some shit up. I will never let him see the real me…not ever!
Glancing to the door over his shoulder, I notice that he must have locked it when he came in here. I didn’t even hear it. My heart begins to race even harder with all the speculations of whatexactly he has planned now. Maybe he just locked it because I was unclothed. Or…he has plans for me because I don't have any clothes on.
He clears his throat, wanting my attention back on him. My eyes move quickly back to his, and I see his eyes shift to between my legs, which have separated just slightly. He gives a little chuckle as his eyes slowly move back up to mine.
“Let’s talk about how pain turns you on…Katarina.”
Awicked smile turns up the edges of my lips at his words. That is one thing I have been very forthcoming about in my sessions with him. I am a self-proclaimed masochist and I enjoy pain. Not just during sex, but all the time.
