Sunday, November 16, 2008

I can help you

Sniff. Sniffle. Must be coming down with something. Is there a doctor in the house?

Doctor's Orders

The doctor spread my legs and tapped at me with an instrument I could not see. Tap. Tap.

He wore a white cloth mask. When he breathed, his lips etched against it. Inhale. Exhale. He breathed more loudly with every passing moment.

Tap. Tap.

The hard, cool instrument felt like metal or maybe wood. What modern physician would use wood?

"Well doctor?"

"Well, well young miss. I see."

"You see what?"

"I see the need for further exploration."

Bubbles in my brain. I began to giggle. Laughing gas? I don't remember any laughing gas.

The doctor gripped my thighs and spread my legs wider. He slipped one hand under my white medical robe.

"You might feel some discomfort while I palpate your abdomen." Lips on cotton.

Palpate. What a word. I turned my head and coughed.

"I didn't tell you to turn your head and cough," he said sternly. "You must do exactly as I say."

"So sorry doctor," I said, the bubbles multiplying in my skull, fizzing. Soon they'd be coming out of my ears. "It seemed like the thing to do."


"That's not my abdomen, doctor," I whispered.

"Quiet Miss."

Now his hands were fire on my thighs. The bubbles in my head became flames, flicking around the edges of my face, licking at my lips.

Tap. Tap. Legs spread, ruby red heels high in the air.

"Wider," he commanded. "I need to look inside."

The doctor removed his mask slowly, pulling gently on the strings until it came loose and floated to the floor. The doctor had a familiar face. His nose flared. Nice strong jaw. Nice warm hands.

Tap. Tap.

The instrument, warm like his hands, pressed against my wet opening. The doctor leaned over me. I pulled my feverish head up.

"What do you see? Is it bad? Is there a cure? Will I live?"

The doctor pushed my head to the paper pillow. He stared down at me, dark energy in his eyes, and shoved the instrument inside, latex coated fingers guiding it in deep.

"What is it, doctor? What is it?"

Flames burned across my forehead. Sweat tickled the backs of my thighs.

The doctor thrust it harder. I heard the paper rip beneath me on the exam table, felt the exposed vinyl adhere to my hot skin.

"It's very serious," he said, pulling the robe from my chest and throwing it across the room. He held my hands above my head and licked fire across my chest, popping my nipples in and out of his mouth. "But I can help you."

"Oh doctor," I said, twisting beneath his cock, digging the heels of my ruby red stilettos into his shoulders. The soft fabric of his buttoned-up, unzipped khakis tickled my ass. His belt buckle ground cool and hard against my burning clit. "Thank God for modern medicine."


Neve Black said...

I loved this! Awesome, Kirsten.

God, do you think I can get into see a doctor on a Sunday? House call maybe?

Kirsten Monroe said...

Hi Neve,

I'm pretty sure this doctor is always in....and he prefers house calls! He's the old-fashioned kind.

Hope you're having a sunny Sunday.