Scuttle's Things and Stuffs

Oh, FINE.

Ajax performs feats of strength - including bending metal bars and lifting people over his head with ease - to the delight and amazement of all. He also acts as Clancy's enforcer, when something a little more solid than words is needed to clear up a situation.


Born in an impoverished backwater to an uncaring mother and a phantom sperm donor, Ajax learned at an early age that his fists could get him out of - and into - more troubles than his mouth ever would. Abandoned while still an adolescent, he bounced for a short time through a few foster homes, each time being thrown out after he bloodied the face of one of the other children in the home. Before he was a teenager, he was living on the street, bringing an end to his formal education.

Despite his marginalized existence, he grew quickly and developed a strength that seemed to come from somewhere other than his frame.

With no truly marketable skills, and a growing desire to leave the place he'd called home despite never having one himself, the appearance of Clancy and his Traveling Show came at the perfect time. Escaping a bad situation that was on the verge of growing worse, he joined with Tipton's and never looked back.

Scuttle Buttin' said:

Ajax - The Strongman​

Ajax performs feats of strength - including bending metal bars and lifting people over his head with ease - to the delight and amazement of all. He also acts as Clancy's enforcer, when something a little more solid than words is needed to clear up a situation.

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He picks things up.... and puts them down...

LMAO

(SORRY, but I just got that image from that silly commercial in my head)

I heard this song a couple days ago, and it hasn't left my head since. Incredible.

Godspeed You Black Emperor - The Dead Flag Blues

The car is on fire, and there's no driver at the wheel
And the sewers are all muddied with a thousand lonely suicides
And a dark wind blows

The government is corrupt
And we're on so many drugs
With the radio on and the curtains drawn

We're trapped in the belly of this horrible machine
And the machine is bleeding to death

The sun has fallen down
And the billboards are all leering
And the flags are all dead at the top of their poles

It went like this:

The buildings tumbled in on themselves
Mothers clutching babies
Picked through the rubble
And pulled out their hair

The skyline was beautiful on fire
All twisted metal stretching upwards
Everything washed in a thin orange haze

I said, "Kiss me, you're beautiful -
These are truly the last days"

You grabbed my hand
And we fell into it
Like a daydream
Or a fever

We woke up one morning and fell a little further down
For sure it's the valley of death

I open up my wallet
And it's full of blood

Hello

Hi Friend,

I thought I'd leave this since you were the one to introduce me to his magic voice and I've not stopped listening. I hope you are well. I am.

Hugs!!!
Sia

Let Them Talk

SiaKlynn said:

Hi Friend,

I thought I'd leave this since you were the one to introduce me to his magic voice and I've not stopped listening. I hope you are well. I am.

Hugs!!!
Sia

Let Them Talk

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It's Sia!

You know what's crazy? I was both just talking about you the other day, and just listening to him doing a cover of Chuck Berry's You Never Can Tell.

I hope you're doing well! We'll have to catch up soon.

Scuttle Buttin' said:

It's Sia!

You know what's crazy? I was both just talking about you the other day, and just listening to him doing a cover of Chuck Berry's You Never Can Tell.

I hope you're doing well! We'll have to catch up soon.

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Whoa, that is a little weird. I must have picked up on the wave lengths. I hope we can bump into each other soon!

AmbrosiaCaress said:

He picks things up.... and puts them down...

LMAO

(SORRY, but I just got that image from that silly commercial in my head)

Click to expand...

love those commercials if we're talking about the same ones

She was without a head.

That wasn't entirely true, of course, it was still there, attached to her body and functioning and all. She was awake and conscious and, mostly, unharmed, her eyes probably open right on the other side of that little wall. The truth of the matter, the real truth of it, was that he just didn't care about her head. Her tears, her open and willing mouth, he screams and cries and pleas, it was all ignored. Or would be, shortly.

He wanted her as nothing more than a body tonight, aware of little except what was happening below her neck. Not even offered the sense of sight, a blindfold slipped snugly across her eyes after he'd had her in this position. Hearing, too, was gone, noise-cancelling headphones pressed over her ears, another sense robbed. Her brain would have to be short-circuited indirectly, but all in good time.

She was naked, spread, her ankles tied to the posts that held the track for the stocks her head was through. The air in the room moved freely over her body, between her open thighs, across the hard buds of her nipples, along naked, exposed skin. He stood, a stark contrast to her with his ability to move freely, fully dressed, he stood a foot or so away, and simply let his eyes wander her. Let her feel his eyes on her. Watch her hips lift a bit off the bench she was laid on, shift side to side in the air a little, like a strange pendulum, before settling back. Uncomfortable in that position, perhaps, or just uncomfortable with the waiting maybe. Wondering what was happening.

The instruments, the blindfolds and bondage, it wasn't typical. Sometimes, though, special situations called for special tools, and so here she was, head head entirely taken out of play. Forgotten about by him. Soon to be forgotten about by her. It was the point of the whole thing, after all.

He stepped forward then, the sound of his movement irrelevant with the silence imposed by her headphones. His hand was open, palm down as he struck across her belly. The sound echoed around the room, her muscles tensing as her body reacted in front of him. He smiled, grimly, at the red hand print that sprung to life on her pale skin, and waited for her to settle back down.

The next time he hit her, his hand was between her breasts, a dull thud against her breast bone that send a dull thud through her body, retrieved a low grunt from her lips. The next slap was quicker, swift and hard against one breast, atop one nipple, then the other. He stayed here for a moment, a sudden departure from the methodical path he'd seemed to step onto. Her breasts were battered under his hand, the only relief given to one side when the other was being met by his hand.

His tactics shifted again, then, both hands involved then, the rapid sound of skin meeting skin echoing off the walls, partially drowning out whatever sounds may be spilling from the head she no longer possessed.

And then, as sudden as it had all begun, he was gone.

A thin sweat stood out on his upper lip, and his eyes watched the redness deepen on her as he moved down to the end of the bench. Both of them were breathing harder than they had been a few moments before, but rest would be for later. For after.

Curling his fingers so the pads were just above his palms, he pressed his fingernails against the slope of each of her calves, and etched long, hard lines down past her knees and over her thighs. A smack with each hand followed at the end, and then he lifted his hands, pushed his nails against a different part of her calves, and forged his way down her legs again. Turning his hands so the backs were nearly against each other, the nails found the inside of her thighs this time, pressed into the tender expanse near her pelvis, and new paths were carved up to her calves.

The bottoms of her feet took his attention then, a hard slap delivered to each one, then again. And again.

There was a zone he sank into, a place he found where he operated almost on autopilot, running on instinct more than thought, and he could feel himself there now. He shifted his attention again.

With a slight step back, his right hand slapped across the inside of one thigh just past her knee, then his left lifted and hit the other side. Steadily, almost methodically, he worked his way down, down, down, the length of her legs quickly running out. His hand moved over her, his eyes focused entirely on her exposed cunt, and he brought it down. And stop, just short. A flicker of his eyes up, at the wall where her body now began and ended, and he couldn't help the small laugh that slipped from him.

When he did touch her then, it wasn't to hit her. Instead, his fingers pressed against her, parted her open. Exposed her clit. With stiff fingers and an open palm, he hit her then, slaps against tender, pink, open. The rhythm slowed, spread out, but each strike against her was harder, more forceful.

And then, he hit her, and his hand didn't lift for another. Instead it shifted, his fingers moved, and they pushed into her. He curled his fingers inside her, quick little strokes taken while his body shifted to change his angle, and his other hand began hitting her again.

The urge to talk to her, to let awful, horrible things wash over her had to be fought, and so instead he turned that energy to her torment. He didn't care about her orgasm, didn't care about any cries for permission she may fling his way, her head a long forgotten part of her now. She couldn't hear anything he said, anyway. She could cum, she could remain close but never quite make it there for all he cared now. She was a body now, an entity without a head, a helpless doll unable to ask for, or receive mercy.

Fuck. He was hard.

Change of plans, then.

He shifted again, the hand that had been hitting her pulling away, while inside her his fingers still moved. It was another moment before they, too, left her, and were replaced with the swollen head of his cock. His hands, both of them wet with her, moved around to tuck in where her legs met her hips, and he forced himself into her. The rough material of his jeans were against her thighs, making it evident that he'd only pulled down his zipper to free himself. He wasn't even going to undress to fuck her.

His hips moved, a smooth and steady rhythm, opening her with his every last inch. Making himself slick with her. And then, hardly two minutes after he'd started, he pulled free of her, one hand slapping across her wet, empty cunt.

His hands moved behind her knees and he pushed, lifting her hips up some. Dropping his head, he spat on her once, twice, letting her hang with her hips in the air for a moment, the spit sliding against her, moving down. Straightening, he moved closer, the head of his cock finding her ass this time. He felt her muscles tense, her hips shift, but no sounds came from her. None he heard, at least. How could she make any sounds, with no mouth?

With a push of his hips, he was inside her again, steadily pushing until she'd taken him all once more. His hands left the backs of her knees, a strong slap left across her thigh as his hands traveled down. Holding himself inside her, feeling her shift and tighten around him, his fingers pinched her clit between the length of his thumb and the side of his forefinger, his grip sudden and tight.

Using that grip to keep her in place, he began to fuck her then, a long, quick pull back before he slammed home again, and again, and again. His hand would release it's grip on her occasionally, randomly, just long enough to deepen the redness in her breasts, or to lean over her and slip his hands around her throat just below the hole in the wall. One couldn't breathe without a head, probably, but there were still times she needed reminding that he'd take that, as well, if he wanted. When he wanted.

His hands roamed her body freely, openly, nipples pinched in the same fashion as her clit, pulled and twisted as he pounded into her, made her body his little anal toy. He worked to bruise her, beat her, leave her marked and hurting, the pain focused entirely in her body, until he could hold back no longer.

Pulling free, his hand closed around the length of his cock and pumped once, twice. With an arch and a groan, unheard by her, he spilled his seed across her body, long streams stretching from her collarbones to the juncture of her thighs. Every drop was left on her, the final decoration on the battered, headless little doll.

A small step back was taken then, his cock still hanging from the front of his jeans, and his attention focused on her clit again. Quick, hard, open-handed slaps found her again, and again, and again, and again, relentless even when the muscles in his arm began to protest. The cum left across her was an unplanned indulgence, a use of her holes he just couldn't pass up. This, now, the assault between her thighs, was the real finish. Time was a strange and fluid thing then, and he stopped only when he sensed it was enough... though for her or him, he wasn't sure.

Two fingers pushed into her again, fucked her quickly, coating each digit in her so they could be withdrawn, and leave a final, wet slap against her.

Straightening, his cock was tucked back into his pants, the zipper pulled back up.

Turning from her, he left her bound and open, wearing his seed, and set off in search of a glass of water.

Scuttle Buttin' said:

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Eeeeeeeeeee!

I knew you'd like that one.

Well.. "like."

(Let's just say: Trigger warnings out the ass. Read with caution.)

The building was nothing that would stand out, a sand-colored office building that housed doctor’s offices stacked on top of each other like pancakes. Winter had taken full hold, and the snow outside meant that there was a line of dark, rubber mats stretched inside the building. Some poor soul trying to fight the unwinnable battle of keeping salt and wet outside of the polished lobby, off the reflective marbled tiles. By 10:00 a.m. the battle was over, the war just begun. By the time she arrived for her appointment at 5:00 p.m., her feet made a squish squish squish all the way to the bank of elevators.

She stared at herself in the bronze reflection, smiled a bit nervously at the figure that stared back at her. Her shape was hidden beneath a heavy coat, a scarf, thick, warm boots. Even the dark curls of her hair were almost entirely covered by the thick wool hat on her head. The tip of her nose was red, as it always was in the cold, though the reflection was not quite precise enough to see a detail like that. Her breasts were full and firm beneath the coat, her tummy flat in the way that a tummy was, the soft slope up from her ribs a place where her husband liked to rest his hand as he fell asleep next to her. If it wasn’t cupping her breast when she played little spoon, anyway.

She smiled again at her reflection, thought of the way he liked to stroke his thumb across the pink bud of her nipple. Feel it harden against his touch. Feel her bottom, firm and young, arch against him. Trying is what they’d call it, though the idea that the things that followed could create a person that was innocent seemed almost ridiculous in it’s irony. They weren’t the “innocent” kind of people. Her gloved hand came to rest on the spot where her coat covered her belly, her head tipping as she considered that part of her in the reflection. She wondered if it would return to this state after, nicely shaped, soft yet firm. She wondered-

If they saw her staring with a faraway look in her eyes when the door opened. The elevator was packed, people leaving for the day crammed in the little box, surely testing it’s weight limit. A couple of them stole a second glance at her as they passed, interested that someone would be going up this time of night. She wanted to tell them that work didn’t think wanting-to-be-maternity leave was a thing, and so she had to come at this hour if she wanted to get a full check.

Well, no, she didn’t want to tell them that. She didn’t want to tell them anything. But it did have the benefit of being the truth, at least.

Stepping on after the last person finally cleared out, she stabbed the button for the eighth floor, and then leaned back against the wall of the elevator. Pressing her back flat against the wall, she held her neck stiff and her head against the wall, the only thing she’d found that would reduce that strange vertigo feeling in her head as she rose up into the building. It was a straight shot, a non-stop flight. Who else was going up at this hour? Pushing off the wall with the gentle ding of the elevator, she stepped out onto the quiet floor and made her way down the hall to the boring brown door that allowed entry to the office of her doctor.

It was locked.

Frowning, she tried turning the other way, then tried pulling. No use. Was she too late? Or did they forget about her? Taking a half step back, she glanced up the hallway in the direction she’d come, as if hoping someone with the answer to her unasked questions would just happen to be walking by, ready to offer assistance. No such luck. Empty and quiet.

Like me. Ha.

“Well,” she said to herself, heaving out a sigh and turning her eyes back to the locked door. She never did find out what words were going to follow that entry, the door opening without warning instead, one of the smiling nurses poking her head through the space she created between door and frame.

“Miss Delaney?” she asked, smile still plastered across her face.

“That’s me!” came the reply, with a nod in tow.

“Excellent, come on in.” The door was opened further, the nurse turning sideways to create enough space for her to pass through. She turned herself and slid past her, back-to-front, the idea of passing so closely front-to-front with the woman making her feel like they’d kiss accidentally somehow. Absurd thoughts, they were her daily companion.

The office within was silent, deserted. Two purses stood side by side on top of the front desk, twins anxious to make their way out into the world. The tv hanging from the far wall that quietly played various ads and short health segments during normal hours was dark, it’s light extinguished for the day.

Rest easy, little solider.

She grinned at the TV, realized that she was physically grinning and not just in her head, and tried to mask the expression by reaching up to pull her hat off her head. It was stuffed into one pocket of the coat, her gloves sandwiched together after they were pulled off and pushed into the other. The coat rack in the corner was empty, and she shrugged out of her coat as she moved over towards it. The scarf was hung up last, and she shrugged her shoulders a bit as she turned to make her way to the front desk, testing them out now that they were free of the extra weight.

Check in went quickly, the secretary that belonged to one of the two purses ready to go and thus the most efficient she had ever been at her job.

“Alright, this way,” the nurse said from the doorway that led back into the office, chart in hand and smile back on her face. Glancing back over her shoulder, the nurse asked her with raised eyebrows, “Do you prefer Mrs. Delaney, or Lily?”

She blinked at her once, the question unexpected, the space where her answer belonged filled with the sound of their feet on the carpet. Maybe they were just more relaxed after office hours? No one around to overhear her full name, she supposed.

“Lily is fine. Lil, actually. Is what people call me.” Her voice grew lower seemingly with each subsequent word, and she pressed her lips closed as the nurse nodded silently and turned her attention back to where they were working. Her eyes fell on the calves of the nurse as she walked, naked below her dark skirt.

It was a few minutes before she realized they had turned more than one corner, and the room they were taking her to was further than where she usually went. She was about so speak up and ask why she wasn’t just taken to the first room when they finally stopped, at a room nearly at the end of the hallway. Opening the door, the nurse stepped aside to let her go in first.

“All the other rooms have been cleaned already, so we had to stick you here,” the nurse said by way of explanation as she passed by her again. She walked in and pushed herself up onto the edge of the table, the paper crinkling under her as she settled.

“Dr Profar will be in with you momentarily,” the nurse said, sliding the folder with her chart into the container attached to the front of the door. The door was closed then, and faintly on the other side she could hear the nurse moving back up the hallway away from her. Silence descended then, not even the tick of a wall clock breaking up the electric hum from the fluorescent lights above her. She started to swing her legs, the rough whisper of the leg of her jeans brushing together giving her mind something else to focus on.

Because without that, Why Dr Profar? would have run around and around in her head until she couldn’t take it anymore.

Mercifully, the door opened a few minutes later, and the doctor came through the door. She’d seen him once before, a tall, bald man with dark eyes and a perpetual 5 o’clock shadow, his neck thick and skin tinted with an olive complexion. Her chart was in his hands, and she saw they were large as well, his fingers thick and seemingly to indelicate for the sort of work he did.

“Mrs, uh.. Lil?” he said, looking up at her with a smile.

“Mmhmm,” she replied, her smile and her nod both short and quick.

“Excellent, just give me a moment to look over your chart here,” he said, pushing the door closed behind him. Leaning back against it, she watched his face as his eyes scanned the pages, his large fingers flipping through quickly. Skimming her medical history.

“Okay, he said, closing the folder and looking up to her, “So what brings you in today?”

“Well, I, my husband and I that is, we… where’s Doctor Richards?” she asked finally, her head tilted quizzically at him.

“Oh, yes of course!” he replied suddenly, straightening up off the door with an easy laugh, “Dr. Richards was called to the hospital for a birth at the last minute, so she asked me to stay after since she knew it was hard for you to make time to get here. I hope that’s okay.”

The words were formed like a question, ripe for the rise in voice at the end that signaled a question was being asked, and yet somehow that little bit was absent. It was somehow more statement than question, and she felt oddly powerless to contradict it. Disobeying those in authority just wasn’t in her makeup, in the end.

“Oh! Well, yes, of course, yes. Of course. So, um, then as I was saying we, I’m,” she paused, took a breath, and dragged her gaze up from his hands to his face. Why did it take such an effort to do that?

“We’re trying to have a baby, is all, actually, and it seemed like a thing you, you know, visit your doctor for, I guess. So… here I am.”

“Ah, that’s wonderful,” he said easily in return, his voice and smile both warm. Reassuring. “Then let’s make sure everything is working properly, and we’ll see if we can’t get you started.” He lowered himself onto the vinyl-covered rolling stool, and opened the folder with her chart again, his eyes pointed at it as he spoke again: “Go ahead and get undressed and we’ll see how we’re doing here.”

She blinked at him, the words and his actions not quite syncing up in her head. Shouldn’t the nurse have told her that? Shouldn’t he leave then?

But then, he’s going to be all up in my junk anyway, so what difference does it make if he sees me get undressed for that, too?

Still, it did make a difference, though she couldn’t exactly pinpoint why that was.

By the time these thoughts had been processed in her head, he was looking back up at her, brows raised expectantly.

“Um… all of… everything? Off?” They were the only words she could manage right then, her eyes dropping from his face to the floor by her feet, unable to hold his gaze.

“It looks like it’s been some time since your last breast exam, so we’ll do that as well, yes. You can just put your clothes on the counter there,” he finished with a nod to an empty space next to the small sink.

The paper crinkled sharply as she slid off of it, her boots hitting the speckled white tile with a wet squeak. She was unsure where to go, how even to start, and so, standing there in front of him, with her breasts virtually eye-level with him, she pulled her blue sweater over her head. An extra tug was needed to pull her hair free of it, and in that moment her cheeks began to burn, acutely aware that her body was stretched out for him, her top half bare except for her bra, her arms in the air, face hidden.

When her eyes found him again, he was looking down at the chart, and she felt silly then. He was a doctor. A doctor in this practice, in fact. A naked woman had probably ceased to be something special for him years ago. He seemed in his early 40’s, maybe even a great looking late 40’s, and the number of women he’d had naked in his exam room must be easily in the thousands. She was proud of her body, proud of the way she’d maintained it, but she knew it was silly to think that he was just sitting there trying to get a look at her-

“When was your last period?”

His voice interrupted her thoughts as she watched him, a pen in his hand that she didn’t remember him pulling out. Her hands reached behind her, operating almost on autopilot at this point, fingers unhooking her bra as she flipped pages of her appointment book in her mind. He looked up from the page as the bra fell free, and she could’ve sworn she saw his eyes hesitate at her breasts, a quick glance he tried to disguise by looking up to her face. Watching his eyes more closely now, she answered and was certain his eyes paused for the shortest of seconds again as he looked back down.

He was still a man, she mused, surprised to find some pride weaving through her thoughts, Even if he was a doctor too…

Turning, she moved around the end of the table she’d been sitting on and placed her bra and sweater on the counter. With her back to him, her jeans followed, and she wondered if his eyes were on her again as she pulled them down over her hips. Looking back would be too obvious, though. They were placed atop the rest of her clothes, and then her panties followed, falling into a small puddle of fabric around her toes and behind her heels. Scooping them up, they completed the pile of her clothing on the counter. Her socks were the only thing left behind on her. No need to remove those too, right?

He was standing when she turned back to face him, and she nearly gasped and took a step back, though there was exactly nowhere to go. The room didn’t even have a window, and the only door was behind her. She was suddenly very aware of their disparate states of dress, and she fought the urge to cover herself.

“Up on the table please?” he said with a smile, moving to the end where she’d sat to pull the stirrups out. “Feet here,” he said, tapping each one, her chart left opened at the other end of the counter from her clothes. She moved up onto the table somewhat ungracefully, all the time aware of his proximity to her, feeling his eyes on her body even if they weren’t. One after the other her feet found the stirrups, and she laid back, blue eyes fixated on the ceiling tiles above.

Her nipples had hardened some in the cooler air, and she hated them for it. The air between her thighs drew her attention from them quickly, though, and it was in that moment that she realized just how exposed she felt. Not just exposed. Opened. Her eyes ventured away from the ceiling tiles to look over at him, at the width of his back as he faced away from her. The sound of water in the sink told her he was washing his hands. She centered her head again, eyes pointing up at the ceiling once more. It seemed like hard rain as he shook the excess water off his hands and into the basin, and she saw in her peripheral as he reached over and pulled free a few paper towels to dry his hands.

Time seemed to be moving so slowly, and her gaze swept quickly around the walls of the room, looking for a clock. It was so odd that there was none. Weren’t doctors obsessed with time? Billing hours, appointments, time of birth, time of death… where was the clock?

Her head was facing away from him when he turned towards her, so his hands on her arm closest to him was a surprise.

“Alright,” he said with a smile, his hands on her upper and lower arm surprisingly gentle for their size, “Let’s take a look here.” He moved her arm up and bent it at the elbow, then slid her hand behind her head. She felt her breast rise along her body, and took a deep breath to try to calm herself. She felt-

“Nervous?” he asked suddenly, his eyes on her face, hands still on her arm, the rest of his body unmoving. She had no reason to be, really. So it was a new doctor. It wasn’t the first time she’d dealt with a different doctor in the practice. That was the point of an on-call doctor, wasn’t it? And the nurse and secretary were both there, able to walk in at any moments, weren’t they? She could yell, if she really felt uncomfortable.

“No,” she answered back with a smile, letting out the breath she’d held, “Just, uh, a little chilly.”

“So I see,” he said with a short little laugh, and then his hand was on her breast, next to the at the edge of her areola, and her stomach dropped a little.

So I see?

His fingertips moved against her, pressing into the flesh of her breast, a slow swirl moved from her nipple outward. She lifted her eyes to the ceiling as he worked, unsure where else she should look, creating patterns in the dark pockmarks of the tiles above. Irresistibly, her eyes were drawn back to his face, and they widened a bit when she found herself looking at his eyes. He was watching his face as his hand moved against her breast, up near her collarbone and down to the swell, each new shift of position followed by a press of his fingers against her. He held her gaze, and she found herself unable to look away, her head swimming a bit. Out of sorts. Confused at what was happening, and why it felt so wrong.

And still, she felt her nakedness, felt her openness. She flexed her toes, resisted the urge to pull her feet from the stirrups and close her thighs. The doctor said to put them there, so she put them there. Left them there. Did as she was told.

He looked at her face still, had yet to look away, even as his fingers moved to her nipple, caught it between his thumb and the side of his index finger, and pinched it. His eyes narrowed a bit, an almost imperceptible tightening of the fine muscles around his eyes, and then he pinched harder, and pulled a little.

“Ah!” she gasped, surprised by the sound of her voice. He released her just as quickly as he’d tugged, her back only starting to arch to relieve the pressure before he did it himself. She was blinking rapidly, looking back at the ceiling again, eye contact broken by both of them.

“Looking good so far,” he said, his tone casual and pleasant, like he hadn’t just pinched her nipple, like everything was going just as it should. Just a routine doctor’s appointment. His hands moved to her arm, pulling her hand from under her head, and then across her body to help her reposition her other arm. She realized, as her other hand slid behind her head, that he hadn’t checked in her armpit. That wasn’t right, but… he was the doctor, wasn’t he? He knew what he was doing.

She glanced at his face again, and found this time that he was looking at her breast instead of her face. He seemed focused, almost entirely unconcerned that she was even looking at him, and his fingers felt like they were moving more slowly, pressing into her more firmly. She pulled in another deep breath, her breast rising to meet his fingers, and despite the impression it gave that she was pushing her chest up to meet his touch, she held the breath, steadying her nerves. Again. Why did things feel so completely out of control, yet so oddly calm? He hadn’t forced anything, she’d undressed and laid down of her own free will, but still it didn’t feel right. And it felt like he was… taking advantage of her?

A terrible thought occurred to her then, and she had to fight not to turn her head and try to confirm it. She couldn’t help but wonder, though, if he’d grown hard while he was touching her. It was an absurd thought, she knew it was an absurd thought, he was a professional simply doing an examination and there was no reason to think he was actually getting off on any of it. And yet, she couldn’t shake the feeling that he was. The feeling that this wasn’t just an examination. But still, he was a professional. Right?

Her eyes moved off the ceiling, rolled over towards his chest, trying to see down the rest of his body with her peripheral vision. It was in that same moment, almost as if he knew what she was doing, that he caught hold of her other nipple, pinching and tugging it harder. She gasped again, arched her back quickly, and he released it with a smile and turned his back to her once again.

“Everything looks fine,” he said as he wrote in her chart, and again she realized he hadn’t checked her armpit. She also realized, as she looked at his back and her nipple seemed to throb, that he hadn’t been wearing gloves. She was missing details, not realizing things until it was too late.

Stupid.

“Oh,” he spoke up suddenly, his back still to her, “It looks like the nurse didn’t get any of your vitals. I’m sure they’re fine, you seem in good health, but let’s check them real quick just to be sure.”

Turning, he rolled over the blood pressure machine and opened the velcro for the cuff, wrapping it snugly around her bare upper arm. She was aware of her nakedness again, aware of little else really, as the cuff began to inflate and tighten on her arm. Unsure where to point her eyes, the state of arousal of the doctor momentarily not at the forefront of her mind, she tilted her head back towards the ceiling again, and tried to will the time to pass more quickly.

“Open your mouth?” he asked then, and she turned her head towards him suddenly, fully expecting to see his cock sticking out of his trousers, hard and demanding entry to her mouth. A second passed as she blinked uncomprehendingly at the thermometer in his hands, before realizing what he wanted of her.

“Oh,” she said with a short, uneasy laugh, and she parted her lips and lifted her tongue for him. The thermometer was cold, the plastic shield artificial-tasting in her mouth as she held it with teeth and tongue. Large fingers pressed against her at the side of her neck then, and she watched as he extended his arm so his watch poked out from the sleeve of his lab coat. He took her pulse as the blood pressure cuff held her tight and the thermometer measured her temperature, the room otherwise silent for the handful of seconds it took him to get a count of her heartbeats.

“Your pulse is a little high,” he said as he took his fingers from her and pivoted away to write in her chart. A glance over his shoulder gave him her blood pressure reading and temperature, the cuff thankfully deflated and looser on her arm now.

“Your pulse and blood pressure are a little elevated, but nothing to be too worried about. We’ll keep an eye on just to be safe, though. Temperature is fine. And…” he paused, flipped a couple pages, “According to your last period, you should begin ovulating today, maybe tomorrow. So let’s make sure everything else is looking good for you, and we’ll send you on your way.”

She heard the pen drop onto the counter with a solid thud, and then he turned back to her to pull the thermometer free. The cuff was removed then, the machine wheeled back into the corner before he moved down to the end of the table. Suddenly, she was more aware than ever of how vulnerable she was. Her hips shifted uncomfortably, and she swallowed past the lump in her throat.

“Move your hips down to the edge, please?” he asked, tapping one of her hips with the palm of his hand. His hands were still bare, she realized. Lifting her hips, she slid down to the edge of the table and settled back on the paper. Venturing a glance down the length of her body, she could see the top of his bald head, his shoulders moving as his hands worked. The pop of a plastic cap being opened, and she could hear the odd wet sound of the lubricant being spread. She hoped it was across his gloved fingers.

“Okay,” he said, looking up at her face with a warm smile, “Just relax… you know how this goes by now, I’m sure.”

She nodded once, quickly, and then lay her head back on the table, looked up at the ceiling, and took a long, slow breath. In. Out.

The sudden metallic sound of the stool rolling startled her, and she was about to look up when she sensed more than saw his body moving over hers. One large hand clamped across her throat suddenly, his grip fierce and hard, her lungs only able to hold the breath she was in the middle of pulling in. She tried to swallow, her wide, frightened eyes looking up at him, and he held her gaze steadily, his eyes dark and cold.

It was then that she felt him against her, the head of his cock pushing, probing for entry. She could feel him slick against her, and knew that the lubricant hadn’t been spread across his fingers. Her body was invaded then, quickly and fully, her mouth falling open in a strangled scream. She started to shake her head, started to try to protest, to plead with him, with his other hand finally came into view, clamping down over her mouth. He was big, thick and hard inside her, stretching her open around him, and despite the pit of fear in her stomach, she felt herself growing wet around him. She hated her body in that moment.

“There we are,” he whispered, his face close to hers as his hips began to move, his cock began to fuck her. She grunted as he slammed into her quickly, fully, her hips rising up to meet him despite herself. There was a strange meeting of fear and fantasy in her head, of a thing she’d thought about deep in the night with her hand in her panties meeting the reality of this doctor inside her now, and she felt completely unprepared to react to it. The grunt, foreign and animalistic, that escaped her as he thrust into her again, and again, and again, seemed to indicate that her body knew how it was going to react, even if her mind didn’t. She was wet around him, making him slick even beyond what the lube did, and he could feel it. She could see in his eyes that he knew her body was responding to him. He took her harder.

The hand on her throat relaxed a little, allowing her to suck in a breath through her nose, giving her burning lungs a bit of relief. The breath was released in a shudder, another grunt, and her face burned. Small beads of sweat stood out on his forehead, the table rattling under her with the force of each of his thrusts into her. She was being taken, fucked, relentlessly, violently almost, and she couldn’t decide if she wanted the nurse to walk in or not. She didn’t want this, but still…

She was going to orgasm.

She didn’t want him to make her, didn’t want him to take her to that point, to make her cum around his cock as he forced it into her. She tried to shake her head as much as she could, the movement almost invisible to him surely. Her eyes were side, like saucers that had been pushed into her face, and she tried to silently plead with him even as she felt her hips rocking to meet him.

“Mnn!” she tried, but the sound was muffled by his hand on her mouth, and at it he tightened his grip on her neck again.

“What was that?” he asked, his voice husky and breath heavy. “Are you trying to ask me to fuck you harder? Trying to tell me your little cunt wants this? I can tell it does,” he said, his hips still working, still forcing his cock into her. “I can feel it… clenching me. You want my cum, don’t you? You want to be pregnant… right? Go ahead, you can tell me.”

He turned his head so his ear was near her, but left his hands on her, keeping her silent. He laughed, and it dissolved into a groan.

“Fuck, you feel good,” he whispered.

His hand left her mouth just long enough to slap one of her breasts, quick and hard across the nipple, the sound of it echoing in the room, mingling with the wet sound of his invasion of her body and the rattle of the table she was trapped on, and his hand fell back across her mouth, silencing the painful yelp she tried to force out.

She was fighting the orgasm, doing her best to hold it at bay, but she knew the dam would break soon. She thought, distantly, that she should thank her husband for the countless times he’d deny her orgasm, make her beg and plead for it before finally giving in, and then realized in an instant how utterly perverse the idea was. Thanking her husband for helping her to hold off her orgasm longer as her doctor raped her.

She clenched around him suddenly, her eyes shutting tight, hips raising off the crinkling, ruined paper on the bed. The two thoughts, the utter wrongness of them when mixed together, sent her over the edge suddenly, instantly. She heard him laughing as her body shook, heard him whispering, his breath hot on her face as he urged her on, and it only made it worse.

Better.

Worse.

Another was right on the heels of the first, and she knew the chances of holding that one off were all but nonexistent. Once the first hit, she seemed to lose all control. Something he would quickly learn for himself. Something she doubted would make it into her chart.

Multiple orgasms. Inability to control them once she starts. Likely just another secret whore.

She saw it in her mind, written in handwriting that was nearly indecipherable, heard it in his voice, and like a spark to fuel, it set her body blazing again. He laughed again as her body shook, but the sound was short, breathless, and somewhere in her mind she realized his thrusting had become quicker, more urgent. He was close, she realized, close to emptying himself inside her, filling her with his terrible seed. One orgasm bled into the next. Her body shook, her pussy clenched around him.

He grunted suddenly, held his full length inside her, and she felt him erupt. His own orgasm was forceful, powerful, and she hated how much she liked how dirty it made her feel to be filled with another man’s semen. To have it forced into her. She was exquisitely aware of each spasm of his cock, each new injection of his cum into her, the way her hungry cunt swallowed it up and sent it deeper into her. Her body working as it should, doing what came naturally.

“Fuck,” he breathed as his orgasm subsided. The hand on her mouth left again, and she watched with wide eyes as he reached down between her thighs. His cock left her some, and she could feel his knuckles brushing against her as he stroked himself. A glance up at her face, and he grinned terribly. “Want to make sure you get every drop, of course.”

Finally, he pulled free of her. He moved around from between her thighs, from the end of the table, and he crossed to the counter. His cock was still out, he’d made no move to put it away, but she didn’t look. She didn’t want to see how big he was, how it compared to how big he felt. She didn’t want to see the reflection of the light off the wetness, her wetness, that coated him. Instead, she turned her eyes back up to the ceiling, and tried to find her breath, to comprehend what had just happened. And she tried to ignore the feeling of his seed dripping from her. Running down to wet the paper under her ass.

The sound of paper towels being pulled from the dispenser told her he was wiping his cock clean of her, the soft zzzzt of his zipper following close behind. The faucet was turned on, and she listened as he washed his hands. Somehow, her nakedness seemed less important right now. Like it was secondary to everything else. More paper towels were pulled, and he dried his hands. Threw them away with the others.

Turning back to her, he smiled warmly, just as he had before. Like none of the last few minutes had even happened. Like this was any other visit to a doctor’s office.

“Okay, then. I’ll step out so you can get dressed. See you up front.” He closed the folder with her chart in it, and started to reach for the door, then stopped himself and turned back to her. “I’ll go ahead and set up another appointment for you, too. See if we have any good news.”

He smiled again, his eyes flickering quickly down to the puddle forming under her and then back to her face.

“See you up there.”

The door was opened, and he stepped out into the hallway, closing it behind him.