Doctors and Nurses – a short sexy tale

My thighs niggle me with heat, my skin sticking to the leather and refusing to let me shift in the reading chair. The summer sun torments the roof, tired tin creaking and cracking the silence.

My body slouches back and I hoist my thigh over the side of the arm rest, letting one leg dangle free as a delicious hint of cool air creeps up my denim skirt.

Why is he sitting all the way over there?

My lips dig dimples in my cheeks, “You’ve never played Doctors and Nurses?”

His eyes dart around, somehow looking for distraction, “No. Never had the chance.”

“… Oh,” my head tilting a yes. “Never had the chance?”

“Not exactly.”

“Not exactly isn’t a very definitive answer.”

“Well, it’s a bit of a tricky question.”

“How so tricky?”

His eyes bat, trying to be polite, “There is a lot more to it than just Doctors and Nurses,” steadfastly ignoring my less than demurely parted thighs.

“But you’re a doctor.”

“I’m not really a doctor.”

“But you are sort of.”

“Not in the manner you’re thinking of.”

“But you could still play Doctors and Nurses… If you wanted to.”

His eyes light, and the seconds stall.

The day is hot… the front door locked; and we’re alone.

Greedy unresolved things spark in my body. Things I want him to resolve. My dangling leg seems to inch my thighs apart some more and my skirt threatens to ride up. My hips hint a tilt and another inch of bare thigh is borne, my skin sticking on the smooth dark leather.

His lips curl an easy smile in his cheeks and his dimples dig deeper, “I’d have to diagnose something before I could treat you.”

“Of course.”

“And diagnosis is always the tricky part.”

“How so Doctor Maellen?”

“Well… I’d have to examine you first.”

“Of course Doctor Maellen,” my insides thrumming on the examine word.

My heart quickens. His eyes plip long and slow; in just that sort of way that I want to cast myself into them; or donate my body to medicine. My thighs tense; and for some reason they suddenly feel very wide apart.

“And then I’d have to prescribe some medicine Nurse Stravinsky.”

Nurse Stravinsky? My neck threatens my cheeks with a hint of rouge, “Of course.”

“Would you be a good girl and take your medicine Nurse Stravinsky?”

Heat flushes my cheeks and my mind flashes a dirty highschool saying: Suck like you’re dying and his body’s the cure. A metaphorical cotton wad tightens in my throat.

“… Nurse Stravinsky?”

More images flash through my mind; images of illicit evenings gone mad on the internet; one sordid link leading to another, and another; images of nymphettes performing Guinness Book of Records breaking oral gymnastics.

“Would you Nurse Stravinsky?”

My throat hitches on the cotton wad and my eyes bat; and bat again, “What… medicine… might that be Doctor Maellen?”

“What ever medicine the doctor prescribes for your condition Nurse Stravinsky.”

“Of course Doctor Maellen.”

“Will you be a good girl and take your medicine every day?”

“I’m not sure Doctor Maellen.”

“Because you know what happens to naughty girls who don’t take their medicine.”

“… No Doctor Maellen.”

His face lights with the smirk he’s having trouble containing, his eyes heating me in just that sort of a way that every girl likes to be heated. Dreamy eyes linger long and slow over my ankle, up my leg draped lazily over the armrest, and to my thigh.

His eyes slink over me, looking at me the way every girl wants to be looked at; like she’s the only thing on his mind. His eyes seem to melt, seem to soften at the same time as being sharp; like he wants to speak but doesn’t know what to say.

My tongue does a once over behind my teeth, squenching the saliva welling in my mouth, “What happens to naughty girls who won’t take their medicine Doctor Maellen?”

He stifles it, forcing his face serious with the last of his resolve, “They get a smack on the bottom Nurse Stravinsky.”

A smack on the bottom?

“Nurse, what did we say about showing respect?”

“… Sorry?”

“We’re professionals aren’t we Nurse Stravinsky?”

“… Of course… Doctor Maellen,” my insides thrumming with illicit possibilities, “It won’t happen again Doctor Maellen.”

“That’s okay Nurse Stravinsky.”

“So… what does happen to naughty girls who won’t take their medicine Doctor Maellen?”

“They get a smack on the bottom Nurse Stravinsky.”

My eyes light with more illicit thoughts, images of me somehow bent over his thigh, my naked and vulnerable bottom arched in the air as I pretend to squirm and object.

But I try and stifle it; stifle the delight creeping into my cheeks. Except it doesn’t work and my cheeks betray the images in my mind. I egg him on, “How would they get a smack on the bottom Doctor Maellen?”

His eyes bat and dart away over my shoulder looking for something I don’t think is there; and he blinks on me, and blinks again as his lips part, “They get a smack on the bottom with the table tennis bat Nurse Stravinsky.”

My eyes ping wide: “The table tennis bat?”

“Now what did we say Nurse Stravinsky…”

My  body starts doing things it shouldn’t want to do; things I didn’t expect it to do. Heat blooms between my thighs and my nipples sting up to tight nibs behind my bra, “Sorry… Doctor… Maellen.”

My throat hitches and his eyes blink to the inside of my parted thighs as my dangling leg wiggles my thigh on the armchair. The scant fabric of my g-string suddenly seems excessive, “I mean… the table tennis bat Doctor Maellen?”

“Yes Nurse Stravinsky. The table tennis bat.”

“Don’t you think that might be a bit… harsh?”

“Now now Nurse Stravinsky. What did we say about-”

“Sorry Doctor Maellen. It won’t happen again Doctor Maellen.”

“You were going to say something Nurse Stravinsky?”

“Yes. The table… tennis… bat… Doctor Maellen.”

“We just talked about what happens to naughty girls didn’t we Nurse Stravinsky.”

“Yes we did Doctor Maellen.”

“What happens to naughty girls who won’t take their medicine Nurse Stravinsky?”

“They get a smack on the bottom with the table tennis bat Doctor Maellen.”

“Excellent Nurse Stravinsky. Now, about your examination…”

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