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Chapter 1: The Check-In
Hey, I'm Jake--thirty-two, decent shape, just a regular guy who's been dodging the doctor for too long.
I'm sitting here on this crinkly exam table, the paper sticking to my thighs through the thin gown they handed me when I checked in. It's a private hospital, some upscale place my buddy swore by--cleaner than the public clinics, faster service, all that jazz.
I'm only here for a damn checkup, nothing serious, just a nagging cough that won't quit and a boss who won't stop riding my ass about the insurance forms.
The room's sterile as hell--white walls, sharp lights, a faint whiff of antiseptic that stings my nose. My palms are sweaty, rubbing against the table's edge. I hate this shit--needles, stethoscopes, the whole clinical vibe. Makes my skin crawl.
The door bangs open, no knock, no warning, and I damn near jump out of my skin.
In strides Nurse Chloe (at least according to her name badge), and fuck me, she's something else. She's tiny--maybe 5'2" if she's lucky--but she moves like she owns the room, hips swaying, heels clicking on the tile like little gunshots.
Her short blonde hair chopped into a messy bob, strands brushing her sharp jaw, and her uniform--Jesus Christ, that uniform. It's white, tight, hugging every curve, and the top button's undone, showing off plump cleavage that spills out like it's begging to be noticed.
Her breasts are round, full, straining the fabric so hard I swear I hear a thread pop.
She's unbelievably sexy, a walking porno in scrubs, and I'm staring, mouth dry, pulse kicking up. Her skin's pale, smooth, and she smells like some floral perfume that's too sharp, too aggressive--like her.
She tosses a clipboard onto the counter with a clatter, doesn't even glance my way at first, just mutters something under her breath.
Then those icy blue eyes snap to me, and I'm caught--gawking at her chest like a dumbass teenager. "What the fuck you looking at" she snaps, voice cutting through the air like a razor.
It's loud, harsh, and my gut twists. I stammer, "I--uh, nothing," trying to play it cool, but she's already stalking closer, her smirk curling into something nasty.
"Fucking perv, huh? Think you can just eye-fuck me?" she says, and I can't help it--I push back, nerves firing.
"Didn't know the checkup came with a free show," I quip, aiming for cocky, but it's a mistake.
Her hand cracks across my face, a vicious slap that echoes off the walls. My cheek explodes with heat, a stinging red bloom, and my head snaps to the side.
"Smartass little bitch," she growls, grabbing my chin with fingers like steel traps, yanking my face back to hers. Her nails dig in, sharp pricks against my skin, and her eyes bore into me--cold, mean, promising trouble.
"You'll regret that, I'm guessing you're one of the asshole guys, hunh?," she says, her breath hot and sour, her lips so close I can see the faint gloss shining on them.
That cleavage is right there, inches from my nose, taunting me, and my face burns--half from the hit, half from the humiliation of getting hard under this flimsy gown.
Before I can blink, she shoves me back, hands rough on my shoulders. My spine hits the table hard, knocking the wind out of me, and she's barking,
"Lie down, smart ass--now."
I'm too rattled to fight, my head spinning from the slap, and I flatten out, the paper crinkling loud under me. She's on me in seconds, yanking leather straps from under the table like she's done this a hundred times.
The first one snaps around my left wrist, cold and tight, biting into my skin as she pulls it taut. I jerk against it, instinct kicking in--"Hey, what the hell?"--but she's already on the right, buckling it down, her small hands moving fast, brutal.
"Shut up," she snaps, not even looking at me, like I'm a chore she's pissed to deal with.
My ankles are next--she spreads my legs, straps them wide, and the leather's coarse, scraping me raw as she cinches them tight. I tug, muscles flexing, but there's no give--I'm pinned, spread-eagle, helpless as fuck.
My heart's slamming now, a jackhammer in my chest, and I'm sweating, the gown sticking to my back. Chloe climbs onto the table's edge, one knee up, her skirt riding high.
I catch a flash of thigh--smooth, pale, muscled--and my dick twitches, traitor that it is.
She sees it, the bulge under the gown, and laughs, a short, cruel bark. "Look at you, my little bitch--already hard for me," she says, dismissively, like I'm a toy she's bored of already.
Her uniform stretches as she leans over me, that plump cleavage swaying, close enough I can see the faint sheen of sweat on her skin.
Her nipples poke through the fabric, hard little points, and I hate how much I notice, hate how my body's betraying me.
She doesn't give a fuck about my cough, my checkup--doesn't even ask my name. I'm nothing to her, just a thing to use, and her smirk says she knows it.
"You're mine now, and don't you dare resist - I know you'll do what you're told" she says, low and mean, her voice dripping with contempt.
She swings her other leg up, straddling the table, hovering over my chest. Her skirt bunches higher, and I can't help but look--her thighs flexing, the shadow between them promising something I'm not sure I want.
Her hands brace on the table, caging me, and her hair falls forward, brushing my forehead. It's soft, smells like shampoo, a sick contrast to the venom in her eyes.
My wrists ache, the straps cutting in as I pull again, desperate, but it's useless--she's got me locked down. Her breath's on my face now, hot and ragged, and I smell that perfume again, mixed with something muskier, primal.
She's staring me down, lips parted, teeth glinting, and I'm drowning in it--her scent, her weight, her fucking presence.
"You don't get it yet, do you?" she mutters, almost to herself, like I'm not worth addressing. "I'm gonna take what I want, and you're gonna give it." Her hand slides down, brushing my chest through the gown, deliberate, teasing, but there's no warmth in it--just control.
My mouth's dry, my throat tight, and I can't speak, can't think past the pounding in my ears. She shifts, her knees sliding wider, and that cleavage dips closer, a cruel distraction as my dick throbs harder, trapped and obvious.