[Ed Note: If you enjoy this story, please consider following the account]
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.
She doesn't care about my comfort, my consent--doesn't give a single fuck about me, the guy with a cough. This isn't a checkup anymore; it's her game, her rules, and I'm the dumb bastard caught in it.
The room's quiet except for my shaky breaths and the faint creak of the table under her. She leans in, lips brushing my ear, and whispers,
Keep your eyes on me, bitch--or I'll make you scream." It's a threat, pure and simple, and my stomach drops, cold sweat trickling down my spine. I'm strapped, exposed, and she's got me--every inch of me--under her thumb.
She pulls back, smirking again, that sexy, evil curve of her mouth, and I know I'm screwed.
Chapter 2: The Oral Demand
The room's too bright, lights glaring off the white walls, and my gown's bunched up, leaving me exposed, dick half-hard despite the panic clawing my chest. I can't move, can't do shit, and Nurse Chloe's looming over me, a pint-sized tyrant with a body that'd stop traffic.
She's straddling the table's edge, her tight skirt hiked up, thighs flexing, and that plump cleavage swaying in her uniform like a fucking taunt.
Her short blonde hair's messy now, sticking to her neck, and her icy eyes are locked on me, glinting with something feral.
She swings a leg over, planting her knees on either side of my shoulders, and I feel the table creak under her.
She's light--petite as hell--but it's like a boulder's pinning me, her presence suffocating. "You're gonna make yourself useful" she sneers, her voice dripping venom.
Her hands grab the hem of her skirt, yanking it higher, and--fuck--there's no panties, just her pussy, bare and glistening, inches from my face.
It's pink, slick, framed by those smooth thighs, and the musk hits me hard--raw, earthy, mixed with that sharp floral perfume.
My stomach lurches, half arousal, half dread, and she lowers herself, hovering over my mouth. "Lick," she barks, sharp and cold, like she's ordering a dog.
I freeze, my brain scrambling. "This isn't right--please, stop," I choke out, voice cracking, but it's weak, pathetic even to me.
Her hand shoots to my hair, small fingers twisting in, yanking so hard my scalp screams and my eyes sting with tears.
"Do it, you little bitch," she hisses, leaning down, her breath hot on my face. Her plump breasts tantalizingly just above me, nipples poking the fabric, and I'm dizzy--trapped, cornered, no way out.
She's not asking, not caring--she doesn't give a fuck about me, just her pussy and what she can get from it. My resistance crumbles like wet paper; she's too fierce, too real, and I'm too scared of what she'll do.
"Okay," I mutter, barely audible, and she smirks, victorious, easing her grip just enough to let me breathe. I tilt my head, tongue darting out, tentative, brushing her pussy--warm, wet, sharp-tasting.
She slams down, no warning, grinding herself against my mouth, and I gag, overwhelmed. "Faster, you useless fuck," she snarls, tugging my hair again, sharp jolts of pain shooting through me.
Her pussy's all I can feel--smearing my lips, my chin, her clit hard against my tongue as she rocks her hips. Her moans rip through the room, loud, greedy, echoing off the walls-- "Yeah, like that, good boy"--and I'm drowning in it, her heat, her scent, her goddamn weight.
