Chapter Fifteen
Declan
Arriving at the Campos residence ten minutes early for my appointment, I go through the same motions as yesterday. Button. Lights. Steam. A dark and cold walk to the front door. And again, Miss Paxon steps out to greet me.
Standing tall in a pair of matte black boots with six-inch heels, her thick though well-formed calves stretch from atop the laces.
She dons tight black seamed stockings that cling to her stunningly thunderous thighs and stretch up and under the tightest white thin-leather skirt.
A slit is cut into the fabric at her side from the bottom hem all the way to maybe an inch below her waist. Staring head on, her bulbous ass juts out to each side, and the skirt’s stitching must be screaming for relief.
I love my girlfriend. I couldn’t be happier than I am with her.
And she’s gorgeous. I don’t deserve her, I’m sure of it.
I don’t know why she’s settling. But I’m also a man.
Flesh and blood. With two working eyes and a dick.
So, I can’t help it when my jaw hurls itself on the pavement at the first sight of Dr. Campos’ assistant this morning.
“Good morning, Missster Roberts,” she greets me with that slow hissing drawl, but it barely registers. Her eyes look different today. They have more a reddish hue without the haziness I saw before. Maybe her glasses reflected some of the light before. She’s not wearing them today.
“Good morning, um, ma’am.” I shockingly recall one rule from the previous day amidst my drooling at her matching matte-black blouse that fits in a way that causes me to wonder if it’s a custom piece.
It hugs where it needs to hug but gives slack where a lesser garment would highlight her imperfect rolls or untoned flab.
And fuck me if it doesn’t present her stunning tits as the star of the show.
They aren’t huge, but holy shit are they faultless.
“You will be meeting the doctor in his private study this morning. I think it’s going to be a long day Missster Roberts. Can I get you anything? Coffee? Tea? Perhaps a juice?”
“No ma’am,” I reply to Miss Paxon, trying not to sound like a gob smacked schoolboy. “Thank you though.” I’m actually a bit anxious to get started. “Will the doctor be long?”
“I think not, Missster Roberts,” she says, taking me by the arm and leading me through the second room, the one with décor more suited for a mental institution.
Her skin is warm and soft. As we approach the base of a narrow spiral staircase, her free hand presses against the small of my back, where her fingers press firmly against the crack at the top of my ass.
A shiver runs through me at her touch, and I hesitate at the foot of the stairs. My throat feels dry, my pulse quickening as I struggle to understand what’s happening. I came here for the doctor’s help. But standing here with her proximity clouding my thoughts, I'm no longer certain what I need.
She turns me to face her, where her eyes glow bright like flames in the dim light.
"This way," she whispers, her breath warm against my ear. "The doctor is waiting."
Her fingers slide down my arm before releasing me, leaving traces of warmth in their wake.
I follow her up the creaking staircase, watching how her silhouette moves ahead of me, graceful and knowing.
The house feels alive around us, listening, breathing with ancient lungs hidden behind peeling wallpaper.
At the landing, she pauses and turns. In the half-light from the single window, her features shift. Sharp and clinical one moment, then soft and inviting the next.
"You're afraid," she pronounces without question.
"I'm not," I lie, though we both hear the tremor in my voice.
"Everyone who comes to this house is afraid of something, Missster Roberts."
My throats feels like it’s filled with glass when I swallow hard through the dryness.
“Hmmm,” she uncorks a low, throaty sound that sends another tremor through me.
I’m sure I’m reading the moment wrong. But her actions and words tell different tales. I’m here to see a professional. And Miss Paxon looks and presents herself accordingly. But then she leans in close and speaks in a hushed tone,
“Are you gonna be a good boy for the doctor today?” Her scent of coconut rum and vanilla tobacco catches me off guard, and the combination with her devilish chuckle forces my dick to twitch in my boxers. Sensing my reaction, she trails a finger down my back, and I audibly shake.
“Huh?”
“You may go right in, Missster Roberts. He is waiting for you,” she tells me. “Good luck. I think you’re going to need it.”
With that, she pats me on the ass and ushers me forward to begin our ascent. My body tenses with hesitation, unsure whether to push her away or see what she’ll do next. The metal railing is cool beneath my sweating palms, and the staircase creaks ominously beneath every subtle movement.
When I eventually step through the doorway, I turn to make another inquiry, looking pointedly into her fiery eyes. But, with a sexy little wink and pucker of her deep red lips, she closes the door.
There’s a tall black door with two white horses painted on each side and a white doorknob.
The dark entryway contrasts sharply with the pale walls of the stairway, causing an instant wave of nausea to wash over me.
The longer I stare at the unsettling door, the dizzier I feel, until I think I might pass out.
“Come in, Declan.” The doctor’s voice vibrates as I open the door, welcoming me into his—whatever this non-office space is.
Dr. Campos, dressed in his best Mr. Rogers outfit—red sweater and all—sits up properly on a velvet sofa, polishing an antique rifle.
The room is square and uncomfortably small.
Two bamboo torches hang from the ceiling, casting just enough light for me to see.
An oak chest is propped open in one corner, next to a smaller matching-velvet chair where I spot another similar rifle sticking out.
“Hello, Declan,” Dr. Campos says sprightly. “How are you doing this morning? Please, come in, shut the door, and have a seat. I’ll be with you in just a moment.”
“Um.” I pause, unsettled by his chipper tone.
“I’m okay. Thanks.” I slowly turn in a circle, feeling like I’m standing in a large furnished closet.
There are no windows or air vents, at least not that I can see, and the more I think about it, I believe this room is, or at least was intended to be, the home’s intended attic.
I make my way to the smaller chair in the corner and plop my ass on the seat.
Dr. Campos finishes with his relic and stores it away in silence before snatching his notepad and glaring at me.
“Well then, Declan,” he says, “where should we begin?”
“Well.” I sit up straight to speak, still irritated about last time.
“Yesterday, I felt like you didn’t believe me.
That you were convinced I didn’t know the name of the girl I told you about.
But I’m not that creative, Doc. I’m here for your help.
I’m sorry if I was difficult, but I’ve told this story to countless doctors, and for what?
” It feels good to get it off my chest. Even if the sensation is fleeting.
“Ah,” says the doctor, as if I’ve played right into his plan. “This is why it’s so important for you to trust me. I am not like your other doctors. I will push beyond what is comfortable. But I do it with purpose.”
“So, we’re okay then?” I respond, even though I really don’t get it.
“I should think so, Declan,” he replies.
“You aren’t the first patient I’ve upset.
I would have been more concerned if you didn’t react at all.
However, I want to be rather forward with you this morning.
Yesterday was merely a taste of what is to come if we are to get to the bottom of your woes.
I want you to be aware that there’s a good chance you won’t like where things start this morning, but I ask that you do your best to remain patient.
All will work out in the end.” We stare at each other for a breath, neither of us flinching.
“Are you ready to take this next step with me, Declan?”
It takes a couple of controlled breaths before I answer him. I hope I won’t need any puffs from my asthma inhaler.
“Okay, Doc,” I say. “I’m ready. Do your worst.”
“Do you remember where we left off yesterday?” he asks with a straight face.
“Ha!” I can’t help but laugh. That the doctor can make light of what seemed so bleak pleases me. “Yeah, Doc, I remember. I thought about it for hours after I left, and again the whole ride here.”
“Hmm.” The doctor looks down at my file. “I’m not surprised. Clearly, the young lady meant a great deal to you. Even now, I can sense you’re clinging to the past.” He wastes no time.
“It’s true, Doc,” I say. “She’s easily one of the most significant people I’ve known.”
“I’m glad you realize that, Declan,” he says. “What I need you to do now is tell me her first name.” He pauses, waiting to see if I'm truly prepared to discuss this with an open mind. “Can you do that for me?” he asks in a fragile tone.
“Her name is Daphne,” I say with ease. I expect more difficulty in relinquishing her name, but it comes off almost like an auto-response, as if the answer just is, and I don’t care what anyone has to say about it.
“May I ask why that matters, Doc?” I add, having never thought about what comes after the big reveal.