Chapter 12
Twelve
Riley
I’m lying stiffly on the table with a fresh gown on.
It’s lifted halfway but there’s a paper sheet draped over my lap, blocking the cold air.
I count the tiles on the ceiling, humming the song he’s always humming and still have no idea what the hell it is.
It randomly enters my head without warning, much like him and what I think he may test me for next, along with what I’m hoping he’ll test me for.
Rubber slaps against Sam’s hands as he slides on a pair of gloves and stands in front of me. A metal table rests beside him, holding a pack of supplies. Two metal stick looking objects and iodine and lube packets.
“Nervous?”
The shake of my head quickly turns to a nod. “A little. Will it hurt?”
“Do you want it to?”
“I don’t know.”
“It shouldn’t if we do everything correctly. It will be uncomfortable at first, and the pressure will get worse before it gets better.”
“Yeah . . . okay.”
He holds my shaking hand, his fingers curling around mine. “It’s going to be okay. This doesn’t have to be a regular thing, and it might not ever happen again depending on an array of factors.”
“The biggest one being?”
“You.” His face softens. “It always depends on you.”
I suck in a breath and nod again. “I’m ready.”
“I agree. It’s natural to be a little scared of the unknown. Just like when you break into a house and don’t know if you’ll be caught.”
It is like that but also different. I thought that was all I was and could have.
I thought so many things before entering this house that I’m now second guessing.
Sam rubs the back of my hand before pulling away.
He changes his gloves again and rips open the packages.
Metal clicks against metal, and he separates everything before turning back to me.
Tugging down the sheet, he smiles. “Still good?”
“Yeah,” I say, sounding more confident this time. “Please keep going.”
“Don’t worry. There’ll be no stopping now. I can slow down, but once everything is prepped, the procedure or test must go on.”
“I don’t need you to slow down either. If anything, I feel like you’re stalling.”
He snorts. “You’re very feisty today. So much attitude for someone who’s supposed to not be feeling well.”
“Being sick has never held me back from being a smart ass.”
“So no special privileges for me in that regard, then, huh?”
“No, and I think you’re stalling again. Are you sure it’s not you who needs to slow down?” I snark and his snort turns into a full laugh.
“Okay, no more stalling. Let’s get the show on the road.”
“Let’s,” I agree, smirking while trying not to stiffen when he wipes my cock with a cold cloth.
He then proceeds to grab both metal sticks, his gaze bouncing between them and my cock. After observing both closely, he sets the smaller one down, and when the metal tip touches my skin, my cock chubs up.
“This will go better with you flaccid. It helps to close your eyes and think of the worst thing you’ve ever seen or a phobia of yours.”
Eyes shut, I picture a giant red and black snake slithering my way. Not only does my erection go away but my skin is crawling. I shimmy from side to side as if to shake something off me, and Sam brings me back to where I am by pressing a metal rod to my tip.
“I need you to hold still. Accidentally puncturing your urethra is the last thing I want to do.”
“I’m sss-sorry,” I slur.
“That’s okay. It’s easy to get lost in our heads sometimes, but I want you here for the rest of what I do.”
Lube covers my whole head and drips off the metal spreading my piss hole open.
I wince, wanting to say stop but also not wanting to be a bad patient.
Good patients do what they’re told, and my job is to lie still while he finishes curing me of my pain.
Sometimes it hurts worse before it feels better.
I shut my eyes, pressing my back to the table, and he twists the .
. . I’m not sure of the exact name of it until he says, “In case you’re wondering, this is a sound.
Also known as a dilator. It’s used to open up the urethra and check for obstructions.
I realized now I should have told you that before getting started, but I was so wrapped up in making you better. ”
He twists it some more, pushing it deeper, and I can feel sweat breaking out over my forehead. The pressure I felt from before grows into something else. I feel fuller, and he’s right about my discomfort growing.
I squirm and twitch as he retracts it a little before pushing it back down. He’s moving slowly with exact precision, his tongue sticking from the corner of his mouth.
“It’s important I take my time and move in the right direction. I’m not here to make things worse for you.”
“I know,” I say between clenched teeth, and I claw at the thin white paper beneath me. Some bunches between my fingers and saliva fills my mouth when he jabs it faster inside me. “Feeling better yet?”
“It’s . . . it feels the same.” The metal clings to the inner walls of my dick, feeling like it’s rubbing me everywhere at once.
He tilts his head, concern tugging his brow lower, and then a zinging sensation shoots up inside me when the sound is eased closer to my prostate. The smooth tip teases around it and then it’s like shockwaves of pleasure are zipping through my body like a freight train.
The feeling of needing to come only grows, and it’s so strong I whimper like a needy cat going into heat, the heels of my feet bouncing in the air as they hang off the table.
My prostate is brushed over and then it’s hit again.
The narrowed object lifts away before hitting my sweet spot.
It grinds and I accidentally arch my hips, going against his instructions to stay still.
My body moves without my consent and I’ve lost control of everything.
My vision, my hearing and of all my limbs.
“Oh . . . oh . . .”
“I need you to do something for me, sweetheart. You think you can?”
“I . . . I can try.”
“I know you can do better than that,” he says, his voice smooth and controlled.
“I can.” His encouragement is all I need to open my eyes and rest, holding my cock as he places my fingers around it.
“Keep it still and use your other hand to hold the pole.”
“What . . . what are you going to do next? Something else to help the process?”
“Yes.” He unzips his pants and my eyes widen at his cock springing free from his underwear.
He’s pierced. Of course he is. The small piece of jewelry gleams as it’s covered in precum.
He’s so big and uncut, his cock head bulging as his fingers wrap around his base.
He squeezes and tugs at himself, adding some lube.
He lifts my legs, almost causing me to lose control of my motor skills again.
My knees are pushed toward my chest, and a wet finger circles my hole.
A guttural moan rips through him as he darts it in and out of me, and I grip my cock harder, with my fingers loose around the sound.
His fat head replaces his finger, circling my rim as he lifts my ass higher. “You’re doing so well. We’re so close to making you better. Can you feel it?”
He thrusts his hips forward, pushing past my tight ring of muscles before pulling back.
“Yeah,” I sputter. “So close.”
“So, so close. Then we can go for our walk, watch a movie, and I’ll make your favorite steak dinner.”
“I can’t wait,” I lie, because yes, I like all those things and how they sound, but right now is all I care about.
I want what’s happening between us at this moment more than anything else I’ve ever done.
It’s like an itch I could never quite scratch, and for the first time in forever someone’s able to reach it.
“Oh, I think you’re okay with waiting. I am too. Because your health is what takes precedence.” He teases me, slowly feeding me his cock one inch at a time, rocking his hips.
“So close.”
My hole spreads further around him, and I don’t question if it’s safe for his skin to be bare against mine, because he’s done so much testing on me and he’s my doctor. He wouldn’t risk my health. Not ever.
“So good for me. Taking your treatment like a good boy. I knew you were perfect when I first saw you on my table, wounded and longing for something more. For me. For this. We can be that missing something for each other.”
“For another fifteen weeks.” I lift my head off the table and he laughs, pulling almost all the way out and holding still.
“Yes. And the week after and the week after. And for however long my close observation and therapies are needed. However long I feel I need to ensure you’re a hundred percent healthy, and that could be a really long time. ”
Tingles crawl up my spine—he really is trapping me here with never-ending appointments. More testing and therapies. More him. “But what if I change my mind and want to leave sooner?”
“You won’t.” He shoves himself back into me in one thrust, and he goes deeper, splitting me in two. My teeth chatter and he keeps still again, stroking my hip. “You won’t, because that will make you what?”
“A bad patient.” The word is harsh on my ears, leaving a nasty sting on my tongue as I say it.
“And is that what you want to be?”
“No, Doctor.” The thought has my chest tightening and I feel like I’m being temporarily suffocated.
The metaphorical hands loosen around my neck when he says, “Then don’t. Keep making me proud. We’re both better off when you do, don’t you agree?”
“Yes. I don’t want to disappoint you.”