Will See You Now

  A doctor/patient erotica novella

  S.B. Hazel

  Copyright © 2023 by S.B. Hazel

  All rights reserved.

  No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

  Note from the author

  Will See You Now contains: a doctor/patient relationship, age gap, stretching, fisting, squirting, spitting, intense blowjobs, rimming, creampies, medical kink play (speculum, stethoscope, dilator)

  If any of that makes you uncomfortable, or you think you may not enjoy it, please do skip! Feel free to email me at sbhazelauthor@gmail.com if you'd like any more information.

  Contents

  1. One

  2. Two

  3. Three

  4. Four

  5. Five

  6. Six

  7. Seven

  8. Eight

  9. Nine

  10. Ten

  11. Eleven

  12. Epilogue

  Afterword

  One

  Harper

  With my undies tucked under my folded jeans, safe away from the prying eyes of the doctor, I hopped onto the examination table and shuffled into position. The only thing protecting my modesty was the thin paper gown that wouldn’t sit flat and kept scrunching under my butt.

  After talking all my stats, the nurse told me that Dr. Sterling would be just a few minutes, and while I knew he saw dozens of vaginas every day, nerves still fluttered in my belly. Nothing like spreading your legs for a stranger to have a rummage. But it was a requirement for the trip I had coming up, one I needed a clean bill of health for, where there were no medical facilities and my professor had insisted we get a full checkup before embarking.

  Otherwise, I avoided visiting the doctor, especially a gynecologist. Something about them, the gloves, the quiet as their fingers slide inside, the pressure as they roamed and explored… yeah, I had a bit of a thing for doctors. Ever since I was fourteen and a handsome doctor had winked at me while fitting a cast for the leg I’d broken trampolining; something had ignited in me.

  Clearing my throat, I debated reaching for my phone to check how long it had been, but then the door creaked open and in stepped the most handsome man I’d ever seen.

  This would not help my plight.

  He appeared at least fifteen years older than me, with a little grey sprinkled around his temples. The rest of his hair was a dark brown, flopping over gorgeous bright blue eyes that studied me with practiced apathy. His full mouth turned up into a polite smile and moisture gushed between my legs. Shit.

  “Good afternoon, Miss…” He checked his chart. “Walton.” He stepped further into the room, continuing to read my chart as he sank into his wheeled chair. Christ, even his voice made my insides clench. This was not going to go well. Panic warred with the horniness building in my gut.

  “H-hi, doctor,” I responded, not flustered in the slightest, no, not at all. That white coat did absolutely nothing for me. I was bone dry. Shriveled up, if anything. Definitely no gush of fluid when he adjusted the collar…

  We exchanged pleasantries while I tried not to moan or whimper or run for my life before I embarrassed myself in front of this handsome, distinguished doctor. My mind wandered, fighting to stay in the moment, then he stood, and with gentle practiced hands, lifted my feet into the stirrups, spreading me wide for him.

  Our eyes locked, gaze slamming together, and I could have sworn a tension bubbled between us. But I knew I had to be conjuring it up, even though it seemed so damn real, I knew my imagination could get away from me. If my porn search bar history was anything to go by, this situation was only sexual for me. For him, another day at work. Another vagina to prod around in.

  “I’m going to cover some questions with you before we move onto the exam. Is that okay?” he asked, his voice almost bland, moving through the motions. I stared at him, hoping to detect, well, anything, but he remained unaffected. Of course, he was unaffected. I was a lunatic.

  “Cool, yes,” I blustered, both wanting to slam my knees shut and open them wider — why he’d already put me in stirrups eluded me, but he didn’t seem fazed.

  “Sexually active?” he asked.

  “Mm hmm.”

  “Happy on your birth control — that’s something we can discuss if you’d like…”

  “No,” I blurted. “It’s fine. The pill is fine. No issues.”

  He nodded, writing something down. “Periods heavy or a bother at all?”

  “Nope.”

  He ran through a few more questions; do I have cramping? Itching? Pain after/during sex? I answered everything with a lump in my throat, and when his elbow nudged the outside of my thigh, a dribble of moisture pooled between my ass cheeks. God, I was about to be humiliated, but I stayed pinned in position, unable to stop it from happening.

  I’d already gotten myself off twice to get through this appointment, knowing I’d be a mess if the doctor looked in any way attractive, but it had been a useless endeavor. Here I laid, dripping onto the examination table because he was talking to me. My fight or flight told me I needed to run, but I did no such thing, remaining stuck.

  Dr. Sterling moved from my side to between my legs again, tugging the chair beneath him and lowering the paper gown down to my stomach, leaving me fully exposed to him.

  And he froze.

  I’d anticipated the cold lubricating gel or the snap of a glove, something to tell me he was busy working, but it didn’t come. After a solid thirty seconds, I leaned up on my elbows to see what was happening.

  And he was just staring, watching my glistening lips with a slight furrow in his brow, like I’d stupefied him.

  “Uh, doctor?” I murmured, my toes curling at his proximity to my pussy, half tempted to grab his head and shove him face first into me. He looked dazed.

  I was about to call him again when he snapped back to reality, his eyes popping up to meet mine. They widened a fraction; he blinked a few times before shaking his head and busying himself with the gloves.

  “The, uh, the gel may feel cold. I’m going to use my fingers first, then I’ll go in with the speculum to check your cervix. Is that okay?” His voice sounded professional, but I’m sure it had grown a little thicker in the last thirty seconds.

  “Yeah, fine,” I replied, but I felt like I was floating in the imaginary tension I’d created in my head.

  His slick, gloved finger rested for a moment right at my hole, the slightest pressure making me twitch. Then he slid in. Slow, careful, curling his finger and making my thighs tense.

  “Sorry,” he whispered, noting what I assumed he thought was discomfort. But it was the opposite. I couldn’t help but study his face, the intensity on it.

  He removed his finger, his jaw twitching, and said, “I’m going to use two fingers and press down on your abdomen.”

  I nodded, trying to wade through the thick air and appear coherent.

  His two lubed up fingers slid inside me and I moaned without thought, the delicious drag of his gloved digits sending shooting tingles down my thighs and up my stomach. He paused, leaving his fingers inserted, and once again, I caught him looking at my face.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered, though my breathing remained a little labored. The weight of him inside me, the slight stretch, the fire behind his eyes… it was impossible to feel nothing.

  Our gazes stayed locked for a moment, questions and wars raging in silence. Then he pulled his fingers almost all the way out, before driving them back in. I gasped, and he did it again, observing.

  My nipples pebbled and my muscles wavered at the sensation, and he watched, his face near unreadable save for the clenching of his jaw.

  His free hand moved over my lower stomach and pressed down, curling the fingers inside me up and pausing to twist them. I was panting, removed from the reality of where we were, what we were doing… my brain ceased function. My hands fisted the paper sheet beneath me. My chest heaved, and he stayed frozen, pressing down and curling up, watching what he was doing to me with an almost vague fascination.

  Like he’d detached himself, his entire body stood cold, apart from that burning behind his eyes.

  “D- Doctor…” I breathed out, then writhed on his fingers unbidden, rolling my hips to chase the drag. Fuck it, this was already happening. There was no need to hide how wild it was making me. This was a dream come true - one I couldn’t be sure I wasn’t daydreaming - so I was going to enjoy the fuck out of it.

  Dr. Sterling lowered his gaze down a fraction, looking as he spread his fingers along the skin of my lower stomach. His thumb brushed against my clit and I groaned, the glorious aches spreading up my body from his touch.

  His inserted fingers started pumping back in and out, and he massaged his thumb on my clit, all the time flickering his gaze from my face to his ministrations, and back again. Like he didn’t know where to look, what to focus on.

  “I think I’m gonna — “ I had no time to warn him what was about to happen, and as I came with full body shudders, I squirted fluid all over his grey shirt and white coat.

  The clear liquid shot from me as I bit down on my hand, only a small rumble of satisfaction from him in reaction. He continued to fuck me with his fingers, drawing out every last pulse of my orgasm.

  I didn’t want it to end. I wanted him inside me forever, so when his fingers slid from me and he rose up with a clatter of the chair, I was yanked back into the harsh reality.

  Dr. Sterling stood over me, still between my legs, an expression of shock and dread on his face. His reality had obviously slapped him in the face, too. Color washed from his features as an internal battle churned inside him. I could see it, the fear. He didn’t know I would never tell a soul.

  I sat up on my elbows, ready to apologize or defend myself or offer any other orifice of his choosing, but he moved abruptly, looked down at his dripping wet shirt, then at me with a look of horror. His mouth opened and closed like he was trying to figure out what to say.

  Slipping my legs from the stirrups, I turned to sit up and deal with this like an adult. But he ran.

  I watched him turn on his heel and flee the room without looking back.

  What the fuck had we just done?

  Two

  Dr. Sterling

  My career was over.

  When that patient — Miss Walton — had let a little moan slip out while I examined her, something inside me had snapped. I’d already thought she was beautiful, but never, never, in my career had I wanted to do that to someone. It had never even occurred to me.

  I was disgusting, predatory, a foul human being. So why was I as hard as a rock and gripping my cock in my private bathroom? Why was I debating pulling my cock free and jacking off to thoughts of what had just happened? Debating going back in there and sticking my dick down her throat. Or fucking the pussy I’d just had my fingers buried in?

  It was beyond unprofessional, abhorrent, fucking soul-destroyingly sexy. And I’d just abandoned her.

  I imagined her at the reception desk right now, telling old Mrs. Waddington what I’d done, demanding the police, brandishing her words to threaten me and my practice, my life. I’d fucked up.

  Shit. Shit.

  I glared at myself in the mirror, fighting the urge to punch it and shatter the glass, my reflection. Instead, I stared at myself, imagining what the girl would have seen — it had been her moan, her clenching around my fingers encouraging me onwards. She’d taken me to a dark place where all my morals had disappeared. And now I was ruined.

  I must have been in there a while, spiraling and waiting for the distant sounds of sirens to alert me of my doom, because Mrs. Waddington was knocking on the door of my office. Something she rarely did.

  With a steadying sigh, I stepped out of the bathroom and crossed the small office to open the door. I was a little surprised to find it was just her, looking confused but ever so polite as always.

  She was an older lady, hired because of her impeccable CV and her ability to wrangle any doctor or nurse. Her stern eyes looked at me through horn-rimmed glasses.

  “Your next patient is here, they’re in with the nurse,” she said, not indicating anything was wrong. Showing no sign that a distressed young woman had just accused me of depravity.

  Miss Walton had left, then, if my next patient was in for processing. She’s gone without a word. She’d let me finger her until she came, let her gynecologist finger fuck her, then sauntered off. A surprise flicker of anger joined the relief.

  The rest of the afternoon passed with tension. I was on edge, counting down the clock, ready to escape the room I’d violated a patient in. Because even if she’d enjoyed it, it was a disgusting misuse of power. By the time 5pm rolled around, exhaustion had me dead on my feet. Mrs. Waddington wanted me to stay back to fill out some paperwork, but I brushed her off, promising I’d be in early tomorrow instead.

  When I got home, my mind wouldn’t go anywhere but to that woman. I couldn’t focus on anything but the ache in my dick, the urge to take her fully. So I fucked my fist to thoughts of her on my table, her pussy wrapped around my cock this time… the ripple of her muscles squeezing, milking, encouraging.

  My orgasm had me buckling and hating myself to such a depth a sob pulled from my throat. This was a darkness I never wanted released.

  A week later, a list of my patients for the day had me pausing with my coffee halfway to my mouth. Miss Harper Walton, follow up. She was coming back. To what? Threaten me? With the police in tow? For… more? Again, excitement warred with panic. I was going to get a fucking stomach ulcer if this didn’t resolve itself soon.

  My morning went by like hell, dragging on as I discussed birth control, examined patients, and checked for pregnancy. It went on and on, going through the motions until I knew she was here for me.

  I felt sick to my stomach when Mrs. Waddington informed me Miss Walton was with the nurse and would be ready in a few minutes. I stared at myself in the mirror again, bracing myself for whatever was to come. If it was more, I didn’t know that I could resist. Didn’t know that I wanted to.

  My hand wrapped around the doorknob, anticipation shooting up and down my spine, making me light-headed. But I had to be professional, own up to my actions and hope she wasn’t here to threaten me. She had me by the balls and she must know it. I certainly did.

  Stepping into the room, I took a moment to read her chart without looking up, catching my breath. Then, when I did glance up, all the air was knocked from my lungs.

  Miss Walton sat there, big green eyes peering at me, legs pressed together as she perched on the table in her thin paper gown. Her silent gaze tracked me across the room as I settled into the wheeled chair and shuffled closer to her, gripping her chart like it would protect me.

  I rested by her waist, not between her legs. I wouldn’t go there unless I needed to. A sigh released from me when our eyes met.

  “Miss Walton,” I said.

  “We’re not beyond that?” she responded with a wry smile, surprising me. She didn’t seem angry at all, she was looking at me with a cocked brow and… was that excitement? My eyes flickered to the two hard points of her nipples showing through the thin gown. She looked kind of like I felt, confused, some anticipation because it had been so —

  “Miss Walton,” I repeated, swallowing a gulp, pushing the thoughts away.

  “Yes?” Her tone was playful, and I found I couldn’t get a handle on her. She didn’t look like an abused patient facing her abuser.

  “I think you should see a different doctor.”

  I noted the tension stiffening up her body, the flicker of disappointment she tried to mask. She sat before me, vulnerable, almost naked, and I was rejecting her. But I had to.

  She chewed her lips, looking contemplative.

  “I need you to just do this for me, tick a box. My — I’m a junior doctor, supposed to be going on a trip in a few weeks to help communities recovering from war. Everything is good to go but the full physical I need. Proof that we’re in sound health. Insurance sent me to you…” she explained with a husk in her voice, like she was trying to keep it steady.

  I glanced down to double check her age on the chart, only twenty-six, a baby doctor. Eleven years younger than me. That wasn’t so bad, this might not be so — I stopped myself, I was not trying to rationalize my actions. Eleven years was a lot. This was bad.

  “It — it would be inappropriate. I can put you in touch with one of my colleagues,” I answered, wheeling back a little to get out of her space. Trying to look detached.

  I heard her huff. “If you don’t do it, I’ll tell everyone what you did.” Even without knowing her, I could tell she didn’t mean it. Her words were shaky at best, her conviction lacking. She winced when I turned and our eyes locked, that rumble in the depths of my mind working its way up.

  She wouldn’t say anything, she was as affected by this as me. Her eyes widened when I let my professional mask fall and stepped closer.

  “Legs in stirrups,” I told her, playing along with her blackmail. In silence, she placed her legs in the stirrups, her chest heaving a little as she spread for me.

  A tension settled over the room as I wheeled my chair to her feet, the squeak of the wheel breaking the quiet. I would check her again, run through the motions of a pelvic exam, to, as she said, tick the boxes. This didn’t need to be anything more. I could do these examinations in my sleep.

  Without looking at her face, I scooted closer to her vulva, sliding her gown down to pool at her stomach.

 

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