Naughty for a shot at the doctors
The sterile scent of antiseptic lingered in the air as Dr. Marcus Hale snapped on his latex gloves, the sharp crack reverberating through the small exam room. He glanced at you with a professional smile, his dark eyes holding yours a beat longer than necessary on your exposed arm. 'Alright, let's get this done,' he said, his voice deep and steady, like a rumble of thunder wrapped in calm.
He grasped the syringe, lifting it upright so the long, silver needle gleamed under the harsh fluorescent lights. It appeared daunting—thick and rigid, designed for a thorough penetration. Your throat tightened, heart racing not only from anxiety but from the way his strong fingers encircled the barrel, assured and commanding. He tapped the side methodically, air bubbles ascending and bursting, the translucent fluid inside settling with each tap.
'Just relax,' he instructed softly, his breath grazing your skin as he positioned himself nearer than protocol demanded. His free hand settled on your shoulder, digits firm against the muscle, urging you to recline against the exam table. The protective paper rustled beneath you, leaving you feeling bare and open, your blouse sleeve hiked up to your bicep.
He cleaned the area with an alcohol swab, the icy trail raising chills along your arm. 'Sharp scratch incoming,' he cautioned, his tone lowering to a gravelly murmur. The needle met your flesh, a momentary pushback before it pierced—searing, biting agony unfurling as it delved deep. You gasped, body stiffening, but he kept you steady. 'You're handling it well,' he encouraged, his thumb rubbing soothing arcs on your arm, the contact sparking against the burn.
The plunger moved deliberately, forcing the solution into your vein with a fiery push. It throbbed intensely, a profound pulse spreading outward, toes clenching in response. Marcus's gaze fixed on your expression, noting every flinch. 'I get that it stings,' he said gently, his words carrying an undercurrent of closeness, 'almost finished.' He paused there, the needle embedded in your tissue longer than required, his gloved palm grazing your wrist.
At last, he extracted it with a quick tug, applying a cotton pad to the puncture and taping it down. Yet he didn't retreat immediately. His fingers glided up your arm, following the vein he'd just breached. 'Look at you, taking it so bravely.' His smile shifted sly, the clinical mask slipping as he bent closer, lips near your ear. 'Now, let's ease that discomfort a bit.'
Before you could reply, his hand ventured downward, undoing your blouse buttons with skilled ease. The room's cool air pebbled your skin, but his proximity stoked a warmth pooling in your core. He guided you flat onto the table, the paper giving a faint rip under your form. 'Show me where it's aching the worst,' he breathed, peeling off his glove with an intentional snap to bare his hand.
You gestured uncertainly, but he understood. His palm roamed your chest, fingertips scraping over your nipple until it peaked under his focus. He tweaked it softly, mirroring the needle's bite, eliciting a sharp inhale from you. 'Right here?' he taunted, then trailed lower, slipping beneath your skirt's hem. Your pussy clenched, dampening your panties as desire mounted.
Marcus hiked your skirt up, easing your underwear aside to reveal your slick folds. He slid a finger along your slit—warm, ungloved now—circling your clit with deliberate pressure. 'Breathe easy,' he echoed, though it sounded like an order, his digit dipping inside you, curling to stroke your inner walls.
You arched into his hand, the arm's residual twinge vanishing in the surge of bliss. He added a second finger, thrusting rhythmically, his thumb grinding against your swollen nub. 'You're managing beautifully,' he commended, his voice rough as he leaned in. His mouth followed, tongue lapping at your entrance before delving in—hot, probing wetness claiming you.
He licked and sucked with practiced fervor, lips sealing around your clit, teeth grazing lightly to send jolts through you. His free hand returned to the bandaged site, a subtle press reminding you of the exposure he'd claimed, amplifying each wave. 'I know it's overwhelming,' he growled against your skin, the vibrations pulsing into your core, 'but you're close.'
The tension coiled tighter, his tongue flicking relentlessly—thrust, swirl, devour—until your thighs quivered, climax ripping through you. You cried out, juices flooding his mouth as he lapped them up greedily, eyes locked on your writhing form.
He rose, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, a triumphant spark in his stare. 'Feeling relieved?'
He grasped the syringe, lifting it upright so the long, silver needle gleamed under the harsh fluorescent lights. It appeared daunting—thick and rigid, designed for a thorough penetration. Your throat tightened, heart racing not only from anxiety but from the way his strong fingers encircled the barrel, assured and commanding. He tapped the side methodically, air bubbles ascending and bursting, the translucent fluid inside settling with each tap.
'Just relax,' he instructed softly, his breath grazing your skin as he positioned himself nearer than protocol demanded. His free hand settled on your shoulder, digits firm against the muscle, urging you to recline against the exam table. The protective paper rustled beneath you, leaving you feeling bare and open, your blouse sleeve hiked up to your bicep.
He cleaned the area with an alcohol swab, the icy trail raising chills along your arm. 'Sharp scratch incoming,' he cautioned, his tone lowering to a gravelly murmur. The needle met your flesh, a momentary pushback before it pierced—searing, biting agony unfurling as it delved deep. You gasped, body stiffening, but he kept you steady. 'You're handling it well,' he encouraged, his thumb rubbing soothing arcs on your arm, the contact sparking against the burn.
The plunger moved deliberately, forcing the solution into your vein with a fiery push. It throbbed intensely, a profound pulse spreading outward, toes clenching in response. Marcus's gaze fixed on your expression, noting every flinch. 'I get that it stings,' he said gently, his words carrying an undercurrent of closeness, 'almost finished.' He paused there, the needle embedded in your tissue longer than required, his gloved palm grazing your wrist.
At last, he extracted it with a quick tug, applying a cotton pad to the puncture and taping it down. Yet he didn't retreat immediately. His fingers glided up your arm, following the vein he'd just breached. 'Look at you, taking it so bravely.' His smile shifted sly, the clinical mask slipping as he bent closer, lips near your ear. 'Now, let's ease that discomfort a bit.'
Before you could reply, his hand ventured downward, undoing your blouse buttons with skilled ease. The room's cool air pebbled your skin, but his proximity stoked a warmth pooling in your core. He guided you flat onto the table, the paper giving a faint rip under your form. 'Show me where it's aching the worst,' he breathed, peeling off his glove with an intentional snap to bare his hand.
You gestured uncertainly, but he understood. His palm roamed your chest, fingertips scraping over your nipple until it peaked under his focus. He tweaked it softly, mirroring the needle's bite, eliciting a sharp inhale from you. 'Right here?' he taunted, then trailed lower, slipping beneath your skirt's hem. Your pussy clenched, dampening your panties as desire mounted.
Marcus hiked your skirt up, easing your underwear aside to reveal your slick folds. He slid a finger along your slit—warm, ungloved now—circling your clit with deliberate pressure. 'Breathe easy,' he echoed, though it sounded like an order, his digit dipping inside you, curling to stroke your inner walls.
You arched into his hand, the arm's residual twinge vanishing in the surge of bliss. He added a second finger, thrusting rhythmically, his thumb grinding against your swollen nub. 'You're managing beautifully,' he commended, his voice rough as he leaned in. His mouth followed, tongue lapping at your entrance before delving in—hot, probing wetness claiming you.
He licked and sucked with practiced fervor, lips sealing around your clit, teeth grazing lightly to send jolts through you. His free hand returned to the bandaged site, a subtle press reminding you of the exposure he'd claimed, amplifying each wave. 'I know it's overwhelming,' he growled against your skin, the vibrations pulsing into your core, 'but you're close.'
The tension coiled tighter, his tongue flicking relentlessly—thrust, swirl, devour—until your thighs quivered, climax ripping through you. You cried out, juices flooding his mouth as he lapped them up greedily, eyes locked on your writhing form.
He rose, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, a triumphant spark in his stare. 'Feeling relieved?'
41-45, M
