The Gold Digger Ch. 06

The first thing the next morning Bob slipped down to a nearby Walmart and bought Carol a soft robe. It was a cheap polyester product, but it felt soft and ran smoothly through his fingers. It was a lovely bone colored sleeveless item with a belt that would gently wrap around her waist. There were other more concealing robes, but he wanted to reduce skin contact as much as possible. Returning to the Motel Six he got her up, into the robe, and they were on their way.

He got Carol to the doctors early; she was his first patient. The doctor gave her a shot of penicillin, and a prescription to be taken over the next two weeks. A pregnancy test was given and Carol was indeed with child. The doctor estimated she was probably about eight weeks on. That would have made the time of conception, much to Carol's relief, most likely some time after the big three-guy night. The bites, chaffs, and sores were all severe but not life threatening. After the examination the doctor asked if he could speak with Bob privately. Carol obediently stepped back into the outer waiting room.

Carol walked out and sat in one of the hard wooden chairs typically found in a doctor's waiting room. The chair was more like a bench than anything else. It was hard to stay in any one position. Carol found herself repeatedly slipping and sliding around on the wood. This changing of positions was troublesome for every change, thanks to the skimpiness of the robe, caused the exposure of some part of her body.

Bob was longer than she anticipated. She grabbed a magazine and started to leaf through it. While sitting there on her wooden torture seat other patients drifted in. First in were two teenage girls, then a mother with a young daughter, and last two teenage boys. As each new patient rolled in Carol felt increasingly self-conscious considering all she had on was a silly polyester bathrobe that slid all over the place at her slightest movement. She could tell the teenage girls were looking over and whispering about something. The mother was discreetly trying to keep her daughter occupied so she wouldn't start staring. The two boys were another matter. They openly and giddily stared. The robe left little to the imagination. With no sleeves the armpits hung down temptingly too low, and with no buttons, and only a thin belt at the waist, it took all her determination to keep the thing from gapping out. The soft polyester rubbed across her nipples, and of course, since this was the worst possible time, they started to distend. It was impossible to sit comfortably and pretend to be modest in what she had on. Every little squirm revealed something. The boys enjoyed every moment. She wished Bob would hurry up.

Carol thought he'd been alone with the doctor a long time. What were they talking about? Was there more to her situation than they wanted her to know? Then she heard the little girl ask her mother something.

"Mommy. Why doesn't that lady have any clothes on?"

Her mother answered. "She's here to have a check up honey."

The little girl asked. "We always wear clothes when we get check ups."

The mother responded. "Well different people do different things sweetheart."

Little girl pointed. "Mommy I can see her boopies!"

The mother spoke to her daughter softly. "Shush. Don't talk so loud."

The little girl wouldn't give it up. "But I can! Look!" She pointed again.

The girl's mother scolded. "Be quiet honey."

The little girl wasn't finished. "Mommy! She has flowers n her face! Look! See!"

The mother scolded. "Sit here, and turn around."

The little girl did as she was told, but by now everyone was looking at Carol, and in her wan condition, the flowers, the vine, and the leaves on her left cheek all showed up clearly.

One of the two girls walked over and bent down for a good look. "They're tattooed on aren't they."

Carol looked down and away. "Yes."

The girl went on. "Where did you get it done?"

Carol responded. "I don't recall."

The girl sniffed. "Well, if that's the way it is."

Carol looked up at her. "I'm not being nasty. I really don't recall who did it."

The girl turned and walked away. "Yeah right."

Carol was doing all she could to keep covered up, but the damn robe was too slippery. She couldn't keep up with it. When she tried to cover her breasts the bottom flanged out. When she tried to fix her legs she lost control around her breasts. If she tried to pull the damn thing tighter anyone interested could see right through it. By now both girls and both boys were openly staring at her. Carol's face bled a bright crimson. Where in the hell is Bob?

The doctor had a grave look on his face when he began. "Bob. This girl is seriously ill. Those are the worst kind of roach bites, and, as you certainly know, she's literally covered in them."

Bob interrupted. "Well tell me what to do."

The doctor held up a hand. "It's not that easy. I've taken a blood sample, and I'll get it out right away. If she's suffering from blood poisoning, and I'd be surprised if she wasn't, she'll be on a strict regimen of antibiotics and other medications for quite some time." The doctor reached out a hand and put it on Bob's shoulder. "She's going to require constant care, lot's of skin care, and oodles of TLC. I'm going to give you the name of a dermatologist. Call him as soon as you get home. As soon as my secretary gets in I'll have her call him so he'll be expecting to hear from you. We can't waste any time. Believe me Bob. It looks really bad. Don't be upset when I tell you its worse than it looks."

Bob asked. "She's pregnant. Will this affect the baby?"

The doctor responded. "I don't know. I just don't know. Let's cross that bridge when we come to it.

Bob breathed a deep sigh. "Jesus."

The doctor continued. "She doesn't need to know anymore than she already knows. I wouldn't mention any possible threats to the fetus. Comments like that would only worsen her condition. Keep her inside, out of the direct light of the sun. Keep her cool and comfortable. Do you have a big tub?"

Bib answered. "Yes I do."

The doctor said. "That's good. For the first days keep her in it at least twice a day. Cool water, and use the cleansers I've prescribed. Don't let her get too active. Keep her in if you can. Keep her off the Internet. She'll undoubtedly want to research her condition. She'll read the worst cases and panic. Keep her in loose fitting comfortable clothes. She's to wear nothing tight and nothing that might abrade her skin. Naked would be best. Satin sheets if you've got em."

Bob was listening, taking it all in.

The doctor went on. Let's go over this. Keep her in bed as much as possible the first days. No direct sunlight. Cool health baths twice a day for two weeks then once a day for the next two. She needs rest. For the next three, maybe four weeks she stays inside. Soft loose clothing. Minimal exercise. Keep an eye on her abrasions, especially behind the knees, under the arms, between her legs, her neck, and waist. Not a lot of excitement. Call me if anything looks wrong. If she starts to drift off, say lapse into a sense of lassitude go straight to an emergency room. Call me when you get there. She's to get lots of fluids, but no booze.

Bob answered. "OK."

The doctor continued. "I presume the Bob on her backside is you. She gives the impression of being a nice girl. I don't know how she came to be this way. Don't get me wrong. I know you. But if I thought it was you who did this to her I'd bring it to the police."

Bob responded. "She is a nice girl. No I didn't do it, and yes I'm the Bob on her backside. About who did it? I didn't do it, but I'm responsible. Don't bother about the police. I'll take care of that in my own time. Then Bob asked. "What about sex?"

The doctor smiled. "Not right away. Let her rest up. Maybe in a week?" He said. "Treat her nice. She's been through a lot."

Bob looked down. He was a little embarrassed by his last question. He put his hands on the doctor's shoulders. "She'll get the best. You can count on it."

As they walked out the front door the doctor's demeanor abruptly changed to one of bright optimism. Bob knew it was for Carol's benefit. The doctor said. "OK. You know what to do. Take it easy, and I'll see you in two weeks." He waved over at Carol and smiled.

Bob shook the doctor's hand, turned and smiled at Carol. "Ready?"

Was she ready? "Yes I certainly am."

Together they walked to the car. Bob held her hand and walked beside her ready to intercede if she looked unstable. Carol asked. "What did he say?"

Bob mumbled. "About what?"

Carol squeezed his hand. "About our baby."

Bob squeezed back. "Whose baby? I'm not pregnant."

Carol hoped he was teasing, but she couldn't be sure. "Please don't tease."

Bob got serious. "OK. It's our baby. Adoption is not an option. I'll be there when you deliver, and I'll be there with a wallet when whoever it is grows up. Don't worry about the rest. We're talking the best schools. Best care. Best colleges. But I'm not getting married, ever again."

Carol hadn't asked for that. She'd been awake part of the night kicking that one around. She'd figured it out. She had seven months to change his mind. If that meant seven months of slavery, humiliation, and submission, she figured to would be a small price to pay. Ever since that late night gang bang right down to this morning's doctors visit there had been one constant in her topsy turvey life. Whenever, and wherever she needed a hero Bob was there. He loved her. He'd even admitted it twice. Albeit in the heat of passion, but an admission's an admission. He'd said he was out to change her. He didn't know it, but that was already accomplished. Now the easy part. Get him to buy into what he'd already said. She saw it this way. The doctor made it clear about her probable conception. The baby was his. She was his. The baby was her anchor. She would be the dutiful what ever he wanted her to be. Yet regardless of what that might be she'll be the mother of his child. She held his future in her womb. She tugged at his hand. "Did the doctor say anything about what has happened to me possibly hurting the baby?"

Bob didn't want that question. He didn't want to lie to her, but he didn't want her to worry. "The way he explained it the most important thing is what you do from today forward. It's not the baby's health; it's your vulnerability. You get stupid; the baby suffers. You do what your told, things will be fine."

Carol leaned her weight against him. "I'm going to make you a healthy baby. You'll be so proud. You'll be proud of me, and most especially, you'll be proud of our child, our dear child who's growing inside me."

Bob listened. He wasn't a nitwit. He figured he'd hear a lot of crap like that over the next months. He'd already decided he wouldn't let it get him. But on the other hand he considered, she's been through hell these last weeks. She could use a break. He told her. "Just shut up and do what you're told."

Carol pressed against him as hard she dared considering her frail health. "Yes dear."

Bob grumbled. "Shit."

Carol looked up smiling and pressed even harder. They walked back the rest of the way to the car in silence.

As he drove, Carol stayed awake and alert. In light of her last three road trips, she was determined this time to see where they were going. They traveled an interstate for maybe forty minutes before turning off on a high-speed two-lane highway. After another fifteen minutes or so Bob turned into a wooded side road. They drove along for another fifteen minutes till they reached a pot holed gully infested dirt path. She saw the mailbox and read the name, Metcalf, she knew they were nearly there. It was a slow go now. The road was rough, part dirt, part macadam, mostly stone and rock. It finally vomited out into a magnificent clearing. Carol was flabbergasted. She'd known Bob, at least casually, for two years. She always thought of him as the classic staid, middle-brow, gray flannel, no risk, unimaginative, perfunctory type. The kind of guy who belonged to a book of the month club, drank Sanka, ate Rice Krispies, and had a team of Mexicans do his landscaping. Nothing about the man she's been acquainted with prepared her for what she was looking at!

He looked at her. "This is it. Home sweet home. Hope you like it."

They were maybe forty miles from center-city. Here it was! Bob's house, his domicile, the place he called home. She looked over at him. "I had no idea."

Bob smiled. "Do you think it'll do?"

"Bob." Carol said. I would have never dreamed; not in my wildest fantasies. You own a log cabin."

Bob smiled. "Pretty nice don't you think?"

"It's beautiful." That was all Carol could get out.

Bob stopped the car, got out, walked around and got her door. "I'd show you around outside, but you're shoeless, and the doctor gave some pretty strict instructions. You're inside for at least two weeks. Then, maybe, on cloudy days I'll let you out." He held out a hand. "Here. I'll carry you. I promise to be careful."

Carol leaned out of the car and Bob lifted her up. Carrying her like a baby he glided up a broad set of oaken steps to a magnificent double front door. Gently putting her down he said. "Hang on while I open up." He got out his house key, opened the door, lifted her back up and carried her inside.

Carol was swept away. She'd never seen anything so remarkably beautiful. Her arms ached desperately from the bites and chaffings, the backs of her legs burned where Bob' right arm was holding her, but she refused to relinquish her hold around his neck. She just didn't want to let go. She'd had her fantasies. Every woman had fantasies. Fantasies about the perfect man, the perfect home, the perfect life. She thought, this couldn't be true. This can't be real. He'd even carried her over the threshold!

Bob didn't want to put her down. She fit so snugly in his arms. She was so light and frail, delicate even. He could smell her hair, her skin. He glanced down and looked at her soft cheeks, the soft wisps of hair at her temple, her warm lips, those vividly flashing eyelashes. Still he leaned forward to let her down. "There's a bedroom with a bath over to the left. Though the sheets are cotton and the doctor wants you on satin for a while, the bed's all made. Follow me." He took her hand and guided her toward the room. Opening a door he stepped aside. "After you."

Carol stepped into the bedroom. Nothing in her whole life prepared her for this. Wherever she looked she saw beauty. Not rich gaudy beauty, but a natural rustic kind of beauty no one would have ever dreamed of associating with this man. She walked over and sat on the big king sized bed. It was firm but not hard. Like everything she'd come to find about him. The bed was neither too hard nor too soft. It was just right. "Bob is this yours? Is this really yours?"

He grinned and answered. "I think so."

Carol stammered a little. "Did you have all this built?"

Bob answered. "Actually no. Tell the truth I built most of it myself."

Carol was stunned. "You built this?"

Bob responded. "I built the cabin. I had others put in the electricity and the plumbing. I know my limitations."

Carol asked. "When did you find the time?"

Bob smiled softly. "I'll tell you about it sometime Right now let's get you in the tub."

The next several days and nights were a steady routine of baths, naps, short walks around the house and brief stints on the porch. He kept a big rocking chair on the porch, its thick soft cushions and gentle rocking was a tonic to her. To Carol's delight Bob had gone into the nearest town and bought some satin sheets. He kept her completely naked all the time. It wasn't difficult to do since there were no womens' clothes on hand, and he disallowed her the use of his clothes, though she had taken many a longing look at his boxers.

There was one down side those first days and nights. Carol had frequent nightmares. Bob stayed half-awake during those first evenings. She would cry out and attack her bites scratching at them viciously. She scratched so furiously one night Bob had to take matters into his own hands. The next day he went back into town and bought a woman's manicure kit: scissors, clippers, files, and emery boards. The whole works. Carol didn't like it but he spent a good part of the next morning cutting and filing her nails down. He scrubbed, soaked, clipped, filed, and buffered until her hands and fingers, small and delicate anyway, were like a child's. She said as much, claiming he was using her dreams as an excuse to punish her in a new way. He didn't argue. When he'd finished her hands and fingers did look like a child's. But she was unable to scratch anything. He didn't care what her opinion was. None of her scabs were reopened. He liked the look anyway. The nightmares didn't go away.

After her first two weeks they returned to the doctor's. Still wearing only the Walmart robe, Carol continued to be the source of casual curiosity in the waiting room. This time Bob was present. He interceded with perverted gusto. He was a veritable icon of waiting room care and concern. He enjoyed everyone's interest in his 'significant other's' ailments. While Carol struggled to retain her modesty, pulling and tugging at her flimsy polyester sheath, Bob discussed her condition. She was amazed by Bob's detailed description of a skin condition that was entirely a product of his own overactive imagination.

Carol supposed it would have been fun if she was just one of the waiting room spectators, but she was the center of Bob's attention, and he made the most of it. He played the doting companion. He pretended to brush errant locks of hair from her neck. He adjusted the robe on her shoulders. He carefully straightened the soft, always moving, short folds of polyester across her thighs. While pretending to wipe a stray tress from her cheek, he kissed her ear. Pretending to tidy the robe's lapels he caressed a cheek.

Of course, Bob's attentions were intended to tease and embarrass, and they did. Yet his true intentions were really thinly disguised excuses to grope her comely shape, and Carol, scantily dressed in a flimsy little robe was vulnerable and exposed. Brushing back a little hair meant fingers tracing along the nape of her neck just below the line of the collar where the hair was softest and skin most sensitive. Adjusting her shoulders meant pulling the robe tight across breasts causing her nipples to push against the robe's silky fabric. Straightening the cloth at her thighs included a caress of the inner side of an exposed ticklish knee, and the gentle wisp of a fingertip just a fraction of an inch from her innermost treasures induced an involuntary moistening in that special secret place. Tidying lapels included the passing of a palm across a nipple just when the fabric revealed a hint of aureole. Wiping a cheek meant gentle fingers across her chin and a thumb just inside her lips. He was horny, but she was more so. The more he pretended to dote the wetter she got. She had to play along with his not too subtle subterfuge by pretending to receive his attentions with appreciation. Her red cheeks betrayed her embarrassment and discomfort. Bob didn't care. Though several of the other waiting room occupants pretended to be scandalized none turned away. Why should they? They were being treated to a show any soft-core pornographer could have taken pride in. When the doctor eventually called them, she left a vivid little damp spot on the bench.

Bob made a public note of her treasonous body by pointing to the dampened wood. He even offered to assist her to the bathroom before going directly to the doctor's lab.

The doctor's diagnosis confirmed the worst of her fears, but also the brightest of her hopes. They'd discovered some blood poisoning, and added more medications to her regimen. The dermatologist had been helpful regarding concerns about permanent scarring. Most of her wounds were healing nicely. The damage to her face had cleared up. The chaffings were now only darkened reminders and would soon disappear. Even her vaginal area was nearly healed. The doctor even told them she could allow her hair to grow back. There was no mention of possible damage to her unborn child. The doctor didn't volunteer, and Carol was too afraid to ask.