Doctor Does Diesel Ch. 02bySatisfyable©
In the barracks Diesel lay quietly and stared at the ceiling. The snores of his fellow soldiers permeated his consciousness only slightly. He was used to the sound, it was like silence to him now. He had forgone a shower. His hand was shoved into his pants, caressing the length of his shaft, which felt soft, had lost its damp stickiness. He removed his hand from his pants, put his fingertips to his nose. As he had hoped, her scent was still there. He had planned on staying away from the base as long as possible, yet after he left Madison, he hadn't wanted to be alone, even if that company meant enduring the harsh presence of his peers.
She had ended their third round of feverish lovemaking quickly after realizing that she had another appointment in ten minutes. "The room smells of us," she had laughed, laying her head on his sweat dampened shoulder. "I haven't been fucked like that in...ever." After the intensity of it all, Diesel hadn't said much, reverting almost instantly back to his introverted quiet self as he dressed. He had stood by the door, his hand on the knob, watching her dress, forgoing the knee highs since they had been run during the course of the afternoon's activities. "You have my card," she'd said, blindly reapplying her shiny sheer lip gloss. "Call me before you shove out." Diesel had left wordlessly, the elevator ride downstairs allowing time for the gravity of what had just happened to sink in. He supposed it wasn't that big of a deal, yet everything seemed to matter a bit more than it should have.
In his car he had seared his flesh on the black leather seat, yet he had barely flinched. He'd felt dazed, drunk. How he ended up at the base was beyond him but he had decided that since his subconscious had brought him there he'd better stay. Now he was anything but tired, could seemingly feel the bulge of her business card in his pocket, however imagined the bulge was. In the morning he was supposed to meet with his sergeant, take Dr. Attard's clean bill of mental health to the office just at the edge of the base. It would be hard for him not to keep on through the gates when he went there. But where would he go? This was a lifetime away from Georgiana. He had no one to go to, no one to call. But her.
Diesel coughed suddenly, a nagging phlegm laced act that had been born of the sands of Iraq. He didn't have the mental stability to admit what this could imply. This thought led to that of Dr. Attard's diagnosis. She hadn't wanted to give him a clean bill, said he needed many more sessions, had some deep rooted issues probably, things she felt bad for not delving into as deeply as his dick had explored her. But that couldn't be helped. The snores seemed to stop suddenly, and just as suddenly Diesel was asleep, he had not slept in months.
In the heat of his departure they had forgotten their plan to sell the ring. She didn't need the money, but she was sure that Diesel could have used it. She had the nagging feeling that he wouldn't have taken it though, probably would have considered it charity and become hostile, offended. She knew his type well. She simply didn't know how to repay him for this feeling, she loved this feeling, the one every woman gets after a good round of sweaty, hard fucking. She felt satisfied, could feel the tickle of the spent orgasm still in her depths. Diesel had done for her what no other man had ever been able, she had come while he fucked her, a smashing, mind blasting orgasm that had made her fingers numb and set her mind ablaze with nothing, bright, flashing nothing. She wanted to see him again. She hadn't yet admitted that. In her large plush feather bed, she felt alone, dissatisfied. She needed his presence, to feel his warmth, smell the manliness that emanated from every pore the man possessed.
"Shit, he leaves tomorrow night," she said to herself. She picked up the phone, then put it down, afraid of what she was contemplating doing. She sat up, let the silk sheets fall way from her, revealing her breasts, bruised and tender from the severity and roughness of Diesel, a roughness she had never known she craved. She imagined him now, his broad sculpted chest, scarred from the blows of his life, the way his narrow hips tapered into his groin, where his powerful manhood stood like an entity of it's own, smooth, beautiful, with its purplish and blue veins standing out like graffiti. The feel of it inside her was too much for her to relive. Before she knew what she was doing, her hand was trailing down to her bare pussy, still slightly sore and swollen. She began rubbing in a circular motion, her mind playing down the image of Diesel as he thrust into her, again and again, his gaze never leaving hers, a vein playing dangerously in his temple, his teeth clenched. As she came of her own accord this time, it all became very clear. She couldn't help herself, she had to do it, there was no other way. She rolled over onto her stomach as the last tremors of her climax ebbed a wave of spasms through her body. She pulled her briefcase off of her bedside table, opened her patient profile book, she found Diesel's name quickly, and did what she had to even quicker.
Diesel laced up his combat boots, black and deeply shined with a mix of his spit and a polish concoction he had created and swore by since he'd been issued his first pair of boots. He left his footlocker and bag near his bunk, everyone who remained in the barracks right now were deathly afraid of him, and wouldn't think of touching his things. He put the file from Madison under his arm, and began his trek to the office. The sergeant greeted him with a look he couldn't discern right off, yet it was not pleasant, Diesel knew that much. Diesel stood at attention before the sergeant's desk before the man barked, "at ease."
"Yes Sir First Sergeant Ford, sir!" Diesel barked before taking a seat before the Sergeant's desk. He placed the manila folder containing Madison's recommendation on the desk, sat back, waiting for the man to peruse it, and give him clearance to ship out to Germany that night.
"What's that?" Sergeant Ford asked, looking cryptically at the envelope.
"It's my clearance, I guess you would call it, from the therapist."
"Clearance, from the therapist? That makes no sense, because clearance would imply that she gave you the ok on the mental health screening."
"I know, she did! It's in that folder, on her letter head."
"Well, either you got a forgery or she's a nut job because she called the base last night and left a message that I needed to call her back, that it was urgent. Do you know what was so urgent?"
"She wanted to commend you on your superior skills as a leader and servant in the U.S.M.C.?" Diesel ventured, already tired of being in the stuffy office being subjected the scrutiny and condescension of a superior. That was the part he hated most, he loved the physicality of the Marines, the respect it garnered as well as the sense of pride it gave him, even if it was in something he couldn't entirely believe in. Yet the constant lordship of the upper ranks was something he could do without, something he struggled with inherently.
"No, she called to say that you weren't fit to go to Germany."
"What? That's not what this says!" Diesel fumbled the thin paper out of the envelope, let it drift in front of Sergeant Ford. The man read it, his expression neutral.
"This may be, Mr. Olsen, but at any rate, she called me, post creation of this letter handing down this diagnosis. She said that you cannot leave tonight. She recommends a couple more sessions with her before she will clear you to leave the base."
"This is bullshit."
"Maybe so, but we are being too closely monitored by the big guys for us to let any of you hide. The last thing I need is for you to go ballistic in the field and all this get dredged up after the fact, and you know whose name will drag through the mud, not this doctor, not yours, mine, because I allowed it. You got two things working against you, I knew your daddy, Mr. Olsen, and he was the craziest motherfucker walking this planet, I watched as they let him go time and time again onto the field with no regard. He was a bloodthirsty rascal who you couldn't predict, went ballistic and--"
"I know, the story, First Sergeant. If you'd continue." The sergeant started, as if furious at being interrupted, but then his expression became thoughtful and open.
"The other thing you got against you is that I don't want to see you killed out there, and if this Dr. Madison Attard thinks you unfit for battle, I can't take that as nothing. You been under me since you started, I've watched your little ass turn into this, and I can't say that it's all good. You lost some of that life in your eyes, in my line of business, I see that a lot, but I didn't want it from you, not from any of my boys. You go see this Dr. Attard, and you convince her that you're ready to stay alive."
"Yes Sir First Sergeant Ford." Diesel barked, rising from his seat. He looked at the older well tanned man with interest now. Ford had never spoken to him in this way, and Diesel could admit that it had him slightly shaken. He'd always known that his father had served with Ford, yet the sergeant had never mentioned anything about it before, so Diesel had assumed that he had forgotten his father, didn't know that he was his son. It was probably the former, because Gear Olsen had been many things, yet forgettable was not one of them.
"Here," said the sergeant, writing down the Dr. Attard's name as well as his appointment time. The same as it had been yesterday. He took the piece of paper, balled it in his fist. He didn't need it to remember. The entire time he'd been sitting in that seat he'd been struggling with conflicting feelings of anger and relief. He could not ignore the excitement he felt at the prospect of seeing Dr. Attard again, yet it was not her place to play games with his life. "Report there tomorrow, see if you can impress her enough to let you fly out at least by next week. She may not be finished with you for the long run but I'm sure she's not looking to cure you, just get your head right enough for proper service. As for tonight, though, it's a no go."
Diesel was dismissed by the Sergeant to his own devices for the rest of the week, at which point he would report back with his diagnosis, hopefully favorable. He could remain on base if he chose but at that moment the last thing he wanted to do was see the gray walls or smell the stuffy air of the barracks. He retrieved his bags and took them to his rental. He bummed a cigarette from a corporal he knew and leaned against the small white car, smoking and staring off into the distance, at the cars moving about nearly a mile away on the highway. He stared down at his simple leather banded watch. He didn't know anyone here but her, so he had no place to go really until the next day when he would keep the appointment.
Impulsively he climbed into his car, headed a couple places really, one of them was to get a room, that was the only place he was sure of. While driving his past touched at the corners of his mind, nagging, he thought of his mother, how he had left her for the service because he wanted freedom. He later found out that the marines was the wrong place to go for that reward but he had at least a gained a sense of himself, and made himself into a man he respected. The absence of a father and the presence of a soft clingy mother had left him feeling inadequate in most aspects of the public sphere. He'd never been much of a talker, his appearance alone had never failed to attract the attention of women, but once he had had his fill of the physical delights this brought him, he found himself searching for something to give him internal validation. Before Iraq had mind fucked him, he'd at least enjoyed his place in the service. Now he wasn't so sure. ~~
Madison sat on her balcony, a book tented on her lap, a glass of chilled merlot sweating on the table beside her. She watched traffic pass below her, in the distance the waters of the man made beach her development was named for sparkled brilliantly in the setting sun. She wasn't in a particularly good mood, was more than anxious about seeing Diesel the next day, not knowing how he would be to her, after knowing what she had done. She'd had to do it, she couldn't fathom the thought of maybe not seeing him again. Even if he were to be cold or angry to her when she saw him the next day, she would at least get to see his face again, if he would not touch her, she would at least be able to imagine better with him there, the way his skin felt against hers, the way his eyes devoured her. The rise and fall of his southern voice would comfort her, he sounded approachable, warm whenever he felt the need to speak.
"So your one of those kind?" Madison jumped, the act shook the table and almost sent her glass of merlot toppling as the book did from her lap. She stood, pulled her robe about herself. She knew that voice anywhere, yet the dim interior of her bedroom looked unoccupied from her vantage point. She parted the sheer curtains and stepped into the room, her stomach in knots. She was grabbed from behind quickly, snatched as if kidnapped, her mouth covered before she could even give a cry of surprise. His arms were like steel vices around her, pasting her arms at her sides, she was held so that her feet were not touching the floor, helpless. She was carried to the bed, laid down gently, face down. Her robe had come undone in the struggle, it hung uselessly from her body, everything but her lower half uncovered.
"Diesel?" she choked out, hoping, yet still fearing whoever accosted her, even if it was in fact him. She didn't know him, sensed that he had deep seated issues, he could very well be there to harm her.
"One of those meddling types. You play games much, doctor?" Warm fingertips smoothed the robe away from the swell of her behind. She didn't dare turn over to look, but it was him, she was sure of it. "I don't know how to feel right now. That's a problem I always had. My conscience never catches up with my actions really, you know, I'd kill the rabbit before I'd really decided to do it. With the blood on my hands I'd choose to spare its life."
She was silent as the touch returned, this time to sweep the hair away from her neck, his large dry palm rested there, right at her neck, as if contemplating whether to squeeze or whether to caress. "I couldn't help myself," she said. She felt weight push down on the bed, then his warm breath on her back, leaving a trail of heat that ended at her ass. Suddenly she was turned over roughly, and her uncertainty melted away. It was him, of course. His eyes were turbulent, dark. He wore plainclothes as confidently as he sported his fatigues. The clothes were typical, a pair of dark washed jeans, baggy and slightly low on the waist, and a large nondescript white T-shirt comprised his simple outfit. He wore a pair of faddish boots, a thick gold chain with a charm hidden beneath his shirt hung about his thick neck.
"Well, even professional shrinks can't always control their most base impulses? Is that what you're telling me?" She watched as his gaze took in her naked body. His eyes lingered where she knew they would, at the scar just beneath her left breast. He reached out as if to touch it, but didn't. Wordlessly he pulled his shirt over his head, giving her another chance to appreciate his combat sculpted chest, covered with its crude armed services inspired tattoos.
"I wanted you. I didn't know how else to ensure that I would see you again."
"So you decide to fuck with my career? This will be on my file."
"No it won't, not if I tell them that I don't think there's any need for it."
"You have no idea how the government works, how the marines work, do you? Any and everything you do it recorded in their little score book. Even if you send me off with a clean bill of health after this, the bad shit still remains, one thing doesn't wipe away another."
"Then leave, and I'll call your sergeant and tell him I made a mistake, that you're fit for combat after further review."
"But you'd be lying, wouldn't you?"
"I don't know, would I be?" Diesel didn't answer her question. Instead he undid his black leather belt, unbuttoned his jeans, stepped out of them. He wore a simple pair of white cotton underwear, the types that Madison had always thought all young boys wore, Fruit of the Looms with the blue and red stripe along the elastic waist. His erection tented the underwear, threatened to escape from the hole in the front. He climbed on top of her, his weight was enough to get her wet, the way he felt on top of her was something she had missed. She had not shared her bed with a man in so long, not a man who wanted a woman like Diesel did, anyway.
"Open your legs," he commanded, his hands landing gently on her thighs. She did, and his hand was instantly there, parting the folds of her pussy, one rough finger pushing against her clit, eliciting a moan she didn't feel escaping until it was a breath on her lips. She writhed in time with every stroke his fingers made across her wetness, chills snapping through her body. His finger slid into her, probing for a spot to concentrate on. He found her G-spot instantly, as if he knew her body from the inside out already. She shrieked, questions suddenly flooding her mind, reason trying to overcome her desire.
"How'd you get in here, Diesel? How did you know where I lived?" her mind went blank as his finger left her and found their way to one of her small brown nipples. He twisted and tweaked one, then stood, and in one swift movement he was out of his underwear, his impressive dick standing at attention, as hard as it had been the other day, if not harder. She wanted to touch it, reached out for it, but he held her hands down, and mounted her.
"Does it matter?" Diesel asked, grinding against her, his dick hitting her clit roughly, then softly, until she thought she might come by this contact alone. "I found out all I needed to know, then I found you. I watched you for a while before I broke in." Fear fluttered in Madison's stomach, but it was quickly obliterated by the feeling of him pushing himself into her in one solid thrust that sent her mind reeling. She tried to catch her breath, but then he was thrusting into her again, his gaze trained on hers. She had never known anything like the feeling he gave her. Her eyes left his and fell to where they met, the paleness of his stomach tapering to where he disappeared into her, the loose curl of his pubic hair meeting with the black coarseness of what little there was of hers.
"Oh God!" she screamed as the thrusts intensified. Her breasts shook violently with the strength he put behind them, her hands found their way to his ass, where they squeezed and pulled him closer to her, if that were even possible. His lips found hers, stifling any further screams that would have burst free from her throat. He abruptly flipped her over into her stomach and entered her from behind, his fingers gently rubbing her clit as he assailed her with thrust after savage thrust. He held her waist, guided her back and forth, his own breathing coming sharp and labored.
"I'm not him, but you feel like what I think heaven would feel like...that's what I mean, you feel like happiness to me." His own grunts began then, she could feel a weakness overcoming her, her orgasm waiting right where she could reach it. Then he was gone from her, turning her back over onto her back. "Don't come yet," he commanded breathlessly, holding the weight of himself in his hand, looking down on her. He was sweating profusely, his expression was unreadable. He picked her up, held her so that her legs wrapped around his waist. Against the wall he slammed her, then entered her again. She raked at his back, arched against him, called his name through clenched teeth. "How do I feel?" he asked.