The Doctor's Treatment

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MaxSebastian
MaxSebastian
1,945 Followers

“Sure I can’t tempt you?” she said, coming up to him.

“Not right now,” he said, which was basically a lie. “I’ll come for a swim later.”

“I wasn’t talking about a swim,” she stood close to him, her scantily clad figure accelerating his heart rate three-fold.

God, how he would have loved to take her up on her offer, but it wasn’t right. Not now.

“Go for a swim!” he chuckled. “And don’t go out too far!”

She pouted again like a child denied chocolate in a supermarket aisle, but complied with his demand. Walking down to the lake like a catwalk model, wiggling that peach of a behind a little, putting on a show for him in that thong bathing suit. And it was effective – how couldn’t it be? He wished he could take advantage of the situation and slip his hard cock between those firm, beautifully rounded cheeks, gliding into the girl’s hot, tight, wet vagina.

But that would confuse matters.

The water was cold – not ice-cold, like the huge “sheep-dip” bath at Almeda – but cold enough to cause some degree of shock as she dived in. Immediately she surfaced, she pulled herself up out of the water and back onto the small wooden pier.

Looking up to find the delicious Doc watching her. She smiled, he smiled back. Oh, why didn’t he just give in, take her as he wanted. She knew he found her attractive. Could see it in his eyes, the stiffness between his legs. How she craved that stiffness between her legs, the hot strength pushing inside her.

But he was a tower of self-discipline, it seemed. She would just have to work on him. Damn the whole doctor-patient thing. She would feel much better if her doctor could forget about oaths and ethics and just kiss her, touch her, bury that oh-so-handsome face between her thighs. She’d feel much better. Wasn’t it a doctor’s duty to make a patient feel better? Surely the ends would justify the means.

She dived back in, if anything to distract her thoughts from the burning need within her. It was a little warmer the second time, her body adjusting to the temperature. The third time, a little warmer still. The fourth, she could stay, splashing about to her heart’s content, swimming out as far as she dared – but still getting nowhere near the island. It was further out than it seemed.

After a while, she swum slowly back towards the shore – she didn’t want to get in trouble. Getting closer, she saw something she didn’t understand.

The Doc came out of the cabin with a hypodermic syringe. She was well versed to seeing a doctor bringing such a thing to her, sticking it in her, pushing all manner of substances into her body. They used her virtually as a guinea-pig for whatever new drug they wanted to test, sometimes even while she was tied down. And she was virtually guaranteed that as soon as that stuff was pushed into her bloodstream, she’d feel nauseous, far worse than before it was given to her. No pain, no gain – but who had been gaining? Not her, for all her pain.

But she thought Doctor Mullen was different.

There was no doubting what he held in his hand as he returned to his seat on the deck. She stopped where she was, treading water some way from the shore. Perhaps she should try to escape. Run, hide in the woods. Somehow make a break for it and cobble together some branches as a ramshackle shelter. Steal food from somewhere. No, that would never work.

Then, as she hovered out in the lake, she saw a strange thing.

Doctor Mullen sank the syringe into his own arm.

5

She didn’t bring it up, she didn’t ask him. He didn’t do it in front of her, and she thought perhaps he was embarrassed by it. She liked spending time with him – he was the kindest person she could remember, and she loved spending time with him. She did not want her own curiosity messing that up. Just being with him made her feel all giddy and just looking at him or hearing that voice made her tingle between her thighs.

“So I don’t get it: what is this new treatment of yours?” she asked one morning as he washed up the crockery after breakfast. “You treating me nice? Seems like a pretty simple treatment – I could’ve thought of that myself. Does that make me a genius?”

She kept frolicking around him, like a ballet dancer around her partner on a wide stage – except that she was also touching him, running her hands all over his body, desperately trying to break him from his self-imposed chastity without making him think she was still funny in the head.

“I don’t even know your name,” she said one day, realising.

“’Course you do,” he smiled. “Doctor Mullen. They told you at the hospital.”

“Your Christian name!”

“Christopher. No big mystery.”

“Why did you bring me here, Christopher?”

“I knew it would do you good. The great outdoors – the fresh air, the lake, the mountains… it has, hasn’t it?”

“I never felt better. You should do this with all the folks from Almeda. You’d be world-famous in no time.”

“No,” he shook his head. “You were never like them. You don’t need medication. You had a break-down, is all. You needed time to get over it. You just dealt with it in an extreme way. Nobody recognised it, is all. Not even me.”

“How long have you known me?”

“A while. You don’t remember at all?”

`

“Nope,” she shook her head.

“Perhaps that’s best for now.”

“What happened to me, Christopher?”

“In time,” he said, “in time.”

6

And then she found him slumped on his bed, needles all over the place. What the hell had he done? He was so pale…

“What have you done? What have you done?” she almost shrieked, fearing he was dead, terrified that Fate had done the dirty on her yet again and taken this wonderful man from her before she had even been able to tell him how important he was to her.

“I’m all right…” he said groggily, and the relief sweeping through her as he stirred.

“Wake up, wake up!” she was so frightened – he was pumped so full of whatever it was – what if he went? What if she lost him? The one person she’d ever cared about. And the only way she could survive out here in the wilderness.

“Help me…” he pleaded, his voice so gravely, so wrecked, his eyes rolling all over the place as she held his head in her arms, his skin so pale, grey, haunted, the dark circles under his eyes. It hurt her to see him like this, hurt her more than any jab she’d ever been given, any beating she’d ever endured. “Please, I’ll do anything you want… just… help me…”

“What can I do? What can I do?”

“Hand… handcuffs…” he said, flinging one of his hands limply towards the handcuffs sitting on the dresser by the mirror, sweating profusely as he fought the affects of the drugs to communicate. “Handcuffs…”

“What do you… I don’t understand…”

“On me… use them on me.” He strained, putting what seemed like every ounce of energy he had left into lifting his wrist up to the bedstead. “Please. I’ll do anything you want…”

She got his meaning, but still did not quite understand. She hurried – the urgency and panic filling her body with a red-hot pain that would not abate. She flinched as she first touched the handcuffs – memories of mistreatments past – but nevertheless, she put the handcuffs around his wrist, shackled him to the bedstead. He wasn’t getting out of that in a hurry.

“Thank… thank you,” he sighed breathlessly.

“What… I don’t understand,” she wailed, tears running down her cheeks, her skin rising in goose-pimples, exposed as it was.

He sighed, his normally strong self seeming strangely weak now, and now that she looked at her big, strong Doctor, she noticed there was a tremble about his whole body.

In his eyes, she saw that he realised she had noticed the tremble. He looked so down, so exhausted now – was that her fault? So poorly.

“I… I never brought you here for treatment…” he said.

She didn’t understand.

“No,” he said, reaching for a draw underneath the bed, “I brought you here as a new treatment for me.”

She couldn’t understand him – his voice was too quiet, perhaps, perhaps she hadn’t heard everything he had said in that sentence. Then, as she saw the contents of the drawer, it all started to make some sort of insane sense. She smiled briefly at the absurdity of it all: it was all insane to her – he was all insane to her – and yet she had been the one called insane up until now. Smile turning to a look of horror as she opened the drawer.

“Oh God… “ So many needles.

“Please.” He looked as though he was losing the struggle with the sedative powers of whatever he had put in his veins.

“All these bottles… what is it?” she was panicking a little, realising there was little time left. Hoping, worrying, crying.

“It’s… it’s heroin.”

“Oh God… Oh God…”

“I’m the one that needs treatment, Hayley. You… You have to destroy them. Empty them down the sink… Pour them in the lake... Anything… And… and…”

The substance was rapidly taking hold of him, his speech slurring now, but he struggled hard against his weakness, his face flushed raw scarlet as he strained to speak, pushing violently against the devil in his system.

“Yes? What? What else?” she ran back to the bed, cradled his head again in her lap, which seemed to make him relax a little.

“Whatever you do, don’t let me out of these cuffs – for at least a week,” he said in deadly seriousness. “Whatever I do, whatever I say, however hard I plead with you… don’t let me free…

“Okay, okay,” she said, fighting back her terrified tears.

“And… and whatever I say to you… whatever I say, remember, it’s just the drugs talking… just the drugs…”

“Just the drugs,” she nodded.

“When this is over… I’ll do anything you want… anything… just be strong… just don’t…”

And then he slumped in her arms, his body going completely limp. Hayley sobbed quietly, her tears running down her cheek, falling into his now-greasy hair. He was sleeping now, she could hear him breathing, feel the gentle rise and fall of his chest. She took a deep breath – he was okay now. He was just sedated. Peaceful. It calmed her a little, the slight smile on his face as he rested there in her lap.

She knew that she loved him, but it frightened her more than anything had ever frightened her. What if she lost him? He was so… so much in pain. It was bizarre – she’d been the one who had started up messed up. She’d been the one who’d been troubled. But it was funny how people who looked so solid, so calm and collected could be so messed up inside. Behind the scenes, they could be as screwed up as the worst even Almeda could have presented.

She stooped and kissed him gently on the forehead. “I’ll hold you to your promise, Doc,” she said softly. “You said anything I wanted…”

7

“Help!”

The terrifying, gut-wrenching cry cut through the peaceful second night. Hayley ran to the bedroom, sprinted to his side. Christopher was naked, his clothes torn off. She kept back – he was thrashing wildly around.

“What is it?” she asked shrilly. “What is it?”

“You have to help me,” he said. “Please. Whatever I said before – it was crap. All of it. Please. You have to get me those bottles.”

“I… I poured them down the sink…” she said softly.

“No… no you didn’t. You’re just saying that… Look, I can’t. I can’t… I have to have them. I’m dying!”

She took a step back as he reached for her. His face was wracked with pain. Was he really dying? Or was it just the drugs talking, as he’d said. He had warned her… or tried to warn her. He’d said he’d beg her, plead with her.

“Please,” he said. Her expression hardened. “Please, you have to help me.”

“I’ll get you some water,” she said. “Are you thirsty?”

“No… no…”

She left, she walked out of there.

“Bitch!” he roared after her. “Bitch! I wish you were dead! I wish I’d left you there!”

Just the drugs talking, she kept telling herself through the floods of tears. He didn’t really mean it. It was just the drugs, his body craving them. But his screaming chilled her to the very bones. The closeness she’d built up with him, the trust. What if all that had just been the drugs, too?

But there was nothing she could do now – she honestly had poured that filthy stuff down the sink, it wasn’t coming back. And where the hell would she get heroine around here?

8

The difficulties continued for a long, long while. He yelled at her, threw any food she tried to give him straight back at her, spat at her, urinated in the bed and worse. But she hid her tears from him, kept him clean, changed the bed linen, never gave up.

He’d have his good periods as well as the bad, though, and that was what allowed her to go one with it. Good times when she could talk to him, read to him, flirt with him a little, even. But he’d still ask her for the key.

“Please…” he’d say desperately. “Please… the key… give m-me the key.”

“No,” she’d reply simply, girlishly, as though it was a childhood game, as though he were her younger brother, and she was teasing him.

“Please… I’ll do anything…”

“Will you fuck me?”

“Yes… anything…”

But she didn’t take advantage of his state and never gave him the key, whatever he said.

She didn’t feel mad, now, either. Not like that madness she’d felt when they made her take those pills, anyway. She almost missed her transition, she had her mind so firmly on another problem: she actually became quite calm, she no longer felt that rage, no longer wanted to lash out, shock whoever was around her into a reaction.

Sometimes, she’d tease him, though. If he was giving her particularly unthinking grief, she would give him some back in her own flirtatious way – not nasty, so much, but still teasing.

She’d peel off her nightshirt, perhaps, revealing her slender flesh – so delicate, so shapely in just a pair of sexy lace panties from her new underwear drawer.

“You want the key?” she’d say, slinking over to the bed.

“Please…”

“You want the key?” she’d say, leaping up, slithering over his body.

“I’ll do anything…”

“Then do me.”

She’d wedge his head between her thighs, pressing her cotton-covered mound down against his mouth and his nose, filling his senses with her sex.

He couldn’t, though. Not in those first days. He was too weak to pleasure her, just as he was too weak to do anything for himself, and she didn’t press him, wasn’t going to force him, take advantage of his shackled state. He had been kind to her – kinder than anyone else – and even if she did tease him a little, she felt a debt had to be repaid.

For a long while, she feared he would never get better. That the small amount of food he allowed past his lips meant he would get weaker and weaker, never to recover.

But then one evening, he spoke two words to her – just two – that made her realise it was, at last, going to get better from here.

“Thank you,” he said softly.

It was just a tiny couple of words, and then he slumped into sleep again. But it meant more to her than a million dollars. All the shouting, all the yelling, the insults, the heart-wrenching curses. It had all been the drugs. He did appreciate her, he did care for her. He knew she was doing the right thing for him.

In the morning, he even had some colour back in his face.

“How you feeling, Doc?” she asked him.

“Better,” he said, even managing a smile. “A lot better. More… human.”

“Great!”

“You’ll have to keep me here a few days yet – three, I’d say, no less.”

“Oh, I had every intention of doing that,” she said, leaning down to kiss his cheek. “At least until you pay me what you owe. You do remember that promise you made me?”

“What promise was that?”

“You said you’d do anything for me that I wanted.” Giving him that seductive, impish look of hers.

“I guess I did.”

“You know I’m going to hold you to that.” She climbed onto the bed, straddling him, her soft thighs so warm against his chest. She sat down, resting her weight on him, and he could feel her crotch against his stomach, feel the moisture soaking through her panties.

“How many times did I tell you I’m horny?” she said, raw lust in her voice as she kissed him on the lips briefly.

“A few,” he said with a bemused grin.

“Well, you’re not my doctor any more – I’m yours,” she said. “But I didn’t take any oath not to mess with my patients.” She shifted slightly, moving up his chest.

He could smell the musky scent of her arousal, even before she nudged her pink cotton-covered mound up to his face, brushing so briefly against his lips, but enough to allow him a tantalising taste of her juices.

“Maybe later, huh?” she said mischievously, lifting herself off him to plant another soft kiss on his cheek. “You want some breakfast?”

9

That evening, he woke from a light snooze to a strange new sensation. It was like he was having the nicest dream – he felt curiously warm and happy. But he was awake. The feelings were centred in his crotch, and it was the weirdest thing – he hadn’t really had a wet dream for so many years.

Perhaps it was the presence of Hayley. It had to be. She was having a major effect on him. But hey, it was something to take his mind off the terrible withdrawal symptoms he was going through.

But then he opened his eyes and tilted his head, and the feelings were not going away. He looked down to find The most beautiful girl lying between his legs, nursing his cock to full hardness with her soft mouth, her velvet lips fastened around his shaft, her tongue swirling around its head.

Oh God, he knew it was wrong, but how could he stop her? He’d been strong so far, but it wasn’t like he didn’t have needs. She was so good – so tender, but firm enough with his cock to really get him going. And seeing such a pretty girl with her delicate lips around his cock.

So he let her continue, and when she saw he was awake, she looked in his eyes and smiled, her eyes all a-sparkle, and he had to return her smile. How could you resist a girl like that? He was a quivering mass, and it wasn’t long until he felt a powerful orgasm beginning to bloom inside his body. He was moaning, groaning, but all in a good way for once, he couldn’t believe how good she was making him feel with her mouth, drawing these amazing feelings from his cock.

“Let go,” she broke off to say, “just let it all go. Come in my mouth, handsome doctor.”

It was like hearing her in the beginning again, the dirty words coming out of her mouth. It had just as erotic a response in him: he could no longer hold back, and the climax hit like a powerful explosion, his hot seed pumping out into her eager mouth.

“What was that for?” he asked afterwards, once he had got his breath back.

“Your reward. For doing so well.”

“Not out of the woods just yet,” he said. “What about you? You deserve a reward more than me.”

“Do you want to?”

“Absolutely. Come here.”

“I thought you said we shouldn’t…”

“Well, that was then. Now is now. As far as I’m concerned you’re cured.”

“And you’re well on your way.”

“Thanks to you. Come here. Let me.”

She stood on the bed, one foot either side of him and dropped her panties. He caught his breath slightly as he looked up at her, such a vision of beauty, her nipples so stiff on the swell of her breasts, her pussy lips already moist before she crouched over his face.

Her scent hung heavy in the air as she sandwiched his head between her thighs and touched her mound down to his lips. He could feel her trembling slightly as he kissed his way around her open flower. Every breath he took was filled with her fragrance – the mustiness of the raw spice of her untamed arousal.

Creeping closer and closer to her labia, he tasted the first traces of her fresh moisture, which made her smooth pussy lips slippery, removing the friction and allowing his warm lips to slide over her flesh. And at last as he reached the soft pinkness of her inner labia, his mouth and tongue exploring her soaking groove, the build-up was over, and the real ride was beginning.

MaxSebastian
MaxSebastian
1,945 Followers