“I think I’m getting sick.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Why? What are your symptoms?”
“A little scratch in my throat. My head hurts. I don’t like where this is headed.”
“No, me neither. OK, I have the solution.”
I grab your hand and pull you into the bathroom. You resist, not wanting to be babied, but I can tell you secretly like being looked after.
I turn the water on warm, getting the tub ready for you. You smile and playfully act like you don’t want to take a bath. I pull my arms around you, hugging you tight, at the same time, sliding my hands under your tanktop and pulling it up, over your head. You shyly cover your breasts with your hands.
I tug down your shorts next, letting my hands linger on your warm hips. Letting my thumb trail over your flat stomach. I slip your shorts down, taking your knickers along also.
You turn, giving me a shot of your sexy ass, and I give you a slap on your bottom. You slide into the tub, and I watch you disappear into the bubbles. You laugh and smile and thank me for looking after you.
I let you soak in the warmth, going into the kitchen and fixing your “medicine,” which consists of some aspirin and a nice gin and tonic. You take them both, thanking me for my prescription.
I grab the big towel and hold it out for you. You slip into my arms, and I cover you, reaching around, engulfing you in cotton and the warmth of my body. Your skin is wet against my clothes, but I do not mind. We stand in the bathroom for a few seconds, just swaying in the moment.
I dry you off and lead you to the bed. I lay you down, face first. I pull off my wet shirt and pants and crawl on the bed, straddling your back as you bury your face in a pillow. My hands are warm on your soft skin. I knead your shoulders, working down your back. I know how to give a good massage. I am strong but gentle, firm but loving. You moan as I work out the kinks in your neck, as I press hard against your lower back, as I gently rub your shoulders and arms.
“Turn over,” I say, lifting myself up. You are a good patient. You flip.
I grab your arms, pulling them above your head, my hands on your wrists, pinning you down.
“Feel better?” I say.
“Much,” you say, smiling, your eyes locked on mine.
“Anything else you need?” I ask. You glance down, my tight boxer briefs barely concealing my arousal.
“Maybe one other thing,” you say.
“What?”
“You know.”
“Say it.”
You blush. “I need your cock.”
“What do you want me to do with it?”
You bite your lip, taking in a breath, wiggling a bit under me. “I need you to fuck me with it.”
I exhale, my heart racing. I slide down, my hands still pinning your arms down but my body more parallel with yours. I kiss you gently. Your lips a little salty from the bath water, but they taste nice. Soft. Our tongues are eager.
I let go of your wrists, my hand trailing down, over your cheek, pulling you to me as I kiss you harder.
I feel your hands cupping my ass, pulling me to you. You raise your legs up, your feet digging into my thighs as you pull me closer to you.
You tug at my shorts, and I help you take them down, kicking them off. My cock throbs between us, resting against your slick pussy. Your palm jerks me, pulling my shaft up, toward you. Our mouths never break contact. We love kissing. It’s our favorite thing.
You raise your hips, your hand jacking me toward you. I feel your warmth. Your wetness. One thrust, and I am inside of you.
I am usually calm, in control, but as soon as I feel you wrapped around me, pulling me, grinding, squeezing, urging me on – it never fails, I lose it slightly.
I grab your hips, thrusting harder. Your thighs squeezing me tight. I raise up, finally breaking contact with your mouth. My arms flex, supporting me as I pump into you. You reach out, your hands on my chest, digging your claws into my skin.
You look down, watching me stroke in and out of you. Watching my cock disappear into your gorgeous cunt. You bite your lip and grab my neck and pull me back down to earth.
We kiss again, my hands reaching around you, hugging you tight. We are as close as we can be, our mouths, our chests, our hips. We are one person. One movement. Synchronized. Choreographed. Familiar.
“Close,” you say. Lovers shorthand. I thrust harder, my cock all the way. I reach down, my hands cupping your ass, pulling your pussy closer. I can’t get far enough inside of you. It is impossible.
“Kiss me,” you say. “Fuck. I’m going to cum.”
I grind deep, raising up. Our bodies clench as you squeeze me tight. I feel your hands gripping, your lips pressing hard, your teeth lightly scraping against my skin. You shake, your soul soaring out of your body, taking a spin around the earth and flying back into you in one violent, euphoric, emotional moment of joy.
I give you a second to relax, then I have mine. Your skin is warm and wet an inviting. I plunge deep, pumping deep into your pussy, closing my eyes. You squeeze me, and kiss me and tell me you love me, and I unload.
I bite your neck, feeling a day’s worth of tension shoot out. I linger inside of you, unwilling to give this moment up, unable to deny myself a second of this. I shudder, I spray, I shoot — my body not wanting to stop.
We stay connected for as long as we can, neither us willing to say goodbye.
“That was good,” you say, later, your head on my shoulder, one leg slung over my body. My arm reaches around, pulling you to me.
“Yes,” I say.
“You are a good doctor,” you say.
“I think so. Although I might be a tiny bit unethical. What with the whole ‘fucking you thing.’”
“No,” you say, joking, “I do that with all my doctors.”
I laugh.
“You are going to get sick now, though,” you say.
“I know,” I say, pulling you tighter, our eyes closed. Our bodies giving in. “It’s worth it.”
