Chapter 126: Dr Singh asks for blood
The sterile scent of antiseptic hung thick in Dr. Singh’s office, a stark contrast to the humid, sweat-and-sex-perfumed air of the main villa’s lounge where Bruce had performed just hours before. Sunlight streamed through the large windows, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air and glinting off the polished steel instruments neatly arranged on a tray. Bruce sat patiently in the ergonomic chair opposite her desk, his posture relaxed, those mesmerizing hazel eyes – swirls of green, blue, and flecks of gold Ketut claimed could predict moods – watching her with calm curiosity. He wore simple linen trousers and a loose cotton shirt, looking utterly at ease amidst the clinical surroundings.
Dr. Singh meticulously washed her hands at the small sink, the sound of running water the only noise breaking the intense quiet. She dried them with methodical precision, her dark eyes avoiding his for a moment longer than necessary. Turning, she leaned back against the counter, crossing her arms over her crisp white lab coat. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a traitorous drumbeat betraying the professional facade she struggled to maintain.
"Bruce," she began, her voice carefully modulated, though a slight tremor lurked beneath the surface. "Yesterday... what I witnessed... medically speaking, I wouldn't have thought it possible. Seven women. Seven... receptacles. One after the other. Your stamina, your... endurance... it defies physiological norms. The refractory period alone..." She trailed off, shaking her head, a flush creeping up her elegant neck. "I’d like to draw some blood. Run a complete panel. Hormones, enzymes, neurotransmitters – the full spectrum. Maybe it’s just you. Your unique biology. Your... being. But if it is something identifiable? Something tangible in your blood, your genes? Christ, Bruce, if I could isolate what makes that possible... the implications... I could potentially help countless men."
She finally met his gaze, her professional fervor momentarily overriding her personal disquiet. The image flashed unbidden: Jasmine’s incredible ass bouncing wildly, taking him deep; Lena’s ecstatic cry as she lowered onto his thick cock into her ass; Erika’s long legs wrapped around his hips; Sophia’s sculpted muscles straining; Mystique’s stunning body arching; Camille’s fierce concentration as she took him, ensuring he watched; Ketut’s look of raw bliss. And the scent, the overwhelming scent of female arousal and sex that had permeated the room, making her own silk panties soak through, the dampness impossible to ignore, even trickling down her inner thigh when she’d shifted, praying no one noticed her trembling legs pressed tightly together.
Bruce studied her, a slow, knowing smile playing on his lips. He uncrossed his legs, shifting slightly. The linen stretched taut over his thigh muscles, a subtle reminder of the power coiled beneath. "Sure, Doc," he said, his voice a low rumble that vibrated in the sterile air. "Happy to help. But I’ve got a couple of conditions."
Dr. Singh’s breath hitched. "Conditions?" She tried to sound professionally detached, but the word came out slightly breathy.
"One," he held up a thick finger. "You tell me exactly what you find. No holding back, no medical jargon I can’t understand. If it’s in my blood, I wanna know."
"Of course," she nodded quickly. "Full transparency."
"Two," a second finger joined the first. "If you do find something, something you think could genuinely help others? I’ll fund the research. Whatever it takes. Full backing."
She blinked, surprised by the magnitude of the offer. "Bruce, that’s... incredibly generous. Thank you."
"Three," he continued, leaning forward slightly in the chair. His hazel eyes seemed to deepen, the gold flecks catching the light, holding hers with an unnerving intensity. "You admit, here and now, that this... fascination... isn't purely clinical."
Dr. Singh froze. The flush that had been creeping up her neck flooded her cheeks, hot and undeniable. She felt suddenly exposed under that penetrating gaze. She opened her mouth to protest, to retreat behind the shield of professionalism, but the words died in her throat. Memories flooded back: the slick heat between her own thighs as Lena screamed "Fuck my ass, papi!"; the desperate clench of her pelvic floor muscles as she’d watched Camille grind down on him; the almost painful ache of her own neglected arousal.
Bruce’s smile widened, deepening the creases around his eyes, but it wasn't mocking. It was understanding. Almost... inviting. "I saw you, Dr. Singh," he said softly, the rumble dropping to an intimate murmur. "Yesterday. Standing by the archway. Your legs pressed so tight together, knuckles white on the pillar. And the floor... right where you were standing? A tiny, dark spot on the tile." He paused, letting the image hang in the air between them. "It’s okay. Honestly. Who the fuck wouldn’t be excited, watching all of my beautiful wives take everything I have to give?" His gaze swept over her, taking in her tightly wound posture, the rapid pulse visible at the base of her throat. "They’re fucking amazing, aren’t they? Enough to make anyone’s pussy wet."
The crude, explicit words, delivered in that calm, almost gentle tone, shattered her last vestige of clinical detachment. Her breath escaped in a shaky gasp. The air hummed, thick with the sudden, electric charge of unspoken desire and the lingering ghost of yesterday’s raw, sweaty carnality. The sterile office felt impossibly small, shrinking down to contain just the two of them, the memory of her own slickness on the floor an undeniable testament hanging in the silence. Her carefully ordered world tilted on its axis, the boundary between observer and participant dissolving under the weight of his knowing stare and the visceral echo of his wives’ pleasure echoing in her mind.
Her carefully ordered world tilted on its axis, the boundary between observer and participant dissolving under the weight of his knowing stare and the visceral echo of his wives’ pleasure echoing in her mind. She swallowed, the dry click loud in the sudden, charged silence. His words, blunt and filthy, hung between them like a dare.
"Okay," she breathed, the single syllable thick with reluctant surrender. Her knuckles, gripping the edge of the counter, were white. "Yes, Bruce. It’s true." She forced herself to meet those swirling hazel eyes again, feeling stripped bare. "The raw sexuality was incredibly overwhelming. I’ve never seen anything like it before."
Her gaze flickered away for an instant, then back, defiance warring with honesty. "Your wives… each one is more beautiful than the next. Their bodies are… masterpieces." The admission scraped her throat.
Bruce’s smile deepened, slow and satisfied, like a cat stretching in the sun. He leaned back slightly, the movement emphasizing the breadth of his shoulders under the thin cotton. "Just my wives' bodies, Doc?" His voice was a low purr, deliberately provocative. "Or did you like mine too?"
Heat flooded her face again, a visceral wave. She felt her nipples tighten against the silk of her bra, an involuntary betrayal. Fuck. He saw everything. "Yes, Bruce," she conceded, the words tight. "Your body was incredibly impressive. Okay? Happy?" She pushed off the counter, needing to move, needing action to anchor her. "Now I’m shaking, and I have to draw your fucking blood." She snatched the tourniquet and alcohol swab from the tray, her hands trembling visibly.
Bruce chuckled, a warm, rumbling sound that vibrated through the small room. "Yes, actually," he said, rolling up his sleeve with deliberate slowness, revealing thick forearms corded with muscle and prominent veins. "I am happy." His expression softened, the teasing glint replaced by genuine warmth. "And because of your help, Jasmine’s doing so much better. Thank you." He offered his arm, the thick blue vessel near the crook of his elbow pulsing visibly. "Sorry I made you uncomfortable. I was teasing you a bit, I admit it."Dr. Singh focused fiercely on the task: tightening the tourniquet above his bicep, feeling the powerful hardness of the muscle beneath her fingertips. The scent of his skin, clean linen mixed with something uniquely male, invaded her senses. She swiped the cool alcohol pad over the vein. "Apology noted," she muttered, her voice clipped, professional armor hastily reassembled. "Hold still."
Her fingers probed the taut skin, finding the thick vein easily. She uncapped the butterfly needle, the sharp point glinting. The memory of that vein pulsing elsewhere, buried deep inside Jasmine first, slick and glistening, then Lena’s tight ass, made her own breath catch. She stabbed the needle in with more force than necessary. Fuck.
Bruce didn’t flinch. He watched her face, not the needle. The dark red blood surged up the tubing, filling the first vial. "You find what you're looking for in there, Doc," he murmured, his voice dropping lower, intimate. "Maybe you’ll understand why."
She swapped the vial, the click loud. The second tube began to fill. "Medically speaking," she said, focusing on the blood flow, "it's unprecedented. The sustained erection. The sheer volume. The refractory period was… negligible." She recalled the sight: Bruce, still rock-hard after emptying himself into Jasmine, lifting Lena effortlessly onto him, that thick cock driving deep into her ass without a moment’s hesitation. Lena’s ecstatic cry of "Mmmm fuck my ass, papi!" echoed again in her skull. Then Erika’s long legs wrapping around him, Sophia’s toned muscles straining, Mystique’s stunning arch, Camille’s possessive focus, Ketut’s bliss. Seven times. Deep. Hard. Finishing inside each one.
Her own arousal surged anew, a hot pulse between her legs. She tightened her thighs unconsciously. The second vial filled. She swapped for the third. The blood was dark, vital. "If it's hormonal," she continued, forcing her voice steady, "if it’s something quantifiable…" The implications were staggering. Life-changing. World-changing.
"Then we change the world," Bruce finished for her, his gaze intense. "Together." He watched the blood fill the third tube, then looked back at her. "You okay, Dr. Singh? You look… flushed."
She pulled the needle out swiftly, pressing a gauze pad over the puncture. "Adrenaline," she lied, pressing down harder than needed. "Professional curiosity." She secured the gauze with tape, her fingers brushing the warm, hard muscle of his forearm. A jolt shot through her. "Apply pressure."
Bruce held the gauze, his fingers covering hers for a fraction of a second too long before she could pull away. His skin was hot. "Curiosity," he repeated, that knowing smile back. "That’s a good place to start." He stood, towering over her in the small space. "Send the results as soon as you have them. Day or night." He moved towards the door, pausing with his hand on the knob. The scent of him lingered – antiseptic, linen, warm male skin, and the faint, primal echo of sex. "And Dr. Singh?" He looked back, those hypnotic eyes holding hers once more. "Don’t forget to change your panties. Silk shows everything when it’s soaked through."
The door clicked shut behind him. Dr. Singh stood frozen, the vials of his potent blood warm in her hand. The air vibrated with his departure. Her thighs were slick. The sterile room reeked of him. Of challenge. Of raw, untamed possibility. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the stark silence he left behind.