Chapter 8: The Doctor's Office
The hollow feeling from the dormitory bed didn’t fade; it crystallized. It became a lens through which Susanna saw the routines of Claymoore. The measured spoonful of morning pills, the tasteless oatmeal, the aimless shuffle to occupational therapy—all of it felt like a performance she was watching from behind thick glass. Her body moved, obeyed, but the real Susanna was somewhere deep inside, nursing the bruises Lisa had left on her psyche. They were more tender than any mark on her skin.
Two days after the night with the vibrator, a nurse with a pinched face called her name after lunch. “Dr. Wick wants to see you in his office. Private session.”
A low thrum of anxiety, different from the thrill Lisa inspired, buzzed in Susanna’s chest. Dr. Wick’s sessions were interrogations disguised as conversations, mining for pathologies she wasn’t sure she possessed. She walked the familiar, sanitized hallways, the echo of her own footsteps a lonely sound.
The door to his office was ajar. She knocked softly, her knuckles barely grazing the wood.
“Come.”
The voice was wrong. It was lighter, edged with a familiar mocking lilt. Susanna pushed the door open.
Dr. Wick’s sterile, windowless box smelled of lemon polish and old paper. But the man himself was absent. Instead, Lisa Rowe sat perched on the edge of his cluttered desk, one leg swinging idly. She was wearing a long, white doctor’s coat, stark against the dingy room. It was unbuttoned.
Beneath it, she was utterly naked.
The fluorescent lights shone on the sharp planes of her collarbones, the pale slopes of her breasts, the dark blonde triangle between her thighs. She smirked, watching the comprehension dawn on Susanna’s face, followed by a wave of sheer panic.
“Close the door,” Lisa said, her tone conversational, as if discussing the weather.
Susanna obeyed, the click of the latch final. The hum of the overhead fan filled the silence.
“I told the duty nurse I’d handle your evaluation today,” Lisa said, sliding off the desk. The coat parted further. She took two steps forward, the heels of her bare feet whispering on the linoleum. “Dr. Wick is at a seminar. About pathological dependency. Ironic, right?”
She stopped in front of Susanna, so close the starched cotton of the coat brushed against Susanna’s uniform. The scent of her, musky and female, cut through the antiseptic air.
“What are you doing?” Susanna’s voice was a thin thread.
“My job.” Lisa’s hands came up, cupping Susanna’s face. Her thumbs stroked her cheeks, a parody of tenderness. “Patient needs assessment. You’ve been looking… withdrawn. Uncommunicative. I think you need to express yourself.”
She stepped back, turning slightly. Then she hoisted herself back onto the desk, sending a file folder slithering to the floor. She leaned back on her elbows, and spread her legs wide open.
The pose was obscenely clinical. The fluorescent glare left no secret. Susanna could see everything—the slick, pink folds, glistening with arousal, the tight furl of her opening, the neat thatch of hair. It was an aggressive display of vulnerability.
“Kneel,” Lisa said. It wasn’t a request.
Susanna’s knees gave way before her mind could form a protest. The hard floor was cold through her thin pants. She was eye-level with Lisa’s cunt, the intimate scent overwhelming.
“Good. Now, eat me out. Show me how grateful you are for my personal attention.”
Lisa’s hand fisted in Susanna’s dark hair, not gentle, and guided her forward. The heat was immense. Susanna’s tongue, almost of its own volition, extended and made a slow, tentative lick from bottom to top.
The taste was salty, tangy, profoundly organic. Lisa shuddered.
“Yeah. Like that. Now get your fucking tongue inside me.”
Susanna pressed her mouth fully against her, parting the lips with her own. She plunged her tongue deep into the hot, wet channel. Lisa was already dripping. Susanna drank her in, lapping at her inner walls, the coarse texture of her tongue dragging against sensitive flesh.
“Oh, fuck, yes,” Lisa moaned, her head falling back. The doctor’s coat rustled. Her hips began a slow, rolling grind against Susanna’s face, smearing her juices over her nose and chin. “Use your tongue. Fuck me with it.”
Susanna obeyed, spearing her in and out in a rough rhythm. The position was awkward, her neck straining, but the filth of the act, the absolute degradation of being on her knees in a doctor’s office, sent a perverse charge through her. Her own arousal was a dull, shameful ache between her legs. She could feel Lisa’s muscles fluttering around her tongue, tightening.
“Deeper, you bitch,” Lisa gasped, yanking her hair hard. “Make me come.”
Susanna redoubled her efforts, sucking Lisa’s clit into her mouth, flicking it rapidly with the tip of her tongue while she fucked her with shallow, intense strokes. Lisa’s breaths became ragged pants. Her thighs clamped around Susanna’s head, trapping her.
The orgasm hit Lisa suddenly. Her back arched off the desk, a strangled, guttural cry tearing from her throat. A fresh flood of wetness spilled into Susanna’s mouth, bitter and copious. Susanna swallowed, choking slightly, as Lisa’s cunt pulsed rhythmically against her tongue.
For a long moment, the only sounds were Lisa’s subsiding gasps and the fan’s relentless whirr.
Then, Lisa pushed Susanna’s head away. Susanna knelt back, panting, her face soaked, strands of her hair plastered to her slick skin. She must have looked utterly debased.
Lisa slid off the desk, her legs slightly unsteady. She gazed down at Susanna, her eyes dark with satisfaction. “Good girl,” she panted. A trickle of her own release traced a path down her inner thigh. She didn’t wipe it away.
She turned and walked to Dr. Wick’s cracked leather visitor’s couch. “Come here.”
Susanna stood, her knees popping. She felt disjointed, a puppet on frayed strings. She walked to the couch.
“Pants down. Bend over the arm.”
The order was cold, direct. Susanna fumbled with the drawstring of her sweatpants, pushing them and her underwear down to her ankles. The cold, cracked leather met her stomach as she bent over the couch’s arm, her bare ass exposed to the room, to Lisa.
She heard a drawer open and close. When she glanced back, Lisa was holding something. Not the sleek black vibrator from the dormitory. This was different—a pale, flesh-colored dildo, thicker, with a harness of worn leather straps. Lisa was stepping into it, buckling it around her hips with practiced efficiency. The false cock jutted out from her pelvis, a grotesque appendage.
“You liked my little toy the other night,” Lisa said, her voice calm as she adjusted a strap. “But that was for you. This… this is for me.”
She approached, the thing bobbing slightly. She didn’t bother with spit or lubricant. She used the wetness still slick on Susanna’s thighs from her own mouth, smearing it roughly over the rigid silicone head.
The pressure against Susanna’s entrance was blunt and immense. Lisa placed a hand between Susanna’s shoulder blades, pinning her down.
“Take it,” she said.
And she pushed.
It was a brutal, tearing stretch. Susanna cried out, a sharp sound that echoed in the small office.
“Quieter,” Lisa hissed, not stopping. She shoved forward, burying the entire length in one relentless thrust. Susanna felt impossibly full, split open. The leather of the harness slapped against her ass.
Lisa set a punishing pace from the start, no warm-up, no gentleness. She fucked her with hard, deep strokes, each one jolting Susanna’s body forward against the leather arm. The sound was obscene—wet, rhythmic slaps, the creak of the old couch, Susanna’s ragged breaths.
“This is what you need,” Lisa grunted, her own breath hot on Susanna’s neck. “None of that whispering bullshit. This. To be fucking used. To know your place.”
She hooked a hand around Susanna’s hip, angling her deeper. The new angle made Susanna see white. A coil of intense, conflicting sensation tightened in her gut—pain, overwhelming fullness, and a raw, undeniable spark of pleasure.
“You’re my patient,” Lisa breathed, her thrusts becoming erratic, harder. “My special case. And I’m going to fuck you sane.”
Susanna’s hands clawed at the leather. The pain was morphing, dissolving into a wave of brutal stimulation. The thick toy dragged against her sore, sensitized walls, hitting a deep, electric spot with every plunge. A broken sob escaped her. She was going to come. From this. From being fucked like an animal over a doctor’s couch.
“Come on, you dirty slut,” Lisa snarled, her fingers digging bruises into Susanna’s hip. “Scream for me. I own you.”
The permission, the vile word, was the trigger. Susanna’s orgasm ripped through her, violent and convulsive. A raw, screaming wail tore from her throat, unabated, echoing off the sterile walls. Her cunt clenched wildly around the invading dildo, milking it as waves of shame-soaked pleasure obliterated her.
Lisa fucked her through it, until Susanna’s screams subsided into helpless whimpers. Then, with a final, deep grind, Lisa stilled, panting heavily against her back.
For a minute, they stayed locked together, the only sound their shared, ragged breathing. Then Lisa pulled out. The sensation of sudden emptiness was almost as shocking as the penetration had been. A wet, hot trickle followed.
Susanna sank to her knees on the floor beside the couch, unable to stand. She rested her forehead against the cold leather, her pants tangled around her ankles.
She heard the soft clink of the harness buckle, the rustle of Lisa pulling the doctor’s coat back on. Footsteps approached.
Lisa crouched in front of her. She took Susanna’s chin, forcing her to look up. Lisa’s face was flushed, triumphant. She used her thumb to wipe a smear of her own release from the corner of Susanna’s mouth.
“Session’s over,” Lisa said softly, her smirk back in place. “I think we made real progress today.”
She stood, straightened the white coat, and walked to the door. She opened it, the hallway light a bright slash in the dim room.
“Clean yourself up,” she said, without looking back. “The nurse will come for you in five minutes.”
The door clicked shut.
Susanna stayed on the floor. The taste of Lisa was still in her mouth. The deep, throbbing ache inside her was a fresh, physical ledger of the debt she owed. She heard the distant sound of the nurse’s station, the call bell of another patient. Normal sounds. The world continued, oblivious.
She had screamed in Dr. Wick’s office. Someone must have heard. And yet, no one was coming. The silence after Lisa’s exit was absolute, and in that silence, Susanna understood the final, terrible truth.
Lisa didn’t just own her body in the dark. She owned the daylight, too. She owned the very system that was supposed to protect them. There was no session. There would be no note in her file. There was only this: the lingering smell of sex and lemon polish, and the certainty that the walls themselves were complicit.