Chapter 36: The Doctor's Next Prescription
The bedroom had become a cathedral of skin and breath.
Rachel lay on her back, her dark hair fanned across the pillow like ink spilled on parchment, her chest rising and falling with shallow, rapid breaths. Her thighs were still slick from Mai's mouth, still trembling from the orgasm that had ripped through her like a storm breaking over open water. But her hands—her hands were shaking.
Mai noticed.
Of course Mai noticed. Mai noticed everything. She was still naked, still glistening with the evidence of her own exertions, and she stood at the foot of the bed with her arms crossed and her head tilted, studying Rachel like a specimen under glass.
"Your hands," Mai said.
Rachel looked down at them. They were trembling—fine tremors that ran from her fingers to her wrists, the kind of shaking that came from too much sensation and not enough grounding.
"I'm fine," Rachel said.
"You're not fine. You're overwhelmed." Mai's English accent clipped the words into neat, precise shapes. "And while tongues and fingers are excellent diagnostic tools for certain conditions, I'm afraid your particular case calls for something more substantial."
Mandy was sitting on the edge of the bed, still catching her breath, still tasting herself on her own lips. She looked up at Mai with that particular smirk—the one that said she knew exactly where this was going.
"What did you have in mind?" Mandy asked.
Mai smiled. It was the smile of a woman who had been waiting for this moment—who had been planning it, perhaps, from the moment she'd woken up naked at the breakfast table and decided the day needed more chaos.
"The harness," Mai said. "And the slim silicone dildo. From the chest in the basement."
Mandy's eyebrows rose.
"You want me to—"
"I want you to fetch. Yes." Mai gestured toward the door with a flick of her wrist. "Go. And bring the black one. The one with the curve."
Mandy laughed—a low, warm sound—and pushed herself off the bed. She was still naked, still flushed, but she moved with the easy confidence of a woman who had long since stopped caring about modesty in this house.
"Back in a minute," she said.
She disappeared through the door.
Mai turned to Beth.
Beth was sitting in the corner chair, her blonde hair a disaster, her t-shirt twisted around her ribs. She'd been watching—just watching—but her cheeks were flushed and her thighs were pressed together and her breath was coming faster than it should have been.
"Beth," Mai said.
"Yeah?"
"Lie down. On the bed. On your back."
Beth blinked.
"Just like that?"
"Just like that." Mai's voice softened—barely. "You're going to be the demonstration model."
Beth swallowed. Then she stood, pulled off her t-shirt, and crossed to the bed. She lay down on her back, her head propped on the pillow, her legs slightly bent, her eyes fixed on the ceiling.
"Open your legs," Mai said.
Beth opened her legs.
Mai nodded, satisfied.
Felicity was still in the doorway—she'd been standing there for the whole exchange, her blonde hair messy, her blue eyes wide, her fingers still damp from where they'd been buried between her own thighs. She watched Beth spread herself open, watched the way Beth's cunt gleamed in the morning light, and something hungry flickered across her face.
"Felicity," Mai said.
Felicity straightened.
"Yes?"
"Kneel between her thighs."
Felicity didn't hesitate.
She crossed the room and climbed onto the bed. She positioned herself between Beth's legs, her knees sinking into the mattress, her hands resting on Beth's thighs. She looked down at Beth's cunt—at the pink, wet heat of it—and licked her lips.
"Good," Mai said. "Now—ah. Mandy."
Mandy had returned.
She was carrying a black harness and a slim silicone dildo—translucent, curved, maybe six inches long. She held them up like trophies.
"Got 'em."
"Excellent." Mai gestured toward Felicity. "Strap her up."
Mandy climbed onto the bed behind Felicity. She knelt close—close enough that her breasts brushed against Felicity's back—and began threading the harness straps around Felicity's hips and thighs.
Her hands lingered.
Felicity felt it—the deliberate drag of Mandy's fingers across her skin, the way Mandy's palms cupped her ass and squeezed. She shivered.
"You're enjoying this," Felicity murmured.
"Always," Mandy said.
She buckled the straps tight, then reached for the dildo and fitted it into the O-ring. The silicone bumped against Felicity's mound, cool and firm and obscene.
Mandy's hand slid around Felicity's hip and dipped between her thighs.
"You're wet," Mandy said.
"I've been watching."
"Good."
Mandy pulled her hand back. She settled onto the bed beside Beth, propped on one elbow, and watched.
Mai stepped closer.
She stood at the foot of the bed, her arms crossed, her golden-brown eyes moving from Beth to Felicity to Rachel—who was still sitting on the couch in the corner, her hands clasped in her lap, her breath shallow.
"Rachel," Mai said. "Watch closely. This is the procedure."
Rachel's throat worked.
"Okay," she whispered.
Mai turned to Felicity.
"Begin."
Felicity leaned forward.
She pressed the head of the dildo against Beth's cunt—just the tip, just a tease. Beth gasped. Her hips bucked.
"Slow," Mai said. "Controlled. You're not trying to split her in half. You're trying to show Rachel how it's done."
Felicity nodded.
She pushed in—slow, deliberate, watching Beth's face as the silicone slid into her. Beth's mouth fell open. Her eyelids fluttered.
"Good," Mai said. "Now—pull back. Just the tip. Yes. And in again. Steady rhythm. You're not fucking her. You're filling her."
Felicity worked the dildo in and out—long, slow strokes that made Beth moan. Her hips rocked forward and back, her breasts swaying, her breath coming in sharp little gasps.
"Angle it up," Mai said. "Find the spot."
Felicity adjusted. She pressed the dildo deeper, curved it upward, and—
Beth screamed.
Not pain. Pleasure. Her back arched off the mattress. Her hands fisted in the sheets. Her legs wrapped around Felicity's waist and pulled her closer.
"There," Mai said. "That's the spot. Now—faster. But not too fast. Build it."
Felicity increased her pace. Short, sharp strokes that hit that spot over and over. Beth's moans became a rhythm—a staccato beat that filled the room.
Rachel watched.
Her breath was shallow. Her fingers dug into the couch cushion. Her thighs were slick—so slick—and her eyes were wet.
She didn't understand why she was crying.
But she was.
Mai noticed. Of course Mai noticed.
"Rachel," she said.
Rachel looked up.
"Come here."
Rachel stood on legs that felt like water. She crossed the room, her feet silent on the hardwood, and stopped at the foot of the bed.
Mai held out the harness.
"Your turn," she said.
Rachel took the harness.
Her hands shook as she unbuckled the straps from Felicity's hips—as she slid the dildo free and felt its weight in her palm. She looked at Beth, still spread open, still panting, still wet and wanting.
"I don't know how," Rachel whispered.
"You'll learn," Mandy said.
She was still on the bed, still propped on one elbow, still watching. She reached out and took Rachel's hand—steady and warm and patient.
"Come here," Mandy said.
She pulled Rachel onto the bed. She guided the harness around Rachel's hips and tightened the straps—her fingers brushing against Rachel's stomach, her thighs, the thatch of dark hair between her legs.
"Feel okay?" Mandy asked.
Rachel nodded. Her voice wasn't working.
Mandy took her hand again and led her behind Beth.
Beth turned her head. She looked at Rachel with wide blue eyes—soft and open and full of something that might have been trust.
"Hey," Beth said.
"Hey," Rachel whispered.
"You okay?"
"I don't know."
Beth smiled. It was a small, crooked smile—the smile of a woman who had seen too much and decided to be kind anyway.
"Me neither," Beth said. "But we're here. That's something."
Rachel laughed. It was a wet, broken sound—half sob, half relief.
Mandy pressed against Rachel's back. Her hand found Rachel's hip. Her other hand slid around to Rachel's cunt—fingers parting her folds, stroking her clit.
"Just breathe," Mandy murmured. "I've got you."
Rachel breathed.
And then she pushed inside.
Beth gasped. Her back arched. Her legs wrapped around Rachel's waist and pulled her deeper.
Rachel made a sound like she was breaking open.
A year of nothing. A year of void and silence and cold. A year of drifting in a place where time had no meaning and touch had no warmth. And now this—this heat, this weight, this woman moaning beneath her.
"Fuck," Rachel whispered.
"Good," Mandy said. "That's good."
She kept stroking Rachel's clit—slow, steady circles that matched the rhythm of Rachel's hips. Her other hand stayed on Rachel's hip, guiding her, steadying her.
Rachel moved.
She didn't know what she was doing. She didn't know if she was doing it right. But she moved—deep, slow strokes that made Beth gasp and moan and dig her heels into Rachel's back.
"Yes," Beth gasped. "Like that. Just like that."
Rachel's eyes burned. Her chest hurt. Something inside her was cracking open—something that had been frozen for so long she'd forgotten it existed.
Mai watched with clinical satisfaction. Her arms were still crossed. Her golden-brown eyes tracked every movement—every thrust, every gasp, every tremble.
"Good," Mai said. "Harder. She can take it."
Rachel pushed harder.
Beth cried out—a sharp, high sound that filled the room. Her body tightened. Her cunt clenched around the silicone.
"Faster," Beth gasped. "Please—faster—"
Rachel moved faster.
Her hips slammed into Beth's. The slap of skin on skin echoed off the walls. The bed creaked and groaned. Beth's hands found Rachel's breasts and squeezed—hard—and Rachel made a sound that was somewhere between a sob and a scream.
Felicity watched with her fingers between her legs. She was still on the bed, still naked, still wet. Her fingers worked her clit in fast, tight circles and her breath came in short, sharp gasps.
Mandy watched Rachel's face.
She watched the tears streaming down Rachel's cheeks. She watched the way Rachel's mouth fell open and her eyes went wide and her whole body shook. She watched the moment Rachel stopped being a ghost—the moment she stopped being a woman trapped in a void and became a woman buried inside another woman, alive and present and real.
Something in Mandy's chest cracked open too.
She leaned forward and pressed her lips to Rachel's shoulder. She kissed the tears from Rachel's cheek. She whispered something—she didn't know what—and felt Rachel tremble against her.
"Come on," Mandy murmured. "Come on, Ray-Ray. Let go."
Rachel let go.
She came with a scream that was almost a sob—her whole body clenching, her hips jerking, her hands fisting in Beth's hair. Beth came a moment later—her cunt spasming around the dildo, her back arching off the bed, her mouth open in a silent cry.
They collapsed together.
Rachel lay on top of Beth, her breath coming in ragged gasps, her body limp and shaking. Beth wrapped her arms around her and held her—held her close, held her tight, held her like she was something precious.
Mai uncrossed her arms.
"Well," she said. "That was educational."
Felicity laughed—a breathless, shaking sound—and pulled her fingers out of herself.
"You're such a doctor," she said.
"I'm the best doctor."
Mandy laughed. She was still kneeling behind Rachel, still pressed against her back, still warm and wanting and undone.
She looked down at Rachel—at the way Rachel's body was curled around Beth's, at the way Rachel's breath was slowly evening out, at the way Rachel's tears had stopped and something like peace had settled over her face.
"You okay?" Mandy asked.
Rachel turned her head. Her eyes were red, her cheeks were wet, but she was smiling—a small, fragile, real smile.
"I think so," she said. "I think I might be."
Mandy nodded.
She reached down and began unfastening the harness—careful, gentle, her fingers brushing against Rachel's skin.
"Good," Mandy said. "That's good."
She helped Rachel off the bed. She led her to the bathroom and started the shower. She stood in the doorway and watched Rachel step under the water, watched the tears and the sweat and the evidence of everything wash away.
Then she turned and walked back into the bedroom.
Beth was still on the bed—spread-eagle, boneless, grinning. Felicity was curled up beside her, her blonde head resting on Beth's shoulder. Mai was pulling on her clothes with the particular efficiency of a woman who had things to do.
Jeeves floated through the door.
"Shall I prepare lunch, Mistress Mandy?"
Mandy laughed.
"Yeah," she said. "Lunch sounds good."
"Excellent. I'll prepare sandwiches. And perhaps some fruit."
"Fruit's good."
Jeeves chirped and floated away.
Mandy sat on the edge of the bed. She looked at Beth and Felicity—at the way they curled together like cats in the sun. She looked at Mai—at the way she moved with that particular grace, that particular confidence.
She looked at the shower door, where steam was curling around the frame.
And she felt, for the first time in a long time, like everything was exactly where it was supposed to be.
Jeeves had already set the table by the time Mandy made it to the kitchen.
The little automaton floated between the counter and the island, his mechanical arms a blur of precise motion—arranging plates, folding napkins, slicing fruit with a thin silver blade that hummed faintly with enchantment. Sandwiches materialized on a wooden board: turkey and swiss, roast beef and cheddar, something with hummus and roasted vegetables that smelled like garlic and lemon.
"Cold cuts," Jeeves announced, "and a salad. Mistress Judy's garden has produced an excess of tomatoes."
Mandy pulled on a t-shirt—the first one she found, which happened to be Ben's old university shirt, faded and soft and smelling faintly of his cologne. She poured herself a glass of water and leaned against the counter.
"Looks good," she said.
"Thank you, Mistress Mandy. I endeavor to please."
Beth and Felicity stumbled in a few minutes later, both still mostly naked, both still flushed, both moving with that particular boneless gait of women who had recently come very hard. Beth grabbed a sandwich without asking what was in it. Felicity poured herself a glass of orange juice and drank it standing up, her blonde hair still tangled, her eyes still bright.
Mai was already dressed.
That was the strange thing—the thing that made Mandy do a double-take. Mai Harata, who treated clothing like an optional accessory, who had spent the entire morning naked at the breakfast table, who had ordered everyone else to strip down for her "medical examination"—Mai was wearing actual clothes.
Jeans. A white crop top. Her dark hair pulled back in a neat ponytail.
"You're dressed," Mandy said.
Mai looked down at herself.
"Observant."
"Why are you dressed?"
"I have a livestream in an hour." Mai grabbed a sandwich from the board—turkey and swiss—and took a bite. "I can't do it naked. The platform has rules."
"Since when do you care about rules?"
"Since I started making money." Mai grinned, her English accent sharpening the words. "The sea serpent won't document itself."
Rachel appeared in the hallway.
She was wrapped in a towel, her dark hair dripping water onto the hardwood floor, her sharp features softened by something that might have been exhaustion or might have been peace. She moved slowly—carefully—like a woman testing the ground beneath her feet.
"Hey," Mandy said.
"Hey."
"There's lunch."
"I see."
Rachel took a plate. She filled it with fruit and a sandwich and a small mountain of salad. Then she sat at the table and began to eat, methodically, without looking at anyone.
Mandy watched her.
She thought about the shower—about the steam and the water and the open door of the bathroom. She thought about Rachel in the coffee shop, back in Chicago, before everything had gone wrong, laughing at something Beth had said with her whole face.
She's still in there, Mandy thought. Somewhere.
Mandy grabbed her own sandwich and sat down.
The kitchen settled into a comfortable quiet—the clink of silverware, the hum of Jeeves's motor, the distant crash of waves against the shore. The house smelled of clean linen and salt air and fresh-cut flowers.
For a few minutes, everything was normal.
Then the front door opened.
Rick stepped inside.
He was wearing his bakery clothes—jeans, a dark blue t-shirt with the logo of his shop stitched on the chest, a flour-dusted apron that he'd forgotten to take off. His dark hair was messy, his blue eyes tired, and he was holding his phone in one hand like he'd been in the middle of a call.
"Oh," he said.
He stopped in the doorway.
He looked at the scene before him—at Beth and Felicity, naked and cuddling on the couch, their bodies tangled together like puppies. At Mandy, sitting at the table in nothing but an oversized t-shirt that didn't belong to her. At the closed bathroom door, steam curling from beneath it.
At Mai, fully dressed, eating a sandwich with the particular calm of a woman who had nothing to explain.
"Hi," Mai said.
Rick blinked.
"You're dressed."
"I know."
"That's the weirdest thing in this room."
"I know."
Rick shook his head. He stepped fully into the house and closed the door behind him.
"I'm just here for Stacy's phone charger," he said. "She left it here last night."
"Check the guest room," Mandy said. "She was in there."
"Right."
He started toward the hallway.
Then he stopped.
He turned back to Mandy, his eyebrows furrowed.
"When did we leave last night?" he asked.
"I don't know. I didn't notice."
"You didn't notice?"
"No." Mandy shrugged. "You and Stacy slipped out at some point. I was distracted."
"By the orgy?"
"By the orgy."
Rick laughed—a short, surprised sound. He shook his head again and continued toward the guest room.
Mai stood up.
She crossed the room with a particular grace—that fluid, unhurried motion that Mandy had always envied. She caught up to Rick just as he reached the hallway.
"Dr. Harata has a new treatment," she said.
Rick turned.
"What?"
Mai took his hand.
"I said, Dr. Harata has a new treatment." She pulled him toward the bathroom door. "The patient requires an injection."
She opened the door.
The bathroom was thick with steam. Through the fog, Rick could see Rachel—her dark hair wet and slick against her shoulders, her towel discarded on the counter, her body still glistening with water. She was in the middle of rinsing her hair, her head tipped back, her eyes closed.
She opened her eyes when the door opened.
She looked at Rick.
She looked at Mai.
She looked at the way Mai was pulling Rick into the room.
"What's happening?" Rachel asked.
"Nothing yet," Mai said. She closed the door behind them. "But something is about to."
Rick's eyes were wide.
"Mai—"
"Shh." Mai pressed a finger to his lips. Then she reached down and unbuckled his belt.
"What are you doing?"
"What does it look like?"
"It looks like you're taking my pants off."
"That's because I'm taking your pants off."
Rick caught her wrist.
"Mai. Half-English," he said, "horrifyingly enough, people say that in every relationship you're ever going to have, you're always going to be the British one, the accent and weird wording will always make you the center of attention. But—what—why?"
Mai looked up at him.
"The patient needs an injection," she said. "Stacy said so."
"Stacy absolutely did not say so."
"You're right. She didn't." Mai's fingers found the waistband of his jeans and tugged. "But she would find it hot if you told her later."
Rick paused.
He considered this.
"Okay," he said. "Yeah, that's probably true."
Mai smiled.
She yanked his jeans down.
Rick stepped out of them, his boxers following a moment later, and stood there in the bathroom—bare-assed and half-aroused and entirely out of his depth.
Rachel looked at him.
She looked at what he had between his legs—the particular curve and weight of it, the way it stood up and took notice of the situation.
She looked at his face.
"I wouldn't mind that sort of injection," she said. "After the morning I've had so far."
Rick looked at her.
At her wet body. At her dark eyes. At the particular expression of a woman who had spent the morning learning how to feel again and wasn't about to stop.
"Okay," he said.
He stepped out of his jeans. He pulled off his shirt. He left his clothes in a pile on the bathroom floor and joined Rachel under the water.
Mai watched them.
Then she smiled and stepped back into the hallway, closing the door behind her.
The sound of the shower changed—the rhythm of the water shifting as two bodies moved together instead of one. Mai walked back to the kitchen with the satisfied air of a woman who had completed her work.
Beth was watching from the couch.
She was still naked, still tangled with Felicity, but her head had turned when Mai came back. Her blue eyes were wide.
"Did Rick just—"
"He did."
"And Rachel—"
"She did."
Beth laughed.
It was a bright, delighted sound. She turned back to Felicity and kissed her—quick, hard, full of joy.
Felicity kissed her back.
Her hand slid between Beth's legs—fingers finding her clit, stroking it with fast, tight circles. Beth gasped. Her hips bucked.
Then Mai walked past.
"Nurse Winkle," she said.
Felicity looked up.
"Yes, Doctor?"
"Go check on the patient in the shower."
Felicity paused. Her fingers were still buried between Beth's thighs. Her blue eyes were still hungry.
"Now?"
"Now."
Felicity pulled her hand away. She climbed off the couch and crossed the room, her blonde hair bouncing, her body still flushed and wanting.
She stopped at the bathroom door.
She listened.
She heard water. She heard breathing. She heard the particular sound of skin on skin—the slap of flesh, the rhythm of two people moving together.
She opened the door.
The steam rolled out in a wave.
Inside, Rachel was pressed against the tile wall, water streaming down her back, her hands braced on the shower bench. Rick was behind her—inside her—his hips slapping against her ass with a steady, relentless rhythm.
His hands gripped her hips. His breath came in grunts. His eyes were closed.
She was moaning—low, throaty sounds that echoed off the walls.
Felicity watched.
Her mouth fell open.
Her hand moved between her own legs—without thinking, without hesitation—and she began to touch herself.
She heard Mai's voice from behind her.
"Nurse Winkle," Mai said. "The patient needs a nurse."
Felicity turned.
Mai was standing in the hallway, fully dressed, her arms crossed, her expression that particular blend of clinical detachment and unholy delight.
"Go help," Mai said.
Felicity stepped into the bathroom.
She closed the door behind her.