by Nora Ash
Clearly he’d lied when he said he got no personal pleasure from this! Fighting the urge to cover her exposed sex when he returned to continue, Selma stared at him while her mind briefly—and completely unsolicited—tried to work out how anything belonging to a human could create a lump that size.
The doctor smiled calmly when he saw what had her attention, his non-lubricated fingers finding and gently circling her clit as he brought the other hand down to her leaking hole. “I am only a man, Selma; my body will react to a young woman climaxing in front of me. Relax now; everything is as it should be.”
She didn’t get a chance to do anything but obey as his fingers once again pushed into her, twisting and expanding against the sore muscles.
And then he forced his fourth finger in.
Selma whimpered, the pressure suddenly more than her body could comfortably handle as he pushed in to the knuckles. She tried moving her hips to ease it, but he easily kept her still by pressing down against her swollen clit, pinning her to the chair.
“This will hurt if you don’t relax.” The unspoken point being that he wasn’t stopping, even if she didn’t. “Just lean back; feel how your pussy stretches for me. That’s good, isn’t it? Just imagine how good it’ll be when it’s fully opened.”
His heated words and the aroused state of her body aside, Selma found it increasingly hard to focus on anything but the stretching tightness between her thighs. She tried to relax, but even as she forced her body to accept the slowly pumping and rotating fingers she couldn’t stop her own fingers from digging into the seat of the chair, or the hoarse gasps he pushed from her every time his knuckles breached her entrance.
It did feel good, through the discomfort of being forced wider than what her body was naturally built to handle during intercourse, and his persistent stimulation of her small nub of nerves, allowed another orgasm to start building. Before long, her panting was accompanied by her hips rising, her body trying to accommodate the intrusion as best it could to intensify the oncoming climax.
“That’s it, good girl, very good,” she heard him croon above her, taking advantage of her pussy’s spasms to really work the knuckles in. Her responding cry only caused him to flex his massive hand inside of her, and she felt every muscle in her core clamp in reflex, trying to expel the too-large mass penetrating it. Yet the second her pussy clenched her undoing began, and she wailed her release out, red-hot explosions of pleasure shooting off along every nerve in her trashing body, the climax being heightened and prolonged for every spasm against his fingers.
She was still riding out the blissful cramps, moaning for every contraction as her body came to accept the stretch, when his thumb suddenly wedged into her gaping hole alongside his palm.
If she hadn’t been severely weakened from the previous orgasms she might have managed to tighten her muscles enough to deny him access, but now he was too quick and way too strong for her to resist.
Selma screamed, her body arching as high as the restraints would let her, every profanity she’d ever heard flying from her lips as Dr. Hershey pressed his entire hand into her, locking it into a fist the second it was fully inside her.
It was too big! Way too big! Her entire form shuddered as her pussy desperately tried to dislodge the fist, but it stayed like a massive, invasive force in her narrow passage no matter how hard her frantic muscles clamped and pushed. Then the doctor’s touch on her clit returned.
Her scream took on a new pitch as her pussy, spread so wide it was unable to fight off the jarring tremors shooting from the throbbing little nub, began convulsing around his fist in a pattern aimed at milking him instead of the frantic attempts at expelling the invasion. The fire from her pained orgasm burned all the way up through her slick core and backbone, melting every muscle in its way as her pussy battled against the strength of his enormous fist—and lost.
By the time her quaking channel released her from the high her wails had quieted to sobs, and the man hovering over her was blurred due to the tears leaking from her eyes. And his hand... his hand was still curled securely in her opening, expanding the narrowest part of her vagina to its absolute limit, though the other had left her now painfully over-stimulated clit to stroke her stomach soothingly. As if anything could calm her wildly beating heart and shaky breathing while her pussy was wrenched open like this.
“Please, please, no more,” she whispered, too exhausted and sore-throated to put more force behind her begging. “I can’t... please, take it out.”
“We’re almost there, sweetheart. You’ve been so good—just one more and we’re done.” Though the words themselves sounded comforting, the darkness in his voice didn’t manage to inspire any trust. Not that it mattered; when he slowly but deliberately pressed his fist deeper into her, her only defense was a low groan in protest, while the ample amount of fluids and her weakened muscles allowed it to happen.
There was a moment of moderate relief when the pressure of his knuckles was finally past her pelvic bone, nestling in where her body could accommodate him just a little more easily, and her breath shuddered out in a drawn-out moan. However, the sensation of being stretched to her absolute limits was still undeniably intense, her pussy weakly trying to clamp down on him—causing agonizing shudders of pleasure as every sensitive part of her core was forcefully massaged.
And then he started thrusting.
He said some words, something about deep breaths and letting her body work with it, but she couldn’t pay attention to them— couldn’t pay attention to anything but the thorough fucking wrecking her pussy, as it made her shriek in a wild mix of horror and forced ecstasy.
There was more, something said in a foreign language, or maybe she had just lost all ability to understand English, as he pressed his free hand against her forehead, all the while driving the huge fist in and out of her. Selma thrashed, oblivious to the heat from his hand and the ignition of the flames in his eyes while he forced her over the edge of what her body and mind could take.
* * *
The distorted sound of someone moving around was the first thing making it through the black silence. Selma focused, and the sounds turned to light steps, brushing of fabric and running water that was soon shut off. The steps and sound of movement neared, and then something soft and cool was pressed between her legs, sending sharp jolts through aching muscles and tender flesh.
“Mhh,” she protested, cracking open heavy eyelids in an attempt at getting a look at her surroundings. The harsh ceiling light forced her to squeeze them shut again, raising shaky arms to shield against the sudden brightness.
“Oh good, you’re waking up.” More coolness—a damp cloth, likely—ran over her swollen nether lips, this time soothing rather than startling. “How are you feeling?”
“Sore.” The brunette scowled underneath the protective arms, suddenly recalling what had knocked her out. “Was that really necessary?”
“You tell me.” There was a smile in his voice. A dry towel replaced the damp cloth, drying her gently, before he stepped around her still-spread legs to stand at her side. “How do I look?”
Slowly, she lowered her arms and squinted up at the tall man. The smile was still there, plastered across soft lips, and the dark eyebrows were lightly arched as he waited for her judgment.
She blinked, frowning deeper as she stared at the doctor. His hair was horn-free, and his eyes were deep amber. No flames. And no pointy ears. How was that even... possible? Mutely, she reached up, and he obligingly bent his head so she could stroke through the black strands. No bumps met her fingers, just soft, silken hair.
“You...” The implication slowly set in as he straightened back up, his now human eyes watching her carefully, evaluating her like a doctor would after a treatment.
“You cured me?” She couldn’t quite make it into a statement, her voice rising questioningly towards the end. A lump she hadn’t been aware was building in her throat and made her swallow thickly, attempting to press back the tears star
ting to build in her eyes so his so perfectly human face wouldn’t be blurred for her vision. She was free. She was finally free!
“It is not a full cure, Selma.” He grabbed her hand and gave it a comforting squeeze. “You need to take good care of yourself and maintain your hormonal balance— eat well, take the vitamins I’ll give you, do some yoga for stress relief and masturbate daily, preferably using something large. It is all about management now, but yes; you should no longer see your illusions.”
There was nothing she could say... nothing she could ever do to repay the man. The tears spilled over as she clutched at his hand, all resentment of where it had been mere moments ago forgiven. “Thank you, doctor. Thank you, thank you, thank you!”
* * *
It took her a full day to get over the bone-deep exhaustion caused by Dr. Hershey’s treatment, and she could happily have stayed in bed for the rest of the evening, tending to her still-tender abdomen, if it hadn’t been for the nurse’s strict reminder of the doctor’s schedule for her for the remaining week when she brought in her dinner.
She was to remain at Ravenswood House for five more days, seeing him every other day to check on her continued progress, and spending the rest of the time relaxing and getting into a good routine of meditation, yoga and regular meals. And masturbation.
Before going into that examination room with him she’d have pointedly ignored that specific part of his instructions, but now... after what he’d done for her, she would follow any advice he saw fit to give her. Even willingly lie in that chair again, should he request it.
She blushed a little at the thought, getting up from the bed to walk stiffly to the bathroom. He had been more than kind after the treatment, helping her to her room and praising her for how well she had responded. And since she no longer saw illusions of a monster when looking at him, it had been hard not to feel a little flutter in her stomach as he gave her hands a final squeeze, wished her a good night and told her not to hesitate to call on him.
Not that there was any real chance of him dating patients; even the ones he’d gotten to know as intimately as he had her. She smiled as she cranked the shower on and got out of the white pajamas while waiting for it to heat up. How many of his patients developed a minor crush on him? She was willing to bet that the number was fairly high, even if their treatment didn’t consist of spine-shatteringly powerful orgasms, what with his handsome—and hornless—looks and kind mannerisms. Add to that that he saved minds for a living...
Selma sighed wistfully, stepping into the shower. She was well aware that the sudden onset of interest had everything to do with the fact that he was the one to make her illusions go away and nothing to do with actual emotions. However, as the hot spray from the shower worked on loosening her aching muscles, she found her thoughts wandering back to that room and how hard the bulge in his pants had been while he fisted her. She gingerly rubbed her slick folds, careful not to press too hard on her still-tender clit and leaned against the wet tiles while breathing deeply, letting the climax build slowly. In the privacy of her bathroom she could wish that he’d sucked her nipples instead of just pinching them, closing that hot mouth over each bud as he unzipped his pants... Would it really have been so bad if he’d offered a real fucking instead of fingering her to release? God, with that bulge it could only be a divine experience.
Her hips jerked in response to her thoughts, and she had to keep them pressed against the wall to not over-agitate her sore muscles as her pussy clenched, bringing her over the edge with a whimper.
Panting, Selma straightened, wincing slightly at the stiffness all the while chuckling to herself over the change in her demeanor towards the idea of seeing the good doctor naked. What a difference a healthy mind made!
She finished up in the shower, catching herself humming along to a tune she’d heard on the radio sometime last week as she stepped out and dried herself in the institution-white towel provided by the hospital. How much would her life change now that she didn’t have to spend so much energy pretending everything was all right? She wouldn’t have that tremor of terror every time she saw one of them, and she could go out after dark without fear. Life would be good, she could be normal, she could... Selma paused, straightening up from drying her hair and wrapping the towel around her head as this new thought hit her. She could be a mom.
A smile pulled on her lips, even as she reminded herself to talk to Dr. Hershey about the risk of the illness being hereditary. There was a chance that she could have a family of her own now, and she found years of suppressed dreams suddenly flurrying up inside of her as she imagined a white picket fence and serving lemonade on the porch for blue-eyed kids.
She wiped the mirror free from steam and grinned at her own reflection. Maybe she should start with focusing on just finding a guy she could fall in love with. Hell, she could date! And without fearing they’d figure out that she was crazy.
Happily planning her future she brushed her teeth, humming through the toothpaste with sheer joy for life. She continued the cheery tune while rinsing out her mouth with water from the tap.
It was when she straightened back up to grin widely at the mirror that she noticed it.
The faint shimmer on her forehead made her tune cut out, her grin faltering as she leaned in closer. There, in the middle of her forehead, where Dr. Hershey’s hot hand had touched her during her final orgasm was a round, silvery mark so faint that it almost blended in with her pale skin. If it hadn’t been for the slight shimmer it appeared to radiate she might not even have noticed. But there it was, approximately double the size of a walnut and with odd symbols following the curved outer line seemingly branded into her forehead.
Was it her illusions? Had they simply changed?
Panic formed in the pit of her stomach, and she staggered away from the mirror. No! This was too cruel; too unfair. Something could be done. Anything. Maybe it was just a normal side effect that would disappear over time? Dr. Hershey would be able to tell her, to help her... and if there was any sliver of justice in the world he might still be in his office, doing some after-hours paperwork, because if he wasn’t, she wasn’t sure how she’d make it through the night.
Spinning around, she ran back into the room and fumbled into her white clothes before trying the door. Unlocked.
She thanked every deity she could think of for having been moved off the At-Risk list as she quickly moved down the empty hallways to the staircase that led to the doctor’s office. It was a bit later than she’d realized, only darkness staring back at her through the large windows she hurriedly passed, and the upstairs offices seemed deserted for the night. Selma didn’t slow down until she came to the hallway housing Dr. Hershey’s office, and she could have fainted from relief when she saw a small stripe of light shining out from underneath his door.
With about the same desperation as a thirsting man stumbling upon an oasis in the desert she threw herself at the door, knocking quietly but with an urgent rhythm.
“Dr. Hershey!” she called, knocking again. “Please, I need your help!”
No reply came through the heavy wooden door, so she hesitantly turned the doorknob.
The door opened for her, and she had a moment of reconsidering practically breaking in to his office like a desperate drug addict, but the alternative—a night of not knowing if she was really cured or not—drove her to step in and slowly close it behind her.
“Dr. Hershey?”
There was still no reply, and the man himself didn’t seem to be in the room. But some paperwork was scattered over his neat desk, and the light glowing softly from his computer screen indicated that he probably wasn’t far away. She walked closer, glancing at it to see if it was so long since he’d been there that it had locked his user profile.
It wasn’t, and she forced a deep breath through her lungs. He’d be back soon, and he would help her.
She sat in the same chair she had the day before, brushing her hands through her still-damp hair and letting he
r gaze wander. She hadn’t really noticed the many tribal-looking sculptures adorning his shelves among the thick books the first time she was her, and in the somewhat limited light from the desk lamp and the computer screen they seemed a little scary. Not wanting to further add to her fright she looked at the papers on his desk instead, briefly wondering what her file now said about her and the treatment she’d been through.
Maybe the file was hers... ? Feeling just a little guilty she leaned closer, glancing over the pages of what appeared to be hand-written entries on top of a medical file. A file with her name on it.
No longer concerned about breaching any ethical standards she moved to the other side, leaning against the desk as she let her fingers dance over the neat handwriting.
What she read made color fill her cheeks; the first page was a detailed description of her reaction to everything he’d done to her the day before, and when she came to a passage reading ‘ ... climaxes more readily when subjected to verbal dominance... .’ she quickly flipped the page, not entirely sure she wanted to know what else he had to say on that particular subject, and let her eyes roam the next sheet of paper for something less mortifying. The small diagram she saw there made her freeze.
It... it was... she bent even further over the papers, staring at the small circles and the symbols within it. It was an exact copy of the one she’d seen on her forehead.
He’d... put it there.
The realization struck as a bolt of lightning, and she felt numbness spread through the fingers pressed against the little ink drawing. She didn’t know how, but he’d marked her.
Selma shook her head, trying to clear the confusion. Why would he have done that? Even if she ignored the how, it made no sense. She brushed a hand over her forehead, feeling an odd little pulsing sensation against her fingertips when she touched the mark.
