Doctor-Patient Confidentiality: Chapter One Hundred and Ninety-One

I wake up in what feels like a plush cloud, cocooned in a level of comfort that makes me want to stay nestled into the sheets forever. But while my bedding is a little slice of heaven, my body isn’t. At all.

Holy sea biscuits…

I feel like road kill. Twice run over. No. Like road kill shit. Splattered everywhere. And then warmed over. My shoulders let out a raging battlecry when I attempt to stretch. When I so much as stir. Hell, when I try to breathe. I’m unbelievably sore, aching so deeply I feel it in my bones. It’s like every single ligament I own got tied up and punched fifty times. That isn’t exactly far from the truth. The ligaments in my pussy were certainly cock punched far more times than I could count.

Fire scorches my cheeks as the memory of yesterday comes crashing down on me, my temples throbbing with remembrance and embarrassment.

Mary Magdaloin.

He seriously fucked me on his dining table.

Like…just cocked me down right on it like an after-meal special.

I still can’t believe it, even with the stark evidence of it stabbing my body with the smallest of movements. Groaning, I slowly sit up, blinking to bring my blurry vision into focus.

My glasses. Where are they?

I look around, recognizing the space as my designated room. When did I get here? How did I get here? I spot my second pair of eyes on the side table, and just as I’m reaching for them, a knock raps on the door. My heart jumps, my eyes flitting to it. It comes into focus as I slip my frames on.

“Just a minute,” I rasp with far more effort than it should take to speak. My throat is raw, but arguably not as raw as my pussy. I pull the plush robe closer around me, re-securing the belt and wondering how I got into it. The last thing I remember is…being in the bathtub. With Frost.

Oh god, did I pass out in there? Did he carry me to this room? A weird mix of gratitude and discomfort settles over me. This is the second time blacking out around him. The second memory gap of the night before and the morning after. I don’t want this becoming a regular thing. The knock comes again.

“Come in,” I reluctantly call out.