Doctor-Patient Confidentiality: Chapter Two Hundred and Ten

I reach for the box of condoms, my fingers trembling slightly as I open it. The foil packet feels cool against my skin as I extract one, the memory of our last encounter flooding back. The pressure in my bladder, the desperation that had built during his stupid game of guess as this same box sat between us. And then the blinding release as he forced me to come and pee right here just to prove his fucking point. The recollection makes me shift in my seat, hyper-aware of every sensation in my body. My pussy twitching without my consent.

Frost’s voice cuts through my thoughts, catching me off guard. “Last Sunday,” he says, his tone casual as if we’re having a normal conversation over coffee instead of…whatever this is, “you were playing the piano in your room. What song was that?”

I blink, surprised by the sudden change in topic. The memory of seeing him in my doorway at the end of my impromptu, unintentional performance flashes through my mind like a snapshot. I hadn’t expected him to bring it up, especially not here, not now. It feels like two different worlds colliding – the safe, familiar realm of my music and this dangerous, intoxicating liaison.

“I…I wasn’t playing any particular piece,” I admit, my voice sounding small in the vast dining room. “I was just improvising. Making it up as I went along.”

Frost leans forward slightly, his interest seemingly piqued. The intensity of his gaze makes me feel like I’m under a microscope as always, every reaction cataloged and analyzed. “Tell me about your playing style,” he prompts. “How would you describe your approach to improvisation?”

I swallow, trying to gather my thoughts. It’s surreal, discussing music while I sit here half-naked, a condom in my hand. “Well, I like to start with simple triads,” I explain, my voice gaining strength as I talk about something I love despite the setting. “I build on them, creating more complex chord structures.”

As I speak, I can’t help but wonder if this is why he was so focused on my hands earlier. Was he imagining my fingers dancing across piano keys while he washed them? The thought sends an unexpected thrill through me.

“Interesting,” Frost muses. At least, I think he’s musing? His eyes lock with mine, intense and calculating. Reading into my soul without permission even as I give him what he’s asked. “I think we’ve found your medium limit safe word. ‘Triad.’”