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Emma sits up in bed, sheets pooling down around her bare waist. “My throat hurts,” she says, and Brendon gives her a look from where he's sitting on the end, taking off his shoes. He still has his scrubs on, coming home from his shift to her day off, spent in his bed.
“Mhmm. And what am I supposed to do about that?” He asks, but he's smirking a little in the corner of his mouth, because he knows what she wants.
“You're a doctor, aren't you? Shouldn't you check me out?” She asks, and gives him big, dark eyes when he turns to look at her. “I'm just a nurse. I won't know what I'm doing.” She pouts, and he cracks a little more, the smirk growing, and then sighs and stands up and gets the kit out from the bottom drawer of his dresser.
Blue nitrile gloves, size 10. They snap on his hands and Emma presses her thighs together under the sheets. The kit has everything- gloves, gauze, a penlight and three types of swab, stethoscope, clamps and tweezers, even a rib spreader. It's bulky and heavy and just the sight of it makes Emma clench- something medical, something purposeful, on the messy sheets of their bed, in their home, where work stops and becomes something more.
Brendon kneels up next to her, broad and heavy, the mattress sinking, and loops the stethoscope around his neck, presses his fingers into the sides of her throat. “When did this start?” He asks, palpating. Emma makes a small sound in the back of her throat, and he digs his thumbs under her jaw, forcing her to look up.
“Um…last night,” she says, and Brendon shifts his hands to lock his thumbs into her mouth, pulling to open her jaw, force her tongue down. The taste of the gloves floods her mouth, makes her drool, a pavlovian response that exists only here- he uses his grip to shake her head and and forth, making her neck bend, holding her where he wants as he watches saliva pool on her tongue. She grunts, and he releases her mouth, damp fingers moving back down to press on either side of her windpipe. “I think-oh!- it was, after my boyfriend stuck his cock down my throat.”
Brendon's hand spasms, his other clenching into a fist. “Fucking hell,” he mutters, inhaling sharply, and Emma smiles up at him. He pinches her earlobe, gently, and then reaches into the kit for one of the tongue depressors.
“Say ah,” he says, pressing it down, and in the same moment he pinches her nipple. Emma squeaks, jaw dropping lower, and moans out a soft aaah that climbs higher as he pinches her again. He smirks down at her, her open mouth and flushing cheeks. “Good.”
She squirms sitting on the bed, gripping the sheets around her thighs as her legs shift. He takes his time, shining the pen light into her mouth, pushing the depressor further back- she gags just a little, a flex of her throat and flick of her tongue under it, and his pupils dilate, watching the soft wet flesh clench and release, Emma’s breath coming quicker as she waits.
She knows what it looks like, has seen the video for the scope- Brendon feeding a camera down her throat, red burst capillaries, showing her the way tissue expands and contracts, how even the narrow tip of the camera makes her moan as it prods against the flesh Brendon had bruised with his cock, his cum shiny white spurts still clinging inside her, that she'd sucked off the camera as he pulled it out again.
He might be able to see him cum from the night before, she realizes, and it makes her clench, shivery heat pooling in her belly.
Brendon finally takes it out, tossing it to the bedside table. “Looks irritated. Swollen. Sensitive,” he says, and rubs his thumb over her lower lip. Emma's tongue darts out to taste the glove again, slick and damp with her own saliva. “This boyfriend must have a big cock.”
Emma rolls her eyes. “Yes, he does,” she agrees, smiling, but Brendon grips her jaw again and shines the light into her eyes, making her flinch.
“Hm. Is he normally rough with you?”
His hand falls to her chest, stroking down the curve of her breast, and rubbery-smooth fingertips flick her nipple. Emma shudders. “Oh, yeah- a lot of the time,” she says, and Brendon finds a small bruise on the side of her breast and teases it, rubbing so that she gasps a little. “I like it though.”
“You like getting fucked rough?” He says, his voice lower and dark. When she glances at his lap, he's hard, cock filling up along his thigh.
She nods. “Yeah, I- oh! I like it when he pushes me around. Fucks my throat.” She moans a little when he pushes two fingers back into her mouth, heavy and forceful, shoving back immediately so she gags and her hips jolt forward. The sheets move down, and she feels it when Brendon looks down and realizes she's naked, that she's got nothing under the sheets except the anklet he bought her. His grip tightens, thumb under her chin and fingers in her mouth squeezing so she can't help the sound that crawls out of her throat to be smothered under Brendon's hand, her nipples tight, her pussy throbbing as he breathes out a soft fuck and palms his cock.
“Should check you out properly. Make sure this boyfriend didn't cause any damage,” he says, and lets go of her mouth to grab his stethoscope. Emma gasps and arches her back as he drags the thin cold metal edge down over her nipple, and presses into it, making her push back against the pressure, breast bulging out a little around it as Brendon scrapes it down her skin, nipple popping out from under it, and doesn't give her a moment before he does the same to her other breast.
Emma's panting a little, arms trembling where she's holding herself up with them, as he hums and touches the stethoscope to her chest, following a more normal path, as she breathes in and out. The silence sinks into her, nothing but their own breath and Emma's pulse pounding, the smooth movement of the stethoscope, the way the sheets rustle as she squirms again. “Hold still,” Brendon says, and grips her throat to pull her forward, press the stethoscope to her back, and Emma goes limp in his grip, letting the weight of her head pull her throat into his palm and fingers, and feels a little slippery heat drip from her pussy to soak into the bed under her.
Brendon drops the stethoscope aside, and taps his fingers down her back, gentle at the knots of her spinal column, and then makes a fist tightly enough that Emma can hear the gloves squeak, and thumps hard across her shoulders, down to her kidneys, sharp hard hits that move through her body, make her gasp and moan.
When he lets go, he drops Emma flat to her back, and yanks the sheet away- her thighs spread with another moan, and bends so he can nuzzle against her cheek. “Heart and lungs sound good,” he says, “but I want to check everything,” and those hands, huge and strong and wrapped in that intoxicating blue, cup Emma's breasts and squeeze.
She keens, arching under him, but Brendon is bigger and stronger by far, and only shifts his grip to catch and pull her nipples. Emma writhes, feeling every touch on her skin, the way she's deliciously hot and wet now, and Brendon chuckles and lets go of her nipples to push down on her belly, palming out the shape of her muscles, her ribs; he counts them down her sides, sharp taps of his fingers, tracing the curve over her diaphragm like he could slice into her, pull the bones apart and nestle himself inside.
His hands on her sides make her flinch, ticklish, but he corrects himself and digs under her navel, thumbs spreading low and wide, tracing the shape of her under her skin, finding the curves of her hip bones and lower, as her thighs open up for him, butterflying apart with his head low and staring at the slick, shiny evidence of her pussy, the way she gasps when he breathes across it, her skin prickling, clit throbbing.
“Looks swollen here too,” he says, and draws a finger down the seam of her cunt. “Does he fuck this rough too?”
“Yes!” Emma gasps, and he lets go of her thighs to sit fully between them, spreading her apart with his fingers, god, the touch of his hands hot through the gloves, growing slick immediately. “He likes to- oh, oh god, he fucks me so hard sometimes I think I'm going crazy!”
Brendon groans, stroking her clit. “Oh, so he fucks you right. That's good. Little pussies like this need to get fucked hard,” and he's suddenly jamming two fingers into her, other hand splayed on her belly, as Emma shouts and writhes. He fucks her like that for only seconds, only enough to let her start clenching down on him- and then his fingers are gone and he's kissing her, his mouth wet and hot, demanding, and Emma flings her arms around him and kisses him back.
He breaks the kiss with a bite to her lower lip. “Wait,” he gasps, and shoves her thighs up, “hold these up.” She grips her legs and obeys, whining, feeling exposed under the lights, the medical kit right in view as Brendon takes things out, searching. Emma's eyes track the rib spreader, the pliers, the swabs and gauze, and then heaves a moan and gushes, clit throbbing, as Brendon pulls the sterile speculum out with a triumphant smirk.
Emma's hands tremble, and she swallows hard and adjusts her grip as Brendon taps her lips with the round end. “Lube that up for me,” he says, and she sucks at it, cool stainless steel on her tongue that strange non-flavor she loves, like the gloves, something medical and irreplaceable. The scent of sanitizer on Brendon's hands, the smell of the hospital that still clings to his scrubs, and she moans around it and draws the speculum further back into her throat, gagging on it before Brendon takes it back.
“Fucking hell,” he breathes, and smacks her clit with it; Emma jumps, startled, and he does it again, bouncing the little metal tube across her flesh, until she's whining and whimpering, and finally drags it up and down the soaked folds of her pussy. “Deep breath. Let's see if that pussy took any damage.” He eases it in, careful with the rigidity of the old model speculum against her insides in a way he's not with his own cock, and Emma sighs in a bone-deep pleasure and satisfaction when it bottoms out, Brendon's thumb on her clit, and then-
Oh, oh, hard metal heating up inside her and Brendon stroking her clit even as he opens it, the stretch of it, forcing her body to flutter and clench around something that can't be stopped, can't be moved, and Brendon can see into her now, see right down into the hot wet inside of her pussy, to her cervix, to all the soft aching nerves that he pounded at so hard before.
Emma clenches, squeezing, and feels a little slick well up around the speculum, dripping, onto Brendon's gloved fingers as he scoops it up and feeds it back to her, three fingers on her tongue now to make her mouth and lips strain the same way her pussy is. She blinks at him, tears on her lashes, so aroused it hurts, her brain sinking into a soft, wet syrup of pleasure.
“There you go, good girl,” he soothes, “taking that so well every time. Feels good?” She nods a little, moaning. “Yeah, I bet. You come on this for me and I'll do some swabs.” Emma whines, clenching in a ripple from the top of her head to her toes, and her hips rock even with her thighs held up- Brendon stroking her tongue, Brendon dragging the dull back of a pair of tweezers across her clit, Brendon looking at her as she shivers and moans and throbs around the speculum, looking down inside her, moaning himself as she gives him an orgasm he can watch in real time, aching and wet and so good, chest heaving as she pants around his fingers, teeth catching at the glove.
Then he's swabbing her, soft touches and pokes at the most inner, intimate part of Emma's body, dragging them back and forth along the exposed flesh of her pussy. The base of the speculum shudders and shifts, moving with her, as he draws one out and taps her clit with it, a sticky-soft feeling that lingers, fizzing in her blood, her whole brain sinking at last beneath the surface of that ocean of nerves and sensation as she comes with a shuddery, whimpery little sound, a second orgasm built off the first, and Brendon swears and closes the speculum so fast she's dizzy, the metal tossed aside with a sticky thump to the floor.
He slaps her hands off her thighs and pulls his cock out, shoving his pants down, and Emma throws her head back and wails as he slams into her, head to balls in one movement, her pussy trembling as it goes from open to closed to open again. Plastic wrappers from the speculum and swabs crinkle as he moves, the sterile smell in her nose, and Emma gasps and moans as a Brendon fucks deep into her, smearing precome along all the places he'd touched, examined, inspected.
“Prettiest fucking pussy I've ever seen,” he groans, and palms over her belly, catching her fingers to tangle together. “Tight and wet and hot all the way down, gonna fill it back up now. Fuck, Emma, say it, come on fucking say it-”
“Thank you Dr. Park!” She gasps, and moans when he twists her nipple, feeling the glove drag sticky on her skin. “Fuck, fuck, thank you doctor-” and she takes his kiss with a slack, open mouth, letting him lick into her, like he's trying to crawl down her throat and meet his cock in the middle. His fingers on her leg are tight enough to bruise, more marks to be examined and teased, and he grunts and folds one thigh up to her chest and drives in so deep she shudders and clenches and comes, a third time, a hot gush of slick on his cock from her swollen sore pussy, and Brendon moans and buries his face into her throat as he comes inside her, the hot flooding of cum pooling and filling her up, her belly tight and shaking with it as her leg is strained, hips stretched.
The kiss gentles, Brendon nuzzling at her lips, her cheeks, kissing the tears that spilled off her lashes. Emma groans when he carefully folds her leg back down, rolling with him so they're on their sides, close together, holding his cock in her. His scrubs are rumpled up, stuff from the kit spread over the bed or knocked to the floor, and Emma sighs and clings as the feverish shivering eases, as her body calms. Brendon is breathing in huge inhales against her chest, sweat soaked into his shirt, damp along his stomach and thighs where they're joined.
She giggles a little when he pulls out and rolls off, his cock soft on his hip bone. “What?” He asks, eyes closed, and Emma props herself up on her elbow to smile at him.
“You forgot to put the stethoscope in your ears again,” she says, and there's a moment before he's groaning in irritation.
“Fucking hell- and when was the last time I actually had to use of these,” he snaps, and sits up to yank his scrubs off as she laughs. His hair is sticking up from the gel still in it, a curl flopping down, and he's as messy and uncontrolled as he wasn't five minutes ago, fucking her with a speculum and putting her through an incredibly unethical medical exam.
He stalks to the shower like a cat, shedding clothes along the way, and Emma masters her giggles and goes after him still naked, slick and throbbing between her thighs, to join him under the water- she wants to see just how bruised he can leave her throat, if they really work at it.