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No More Doctor Nice Guy Part 4. free porn video
No more Dr Nice Guy Part 4.
There was a degree of time pressure, I was racing the clock. Not the
ideal scenario considering I would be doing many things for the first
time. Still, I should give myself points for determination, and baseless
optimism.
I rummaged through my walk-in-robe figuring I would find what I was
looking for; a case of knowing it when I see it.
'What self respecting gal wouldn't have a little black dress and heels
for such emergency occasions?' I thought to myself. Further testament
perhaps, that my thoughts were not all my own.
I did have the required attire; and suitable black lace lingerie to
match.
I assured myself I hadn't given over to this. Not completely. Not yet.
Right now this was specifically my attempt at being selfless. That time
may come, when this is what I am, and maybe it will be easier then.
I should hope so, I guess. I mean I was more flexible now, but it was
still a struggle to get the back zip all the way up. At one point it
felt like I was doing the limbo!
I'm pretty sure that's one of the functions of a husband; to zip me up.
But of course, he's not here. Yet that was exactly what I was trying to
rectify.
As for hair and make-up, well near enough would really have to be good
enough.
Luckily my somewhat messy hair, even after attempted brushing, looked
kind of sultry, which was probably the look I needed. Furthermore, some
parts of the make-up routine were just a version of coloring in. Lips
and lids specifically.
I stayed away from mascara and eyeliner - that required a degree of
skill I did not as yet possess. It would literally be as much fun as a
poke in the eye with a pointy stick.
In the end I just had to concede, to the girl in the mirror, she'd have
to do; and I honestly thought, with favorable, (by which I meant bad)
lighting she probably would.
I tried appraising myself with Alex Turner's masculine eye. I mean,
would he fancy me, were he not me? I suppose that was what I was trying
to ask. I felt like I'd lost the ability to be able to discern what men
found hot. Still, tight black dress, bright red lippy, I can't be too
far wrong.
I fled out the door before I could change my mind.
***
The Northcote Hotel was perhaps an even seedier dive than I had imagined
in my minds eye. It was on the very fringe of the city, before the
unpleasant periphery gives way to farmland.
I was worried I would be too late. My attempts at haste and efficiency
in getting ready were not as concise as I had hoped; but I was relieved
to see Kevin still there.
He was talking to, or maybe more correctly harassing some woman, who was
being polite but looking pained.
I envisaged strolling up with a confident sashay and saying something
like 'Beat it sister, he's mine.' But I really didn't think I could
carry it off.
I still wanted to get his attention though, and do something a little
dramatic. It occurred to me that falling over in my heels would do that
effectively, and whilst it was a distinct possibility it wouldn't be
intentional.
In the end I opted to go to the bar, buy myself a vodka, lime and soda,
and a beer for him, and just approach them. My interpretation of the
body language would be that the woman would be relieved rather than
threatened and quickly make an escape.
One last nervous deep breath as I approached and I began with. "Well Hi
there handsome! Do you come here often?"
In all our interaction thus far, Kevin had never found me funny. As Alex
Turner I had a preconception that I was. Or I could be. I was beginning
to think it was yet another self belief that was erroneous. Still,
surely on cheesiness alone, as well as irony; because of course he was
there more often than was healthy; he had to give me something.
But I was wrong. He didn't give me anything.
"Alex? What the Hell do you think you're doing?" It was so venomous I
was taken aback.
"I bought you a beer," I stuttered out, offering it to him.
"You two know each other?" the woman asked, still looking for her out.
I gave it to her. "I'm his wife." The statement directed solely at her,
purposely avoiding Kevin's withering death stare.
"Alright, I might go then." And she did, with haste.
Kevin did not try to stop her.
"Surprise!" I offered apologetically when she was out of earshot.
"What on Earth...." he begins, looking me up and down. I hope he
appreciates the effort.
"Well you did tell me to get out......" I chirp, taking the recently
vacated seat.
"Are you so hell bent on ruining my life Alex? What the fuck is wrong
with you?"
"That's not why I'm here. I want to help you."
"Trust me Alex. Warding off women is not what I need. You still don't
get it. I have to do this. I don't have a choice."
"I DO get it Kevin. You have to get laid every 24 hours or.... I don't
know.... You explode into bits; or run amuck in a testosterone fuelled
rage spiral."
"Fuck you! How dare you mock me?" I do seem to know how to irritate him.
Even without trying.
"I'm not!" I reply softly. As prepared as I think I am to say it, it's
still hard to formulate the words. "I want you to come home. And.... And
when we are there I'll..... you know... let you do to me what you need
to."
"Is this a joke?" It's what he actually believes.
"Of course not!"
"Then have you changed?" He meant were my actions no longer under my
control.
"No. Not yet."
"Then why?"
"Because....." I pause for more. "I suppose this happening to me has
reminded me what it is to be human. And whether I like it or not I've
been sent to help you." I didn't feel like I was conveying my message
well. I needed to change my approach.
"I see how much you are suffering Kevin. I'd be blind not to. So before
it's enforced I want it to be clear this is my choice. To show you that
I'm willing to try. I'm the only one you know who understands what
you're going through. We're a team. I know you didn't choose me or would
ever. But this is my life now; and being a dick about it is not going to
help either of us. And by coming home with me, it will end your nightly
ritual of humiliation, and your life will be better."
"And yours?" He scrutinizes me intently. I'm not sure what he's looking
for. Cracks in my resolve I suppose. He needn't look so hard; they were
more crevices than cracks. You could walk right through them.
"I don't think this is about me right now. I did this for you." I
indicate my appearance. "To look like something you might want."
His lingering gaze suggests that I may have been effective in that aim.
At least in part.
"But it's certainly not something you want," he predicts. "I said I
wasn't going to rape you. This doesn't feel too far removed from that."
"But it's consensual. I'm letting you do this."
"It's begrudging. And so obvious in the way you say it. Not even: 'I'm
willing to have sex with you.' But more like: 'I won't resist allowing
you to ejaculate inside me.' And it's driven by pity."
I cringe. He's probably not wrong about some of that. But he is wrong
about the most important part.
"It's not pity Kevin. I'm in no position to be deigning that. It's
empathy. I care about..... about what happens to you. And not because
it's self serving. But because we are in the same boat. We're all each
other has." I look at him imploringly.
"And as to the rest," I regather. " I'm sure what's left of the
psychiatrist in me would say it was something to do with the male psyche
refusing to submit to my new reality. But surely you can see I'm
trying?"
He doesn't respond but I sense a weakness in his resolve and a softening
in his stance.
I glance around this sketchy den with the stench of tobacco and beer
soaked carpet. Whatever we did; whatever we are, we don't belong here.
"Come home with me, husband." I emphasize the word. "Who knows? Maybe
one good fucking and I'll be your willing sex slave forever."
"I've already warned you about being careful what you wish for Alex. You
seem determined to try the patience of the being that did this to us."
"Surely he's got better things to do. More lives to ruin."
"That's what I would've thought too. Yet he appeared when I tried to
take matters into my own hands to escape the curse." Kevin was referring
of course to his suicide attempt.
"But not when I did."
"He didn't need to. You had me." And I know that is his concession. His
admission of investment.
"Thank you for saving me," I respond to his insinuation. "I'm still not
sure how I can bear to live this life. But I guess it's preferable to
death. Especially in light of knowing there's more to our existence than
I'd previously believed."
"You're worried about going to Hell?"
"That's assuming I'm not already there. Wearing a little black dress in
a pub like this is probably not too far removed from how I'd imagined
it."
For the first time since I met him I made him grin. I seized that moment
by gently doing the same with his hand.
"Let's go home," I say; with a misfired attempt at seductiveness.
But he allows me to lead him to the door nonetheless, our half finished
drinks abandoned, standing like sentinels on a wonky table.
***
I drive us home. Kevin had taken a taxi to travel. I got the impression
he had to drink a bit each night to help him cope with what he had to
put himself through. I suppose he was making sensible choices with
regard to drink driving, but I wondered if a repercussion of the curse
was that he was now an alcoholic.
Were he, I thought perhaps a combination of my skills as Dr Alex Turner,
and nurse Alex Moore, could help get him off it. But that was definitely
a problem for future me; because I had much more pressing concerns right
now.
We didn't speak much on the drive, as we returned towards our home. My
gaze was purposefully affixed ahead, more because I could sense him
looking at me from time to time, and I did not want eye contact to
affirm, or possibly refute, the intent of his glances.
The first time he looked at me, when I appeared in his living room, felt
like predatory lust. Or maybe with the hindsight of the more rational,
it was simply desire. Ever since then though, it had bordered between
disinterest and disdain. What was he thinking now, during his
intermittent glimpses?
For this to work, to be viable and sustainable, he had to at least
respect me; if he could not bring himself to like me. But surely I'm a
better option than an anonymous hooker, no matter what he thinks.
Although maybe he doesn't realize or agree with that. He's probably such
a frequent attender at the brothel that he has his regulars, or his
favourites. Women he has developed a rapport with. Who he feels
comfortable with. Who he'd much prefer to be with than me. Or maybe
there is even more going on than I've thought of. He likes the variety.
Or needs it. Maybe the curse means he can't sleep with the same woman
twice. But that didn't add up. Surely Mr Black wouldn't have gifted me
to him were that a factor.
My mind was out of control with disordered thought. I needed Alex
Turner's rational clinical brain to contain Alex Moore's flighty
neuroses. But he was nowhere to be found. Had he stormed off in disgust
when I had formulated my plan to sleep with my husband? And if so, would
he ever be back?
I knew the key was to ignore ever single thought I had in my head, and
trust the instincts that had driven me into this particular predicament,
and this tight dress, at the moment.
Kevin was suffering. Tortured and tormented by what his particular curse
made him do. I can't free him from it. But I can make it more
manageable, more bearable for him. And I will do that for him whether or
not he fully appreciates and understands what I'm doing to myself.
For it did require me to become something that I thought I wasn't; but
would probably be eventually regardless. And do something that filled me
with an inexplicable dread, and perhaps even a little revulsion. But it
was all a price I was willing to pay.
And as I pulled into our driveway, I realized the time had come to pay
it.
****
"Could you please help me unzip," I say to Kevin as he mopes in the
living room, uncertain what is supposed to happen next.
I approach him, turn my back to him, and lift up my hair, to give him
unfettered access.
He complies. Starting by releasing the hook and eye at the top, and
sliding the zip down methodically and efficiently.
I'm not sure why, but I had a vision of a slow lingering unpeeling as he
gently ran it down to where it ceased at the base of my spine, just
above my natal cleft. Maybe with him caressing or even kissing my
alabaster back skin as the two sides of the dress fell away from each
other.
But the reality was, once he was done with his emotionlessly performed
task he stepped away from me, and even turned away. I didn't know if he
did that for my modesty, or because he could not stand to look at me.
I had to find out.
I maneuvered the dress down over my hips, which was its sticking point,
and it freefell then to the floor. At which point I stepped out of it.
Standing in just my lingerie and heels I put one hand on my waist trying
to portray more confidence than I felt, and turned slightly side on,
like I'd seen celebrities do in photos.
"Kevin!" I announced. Giving him no choice but to turn back towards me.
I tilted my head slightly and said, as coquettishly as I could muster.
"Do you still find me repulsive?"
His answer was not in words. I saw that same look in his eyes as 48
hours earlier. I'm not sure if he had any control over the matter, but
he was aroused, and it was pretty clear he wanted me there and then.
Maybe it was better that his now ardent fervor would not give me too
much time to process it all. I was a woman, whose near naked form had
inflamed passion in a man, who up to that point had not thought much of
me. It was pretty clear he wasn't enamored by my intellect and wit, but
was enraptured solely by my soft flesh and warm hole.
He moved to take charge and his greater physical strength became all the
more apparent. He ushered me effortlessly towards the bed room and onto
the bed. I suppose I should be grateful he didn't just do my where I
stood, or fling me down on the lounge room floor.
He took the opportunity, after toppling me backwards onto the bed, to
vigorously remove his own clothes, as he stood over me. He even managed
to make that look like an aggressive act as he removed shoes, shirt,
pants and underwear in frenzy. As I watched him the only thought that
sprung into my head was 'Don't you dare fuck me with your socks still
on.'
It seemed so ludicrous. I had so much more to be worried about I could
not fathom why this had seemed to become a pressing concern. I didn't
vocalize it, but it was moot, as they too joined the other forcefully
discarded items of attire.
In the moment before what was to come next I peered up at my husband,
standing by the side of the bed, close to my flexed knees, as my lower
legs hung over the side. He was in reasonable shape apart from some
small love handles; not overly muscle bound and moderately hirsute, but
nothing that made you feel the need to go at him with a weed whacker.
All that aside, my attention was quickly drawn though, to what I suppose
was the most relevant part. His rapidly engorging penis was now nearly
fully erect, and it looked huge.
I tried for a moment to convince myself that it was the same parallax
type error I had experienced earlier. My boobs had looked and felt
disproportionately large because I wasn't used to them, and had no point
of reference; just as an erect male sex organ may look larger on someone
else. Of course this was a diametric contradiction. It should have held
that if body parts seemed distortingly bigger on me then they should
look comparatively smaller on someone else. The truth was in fact the
opposite. Kevin's penis looked bigger than Alex Turner's, mine I
suppose, formerly and non-existent, simply because it was.
How on Earth could that possibly fit inside me?
Had I truly thought this through? What I was doing to myself? All in
this idealistic attempt at redemption. To prove to myself that I was a
decent human being. By helping Kevin.
Not even further contemplating the physical, this could lead to untold
mental trauma. Even the possibility of a psychotic break. If I'd have
perhaps waited, maybe Mr Black's mind alterations would have allowed me
to accept and tolerate this better.
Now I was just frightened. I had given over to womanhood so passively;
and was about to get ploughed like thick snow on a road.
My panties seemed an annoyance to him and he removed them with force. I
still had my heels on and they were so tight I couldn't just kick them
off. Nor could I now use the opposite foot or ankle to lever them off in
turn. For the mass of his body was now between my knees. He was going to
fuck me whilst I still had my bra and heels on. I guess he didn't have
any hang ups quite like the way I felt about socks.
I wanted to scream stop as my fear just amplified. But I knew this was
breaking my promise. Even with his escalating unbridled lust I felt in
my core that he would stop himself if I withdrew consent. But all hope
of us having a congenial partnership from then on would be lost. I had
to let him do it; for both our sakes.
'Get a grip Alex.' I said internally to the girl on the brink of
hyperventilating. Females have been doing this since the dawn of
creation. There's absolutely no reason why you can't. And if it's
designed to push a baby out of it, it can certainly accommodate that.
He splayed my knees apart further to allow more access, and although my
vision was obscured by my body he seemed to holding his penis as if to
guide it in. But before he touched me with it I had a sudden gut
churning thought.
"Kevin!" I shrieked. "Condom."
This man slept with hookers for goodness sake. Not that I was judging,
and I'm sure they're all regularly tested and in the clear but I really
didn't want to take the chance of catching chlamydia.
And specifically ending up with P.I.D.
As the liaison psychiatry Registrar one of the type of patients Alex
Turner hated most seeing on the wards were the young women with chronic
pelvic pain.
Now there's a condition that belonged in the diagnostic basket with
Chronic fatigue syndrome, fibromyalgia and Lyme disease. Untreatable
pain with an undiagnosable cause.
Excluding the prolific and debilitating endometriosis, P.I.D. accounted
for a large number of cases.
I did not want that to be me.
"Oh right," he replied, seemingly annoyed that I'd interrupted events.
He turned to grab his trousers off the ground. I guess his wallet
contained the armory required for his night's activities.
I took the opportunity to lean up off the bed and flick my heels off,
and undo and remove my own bra.
I'm not sure why, but being naked made me feel less sordid. The lights
were blaring full. There was no attempt to set the mood. It was pretty
clear what this was. It wasn't making love or anything of that sort.
Intimacy was not on the table.
Of all my potential wrongs to women as Alex Turner there was never any
sex without the presence, or even the illusion of romance. I had never
in my life been involved in anything as cold and clinical as this act
was shaping up to be.
To emphasize the point Kevin returned with condom clad member, and
forced me back down and spread-eagled as I had been moments before.
Then I feel his touch on my labia. But it's not his penis. It's his
hand.
In the past 48 hours I had parted my own labia when wiping after the
toilet, and in my ever so brief cleaning in the shower, but it was
distinctly different when he did it. Rougher perhaps?
Through my folds I felt his fingers on my vulva, and finally encroaching
my introitus.
I supposed I wasn't helping myself with my anatomy recital, especially
when I'd been reflecting on the clinical nature of the exercise.
"Jesus Alex." Kevin broke my uncomfortable focus. "You're as dry as a
bone and as tight as a fucking drum. There's no way I can get my dick in
there. It'll just shred you up. We're gonna need a shitload of lube." He
stomps off into the en suite to locate some. Yet another unwanted break
in his goal oriented focus.
I guess he was right though. I had no idea how to lubricate my own
vagina, and I was pretty sure being petrified with fear was not at all
conducive to that.
Maybe if he kissed me? But did I really want that? At the very least
perhaps if he treated me like a feeling person rather than a funnel to
deposit his load in then possibly I could muster something in the way of
vaginal secretions.
I didn't dare say any of that though. I had seemed to make him angry
already by my delays. And I equated angrier with rougher, more vigorous
sex, and I didn't want to be any more hurt than I imagined I was just
about to be.
I was contemplating how cumming meant different things to both sexes;
for women it is a necessary precursory act, whereas for men it is the
finale; when Kevin returned and without warning squirted KY all over my
genital region.
I yelped in response to the cold surprise on my sensitive mucus
membranes; but again thought better of scowling and saying something.
It had honestly never been a requirement for the women I was with when I
was Alex Turner, which I took as proof of my proficiency as a lover. But
I was pretty sure it was better if you heated it up first.
He hadn't been repentant or sympathetic to what felt like a quick hose
down so I knew Kevin couldn't wait any longer, I could not dare complain
or delay things again. Of note his erection had remained unfaltering
despite the temporary pit stops.
In one swift motion he plunged inside me.
It goes without saying it was unlike anything I'd ever felt before.
I'd had a rectal exam once. When I'd had a bout of Prostatitis. Although
the causative organism was never identified; reminding myself of that
occasion right now; in light of my insistence on a condom, was testament
to my hypocrisy. But STIs had far more serious sequelae for women.
I had wondered if this sort of penetration would be anything like the
time Dr 'Jellyfinger' shoved his hand up my butt.
Of course it wasn't. Not even remotely like it.
What I could say was that sometimes the anticipation of the unknown was
magnified well beyond the reality. I suppose I'd imagined the searing
pain of being split in two by his huge dick as my insides were macerated
to bits.
In actuality it was uncomfortable, and a little unpleasant, but by no
means unbearable. It was a strange feeling of fullness inside me and
even though it was wrapped in plastic, I could feel the heat his penis
generated radiating within.
The thrusting aspect was stranger still. I felt like I was being pile
driven across the bed.
How do women possibly enjoy this? I couldn't help but wonder. Sure it
was probably a mindset thing. There was no way I'd let myself, were it
even possible. I was way too tense and uptight.
I just wanted it to be over, and after a bit more thrusting, Kevin let
out a few large grunts, which was the signal that it was.
He slid out of me, rolled off me, and turned his back to me. All without
a word.
I lay on my back, where he left me, the sticky gel all over me,
underneath me and in me. Should I say something? But what? Clearly I was
dispensed with. If he wasn't asleep already it felt like he soon would
be. Although he may have just been pretending for all I know.
I tried to order my own feelings.
Physically, aside from the stickiness I was a little sore. Just a
general throbbing from inside me. Emotionally was different. I felt
cheap, dirty and used. I felt just like a whore. Not that I could
possibly know how that ever felt, and hoped that I wouldn't have to find
out. But it's how I saw myself in that moment.
What was more overwhelming than anything right now though, was my desire
to be held. To have human contact of any sort. To be supported and
comforted. But Kevin didn't seem to like me enough to even want to do
that.
I kept my tears silent.
They trickled heavily down my cheeks and onto the bed in a near
continuous flow. But there was no accompanying whimper or wail. Just the
occasional sniffle as my lacrimal ducts drained into my nose.
The noiseless despair of the unloved.
When his breathing became heavy and rhythmical I slid from bed and
padded as quietly as I could into the en suite to clean myself up.
Under the shower, I poked around gently as I wiped as things were quite
ginger. There was a little blood. Not unexpected I suppose. As far as I
was concerned I was a virgin. I wasn't sure how Mr Black's changed
reality actually worked. But I'd entered this life as a married adult
woman. Alex Moore was not a virgin. She couldn't be. So could I claim to
be?
It didn't matter I guess. A little bleeding from vaginal trauma was
neither here nor there. Whether it was from first use or overuse was
irrelevant.
Once I felt a sufficient degree of sterility had been re- attained I
exited the shower in search of a towel.
Prior to now I had avoided the mirror post shower as a vampire may
regard the sun. But this time it beckoned me.
Earlier, making revised attempts at plastering on make-up I had become
familiar with my own face. Most unnerving was looking into my own eyes
that weren't actually mine.
This time it was my entire naked body to contend with.
But I was sick to death of the introspection.
Sick of pretending that the morose woman in the mirror was someone other
than me.
I wasn't Alex Turner any more and I should stop claiming I still was.
He had well and truly exited the building when I betrayed him so
completely by allowing a man to sexually penetrate me. And in answer to
my earlier speculation, it felt like he was never coming back.
This was me now.
Alexandra Moore.
Naked.
Post coital after some very unsatisfactory and slightly painful sex.
Which I have seemed to be committed to for every day of the foreseeable
future, if not the rest of my life.
Scared, lonely and sad.
Prompting myself to repetitive reductions of tears with seemingly
consummate ease.
What a desolate life I seem destined to lead.
Here's hoping the rest of Mr Black's curse kicks in soon; and frankly I
don't care how it manifests.
Because whatever it does to me; even If I'm a horny slapper; then surely
I can still only feel better about myself than I do now.
Because I can't possibly fathom ever feeling any worse.
I pick up a towel and dry myself with it.
It's late enough in the evening that I may as well just climb into bed
next to my slumbering husband.
I'm on another early tomorrow; my third in a row. I'll be out of the
house in the morning before Kevin stirs. A state of affairs I was glad
about.
But I will have to face him tomorrow evening.
And repeat that whole wretched process all over again.
Not that it was ever in any doubt; but Mr Black has won. He has
destroyed me completely.
At least tomorrow with Kristi I can try and convince myself that I'm
more than a waste of space; and that my whole existence is not just a
waste of time.
My only possible salvation is that my work life will be better than my
home life. But even then I wonder if I have some sort of Black Widow
sort of spectre over me, given my developing familiarity with death.
I had tried to tell myself, glass half full, when I gave up on my
suicide plans, that being Alex Moore may be a chance to be a better
person, not just a different one.
But it most definitely didn't feel that way now.
With those cheery thoughts I toss and turn till the early hours when
exhaustion finally consumes me.
TBC
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