synopsis: You’re chronically ill and visit Dr. Victor Gideon for some routine blood work. You’re used to never ending fatigue and dismissive doctors…..but haven’t truly felt alive until receiving some unorthodox treatment from Dr. Gideon.
includes: Victor Gideon x AFAB reader, smut, medplay, blood play, doctor/patient relationship, piv sex, oral sex, possessive sex, marking, improper use of blood, slight nipple play, dubious consent, drugging, praise kink, needles, choking, and (most likely) medical inaccuracies.
words: 5.8k
a/n: Bare with me, as this is extremely self indulgent and was written as I was waiting to have my blood drawn for an exam lol. Consent is very blurry, but it is all dubious. The sex is consensual, the drugging, however, is very questionable…
AO3 link
When you say that you’re exhausted, of course everybody relates. You get the “I know, I’m only running on five hours of sleep” or “me too, I really need my morning coffee”.
Fuck them.
Not all of them do it intentionally. But the ones that agree, then turn around and ridicule your sleep schedule? They don’t understand that getting out of bed is an exercise. That you can literally feel your eye bags weighing down your face, your mouth heavily struggling to smile.
5 hours of sleep? Cute. Try a consistent 12 hours every night, and still waking up exhausted. Try always needing a nap no matter how much you sleep.
You wished coffee would jumpstart your brain. Instead, you’re trapped in foggy, jumbled thoughts for the first hour of consciousness in the morning. And you’ll be lucky if it fully clears up by the time you get to work. And you’ll be extra lucky if your blood pressure survives standing up out of bed, finally getting up without your vision blacking out.
No matter how much you plead to doctors, or how much you chart your own symptoms, they look at you like you’re begging for chemo over a broken nail.
Yes, you’ve tried setting a routine. Yes, you’ve tried melatonin and meditation. You tried as much exercise as you could, but how bold of them to assume you have the energy to go to the gym in the first place?
Fuck all of it.
But that doesn’t mean you can’t hope for better days. Stuck wondering what it’s like to live life on a full battery. You’d give anything to feel alive, even for once.
Despite hundreds of treatments, experiments, and alternate doctors, you’ve never felt alive. Not until your bloodwork appointment with Dr. Victor Gideon.
————
You sit heavy and anxious in the examination chair. With as often as you’ve gotten bloodwork done? You should be able to tolerate it by now. Your primary doctor wanted to measure some kind of thyroid levels or whatever. Like everything else, you didn’t expect it to give you answers. But? Movement is still progress, so you begrudgingly put up with it.
With your long yet brittle nails cracking under your grasp, you pick at your hands while waiting for the doctor to enter. Half of today’s energy was spent just getting out of bed, looking presentable, and commuting to the lab. You weren’t in the mood for defending yourself today.
A swift knock on the door pulls you out of your thoughts.
You straighten your slump posture on instinct.
A tall, almost monstrously tall, doctor ducks under the door, flashing a gold-toothed grin. It’s almost a wonder how he found a labcoat long enough to suit his height and long arms. For such a big guy, he approaches you quietly, footsteps nearing silent. The closer he gets, the more you notice the delicate cracks littered across his skin, oddly contouring his broad facial features. It didn’t hurt that he had a unique charm and unwavering confidence…….it was kinda attractive.
“A new patient, I see? I look forward to our time together. I’m Dr. Victor Gideon, I’ll be taking care of you today.” His nasally voice hums through the air as he moves to shake your hand. Large hands engulfing yours, his silver rings send a chill up your arm.
Victor keeps hold of your hand as he moves to sit by a computer in front of you. Despite sitting, he still towers tall as your eye-line meets the name tag on his breast pocket.
“Now tell me, what’s a pretty thing like you doing in a place like this?” He pressed a quick peck to your knuckles, patting your hand before setting it back in your lap.
It felt instinctual, the way Dr. Gideon treated you with gentleness.
In any doctors’ defense, you’re younger than the typical patient that inhabits these symptoms. So a little special treatment and sweet talk isn’t completely out of the ordinary.
You’d be lying if you said it didn’t ease the stress of being under constant medical examination.
But you’d also be lying if it didn’t make you feel like a child.
You let out a deep sigh before starting your now-scripted list of symptoms. Recalling it all, your eyes wandered the room. “I just have never been able to wake up rested. It doesn’t matter how long I sleep, 5, 8, 12 hours……”
The doctor’s eyes are locked on you, the work computer sitting neglected. As soon as you notice his lack of note-taking, you interrupt yourself.
“I’m sorry. I’m used to doctors needing an entire book of information to write down.” He is just a lab technician, not really a problem-solver in this process. So, you take yourself down a notch. “I know you’re not here for all that.”
Victor tilts his head inquisitively. “……but I am here for that.”
Then why isn’t he taking any notes?? Does he not care enough? You guess it doesn’t matter if he forgets you, as he’ll likely never see you again after today’s visit.
You quickly glance at the computer, noticing it’s set up and logged in, just that he’s refusing to utilize it.
Victor notices. “Ah. Do forgive me, I prefer not to riddle myself with databases while I speak to my subjects.”
Subjects…..did he mean ‘patients’?
“I understand that this process can be rushed for some, so I always ensure to listen to each symptom carefully.” He leans back, crossing his legs while lowering his gaze on you. “It just feels a little more…..intimate.” Golden teeth peek through his smirk, giving you an odd sense of ease.
“Now tell me, does this feeling persist no matter the time of day, or even despite the seasons?”
You pause. Is it bad that his question made you flustered? Feeling nice because he actually be asked about your symptoms?
Heart fluttering in your chest, thrown off by the gesture, you try not to be visibly affected.
“I…..I uh, I guess so? Like I’ve always been a night owl….” You cut yourself off, not able to think until you’ve addressed his unique demeanor.
“Y’know, I actually really appreciate you asking me that, doctor. It’s just weird cause I’m not usually paid attention to, more just prompted to talk at the wall.” You give a nervous chuckle, trying not to come across as a hater of all doctors.
Victor’s chin lowers, intent shifting to something more serious. “…..what do you mean?” He leans forward in his chair, resting elbows on his knees, as if drawn in by your words. Through grit teeth, he asks: “have you never been asked about your symptoms?”
“I dunno, sometimes I just worry I’m not taken seriously, I guess.” You draw yourself back a bit, fully expecting a lecture about what ‘perfect patient behavior’ looks like. Expecting him to tell you that you are the one either not asking the right questions, or not sharing enough information. Asking doctors too many questions has landed you in that position before. Great. Another dud treatment center to cross off the map and never return to.
“fucking incompetent fools.”
You snapped your head up at the doctor.
“Sorry, dear, it’s just-“ he lets out a frustrated groan as he stands. “It pains me to be surrounded by inconsiderate slobs in such an impactful field.” Victor brushes his crackled hand along your jaw, grabbing it to tilt your head and examine your face.
“It kills me that beautiful things such as yourself are so mistreated.” He tilts your head back to meet his gaze. “But don’t worry, Dr. Gideon will take good care of you.”
Your head warmly buzzes as you watch him pull on gloves and collect his medical instruments. You convince yourself it’s from fasting for 12 hours before the appointment.
The purple latex squeaks as it struggles to accommodate his large hands, bulging around his chunky rings. Thick fingers wriggling their way through the gloves, it seems as if Victor has control over every ounce of muscle within his body. You lose yourself thinking about his dexterity as you visually trace his larger-than-life veins that form valleys atop the gloves.
You’re probably telling him about your fatigue as Victor prepares to draw your blood. You can hear yourself rambling, so hopefully the inappropriate thoughts about your doctor don’t become verbalized.
“I assume, given the mistreatment of your previous doctors, that you weren’t told the amount of blood I’ll need to collect from you today?” Victor’s gentle voice is contradictory to his insult. Him and his equipment now stand at your right side. You shake your head ‘no’ in response. He clicks his tongue, pulling the case of 12 vials into your view.
12 vials????? The most you’ve ever had was 7, and even that was ridiculous. Especially for someone who gets squeamish at this sorta thing, this wasn’t going to be an easy draw.
Victor notices your body tense, reading you like a book. “You seem apprehensive…..not good with needles?” He dips his head to be eye-level with you. The doctor’s eyes dart back and forth between your eyes, scanning for any sign of distress or discomfort.
“No, I don’t mind needles. I just can’t watch it. The sight of it sinking into me……and the feeling of the blood coming out just…nnghuhhh” you shiver, not even able to finish your sentence.
“Ah, no worries. I won’t concern you with that. I’ll tell you when you’re safe to look, how does that sound, dear?”
“No, that’d be great, actually.” You brace yourself for him to tie the circulation-cutting elastic band onto your bicep.
But it never comes.
Instead, Victor’s meaty hand engulfs your bicep, squeezing until you feel the pressure in your bones. You jump on impact, turning to look. The doctor is too enamored with your skin to look at you as he speaks.
“Ah, ah, ah! Did I give you permission to look? I can’t have you passing out on me, now. I need to keep you as calm and still as possible. Can you clench your fist for me?”
You obey him without question, slowly turning your head back to the wall alternate of him. Flexing every muscle in your neck, you will yourself to stay still as you feel him trace for a vein.
“My….such marvelous veins you have. Beautiful, really.” Victor’s latex-covered nails smooth over the wrinkles of your wrist, delicately tracing each vein until it meets the crease of your elbow. The pooling of your blood combined with his air-like touch sends a heat through your body.
Good thing your blushing face is turned away from his view.
“I’ve heard of subjects with translucent skin, most common in the chronically ill, but never as entrancing as yours.” He runs up two veins at once, fingers pressing firmly along your forearm.
“Good little thing, staying so still for me.” You hear metal clinking and assume he’s moving to pick up the syringe. Your left hand digs into your clothing, bracing for impact.
He notices, of course.
“Don’t worry, darling, I’ve got you. We’re going to take deeeeep breaths and then I’ll insert the needle, ok? You’ll just feel a little pinch.” You nod in response, unable to form words. “Deep breath innnnnn…..” Victor breathes with you. “Aaaaaaand out…..” a sharp pain twangs your skin. To which, your breath stutters on the way out.
“Thaaaaat’s it, good girl. Keep breathing for me. Innnn…..” he coaches you through breathing, trying to distract you from the sucking syringe. It’s ridiculous, but you feel like a juice box in a toddler’s grasp. Or more-so, under a predatory grasp due to the way Victor’s still cutting your circulation off with his hand.
Mentally, you’re counting the clinks of the syringes as they hit the tray. Three, four, five have gone by when Victor notices color starting to leave your face.
“Hold on for me, darling, you’re doing so well.” Six clinks, and your leg starts to bounce. “You’re halfway there. Almost done, but I need you to stay still for me. Pain isn’t inflicted to good patients who listen.”
He clenches your bicep harder for emphasis, pulling a small whimper out of your throat.
Nine, ten, eleven clinks. Now should be the last one.
“Shhhhh, sh sh sh. I know, little one, I know. I know you’re uncomfortable but I’m so close. Let me take this, then I’ll be done.”
Lightheaded and face flushed, you must’ve lost count because another two vials hit the tray. Hearing cords pop off the syringe settles your nerves, knowing the needle is removed next.
Until a slight sting floods your vein. A warm and intoxicating feeling spreads through your body like wildfire.
You know the feeling of drawn blood by now, and that sting had to be something pushing into you rather than pulling something out of you.
Victor removes the syringe and bandages your wound without your notice. Your bicep screams for a stretch once he’s released his tight grip.
Dr. Gideon flicks his forked tongue along his glove, tasting a stray drop of your blood. You almost miss it out of the corner of your eye. Then, you convince yourself it was just your imagination.
“Aaaaaand, you are safe to look, my dear. How are you feeling, any discomfort?” The doctor asks as he rounds your chair to face you. To an outsider, his smile is warm and welcome. But now feeling fire in your veins? You can’t help but think it’s malicious.
“Just, um, a little woozy, I guess. Kinda hurt when you took the needle out.” Let’s give him the benefit of the doubt. He was really caring earlier, even a bit possessive after hearing about the doctors that mistreated you. Now shouldn’t be different.
“Perfectly normal, I’d say. Especially for someone who was required to fast for 12 hours before coming in today.” He offers you a hand to help you out of the chair. God, this mountain of a man towers over you even when standing. Literally, he blocks out the overhead lights as you stand beneath him.
Feeling your blood rush through your legs, your vision starts to black. Not unusual, but you definitely should rest before driving home. You sway into Victor, brushing against his stomach.
“Sorry, I should uh……. I should probably sit for a bit before I leave. Bad blood pressure, haha.” Victor hums and guides you to a spare exam table in the room next door. Without a word, he swipes you off your feet bridal style to lift you onto the bed.
“I wouldn’t dare let a subject faint under my care.” He winks before brushing your hair out of your face. Your limbs grow heavy as they hit the bed. Victor pretends not to notice as he leaves for the door. Furthermore, your vision should’ve returned by now…..but you just chalk its blurriness up to the excessive amounts of blood you lost to the vials.
“I’ll shut the door and dim the lights for you so you can rest before driving home. I can’t imagine the energy you expelled just to get here today. Very courageous of you.” He dims the lights, standing half in the doorway as you struggle to keep your eyes open.
“Just leave when you’re ready, it’s no rush.” He gives a warm smile before exiting the room with a soft click of the door.
Everything about this visit was riddled with red flags, but you can’t help feeling loved at the way Victor listened and cared for you.
In record time, no restlessness, no overbearing thoughts, you were asleep within the minute.
————
Your eyes flutter open as you feel energy flood through your limbs. The dim lights and crunchy exam table paper remind you that you’re still at the lab.
Damn, guess you really did need to rest. Stupid random naps always interfering with your schedule.
You prop yourself on your elbows to look around the room and relocate your belongings……only to see Dr. Victor Gideon sat in the corner working on a laptop.
“I’m sorry, love, I hope I didn’t wake you.” The screen omits a soft blue glow on the doctor’s face.
“No, no, not at all. I just hope I didn’t sleep too long. What time is it?” You yawn, stretching your arms over your head. Subsequently, your shirt rides up to expose your navel. You catch Victor staring.
He shuts the laptop, setting it aside before taking out a stethoscope and making his way to you. “Oh don’t worry, you weren’t out long. But I was waiting to check your vitals before you leave. It’s important to me that you’re safe to drive home after your rest.”
A soft clinking sound catches your attention as he sits in front of you. You notice a red vial hanging around his neck. Was he wearing that earlier?
“I haven’t had a subject fall so tired on me before……I want to make sure it isn’t related to your condition.”
You perk up. Condition?? Did he figure it out?
“Wait, did the results come back that fast?” You try not to get your hopes up, but there wasn’t a reason for him to lie to you.
“Not necessarily, but I tend to have a……sixth sense for this sort of thing.” He grabs the vial, running his tongue along its side. You watch in shock as a drop of red liquid beads on his split tongue, then quickly disappears behind his lips for a taste.
“Mmmmm. Yes. Tastes like….” You swear you black out once hearing his diagnosis. All these years??? And he finally figured it out?? It almost makes you forget his lewd gesture.
You launch yourself onto him, barely able to wrap your arms around his large figure as you litter him with ‘thank you’s.
“Oh, please. It’s simply my job. Any good doctor could’ve told you that.” Seems he couldn’t help himself from being passive aggressive towards your old physicians. “Now, I’m sure you have a lot of questions, but let me gather your vitals first.” He pushes you away by your shoulder, encouraging you to settle back on the bed.
Victor holds the stethoscope to your hand, measuring your heartbeat, then giving a kiss to your knuckles before moving to your chest. A red splotch, like a distorted lipstick print, is left behind in his wake. The print matches a red stain on his lips that he got from licking the vial.
Not only did he kiss you. He marked you.
Your pulse increases at the thought. After realizing he can hear your heartbeat, you worriedly lock eyes with Victor.
Fuck. Hopefully he doesn’t know it’s because of him. You try to divert his attention.
“Oh, uh, sir, you have some kind of mark on your lip. Are you ok?” You point at a spot on your lip that mimics the drop of red on his. Victor rolls his chair over towards a nearby counter to look in the mirror.
“Oh, silly me. It seems I’ve forgotten to reapply my lipstick after lunch. Forgive me for a moment.” He pops open the vial necklace, rubbing the viscous liquid over his mouth like lipstick.
Fuck, does he look good in red.
He blots his lips a few times before turning to flash a toothy smile at you, the makeup pooling in coagulated strands. Not even lipgloss pools like that. And come to think of it, you did swear that he took an extra vial of blood from you earlier this morning.
Dr. Gideon rolls back your way, grabbing your marked hand. That can’t be sanitary, right?
He holds the stethoscope to your chest, locks eyes with you, then leans down to kiss overtop the previous lip print.
Your heart rate skyrockets.
“My, my, it seems our fatigued little subject has gotten her energy back, hmm?” He flips your hand to leave a kiss print on your inner wrist. Your breathing audibly stutters.
Victor narrows his eyes at you, clearly devising a plan. “I have an idea, but I need you to take a deep breath in for me. Breaaatheeee innnn….” He brushes your hair away from your neck, shifting the stethoscope further down your chest, just grazing your nipple. “Aaaaand, breathe out.”
He sinks his teeth into your neck, dropping the stethoscope and grabbing a handful of your breast. It pulls a loud groan from your throat, eyes flying open. The doctor circles your nipple with his thumb while lavving over the neck bite with his tongue.
Neither of you need a stethoscope to know that your heartbeat has gone erratic.
“Now, how do you feel, darling?” His face now inches from yours as he continues to fondle your breast.
The mark on your neck stings akin to the syringe from yesterday. Now, the feeling jolts you with energy. Your limbs feel weightless and euphoric. Your brain fog cleared, leaving only the thought of Victor.
“I feel…….the most awake I have in years.”
Victor grins, slowly snaking a hand down to lift the hem of your shirt. “Well, then, I guess we’ve found our treatment, mmm?”
All you can muster in response is a nod before Dr. Gideon tears your clothes from your body. Frantically, he sucks and pecks every inch of skin on your torso. Seeing each red kiss marking your body, you feel a familiar heat bubble in your stomach.
Victor pays special attention to your neck, tracing your sensitive veins with his talon-like claws and whispering praises before giving them open-mouth kisses.
“I’ve never seen anyone like you.” Lick, kiss.
“Anyone so reactive as you.” Lick, kiss.
“You’re such a good subject.” Lick, kiss.
“So responsive and appreciative of my care.” Lick, kiss.
He moves, trailing marks down your sternum to focus his attention on your breasts.
“You’re such an ideal specimen. Beautiful inside and out, hm?” He pulls a nipple into his mouth, circling his tongue around it and gently pulling it into a suck with his teeth.
“Inside and out…..from what I can imagine. I’ll find out soon enough.” He moves to the other breast, leaving hickies around your nipple as a hand slides between your thighs.
You clench your legs shut, skin crackling with heat and electricity. You’ve had good sex before, but even on your best of days, your body never felt like this.
“Is this how sensitive I’m always supposed to feel?”
Victor stops dead in his tracks and lifts himself to rest his forehead on yours. His snakelike eyes glimmer. “After today, I’ll never let another doctor do much as look at you. When under my care, you will feel nothing but pleasure.” Your lips crash into one another, smearing the blood lipstick across your face. Tongues sliding against one another, your lips go raw as they brush the chapped lips of your doctor. They sting a bit, but god does the pain feel so good.
“You’re my subject now. Do you understand?” The hand between your legs parts your folds, touching everywhere except your clit. You tilt your pelvis in attempt to aid your burning need, but his strong hands deny you, pinning your hips in place.
“Answer me, sweetheart. I need you to use your words. Tell me what you feel, and answer my question.” Victor traces up and down your folds, never reaching high enough to give you relief.
With stuttering breath, you lick your lips, swallowing some of the metallicy blood before responding. “Yours, doctor, I’m all yours. Nobody has made me feel as good as you do.”
A devilish smile spreads across his face, and he rewards you by finally circling your clit. “There’s my good girl.” Your back fully arched off the table at his praise, whimpering with each delicate swipe of his thumb.
“Ah, ah, ah. What did I tell you earlier? Good girls stay still and let me treat them…..right?” His index finger starts to tease your hole, dipping shallowly.
You have so much energy in your body, that you literally cannot control it. With full-body twitches, your eyes bulge from your skull. Thankfully, you can still manage your words. “C-c-can’t stay still. Don’t……know….how……so……much……feel…..”
Broken grammar or not, Victor still understands you. “My poor little girl finally has energy and doesn’t know what to do with it. Let’s tire you out then, hm?” He sinks knuckle-deep into your cunt, your slick spilling against his palm. Doctors know their anatomy well, and Dr. Gideon isn’t an exception. He instantly abuses your g-spot, shushing you with each press to your delicate, spongy insides.
“I know, I know, it’s so much. But you’re being so good for me. We just need to aid your illness, is all.” Victor keeps pumping his finger into you, quickly adding a second to scissor open your flesh. You can’t do anything but moan at the stretch and watch as he rounds the table to stand in front of your legs.
His free hand snakes to wrap around your neck, deliciously adding pressure. “I’m serious about the squirming, though, love. You just need a little aid to ease the restlessness.” Victor pulls his fingers from your cunt, sucking off the juices while relishing your moan. He retrieves a bottle from the counter behind him, clicking open the cap.
What the fuck?? A bottle with no label or anything. Literally any chemical could be in there. Foggy brain still cleared, your mind floods with panic and tries to find a way out of taking the mystery substance.
Leaning to press his chest against yours, Victor looms over your body with the bottle. Your mouth stays clamped shut. The hand on your throat squeezes tighter, starting to restrict airflow. And damn, if the pressure still didn’t feel good. But you couldn’t give in. You still didn’t know what he was going to drug you with.
Victor’s thumb rubbed circles into the side of your neck as heat grew in your face. He made sure to pin your head in place so you were forced to look him in the eyes.
“I thought you trusted me? Said no other doctor cared for you like this? You should know by now that I’m not like those other fools. I could never hurt you like they did.” Your vision started to go blurry.
“You’ll have to come up for air sooner or later, sweet thing….” He rattled the bottle teasingly above you.
Maybe you could feign passing out, or whine loudly to signal nearby nurses that you needed help. There’s gotta be a way.
Until…..Victor wedged his knee between your legs to grind against your cunt.
Your jaw went slack from pleasure.
Cold liquid poured into your mouth, pooling at the back of your throat before Victor’s hand left you. You were forced to swallow. The doctor lightly slapped the side of your face in adoration.
“There’s my good girl. Just relax for me, you don’t have to do anything. Just let me treat you.”
The cold temperature from the liquid washed over your body, settling your energy as it went. Your head felt like it was in the clouds, but your body still buzzed with excitement.
You felt relaxed, but not exhausted. Still excited to have energy, but not overwhelmed and restless. Maybe Victor didn’t have malicious intent, because this felt like a heavenly middle ground between fatigue and anxiety.
You heard slicking sounds from between your legs, and tilted your head up to see your doctor stroking his dick. Not that you could move more of your body anyways.
His girth and length matched his height: monstrous. Uncut and littered with veins, Victor’s cock seeped pre as he got himself off to the sight of your limp body.
“See, sweet thing? Doesn’t this feel much better?” He begun tracing the veins in your inner thigh. You could barely mumble out a ‘mmhm’ as pleasure bloomed from each touch of his hands. Losing control over your body, you were just forced to feel and take whatever Dr. Gideon was about to give you.
“I promise, this won’t hurt. Just a little pinch, just like before.” Victor smirked condescendingly. “One more time, take a deeeeep breath in….” He breathed in with you, lining up his cock with your cunt. “…..aaaaaand breathe out.” Victor slowly eased into you. Your walls struggled to accommodate his size, but the inhuman stretch felt ungodly. He was so big that it felt like he sunk into you for minutes before finally reaching your womb.
You watched your legs twitch as his tip kissed your cervix, unable to look away from the point of connection between your two bodies.
“Now, now, darling. I thought you didn’t like the sight of something sinking into your body?” Victor teased as he slowly drew his cock out of you.
“Or are you already too fucked out to care?” He thrust himself to the hilt, earning a groan from you.
Dr. Gideon couldn’t hold himself back after that, desperately needing to hear more of your wanton noises. He pulls your hips up and down his cock rapidly, fucking you like his own personal fleshlight. And nothing brought him more joy than watching a dazed, relaxed patient feel good under his touch.
“God, you feel remarkable. Such exquisite vaginal strength, I can barely pull my own cock out. But……I simply need another taste of you.” You expect him to pull out and fuck you with his tongue, but instead he pulls a capped syringe out of his back pocket. Victor rips off the cap with his teeth and plunges the needle into your thigh.
You screw your eyes shut in pain, relishing the feeling of the sex but squirming at the feeling of the syringe. Dr. Gideon halts his thrusts to steady the sunken needle. He pulls his cock out just enough to leave his tip inside you. You feel him pull blood from your veins into the syringe as his cock slowly sinks back in: blood goes out while his dick goes in. The contradiction is overwhelming, and the bloodwork makes you deliciously lightheaded. All your concentration goes to your cunt and your thigh, only able to feel small twinges of pain accompanied by small thrusts of pleasure.
Victor removes the syringe, tilts his head back, and dumps the blood into his mouth like taking a shot. A deep groan rumbles from his chest. You watch as his thrusts pick up speed again, his snakelike tongue flicking out to catch blood remnants on his lips.
With the now freshly applied blood lipstick, Victor leant down to press new kiss prints onto your abdomen.
“You see these marks? This means you’re mine. This body….” He kisses lower. “This womb….all…..mine.” He leaves two more kisses before rubbing your clit rapidly.
“Any other doctor that moves to treat you will see these marks and know you’re taken.” Your cunt squeezes around his shaft, legs now trembling from the stimulation and praise.
You so badly want to egg him on, praise him back and beg to be claimed by him. But you don’t even have the muscle control to pull a smile. All you can do is hope your body responds to your needs, and that he can read you like a book.
And he can.
“My delicate little subject, do you like belonging to me?” You unconsciously arch your back off the table. The heat in your womb is becoming unbearable, and you can’t do anything about it.
“You’re getting close, too, I can tell. Just focus on how deep I’m fucking you. Focus on the chills that flood your body each time I bump your cervix. Think about how easily you bruise, and how my fingerprints will be embedded onto your hips for weeks.”
God, you’re so fucking close.
“I noticed a caretaker did not accompany you today. Think about how I could take you home and really make you mine…..knocking you up and making you feel good forever. You’re too beautiful not to care for.”
Your orgasm crashed into you, heat and energy running rampant throughout your body.
“That’s a good girl. Take what your doctor gives you. Feel it out…..I love seeing you squirm for me.” Victor praises you through it, nearly sending you into another fit in itself. He brings a hand to your face, massaging your jaw and bringing you in for a passionate kiss as your breathing settles.
“I know you can’t move very well, but blink twice for me if you feel better.”
You frantically blink in sets of two.
Victor beams with pride, but shifts demeanor in realization.
“How rude of me. You’ve been fasting for hours and I still haven’t given you something to eat.” He slowly pulls his length from you, spilling your slick onto the table. You whimper at the loss, but quickly realize…….Victor never came.
He rounds the table, moving to stand behind your head. A hand cards through your hair, chapped skin catching on a few strands. Your eyes flutter open to see him holding his cock over your face. He grabs you by your shoulders, pulling your body closer to him so that your head dips off the edge of the table. As it dips, he eases his cock into your mouth. You feel it curve with the anatomy of your throat, nudging its way past your tight muscle.
You would give anything to be able to run your tongue along his shaft and explore under his foreskin, but the damn medicine still hasn’t worn off. Your limp tongue is forced to thrust into your throat with Dr. Gideon’s movements. The salty pre doesn’t even grace your taste buds, but simply runs down your esophagus.
Hearing his grunts with each pump is more than enough to make up for your lack of muscle control. Victor’s nails dug into your scalp, holding on for dear life. Your face growing warm from the blood rushing to your head, the doctor’s scalp scratches sent a tingly feeling down your neck as it stimulated your circulation. Between the altered blood flow, Victor’s moans, and the feeling of his hips begin to stutter, you felt high off of him.
Victor notices you gag, and settles for shallow thrusts into your mouth. Speechless at the feeling, it only takes him a few more pumps before hot, salty cum is shooting down your throat.
And you swallow every drop. The salt aids your dizziness, a common remedy for poor blood pressure. You even feel your stomach grow heavy from the nutrients, warm and happy to carry his seed.
Victor leans down to give your forehead one more bloody kiss before dressing you back into your clothes.
He wasn’t just pillow talking. That man is going to take you home and give you state of the art medical attention for the rest of your life. And you will never feel happier.
[WIP] if you want a doctor, I’ll examine every inch of you… anyways I hope this doesn’t get pixelated. Huge thank you to all the freecam screenshotters btw, but specifically creds to @/alexwlwesker for the image I referenced.
[WIP] if you want a doctor, I’ll examine every inch of you… anyways I hope this doesn’t get pixelated. Huge thank you to all the freecam screenshotters btw, but specifically creds to @/alexwlwesker for the image I referenced.
I’m reblogging this 7-year-old comic of mine because, not only is it somehow still circulating, it just passed 400,000 notes??? Thank you, several hundred thousand internet strangers, for keepin’ this ol’ goat girl goin’ so long
(Also hi, I’m still making fairy-tale-flavored lesbian romance comics and have a new one coming out very soon…)
literally thank god sex isnt real and was just invented by big fiction to emphasize greater social and psychological themes i was getting scared id have to do all that
Not sure if anyone has asked, but since we’re in a RE craze; have you ever written a Lady Dimitrescu x reader fic before? (Asking for a friend ofc… 👀)
contractual
Summary - Having been reassigned from the kitchens, you enter Lady Dimitrescu's room only to find the lady of the house perched on her own bed. What follows is something you could never have anticipated. (2.6k)
Entering your mistresses’ private quarters with a stuttering heart, you keep your eyes straight as you quietly cross the length of her bedroom and shuffle over to her personal dining table. Picking up the empty wine bottle which sits in the centre with unsteady hands, you dare to issue a low exhale which is filled with relief. New to this particular role, your work within the kitchens temporarily halted to replace one of the missing staff, you want nothing more than to be out of this unknown part of the castle and nestled back within the comfort of the kitchen space.
The stories which haunt the hallowed rooms of Castle Dimitrescu are something which live within your heart and any change to routine makes your anxiety spike as it puts you at greater risk of encountering those you would rather avoid as you perform your duties. Routine was safe, routine would keep the worst from happening.
Typically, the appearance of the elusive Lady Dimitrescu was reserved for larger events where all staff were expected to be present as a sign of opulence. Events such as private luncheons with the Duke to barter for fresh supplies and family meetings as ordered by the glorious will of Mother Miranda herself were few and far between but they were catered for precisely. Maids like yourself did not encounter the lady of the house often, as her daughters were typically instructed to pass orders to experienced staff with the expectation that the information would be filtered down the food chain to the appropriate channels.
So, to turn and find Lady Dimitrescu herself sitting in total silence as she perches on the edge of her bed – the elaborate wooden framing littered with expensive pillows and bedding – you are only just able to contain your gasp of pure shock as your fingers go dangerously slack around the neck of the wine bottle.
Watching you, her eyes pierce your own and pure disdain radiates from her expression as she drops one long arm to adjust the fabric of her white dress where it gathers at her crossed legs.
“And who are you?”
Terrified, your heartbeat seems to ring in your ears as you gape at her like she is nothing but a ghost; a mirage brought on by the tension headache which is threatening the roof of your skull. Eventually, you realise that silence could be taken as insubordination and you manage to stutter out a response.
“Apologies, mistress. My name is-”
“Not your name,” she cuts you off with a pointed and somewhat irritated tone, “I care not for such trivial things. Who are you to be here in my bedroom? You are not known to me.”
“I am a kitchen maid, mistress. I was asked to retrieve the remnants of your evening supper by the head cook to replace your usual maid. I can leave immediately if it pleases you, mistress.” You repeat her title with a pleading prevenance, eyes keeping to the floor between short glances at her to show a healthy and expected respect.
“Hmm,” Dimitrescu tilts her painted mouth slightly, regarding you with a predatory gaze as she clearly debates something internally, “Well, you are here now, so conduct your business.”
In her usual white gown and oversized hat, she cuts such a striking figure that you can’t help but feel the slightest blush cross your cheeks as you take in the low cut of her dress and the milky skin below. She is beautiful in the way that the ocean was beautiful, something so vast and terrifying that you cannot help but admire it.
“Yes, mistress.”
Giving a deep nod, one which extends to your body bowing at the waist, you turn gently and take one step towards the door before a slight intake of air from the bed pauses you in your tracks.
“You are bleeding.”
Dimitrescu’s voice is sharp and clear as glass, demanding an answer without every truly asking the appropriate question.
“I shed some blood earlier, mistress.” You explain quietly, turning and clasping your hands gently over your apron in another showcase of respect as you tilt your arm and expose the small bandage which covers your injured arm, “A small, careless cut as I prepared a wild rabbit for the staff supper for this evening.”
“Come.”
Your feet move without hesitation, fear creeping up your spine as your legs feel more leaden with every step. You stop before her, her gargantuan height still placing her taller than yourself despite her seated position and you keep your eyes cast downward as she plucks the wine bottle from your fingers and places it gently on her sideboard.
From such a close proximity, you can smell her perfume. A delicate bouquet of something soft, almost like winter violas, but beneath it sits something which makes your nose twitch as you inhale it in. Decay. A similar scent to the one which clings to the carcasses of the various animals which have passed through your talented hands as you prepare the various meats which the hunters bring.
Floral death.
It’s a scent which makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up as the primal part of yourself which recognises danger screams its discomfort with being this close to your mistress.
“Show me your wound.”
Deft fingers, only trembling at the tips, are quick to unwrap the stained bandage and expose the freshly healing cut below.
Dimitrescu’s hand snaps around your wrist and you have to bite your lip roughly to keep the cry of surprise from slipping free. Her touch is ice-cold and absolute steel, something inhumane and unyielding which you know could squeeze your bones to dust if the whim to do so gripped her. She brings your arm up to her mouth and inhales softly, taking in the scent of your injury with the faintest flicker of interest.
“A shockingly sweet note to it,” she mutters, more to herself than anything. “Very surprising for one so…simple.”
Without asking and in a move of total, easy dominance of the situation,
Dimitrescu’s reddened lips part and her tongue appears to roll across the barely healing cut with a softness which is totally at odds with the steely grip which her huge hand maintains on your wrist as she keeps you close. A single bead of blood, one which is threatening to drip free of the cut, is immediately caught by her tongue and a soft almost growling noise emits from her chest as she pushes your arm harder into her mouth and continues to lick along your wound with a touch more fervour.
Vampire.
The staff whispered the truth daily and time had shown enough that you knew the claim to be honest but such a close experience of such perversion was…intense. Fear still grips you, sweat breaking out across your back as you remain as still as possible to allow your mistress her taste, but with the fear comes a flicker of something warm – an unwilling arousal which burns low in your gut as her tongue and lips continue to caress your skin.
After a minute, she pulls free and her pale skin is as white as ever as she fixes you with a look so predatory and cold that your body stiffens in place as your knees begin to tremble anew.
“You wish to please your mistress?” Dimitrescu asks, the question more of a purr than anything else as temptation curls around each syllable – her very presence like a chilled bath as it envelops you and pulls you into her thrall.
Images of the various girls who were cosigned to the dungeons flash through your mind as a fresh thrill of pure fear laces up your spine, “Yes. More than anything.” You answer dutifully and with as much enthusiasm as you can muster.
“You will taste me, as I have tasted you, and will most likely taste you again.”
Genuine shock roots you to your place as you dare to meet her eyes once more.
“Mistress? Do you mean- am I required to…”
“You are no virginal flower. I can tell that the pleasures of the flesh are known to you. But, perhaps not like this.” She pauses long enough to release your wrist and bring the soft skin of her knuckles to stroke along your cheek with a faux-gentleness – a snake playing with a field mouse.
“Have you ever allowed the mouth of a woman to touch you or have you always settled for the filth of men?”
Heat burns across your cheeks at the invasive question, your thighs pressing together instinctually as you answer the shockingly blunt ask.
“Only men, mistress. Two men.”
Disgust fills her expression, her hat tilting down as she inclines her head towards your lower positioning and sniffs.
“Revolting, but perhaps some experience is still preferable to none when it comes to pleasure. Whores are never without their champions.” She muses, her hand slipping to your shoulders and pressing down with such force that you fall to your knees before her with a gentle thud.
Dimitrescu continues, stroking your head as though you were little more than a pet to her.
“You will slip beneath my skirts and pleasure me until I am quite satisfied.”
Again, shocked by the boldness but unable to refuse as anxiety and arousal swirl within your head to make you dizzy and only allow you to give the response you are expected to give.
“Yes, mistress.”
Crawling on your knees to shift between her legs, you gently lift the hem of her dress from the floor until you have created sufficient room to press between her knees. Her legs are as cold as her hands, the skin pushing into your arms to make you shudder as you shamefully pull your eyes straight to look between your mistress’ thighs.
Having only seen your own sex and that of your female family members back in your earlier youth, her cunt is admittedly very pretty in its colouring as the dark curls of hair which frame her sex sit at stark odds with the pale quality of her skin. Her sex glistens slightly, arousal clear in a way that, despite everything, makes a little pride bloom in your chest that your blood was enough to spark such feeling in a woman so great.
A soft huff of impatience rings out from your unseen mistress and you push forward enough to press your head to her inner thigh. From here, you can smell her arousal and a greater hint of decay from the skin which you ignore in favour of getting to work.
Delving your head between her thighs, you try to do what comes naturally as you focus on the areas which you know bring you pleasure.
The cold nights at Castle Dimitrescu are difficult and it isn’t uncommon to hear the soft sighs of self-pleasure in the dark night, an indulgence which even you sometimes can’t help but engage in. Thoughts of the village boys, the ones who had enjoyed your flesh, fill your thoughts and you copy their actions as you swipe your tongue along her slit.
At the first point of contact, her thighs widen and that’s all the encouragement you need as you repeat the action twice more before bringing your hands to her cunt and using your thumbs to spread her folds. Swirling your tongue across the pink bud which is peeking free of its hood, the action nets you a low groan and a visible clench of her muscles.
Excitement buzzes through your veins as you move your mouth slowly, devouring every inch of her flesh with equal enthusiasm as you switch between sucking and licking around her clit – taking note of the arousal which drips from her hole as you taste the tang of it between your lips.
So focused on your task, you jump in surprise as a steely hand drops to push harshly into the back of your head as Dimitrescu’s grunts and exhalations grow in their pitch.
“Yes, so good for me. A sweet little thing…good for her mistress.” Her speech is muttered, parts so low that some of it is lost to you but you don’t miss the way that her hand tightens against your head as she pushes you harder into her cunt – your nose bumping against her clit as she grinds herself into your face.
Dimitrescu comes without comment, her pleasure vocally limited to a sharp groan which feels almost animalistic as she holds your face flush to her cunt; your mouth dutifully wrapping around her clit as the hardened bud pulses with the undivided attention. Her arousal soaks your mouth and chin and you try to lap up as much of it as possible, not wanting to disappoint her or inspire her to punish you in some wicked way.
Before you can really reorientate yourself, her orgasm and your own neglected pleasure continuing to make your brain feel dizzy, Dimitrescu tugs at your hair with enough strength that you know she is expecting you to slip free of her skirts – the pain of the sharp pressure against your skull forcing your whole body to wince as you back out and keep to your knees before her.
Her skin is as white as ever but there is a slight flush which paints the highest point of her cheeks and her makeup remains utterly impeccable as she surveys you with darkened eyes.
“Stand.”
You stand.
Dimitrescu leans towards you and you gasp as her large hand slips up the hem of your uniform, shamelessly ghosting up your legs towards the apex of your thighs. Her long fingers don’t stop until they are able to press up roughly into the fabric of the panties which cover your slit, the sudden sensation making you mewl out something pathetic as you keep your hands curling into the front of your uniform.
You can feel how damp you are, arousal coating the lengths of her fingers as her brow furls for only a moment before a fresh predatory amusement lights up her features.
“Well,” she sighs dramatically as she pulls her fingers free and holds them up to the candlelight to showcase the stained digits, “aren’t you an interesting little thing. Did pleasing your mistress cause you to make all this mess?”
“Yes.” You gasp out, already mourning the sensation of her cold fingers against your heated sex. “You are beautiful, mistress.”
“I think I like you,” Dimitrescu hums, her head tilting ever so slightly as she brings her fingers closer to her own mouth and licks the arousal from them as though sampling a fine wine, “have yourself reassigned from the kitchen to one of my personal handmaidens. Speak with the cook. She will ensure a quick transition.”
“Yes, mistress.” Not sure how to take that change; lust and fear are as potent a mix as ever as they dull your logical thoughts. “Do you need anything else?”
“Nothing for now, but don’t stray too far. My needs can prove,” she pauses and her thin pink tongue flicks out to lick at her lower lip as she tilts her head down at you, “voracious.”
Giving her a polite nod and a familiar curtsy, you smooth the front of your dress to ensure you are decent enough to return to the kitchens. You pause long enough to pick up the empty bottle of wine, your body feeling weightless and like it belonged to someone else, and make your way to the door – not daring to turn back and look at your mistress until she made her next need of you quite clear.
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