Jack Abbot gifting his precious girl a dildo that is a perfect replica of his cock (it also got tiny little veins and all!) to use while one of them is away or during those weeks that their schedules don't align, just so she does not get unaccustomed to his size.
Jack noticed that she always needed some sort of preparation when they got intimate after days of abstinence and he would take some extra time to make sure she was, in fact, ready for him. Not that it was a problem for Dr.Abbot, he did like to torture her a bit and the whole matter was a stroke to his ego.
On several occasions, Jack found her with teary eyes as he was entering her heavenly gates and he always misunderstood her expression of pain and pleasure painted on her face. As much as he loved to see her desperate, he would never do anything to hurt her, intentionally or not. He just worries so much when it comes to her, hence why the present!
He did not think for once that the gift was a double-edged sword, not until he was at the hospital and received a video of her riding "him".
Leave it to the doctor sitting next to you to have the perfect trick for calming down your mid-air anxiety
Not even the martini you gagged down in the airline’s premium lounge, nor the gelatinous goody lost at the bottom of your purse could prepare you for the wave of anxiety that would course through your veins as you settle into your seat and buckle the belt. You tighten it across your hips as much as possible, the act itself calming as though the woven band will guide you slowly back to the earth in event the plane drops out of the sky.
And of course, on the day that you’re a bundle of nerves, a sack of live wires thrashing like electric eels, the most handsome man you’ve seen in your life has the seat next to you.
“Hi there,” he says with a smile, reaching up to slide his carry-on suitcase into the overhead compartment. As he does so, the hem of his t-shirt lifts slightly, revealing a stripe of toned skin just above the band of his pants.
“Hi,” you say back as he settles into the seat, quickly busying yourself with the self-soothing (and self-destructive) act of picking at your cuticles.
As the plane takes off, you command yourself not to lose your marbles, summoning the strength of the arm rest you’re digging your fingers into. If you’re not careful, your nails might actually snap off. At least then, you’d be distracted from the fear bubbling in your gut, if only for a moment.
By some miracle, the plane finds its path, the seatbelt light turns off, and smooth sailing is promised by the pilot over the intercom. You remind yourself to look at the flight attendants. If they aren’t panicking, all is well. Or maybe they’re all trained to hide it, saving face until the moment the plane breaks in half and they no longer have one because it’s torn from their skeleton–
“Drink?”
You let out a breath that had been building in your lungs, the huff of air escaping through parted lips. It’s the voice of the man beside you, reiterating the question asked by the attendant pushing the beverage cart.
“Nothing for me, thank you,” you reply sweetly, and the attendant moves on. You’re far too afraid that, if you fill your bladder (which may be impossible as you look at the size of the cups they hand out), you’ll have to stand up and use the restroom and you’ll tumble and fall right through the floor of the plane and into the sky by some defiance of nature’s laws.
When the plane hits a rough patch of air, your hand races to the forearms of the man beside you, your fingertips digging into his brawn as your eyes screw shut. Thankfully, the turbulence passes just a moment later and your panic subsides.
“Sorry about that,” you say with a nervous titter.
“All good. Nervous flyer?” He asks, pivoting toward you.
You nod. “Is it obvious?”
His brow quirks slightly and he tilts his head back and forth an inch. “A little.”
You’ve never liked planes. There’s something so unnatural about being suspended in the sky, held up by nothing but air, and you tell him exactly that, to which he responds with the science behind the laws of gravity that hold the plane in the sky, and how technically, there’s no way for the vehicle to just fall from the clouds. He likens it to an object submerged in jell-o. It’s stuck, unmovable.
“Are you an engineer?” You inquire, impressed by his miniature lesson on airplane physics.
He chuckles breathily, shaking his head. “No, no, I’m a doctor.”
“Ah. That makes sense.” He arches a curious brow, begging you to elaborate. “You’re a very calming presence, and I’m sure that translates to your bedside manner. Let me guess. Pediatrics?”
“Emergency Department, actually,” he corrects. “But we do get our fair share of kiddos who need a teddy bear to squeeze. Didn’t bring one with me today. Sorry about that.”
“Makes even more sense. Deal with a lot of crazy people in there? Crazier than a grown woman afraid of flying?”
“You have no idea,” he says, rolling his eyes, testing the next phrase on his tongue. His eyes glance down at the plastic cup sitting steadily on his try table. “None as beautiful as you, though.”
Your face burns, heat rising to your cheeks as the compliment settles in your belly, warmth blooming across your chest.
“I’m Jack, by the way.”
You give him your name with a smile, shaking the hand he’s extended toward you. The two of you share biographies, your respective reasons for flying to your shared destination, and you beg him for at least one emergency-room horror story to distract you from the wave of turbulence that rocks the plane.
“That sounds awful,” you say with an exaggerated wince. “Tell me another one.” And so he does, and it works. The ball of tension between your shoulders loosens, and you’re able to stop bouncing your knee like a maniac.
Maybe it’s his face, or the slightly rasp to his voice when he speaks softly to you, or perhaps it’s the freckles that dot those deliciously muscular arms. But it’s not long until you’re able to sink back into your seat and laugh heartily at his humor. That is, until the plane bounces and you convince yourself that a nosedive is impending. The turbulence lasts too long, the seatbelt light flickering back on, and an announcement from the pilot that the rest of the flight might be bumpy.
“I am never flying again,” you promise aloud. “I wish someone would just hit me over the head and knock me out, put me out of my misery already.”
That garners you a laugh that quickly dissipates into thick silence. He leans into your space, filling the air with the faint scent of his cologne, the clean musk of his skin. “I have a better idea.”
You turn your head to face him. “Like what?”
“You can tell me to stop, anytime.” His hand lands on your knee, palm caressing its say up the length of your leg.
“Jack, we’re in public,” you say, quickly tossing your jacket over your lap, hiding the hand he has trailing between your thighs. And I just met you.
“It’s hardly public. We’re in the air.”
“Same difference. Someone could see.”
He shrugs. “Eh, don’t worry about it. Everyone’s sleeping anyway.” You glance around the plane. It’s dark–the lights off, every window shut–and quiet except for a gentle hum. Lots of eye masks and fallen heads. “Just focus on being quiet for me, alright?”
You turn to him, nodding as you lock eyes, staring intently into a pair of warm, hazel irises. He’s so handsome, and that’s all it takes apparently–salt-streaked hair, fine lines that tell of a life well-lived, and a charming smile–for you to let his hand snake all the way up to the apex of your thighs.
He uses his right hand, the one you share an armrest with, to discreetly travel to the button of your slacks, to the zipper below it. Undoing the blockades with only a surgeon’s precision, he gains access to the band of your panties, slowly trailing beneath them tauntingly trickling your pelvic bone with a fingernail as it traces up and down your skin.
For the first time in your life, you’re grateful you went with the best deal and chose a seat in economy. The rows are close together, and the flight attendants have hardly ventured past first and business classes. It’s just you and Jack, and his hand down your pants.
“Shh,” he says, slanting into you. There’s a slight smile tugging at his lips as he whispers in your ear. “Feeling better?”
The plane shakes with almost perfect timing. “No,” you say, leaning over slightly, giving him your cheek to bump the tip of his nose against.
You nearly whimper when he slides his fingers, splitting them on either side of your clit, just slithering up and down the valleys between your lips. Thigh instinctively clenching, head tilting back, you let out a gasp. He draws a few lazy circles on the bud, pinching here, tapping there. Then, he inserts the pads of his fingers, stretching you out before thrusting the full length of middle and pointer into your pussy.
“That’s it,” he rasps at your ear, his voice still low and hushed. “You like that?”
You can only nod, the gift of speech being snatched from you, your voice completely out of commission with the exception of a few strangled gasps and muffled moans.
“Just breathe,” he coaches, and you take his cues to inhale and exhale, letting the anxiety melt off your chest. You meet his eyes, pupils affixed to your mouth as he listens for the breaths leaving your lips. “In and out. Just like that. Good girl.”
The praise has your vision blurring at the corners, your pussy clenching around his fingers as he works you open with them. With studied and practiced movements, he crooks his digits at the knuckles, pads finding the button behind your front wall. His hand stays in place, only bending at the hinges to keep pressing against the spot that has you grappling at his forearm, swallowing moans.
“I’m so close, Jack,” you breathe, your abdomen tensing and releasing, your core squeezing his fingers like you’ll never let them go.
“I know, I can feel you.” He continues his ministrations, though your body is aching for more of him. “Don’t chase it,” he says. “Let it happen.”
And with that advice, you take in a cleansing breath, forcing the tension from your hips, letting your head fall back against the cushion rest behind it, and your pleasure continues to grow. The climb is violent, and if you weren’t confined to a seat and to the strictures of polite society, you’d be crying out like a dog, clawing at whatever could fit in your fists to help quell the heat rushing through your veins. All you can do now, is sink your fingers into Jack’s forearm, his thigh.
“You’re so close, that’s it. Keep going,” he coos at the crook of your neck. “You can do it. I wanna feel you come around my fingers. Give it to me.”
Overwhelmed by the pressure in your core, the lulling words dripping from Jack’s tongue, you reach your peak, thighs shaking as you right through your violent high. As you come down, one labored breath at a time, Jack removes his hand from your pants, taking with him the sticky evidence of your orgasm. The sheen coats his skin, and he brings his fingers up to his mouth, sucking the moisture right off of them.
“You’re so incredible,” he whispers, leaning over to plant a kiss on your clammy temple. When he retreats, his pupils are blown, and there’s a look of complete admiration splashed across his face. “Any chance you’re afraid of hotel rooms too or do I have to get you on another plane?”
cw: dark!jack abbott, power imbalance, allusions of smut, naive reader, jack being a stalker lowkey
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the ride to your apartment started out silent, the radio turned quietly onto some station playing music you didn't recognize. you were too scared to even look over at jack, embarrassed he would catch you staring. "did you cry today?" he finally spoke, eyes still glued to the road. god why was traffic so bad. it would have been faster for you to just walk, not having to wait in bumper to bumper morning rush hour. you turned to look at him momentarily, before back down at your fingers. "no," was all you could manage to get out quietly, picking at the polish on your thumbnail that was now beginning to chip. you could him looking at you now, the truck at a stand still in the traffic. "stop that. don't ruin your pretty polish. speak up," he said sternly, your legs immediately squeezing together as he reach into your lap to pull your hands apart to stop your nervous habit.
god if your cheeks weren't red before they sure are now, just from his touch and stern voice at you. "i- no. i didn't cry today, dr. abbott," you said louder this time, finally turning to look at him. you looked like you could cry now. oh how badly he wanted to see you cry. his face was emotionless, eyes looking deep into yours. "good. would hate to see you cry," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm that you didn't catch. it was silent for only a few minutes, traffic finally starting to move. "were you angry at me?" you spoke abruptly, the words coming out quicker than you had hoped. a chuckle left his lips as he turned into the parking lot of your apartment, pulling into a spot you pointed to. "i wasn't angry. just want you to be the perfect little nurse i know you can be. you're a smart girl, yeah?" he spoke, body shifting to face you a little as you both sat in the now parked truck.
the butterflies in your stomach felt like they had exploded, his backhanded praises going straight to your cunt as you stared at him. you hadn't even realized you were staring at his mouth as he spoke, just curious as to what they felt like. all you could do was slowly nod, eyes flickering back up to his that now looked slightly darker than before. "say it. say you're a smart girl," he spoke, voice slightly lower. he could practically feel the heat radiating off of you from across the center console. he could lay money on between your thighs being even warmer. "i... i'm a smart girl," you squeaked out, feeling your breath caught in your throat.
this was wrong. so so wrong. you shouldn't be feeling these way about a man this much older than you. especially a man that was your superior at work. it was so hard not to though. you weren't sure you had ever seen a prettier man than doctor abbott. his gray curls that sat perfectly on his head, the freckles you could see lightly scattered across his face when you were this close, the ways his muscles twitched and his veins popped on his arms. were you drooling?
"good girl. i knew you had a brain in there somewhere. go on inside. you don't want to keep your boyfriend waiting," he spoke, reaching down between your seat and the console to unbuckle your seatbelt, finger tips brushing against your thigh. the self restraint he had to not grab onto your thigh as tight as he could was impeccable. a small giggle left your lips, leaning forward to put your bag on your back. "i don't have a boyfriend, dr. abbott," your voice said, singing music to his ears. you turned to open the door, hopping out before turning to face him, leaning forward onto the seat a little as you smiled at him. "thank you for the ride. i will see you tomorrow," you spoke again, turning to shut the door. do something idiot. "wait, give me your phone," he shot quickly, holding his hand out. were you going to think he was a creep? "i'll put my number in it. can call me and i will come get you before shift, okay? wouldn't want you to have to walk alone in the city. there's creeps around you know," he said with a sly smile, watching as you reached to pull your phone out and open it, slowly handing it over to him. jackpot.
after he had put his number in, of course adding a little smiley face for comfort, he handed it back to you, his fingers brushing against your hand. "get some sleep. don't want you crying on shift tomorrow," was all he spoke, shooting a wink at you that had your knees buckling. all you could do was nod quickly, shooting a shy smile at him before turning to almost speed walk to your apartment. you could feel him watching you the whole way into the building, god were your hands sweating?? you didn't think it was possible for a man to have this type of effect on you.
you leaned against your front door once you were finally inside, breathing slightly harder than normal. calm down calm down calm down. he was just being friendly. you couldn't help but collapse on your couch, mind spinning over the entire day. the thought of him being angry at you had totally left your mind and now all you could think about was him. the way he looked down at you, the way he was quick to correct you or help you when needed, the way he would praise you so sweetly. should you text him now or wait? was it weird if you did that? you found yourself staring at his contact in your phone, basically gnawing on your lip as you fought an internal battle of whether to reach out or wait.
you had decided on the latter, forcing yourself to shower and go through your routine before finally climbing into bed. it was again that you found yourself playing with the idea to reach out. "just do it," you mumbled to yourself, typing and deleting messages without every pressing send before you finally bit the bullet.
it's me. thank you for the ride. :)
you hadn't even noticed your hands were shaking when you pushed send, immediately shutting your phone off and slamming it down next to you in the bed. was the smiley face too much? you want him to take you seriously and you send a fucking smiley face? you wanted to slam your head into a wall with shame as you stared at the tv, some reality show playing on the screen. the thought of him not answering back was something that was eating you alive as you slowly began to drift off to sleep.
on the other hand, jack was anticipating a text his whole way home and as he got settled in. did he do too much? was getting your number too soon? he was mentally beating himself up until his phone buzzed and a message that could only come from you came through. he was sat in bed already, staring at his screen as he read it. a small smile came to his lips at the smiley face, the image of your smiling face playing over and over again in his head. he didn't reply just yet, setting his phone off to the side. he wanted to keep you on edge, play with your feelings just a bit. he hoped that if he distanced just a little, you'd come clinging like a puppy. and that was exactly what he did. he forced himself to wait another hour, busying himself with reading before he eventually found himself looking up your name.
what a stalker. he had managed to find your instagram, scrolling through it with his dick straining painfully in his pants. the page was so innocent. pictures of flowers that you had taken, photos with your family, and his personal favorites: you posing like an angel with that big smile on your face. he hadn't even realized he had a hand down his pants now, fighting with sleep and the urge to jack off to your face. creep. your page wasn't like usual girls around your age. there were no photos of you in over revealing outfits, no photos with men, just you being you. and it drove him crazy. he wasn't sure how it happened but he had managed to cum just from looking at a photo of you laying on the beach, bathing suit fitting you absolutely perfectly. he just needed a peek underneath. that was all he wanted.
you had stirred from your sleep from the sound of a text coming through your phone. you knew you hadn't been asleep long considering the tv was still playing your show. the text was enough to wake you right up though. you swallowed hard as you stared at the screen, immediately sitting straight up in your bed.
hi my little nurse. how about i pick you up a little earlier and we get some coffee before shift? my treat for you, of course.
you slammed your body back down against your bed, those butterflies exploding in your stomach again. there's no way you were going to be able to sleep well enough with the thought of getting to spend maybe an extra hour with dr. abbott outside of work. what was he doing that he waited so long to text? was there someone else? what does it matter to you anyway, you're just coworkers. strictly coworkers. you had replied with a simple agreement back, forcing yourself to lay back down to sleep. you needed all the sleep you could get considering you were going to be waking up much earlier to make sure you looked extra pretty for him.
