𝐒𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐥𝐞 | 𝐌𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐜 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 (nsfw)
Reader has a perverted Doctor, has memories of being fucked and analyzed by Medic, wonders if any of it is actually real. More like: Medic drugs you in secret, but that’s the least fucked thing about him in here.
TW! Mature and very explicit content I’m begging this is fucked.
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A stranger who has the knowledge of how every inch of your body behaves, and how it reacts to every touch, sounds terrifying. But a Doctor is what they’re called.
You wear clothes to cover up, to hide the most intimate parts of your body. But in his eyes it doesn’t matter, he knows every inch behind it. He knows how you internally work, a piece of cloth and skin covering it won’t matter. He knows the signs of when you’re ill without even needing to ask, every inch of your body he knows better. As if it was his own skin.
He knows the time when you bleed, he keeps a calendar. Even you tend to forget your own cycle, but it’s like he’d analyze your own body as if you were his altar. He’d worshipped your anatomy in secret.
He knows when your blood trickles out to taint your cunt every month, he knows how you’d clench your abdomen every time it ached. He’d give you pills to ease it each time, but you’d never asked for them. It’s like he’s analyzing you from afar, like he knows exactly how your body works from its very core.
He’d imagine how sensitive your cunt, all tainted with your uterine blood, your pubic locks covered in dried blood. He wonders if he can take a sample of the blood, test it in his lab to see what it reveals about your body.
Every time you bleed, there’s a certain positive reaction in his head. Fertility. It means you're fertile, that’s good to him. For future experiments.
Your body was never truly yours anymore, it became an experiment that was being observed.
You’d come to terms of how weak you really were.
If a mission was too tiring on your body, you’d pass out. You’d wake up in the cold room, his room. The medical room was cold and felt clean but not comforting to say. It felt clean, too clean. Like it was stripped out of all the gore each time a patient was brought in, but whenever you were the one laying on the steel and cushioned bed it felt even more stripped. Naturally patients come and go so disinfecting was normal, but when it was your turn it felt different. It was as if you were an experiment that took priority, no germs or bacteria could taint your body.
He’d always stand on the side of the bed, staring at your semi conscious state. Whenever your sight gained consciousness, as hazy as it may you could make out his expression. He’d stare, he’s checking your condition naturally. But the way he looked, it was like he’d been staring for hours. His pupils were unmoved, they were larger than usual, like his sight stayed on the same object for a long period.
His smile..you don’t know how to feel about it. He’d show his smile, not an excited one but a polite one.
But it felt uneasy, like he’s smiling at you and only you. Not your condition, just you—like an object. But something in your gut felt strange. Had he been staring at you like this when you were unconscious? For hours? It felt like he’d actually enjoyed you being unconscious. Your gut feels so but your head tries to think otherwise, he’s a doctor. They care for the patient.
You’d find it odd though how he’d always treat you a bit later than the others, like he needed extra time for you. Almost like he’d wanted to savor your body. Your injuries were never that bad, but why did it take so long? You wondered. But the doctor knows best. You were always treated when night came, when everyone had retreated back to their rooms. Odd, but Medic isn’t treating just you, so you digress.
It was strange how the missions were usually done midday, but you were always awake when it’s dark out. Why were you always unconscious for so long, is your body really that tired? You don’t know. But you know who knows.
“Your body was reacting well, worry not.” He’d assure you, he’d always assure you whenever you awoke. He’d give you medication to help gain more strength and rest, so he says. You trust a professional, you’d always end up fine anyway. You just have an issue with being unconscious at times that’s all, but perhaps it is right. You are the only one with the female body, they say we are weaker. Perhaps it’s true medically.
You don’t know if it’s the job taking a toll, or your body just being weaker. The passing out is one condition, but the visions from the dreams are strange. You don’t even know if they’re dreams or hallucinations, you hope the latter.
You’d find some visions. You on the medical bed, him hovering over you. You feel naked, you think you are. Latex on your skin, gloved hand, strong palms over soft skin. Your vision is hazy, but you can make the figure out. Medic. The medical light shining over your body, your body like a cadaver being analyzed. The line between a bad dream and reality is thin, you’re not sure if memories like these are even real.
His hands are all over your body, your chest, he spends much time fondling over it. He’ll play with your arms, inspect them, or you think he is. Your legs and thighs, and the space between, he favors that the most.
Visions of him setting your legs apart, putting them on the stirrup. Him sitting on the doctor’s chair in between in your cunt. You have visions of him fondling it, inspecting it but the cold air makes it feel otherwise. It’s like he’s waiting for a reaction. When your visions fail, your ears capture sound.
“Schön, sehr zart.”
“Naturally, it reacts as usual.”
You hear him talk, mumble, but your sight isn’t perfect in moments like these. The sound is enough. Then you’ll hear slick, latex finding a slimy exterior. You sense that in this sight he’s staring deeply at your cunt. Fingers playing, stroking the layers, you hear low but kept whimpers from your source. The sounds seem to motivate his fingers, you hear and you feel something being inserted. His fingers inside your cunt. Your sight is so blurry, but the sensation slowly builds in your head. You felt good, confused but you know the feeling is pleasure.
The memory is hazy, but you felt sure that you had yelped or screamed. Your thighs were shaking, shaking your legs on the stirrups. You had an orgasm, you were sure. There was a voice after, his chuckle, it wasn’t mocking. Pleasure. It’s like he was pleased.
Some memories are hazier, yet so alive. The same medical bed, center of the room, the bright but hazing lights. You’d be naked, you were always naked, it seemed he was not.
This time your chest laid in the bed, you felt knocked out. But you were sure there was friction from below, you were moving back and forth. Your ears captured grunts and mumbles, latex hands on the curve of your hips. Your being fucked, meticulously. Every rut was directed, there was a need to see how your body reacted to each push. An experiment, a thesis waiting to be made. “Scheiße! The pelvic muscles are just as good as I suspected.” Your ears caught that statement, you could visualize a grin from the way he said it.
Sometimes you’d have a memory of him rutting above you, most of your vision is black and dark but your ears are so visually supportive. Him grunting, holding his moans, failing in that. When your gaze shows some focus, you see him. Blue eyes, dark and hazy. Entranced at your body, you see the way his eyes draw to your abdomen. Seeing the way his cock goes in and out, bulging through your skin. You don’t remember much but you have a memory where his thick cock, red at the tip, spurts out seed to your clit. The way he yelled, the way he took his medical scissors, snipping a piece of your cum stained pubic hair. Kept it in a dish. You don’t remember much.
You hope none of these visions are real, it would be extremely unprofessional if it was real. And impossible, he would never cross that line.
It’s the job, the gravel wars take a toll on everyone, including you. Perhaps you were too weak after all for the job, to picture your coworker doing experiments and fucking the daylights out of you is batshit insane. Perhaps it’s because you’re not taking pills, maybe you should. Consult a medical professional.
You consult Medic, you don’t tell about all the perverse stuff but you confess you’ve had all these weird dreams. Or strange thoughts lately.
He listens, “I see. Perhaps you should start taking some medication after all, it’s stress.” He’d logically explain. You’d take the prescription, like the good patient you are. So he thinks.
Divider Credit: Made by honeyluvsw
Note: I wrote this during my period, can’t you tell. Also no I will not apologize for being pervert..
