Charley

It’s already a problem the very first time you say it.

Robby’s having one of those awful, slogging days in emergency medicine where nothing’s going his way. It’s heavy and exhausting and frustrating all at once. By the time he’s heading to lunch, he just wants to sit in his car and scream.

Then he sees you.

At the nurse’s station where you‘ve returned to work, his perfect chubby eleven-month-old on your hip and a grin on your lips as you talk to Dana.

And he melts.

Everything falls away as he closes the distance keeping him from his family. Not even caring that he’s interrupting your conversation, Robby engulfs you and the baby into his huge arms, breathing in your shower-fresh hair and finally feeling his body relax.

When he manages to let you go, you stand up on your toes, kiss him warmly, and smile when Ella reaches up automatically for his attention. As he adds a kiss to your cheek, you greet him,  “Hi, daddy.”

Robby’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline as he shifts Ella into his arms. He buffers for a few seconds before asking, “What did you just say?”

You shrug innocently and explain, “One of the girls in our mommy-and-me group says we should be calling each other ‘mom’ and ‘dad’ now that she’s learning words so that she doesn’t start calling us by our first names.”

“Is that so?” He kisses Ella’s round cheeks until she giggles and then tickles her belly until she reaches maximum squirmy laughing. Only then does his mind start to calm down. Nestling his nose in her wispy dark hair, he asks, “Are you and mommy having a good day, princess?”

She babbles into his chest and you translate, “So far so good. She did great having some of that fancy baby food we’ve been wanting to try and did her first nap like a champ. Now we’re raring to go for daycare.” You open up your purse then and remove a stack of folded cards for him to look at. “On the way here, we got her first birthday invites from the printer; they’re exactly how I wanted.”

Robby takes a card in one hand and opens it up like he’s reading Ella a baby book, expression warming at the brightly themed invitations for her “Chapter One” birthday party in a few weeks, full of Dr. Seuss style illustrations and whimsical colors. He hands it back to you and grins. “Do we get to hand these out now? Everyone’s been begging me for their invitation to the hottest party in town.”

“You can start giving them out as soon as you’ve dropped this one at daycare,” you confirm with a beaming smile, brushing Ella’s round cheek with your thumb. You plant a kiss on her forehead and murmur, “I’ll see you later, sprout. Love you.”

She gives you one of those smiles that makes it feel impossible to say goodbye for the afternoon. You’ve been doing half shifts since your maternity leave ended, bringing her in during Robby’s lunch break for daycare at the hospital’s complimentary staff center. Thank god for that job perk; you’re not sure you’d make it without being able to peek in on Ella whenever you miss her too much. You’d feel clingy and pathetic about it if Robby weren’t twice as bad, lingering near the daycare every time he has a second to breathe.

Today, though, he uses one of those brief breaks for something different. The moment he sees you shouldering your bag and stepping away for your first break in the private pumping room, he slips in behind you and closes the door. Leaning against the wall, he watches you turn back to him with already rolling eyes. He gives you a sweet smile. “Hi there, mama.”

Unloading your pumping accessories onto the side table next to the cozy recliner Gloria ordered for you, you cut him a suspicious glance. “Something you need, Mikey? Could I interest you in a mini cooler, an extra bra, some sanitizing wipes?”

“All I’m interested in is my girl,” he murmurs, closing the distance between you right away and tugging you into a searing, claiming kiss. His fingers slide beneath the waistband of your scrubs just so he can hold the bare skin of your waist. He presses his forehead to yours and sighs, “Needed my hands on you.”

You giggle as his touch warms you to the core. “Why are you so worked up?”

Robby looks you up and down seriously. “You called me daddy this morning.”

You give him the nastiest eyeing he’s ever experienced, so amused that it borders on sadistic. “If I recall correctly, all I told you was that we shouldn’t let our baby call us by our names. I swear hearing my toddler say ‘Robby’ would be the end for me.”

He puts a hand on either side of your head against the wall, doing that thing where you’re caged against his chest, looking into his rich coffee eyes, breaths coming fast because you want him to make good on what his body’s promising. Gazing firmly at your lips, he points out, “You didn’t say ‘dad,’ though. You said daddy.”

“I assume our one-year-old is probably going to call you that,” you laugh as his hands traverse lower, holding you against the wall now, “unless you have a different idea.”

“I always thought of myself as more of a ‘papa,’” he says nonchalantly. Like he’s not being disgusting. And hot. Always both. “I much prefer the sound of you saying that one particular moniker,” he purrs, pulling you into a deeper kiss. He drags needy lips up your neck and murmurs against your ear, “Say it again for me, sweetheart.”

Robby grabs your ass, digging his fingers into your flesh just enough to make your knees weak. Desperately trying not to get horny at work, you roll your eyes, turn the kiss into a peck, and say, “You’re a pervert.”

“And you’re so insanely sexy back in your scrubs,” he groan as he lifts you up slightly by the curve of your ass so that you lose balance a bit and have to lean in fully to him. “I swear these things hug you like nobody else.”

You huff, trying to suppress a giggle, “Because someone keeps picking up a smaller size for me at the scrub exchange even though my boobs are constantly swollen.”

“I’ll have to say thank you to them,” he chuckles as his hands slide beneath the front of your top now, palms brushing the elastic of your nursing bra. Running his thumbs over the place where your nipples beg against the thick fabric, he murmurs, “You need to pump?”

You roll your eyes. “No, I just like to hang out in here by myself on my breaks.”

“Beats listening to the ducklings whine about their love lives over lukewarm leftovers.” You move toward the recliner where you usually set up shop, but Robby stops you with a strong hand on your waist. He gives you those ridiculous puppy dog eyes of his and muses, “You know, the daycare has an extensive supply of your breastmilk and we’ve got a whole freezer full at home.”

Knowing exactly what he’s asking for, you raise an eyebrow at his reddening cheek and challenge, “And that’s a bad thing? I was under the impression that breastmilk was something of a necessity for Ella.”

“Ella’s weaning,” he replies, maneuvering you into the recliner and kneeling in front of you. He pushes your knees apart and waits to see if you’re going to stop him. You definitely aren’t. The privacy of the pumping room as the only breastfeeding person on the floor had become, admittedly, a little bit of a problem for your and Robby’s ‘we should try to fuck less at work’ rule/attempt. Not feeling each other up between patients had never been a strong suit of yours. With his fingers looped in your waistband at your hips, Robby looks up at you and pouts. “The baby has plenty and daddy’s thirsty.”

“Michael, ew!” You throw your head back and laugh even as you lift your hips slightly so he can tug your scrubs down and away from your body. “You could not have possibly said something less sexy than that.”

“You doubt my abilities,” he tuts. Then he pulls on the hem of your top, clearly a request, and you resist the urge to make fun of him as you strip it off. You expect him to get right down to business, muttering something about only having a few minutes the way he usually does, but he doesn’t. Robby sits back for a second and just takes in the glory of your frumpy nude bra and your practical cotton underwear. To Robby, there’s absolutely nothing hotter. Gazing at your postpartum stretch marks just beginning to turn silver, your widened hips, your swollen boobs, he sighs lovingly, “You’re fucking perfect.”

“You’re delusional, but I love you anyway.”

Robby narrows his eyes at you and tilts his head to the side. Even as he gives you that admonishing stare, he slides his hand down the front of your underwear and finds your clit with his thumb, gently nudging the hood upward to expose your sensitivity. As you gasp from the light contact, he presses, “Are you saying my fiancée is anything less than fucking perfect? I could take you to court for slander over a lie like that.” When you just purse your lips in response, any joke or argument fizzling away as your pussy starts to flutter in want for him, he smirks. “That’s what I thought. Now just be good and take those pretty tits out for me.”

God, when did you get so pathetically weak for him? Just over a year ago he had to kiss your feet just to get your attention and now you’re here misusing hospital facilities so that he can get on his old man knees and use his only break to get you off and- Yeah, he’s still whipped, actually. So at least it’s mutual. As you slide your bra off, he does the same to your panties.

And, the moment you’re naked, laid bare for him when he’s still clothed, he’s done screwing around.

Robby spits onto your pussy and then watches his own fingers sliding over your slit, rapt as his saliva mixes with your glistening wetness. He curses under his breath when you squirm slightly in response, widening your legs further to give him better access. You rasp out, “Did you lock the door behind you?”

He meets your eyes. “Who’s going to interrupt you when you’re pumping?”

“Maybe someone looking for the chief attending they watched follow me in?”

He clicks his tongue, relenting, and tells you firmly, “I locked the door. Now relax and let me enjoy myself down here.”

“Let you enjoy yourself? Is that what’s-”

Your words strangle off into a moan as he plunges his middle finger inside of you, curling it back toward himself. Your eyes close and your head goes back against the headrest and nothing else matters anymore. Robby slips in his second finger and praises softly, “There you go. Good girl. Just let me play with my pussy for a minute.”

You can’t even tease him for saying it because he’s just too stupidly hot. It is his pussy, plain and simple. So, with nothing but mischief and need in your tone, you murmur, “Yes, daddy.”

“Oh, fucking hell,” he grunts, rocking upward on his knees so that he can kiss over the top of your chest, nibbling the base of your neck and dragging his tongue down your sternum. Pumping his fingers firmly but slowly inside of you, Robby uses his thumb to focus attention on your clit. With his breath ghosting one of your tingling nipples, he says, “You’re too powerful, you know that?”

“No idea.” Your back arches into his touch and the pressure building behind your nipples builds and aches. The distance between his mouth and your tits is so, so close and way too far. You whine unabashedly, knowing he’s not strong enough to deny you, “Mikey, please. It’s gonna start hurting and leaking.”

“Can’t have you hurting,” he soothes. You can feel how much he means it, deeper than the sexy teasing. He’s protective of you, more and more every day, and his lust is only an extension of that. His eyes flick up to yours one more time, reminding you, “Remember you have to be quiet; we aren’t at home.”

You bite your lower lip and assure him, “I won’t get you in trouble, Dr. Robinavitch.”

“That’s my girl. Enough trouble all on her own.”

Before you can come up with any kind of reply, he latches onto your left breast. Because he’s made this something of a habit – you’ve been incredibly lucky with milk production, to the point of annoyance at times – Robby knows exactly what to do. His lips and tongue and suction are just right and suddenly you’re being flooded with sweet oxytocin that mingles with the pleasure between your legs. Delight prickles up your spine and you gasp, stifling the sharp sound with the back of one hand while the other flies into Robby’s hair. Pleased, he groans around your nipple and swallows the constant stream of your gentle, mild breastmilk until the flow slows enough to switch to the other side. He even takes the care to quickly grab one of your breast pads to catch any overflow from the breast he’s leaving behind.

God, he’s sexy.

Your body can’t help responding to Robby’s intoxicating mix of tenderness and gluttony that blur together into one entity. He’s building you and consuming you at the same time. And he definitely doesn’t miss the way your moans turn high-pitched and needy as your pussy gets wetter around his fingers. He stays the course. Steady. Much as he craves you cumming on his hand, he wants to make sure you’re thoroughly comfortable first, your breasts tended to with a meticulous desire he didn’t know existed until the first time he tasted you like this. Before you gave birth, he fucked you voraciously, so ravenous to have you that the world stopped existing until he came.

Then, once you were ready to be intimate again after being cleared, Robby felt a seismic shift inside of himself. Sex became an act of devotion. Gratitude. He thanked your body for its abundance and its giving with every touch. You’re not just his girl anymore; you’re the person who gave him the world. The woman who raised him from the dead. He needs to have you, to make you comfortable, to keep you safe. To taste you is to be blessed by you.

And, fuck, is it a blessing when he feels your cunt clenching slowly around his fingers.

You’re gripping his hair so he stays on your breast and your toes curl, legs locking him to you, and you’re blossoming. Your hips buck upwards and he stills you with his free hand, firm, demanding, insisting that you take as much pleasure as he can give you. He only releases you when you’re physically squirming and biting your lip hard to stop the moans from the overstimulating sparks filling you.

Robby eases you back to earth with a few final licks on each side of your chest, slowly pulling his fingers out as your body relaxes. He closes his eyes and savors the taste of you as he cleans off his fingers with his tongue. You take a minute to catch your breath, just gazing down at Robby as he looks at you with so much love it tightens your chest.

After he helps you get dressed again, Robby takes a swig of water and grins. “Thanks, baby, now I can skip the vending machine.”

You smack him on the chest and duck your head to hide your warming face against his shoulder. “I hate you.”

He catches your hand and kisses it. “I love you.”

Of course, it only becomes more of a problem from there. Eight out of ten times, Ella’s in your arms or his and your voice is sappy and ‘daddy’ is just something that slips from your tongue as easily as ‘mommy’ does his. He can keep his mind out of the gutter when it’s ‘Want daddy to read you a bedtime story?’ and ‘Show daddy your finger painting.’

But those other times?

Those other times are driving Michael Robinavitch clinically insane.

In the week leading up to Ella’s first birthday party, there are several particularly damning instances.

Robby takes the night shift when Ella’s particularly fussy after you’ve had a rough day, letting you sleep and staying in the nursery with her as long as he has to (and then some more because he just can’t bear to leave when she’s asleep on his bare chest, heartbeats synching up and breaths slowing). When she’s finally settled, Robby slides back into bed next to you. He tries not to rouse you at all, but you feel his weight and warmth, your subconscious recognizing him. When you flip over, your tee rides up around your stomach. Your hips are beautiful beyond belief. He can feel the heat and dampness growing between your legs as you throw your thigh over him and nestle close to his chest, happily murmuring, “Mmm. Thank you, daddy.”

He’s fucking you back to sleep in a matter of minutes, spooning you with needy hips and coaxing out gentle, half-awake whines that drive him crazy. The whole time, he groans quietly under your ear about how much he loves you, how good you feel, how he’s always going to be here for you. He only gets up long enough to throw away the condom before passing out into bliss with you.

The next night, Robby’s in his study, glasses on the tip of his nose, huffing through paperwork while you do Ella’s bedtime routine. Once she’s sleepy and warm from her bath, you knock gently on the study’s glass panel door and push it open. “Wanna join us for story time?”

Absently, he replies, “I’m sorry; I need a minute to finish these notes.”

You bat your lashes playfully and pout, propping Ella, who’s too sleepy to care, adorably on your hip. “Pleeeeease, daddy?”

Ella yawns as Robby’s eyes snap up at the word. He tilts his head to the side and examines you carefully. The mischief in your eyes. The swing of your hips as you balance his baby on your plush body. Ella is such a perfect blend of you both – Robby’s dark waves and inquisitive eyes, your nose and cheeks – and he absolutely melts seeing her falling asleep against your chest. Whenever you’re like this, in one of your comfortable pajama sets with your makeup long gone, he’s punched in the gut by the fact that he missed the first two-thirds of your pregnancy with Ella. He wants to be there with you when you first take the test, when you first hear the heartbeat, when you first notice your bump. When you pair that with the word ‘daddy,’ the potent reminder of how you made him a father and vice versa, it launches him to his feet.

He can’t miss another moment.

Ella’s knocked out not even halfway through “Oh, The Places You’ll Go!” so Robby drags you into the bedroom and starts kissing you feverishly. He’s got you pressed against the wall with his hands between your legs in no time. You’re dizzy from his lust and cumming a second time before he’s even taken his clothes off, his beard scratching your neck and cheek as he praises you. You’re such a good mom, angel. You saved me. Thank you for our family. I love you. I love you. I love you.

Robby finally loses all composure at Ella’s party.

You’ve spent the morning ordering him around – foreplay in its own right – and now the living room, kitchen, and dining room are decked out in all of the homemade decorations you’ve been working on for weeks. It’s like walking into a children’s book with inviting colors and textures on every surface. Cupcakes frosted with the colors of Ella’s favorite story, candy red-and-white striped hats you’d custom-ordered, cotton candy on striped sticks for truffula trees. It’s so whimsical that even your most serious coworkers gently gasp and smile as they take everything in.

Ella’s whisked off into a sea of cooing and kisses, so you and Robby are on full hosting duty. With his friends and family gathered around to celebrate your daughter’s first birthday, you seem determined to give him a heart attack.

Called across the room: “Can you grab us a cupcake, daddy?”

With a sweet smile: “Daddy, you wanna open the next present?”

A freshly manicured hand on his bicep as you breeze by:  “Love you, daddy.”

It’s positively unrelenting. He’s trying to stay focused on hosting the party, but the fact of the matter is that you’re wearing a flouncy little dress that swishes just right and you’re positively glowing as everyone dotes on his daughter and every single time you glance back at him it’s with a total, unending love that he’s worked so damn hard to be worthy of. It’s so distracting that, with Ella on hip, he spills half a pitcher of Yink Pink Ink Drink down the front of your dress when you say ‘daddy’ a little too flirtatiously as he turns the corner out of the kitchen to top off glasses.

The neon pink juice saturates your chest and you’re already laughing at the slack-jawed look of horror on his face. As you flick beads off your hands, rivulets running down onto the floor, you scoff, “Michael Robinavitch, they let you practice emergency medicine and you can’t even walk a pitcher from one room to another?”

Ella tries to squirm away from the disaster and Robby calls, “Dana, would you mind-”

She stands up, puts out both her hands, and grins. “Gimme that baby.”

Ella squeals with delight as Dana takes her and starts making silly faces. At the same time, Trinity heads over and starts to clean up the mess, ushering you away with something firm about how she’s not going to have you cleaning up at your own party.

So you and Robby, with matching pink stains, escape up the steps and steal away into your en suite bathroom. Grumbling under your breath, you shimmy out of your dress and turn on the tap to work on the stain. Before you can get to work, though, Robby snatches it out of your hand and turns off the water, closing the distance between you in a few steps. He’s already shed his own shirt and your eyes rake hungrily over his bare torso. Some of his chest hair had gone silver since Ella was born, matching his beard, and it makes you ravenous.

Faux exasperated, you protest, “Robby, I need to rinse that.”

He tosses the dress into the bathtub, tugs you into his arms, and practically growls, “I’ll do it in a minute.”

You suppress a smirk, seeing the lust building in his expression, and push once more, “I need to grab a change of-”

“No you don’t,” he interrupts as he turns you around by the hip. Palming your ass, so much of it exposed by the delicate lacy thong you must’ve put on just to ruin him, he amends softly, “Not yet.” He kisses the top of your shoulder and plants more up toward your neck. You can’t help the way you sigh, releasing tension, when his hands roam over your stomach and up to your damp bra. “I need you, baby. You make me crazy.”

You roll your hips backwards and he tugs them flush with his so you can feel his hardening cock against your ass. Meeting his eyes in the mirror, you tease, “Need me, huh?”

“So fucking bad,” he confirms, voice rough and gravelly. His hands go to the sides of your panties and he begs, “Can I have you? Please?”

After nibbling your lower lip for a second, you can both tell you’ve already given into the idea. You were hoping to save the big reveal of your intentions for after the party, but he looks so damn good with his chest hair and thick thighs on full display. Turning around so you can wrap your arms around the back of his neck, you check nervously, “You think nobody’s gonna notice us being gone?”

“They’re all cute baby drunk,” he replies pointedly. As you agree with a nod, he cages you against the counter and kisses you hard, hands gripping your waist, the need obvious in every touch. You reach for his boxer briefs and tug them down urgently; he chuckles and kicks them off before doing the same to you. Then he turns you around and kisses you toward the bedroom, guiding you onto the bed and gazing down at you and your beautiful body. The body that gave him his daughter. The body that gives him life. When he has you laid bare beneath him, he whispers reverently, “There’s my girl. So fucking pretty.”

Then, knowing the clock is ticking, Robby drops onto the covers in front of you and laps at your clit. He still makes a point of not rushing you, but he sets an urgent pace that makes it perfectly clear your pleasure is his singular focus. The moment he tastes you, he’s rutting his cock down against the bed, pathetic like a humping teenager because he gets to have you, please you, be yours.

When he slightly nudges up the hood of your clit to make you even more sensitive, you dig your fingers into his scalp and groan, “Fuck, daddy, just like that.”

Robby’s next moan into your cunt is rumbling and low and so drunk it almost surprises you. Almost. The sound borders on pathetic. He’s never wanted anything more than your orgasm on his lips. You’re powerless to deny him that simple pleasure, especially when his tongue rolls insistently over the exact place you need exactly how you need it. He doesn’t let up through your orgasm, arms looped around your hips, tasting starlight from your core until he’s high on it.

When you’re blissed out and breathy, he crawls up above you on the bed, presses his forehead to yours, and groans, “You’re driving me absolutely nuts lately, you know that? Daddy this, daddy that. Please, daddy. Yes, daddy. Thank you, daddy. Fuck, daddy, just like that.” He buries his face in your neck and breathes hard. Then he reaches into the top drawer of the bedside table and fishes out a condom. Before opening it, he gives you another peck and muses, “How am I supposed to stop wanting to fuck you when you’re making me think about you having my babies every five minutes?”

After a second of letting him agonize, you wind your fingers in the hair at the back of his head, turn him to center to face you, and reply, “You’re not supposed to stop.”

His eyes go straight to your lips. His heart rate spikes as he considers the implication. Not wanting to trip face-first into wishful thinking, he clarifies, “What are you saying, sweetheart?”

“You think I don’t know what I’m doing?” You spread your legs wider, exposing the shiny fresh desire between them, and give him a heady, wanting gaze. He sucks in a sharp breath when you yank him forward, his bare cock nearly touching your pussy, the condom still dangling from his fingers. You run your hand down the center of his chest, scratching his hair just right, and purr, “Wanna make a baby, daddy?”

With a grin splitting his lips, he cups your face in his hand. “Are you serious?”

“Completely,” you giggle back, thrilled to finally admit it after ruminating on the idea for a few months, debating if you were ready physically and mentally to be pregnant again. Now, all you can imagine is how great it’ll be to share all of the early milestones with Robby by your side and Ella old enough to understand some of the moments. “I know it’ll be a lot with the whole ‘two under two’ thing, but-”

“I’m convinced,” he interrupts with an enthusiastic, infectious laugh. “This last year with Ella has been the best gift. I can’t even imagine how good doubling that will be.” He lines up his cock with your entrance and holds your hip steady as you try to squirm for more. “Tell me one more time.”

“C’mon, Robby,” you plead, reaching up to grip his bicep, “knock me up.”

As he slides into you bare for the first time since Ella was born, he shudders and sighs contentedly. “You feel so fucking good, baby.”

You pull him into a kiss and whimper in response, his thick cock stretching you just how you fantasize about all the time, his lips forever marrying yours, his eyes shut tight in ecstasy. The way Robby’s mouth falls open in that tiny shattered ‘O’ when he feels your walls holding him close will never fail to give you an ego high. He looks almost innocent as he fucks you, like he’s praying at a service, his whole body trembling slightly as he tries to hold back. You’re luxurious for him, silky as a sunbeam, and he wants to bury himself inside of you for the rest of time.

Feeling the way his hips stutter and beg, you press your lips to the curve of his ear, breath hot and loving, his beard scratching your cheek deliciously, and urge him, “You don’t have to force yourself to last, Michael. Cum inside of me. I need it as bad as you do.”

Robby locks his hips to yours with short, deep thrusts as he grunts, “Fuck, angel.”

The feeling of his warmth coating you is cozy and safe and intimate. The two of you curled up by the hearth of a shared fire. He stays slotted inside of you for a long time, savoring the way your body holds onto his, and kisses your cheeks and collar and neck as many times as he can.

A knock on the door yanks you both into reality. Jack’s voice, of course. “There’s still a party out here, you freaks. C’mon, we want to cut the damn cake.”

Robby laughs and calls back, “Be right there, Uncle Jackie.”

Your foot taps against the floor of the dentist waiting room, your hands clammy and pressed atop your jeans clad thighs.

You hated the dentist. You hated any kind of health appointment. They always stressed you out.

But you hadn’t been for a dental hygiene appointment in years. Which, isn’t great. You knew that. But work was busy and bills were expensive and aside from brushing and flossing your teeth, your dental care wasn’t really at the top of your priority list.

“Miss L/n?” A female voice calls from across the room. You lift your gaze up from your phone and give the dentist assistant — you assumed her to be — a tight smile.

You stand from your seat and tuck your phone into the pocket of your jeans and make your way over to the woman standing near the door that led into the hallway.

You both murmured your greetings to one another and she led you into an empty operating room. You remove your jacket and take a seat on the dental chair, laying it behind you.

“Doctor Abbott will be with you shortly, ma’am.” The woman nods to you, giving you a final smile before leaving.

After about a five minute wait, the door opened “Sorry for the wait, ma’am. I’m Doctor Abbott, I’ll be performing your routine check. It’s very nice to meet you.”

And god, you’re nearly certain that your heart faltered for a split second. He was.. gorgeous.

He was middle aged, about mid forties if you were to guess. His hair was wavy and slightly greying, and from what you could see, it looked as if it were a slightly ginger or auburn colour before he started to go grey. He was physically fit, clearly someone who went to the gym regularly.

Well, at least he would make this appointment a little more exciting. He certainly was easy on the eyes.

You clear your throat, suddenly feeling a little flustered. Embarrassingly so. “Oh, it’s okay. Nice to meet you too.” You were now laying back slightly on the chair, your legs outstretched in front of you.

Doctor Abbott grabs a four wheeled stool and sits down on it, rolling over to you and situating himself near your head and grabbing a pair of blue gloves from the table next to him and putting them on his large, callused hands.

“So, today we’re just going to do regularly cleaning which includes scaling, polishing and a flossing. Is there any issues that you’ve been having recently, or are we okay to just get straight to the cleaning?” His voice was deep and professional, like he had rattled off these same words thousands of times today. He had a subtle confidence about him.

You peek up at his name tag secured around his neck. Jack Abbott. Nice name.

You feel stupidly nervous in his presence, especially now with him sitting so close to you. But you push your feelings aside and answer his question. “Well, uhm.. I haven’t been to the dentist in a while and I’ve recently noticed some tooth pain, specifically when I eat something chewy? Like, gummies in particular. It’s a little random.” You chuckle.

Jack chuckles back, the conversation surprisingly easy. “Not random at all. Tooth aches are the most common things I deal with day to day.” He continues. “So tooth pain, hm? Can you show me which tooth or teeth are paining you?”

You nod and open your mouth, your face reddening at how stupid you probably looked pointing at your back teeth. God, you hoped your breath smelled okay.

Jack nods in understanding, grabbing a dental mirror tool from the table next to him and gently pushing it into your mouth. You keep your gaze fixed upon the ceiling as he quickly examines each tooth, humming softly under his breath.

You felt one of his gloved fingers in your mouth too, guiding the instrument along your back teeth. Your breath hitches when his finger brushes against your tongue for a second.

Fuck, that felt..

God, you were really touch starved, weren’t you? You were seriously getting turned on from your dentists fingers in your mouth?

You weren’t.. obvious about how that affected you, were you?

Why was he.. smirking? A knowing look crossed Jack’s features. A slightly cocky look at that.

“You okay?” He asks casually. His finger runs over your front teeth before slipping out of your mouth. And it probably wasn’t intentional, right..?

You nod around the tool in your mouth and he pulls it out to allow you to talk properly. You suck in a subtle breath and reply to him. “Yeah! Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Yeah?” He echoes, tilting his head to the side. “You seem a little flustered, or something.” He takes a moment before continuing, his voice a little lower. “Are you enjoying this?”

You.. what the fuck were you meant to say to that?

“I.. I’m sorry. I’m just a little nervous, that’s all.” You scramble for words, trying to excuse your change in behaviour. Fuck, this was mortifying.

Jack nods smugly. You watch his expression start to change, like an idea had landed and he was running it over in his head. He then lifted his hand, signalling you to open your mouth again.

He slides two fingers into your mouth, and initially, you presume he’s just continuing your exam. But then they slide further.. resting on your tongue.

Doctor abbots voice drops an octave, something dark flashing in his eyes. “You like that?” He asks, his voice taunting and a little surprised.

Your breath catches in your throat, a heat blooming over your cheeks. You felt mortified. Humiliated. But another feeling washed over you too.

Pleasure.

It pooled between your legs, your core heating and twisting as you became slick beneath your underwear. You clench your thighs against each other, as if Jack could see through your clothes and notice how soaked you were beneath them.

Your eyes roll back slightly, a small sound of pleasure rumbling from the back of your throat. You nod your head the best you can with your mouth full, and Jacks other hand comes up to grip the side of your face. To hold you steady.

And then his fingers went deeper. Brushing against your uvula. Your eyes begin to water and you gag a little around his digits, your saliva coating his gloved covered skin and threatening to drip from your mouth.

Jack makes a humming sound in contemplation. He keeps his hand still, not pushing in or out, just resting in the back of your throat. “Interesting, hm? Getting all hot and bothered over a pair of fuckin’ gloves in your mouth. Kinky girl, aren’t you?” He chuckles.

Your cheeks are burning now, your eyes feeling unbearably heavy. They flutter closed and a string of saliva drips from your lips down to your chin.

“Hm?” Jack pushes, and your eyes fly open when you realise you hadn’t responded to him. You nod awkwardly, making a garbled humming sound around his fingers.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I can’t hear you. Say that again?” He taunts, pulling his hand back, releasing his digits from your mouth. The blue gloves were dripping with saliva and your chest burns with humiliation at the sight.

You greedily gulp down some air, your lips swollen and pink from sucking. “You like being used like this, sweetheart? Getting all messy knowing that anyone could walk in and see?” Jack asks now that your mouth was free.

“Yes, doctor Abbott. I— I like it, a lot.” You stutter, squeezing your thighs together subconsciously to ease some of the tension between them.

Jacks eyes flick down to them, catching the movement. A crooked smirk crawls onto his lips as the realisation sets in. “Are you getting messy down there too, sweetheart? Fuck, you’re pathetic.” He chuckles, bringing his fingers back up to your mouth and pushing the same two back inside.

You almost moan as they slip into your heat, your tongue swirling around the surgical glove. The texture felt pleasant on your tongue. Stimulating, actually.

Jack begins to thrust his fingers in and out of your mouth at a steady pace, brushing against a sensitive spot in your throat and making you gag every now and then. Your eyes water slightly in pleasure and you feel yourself turn molten beneath your panties. Your pussy begins to spasm uncontrollably and a feeling of panic and embarrassment washes over you.

You moan in overstimulation around Doctor Abbotts fingers as your orgasm ripples through you, your fluids dripping into your underwear, undoubtedly making the walk out of this place extremely uncomfortable with the mess you’d made.

You came. Completely untouched. That had never happened before. Hell, the men you’d been with sometimes couldn’t make you cum while touching you.

But Jack noticed it. Of course he did. You had a feeling that you wouldn’t get much past him.

“Oh, you’re cumming all over yourself. Oh fuck, baby,” Jack groans as if it physically pleases him to see you feeling good. He keeps his pace with his fingers unfaltering, your oral fixation being satisfied every time he makes you gag on his hand.

And suddenly, you think you’ll start making more dentist appointments.

Thank you for reading!! Got a little sloppy and lazy at the end so sorry about that. This is incredibly self indulgent too lol, and I’m actually dealing with some tooth aches at the moment also😭

at first it pisses him off. he understands that hes your attending and hes meant to be teaching you but god you are literally always on his heels no matter what, but one day after a hard shift he sees you crying because your landlord is threatening to evict you if you dont pay a higher amount of rent at an earlier date than usual and he asks if your okay and you just collapse into his arms. robbys shocked at the ache he feels in his chest at the sight of your tears but he rubs your back and tells you youre okay and offers to pay. after a lot of rejecting the idea of your end and lots of rather stern words from robby about how you need to have an apartments so you can be on your best form for treating patients (totally not cos he has a soft spot for you and wants to take care of you)

slowly overtime it turns into more. robby buys your groceries and gives you money to buy some new clothes and somehow it ends up with him suggesting that you move in with him for a while while you look for a new place because your current one has mold and noisy aggressive neighbours and a broken ac unit and he cant have you in those conditions, you know, for your own health. and it also gives the opportunity for some private tutoring from an incredibly experienced doctor who will now only be a few feet away at any given time for you to pick his brain.

hes 50 with no family and works all the time in a very highly paid position. hes got money. hes buying you whatever you want and even stuff you dont know you want yet. like some new underwear after you complain that your panties keep going missing? strange.

omg but hed be so encouraging when tutoring you. good girl is a common phrase he uses and it makes you feel things you are not quite comfortable divulging with your boss/roommate. you sit way to close while studying because hes old and needs to get closer to the pages while reading. his hand on your lower back while you navigate the kitchen, stroking your hair after a bad day.