find beauty in what bleeds

You shake your head, before correcting yourself with words. “Nope.” 

Your cheek is pushed into the mattress as your arms are pulled beneath you and bound together, your arse wiggles high in the air, the only part of your body with any real freedom. 

Nikolai taps you, encourages you to struggle against your binds and smirks a wicked grin when you struggle just to do that. “Perfect.” 

There's a moment of silence then, stillness as the anticipation builds like a quiet storm.

The burn of his stare is heavy, inspecting you, and the weight of it makes your body react without even a single touch.

Finally, a curled knuckle nudges up your folds, teases your pretty little nub, and a delighted chuckle leaves the Russian as you jolt under his gentle caress.

And then the softness fades, replaced by hungry hands that curl next to the sensitive folds of your cunt, they pull until your lips are parted and your apex is completely exposed. “Such pretty holes, milaya.” He coos, wasting no time as he moves for further exploration. 

His hands paw upwards, grabbing at your cheeks and pulling much the same, revealing to his greedy eyes the hole you'd already denied him.

Knowing he's there, hovering above you with his eyes glued to the one thing he can't have, you shiver like a leaf, tremble like prey. 

“Fuck.” You mewl, the sensation of his hands already so good, melting you down into a puddle.

“So sensitive.” The grin on his lips is audible in his pleased words, a grin that only grows as he dares to move upwards, rubbing his slicked finger across your puckered hole. “Here too? Feels good?” 

“It feels…” You buck as his touch intensifies, the pad of his finger toying with your entrance. 

Despite everything, your hesitancy, your refusal—it feels fucking good. 

“Mmm, Nik!” You squeal, as just moments after you feel it: the wet hot press of his tongue, laving your precious entrance with reckless abandon. “I—”

“Shhh.” He mumbles between your cheeks, stubble catching sensitive flesh as he tries to quiet your pointless commentary. 

His tongue returns with vicious fervour, tasting all you have to offer and more as slick noise fills the air, mingling with the man's moans to form a taunting melody.

“Just a taste, maybe a finger.” His voice is soft, a trick to try and soothe you, his pleasant grumble an attempt at distraction.

“N—” You try to reaffirm your boundary, to keep him away from what you refused to give him, but such an action is pointless. 

A hand eclipses your head, shoves your face further into the too-expensive mattress until the sound is muffled. 

It works just as well to muffle the scream that follows, as Nikolai plunges a finger in, deep and probing, curling against you in ways you never wished to feel, and yet your body reacts like it's been waiting for it all along. 

You shiver and shake and moan and shout—the pleasure, the pain, the intrusion, and the intimacy all overwhelming your fragile little brain.

It's not long before the lust takes him, the hunger and the fire and the impatience. He laid his trap, and waited so long for all the pieces to fall into place, placated you with numbing sweetness all for the jagged teeth to sink into you before you have time to realise. 

The jaw has closed, there's no escape.

He shuffles behind you, and you freeze in fear, knowing what comes next. 

First his belt, then the rustle of his jeans, and before long you feel it, that thick, heavy, gorgeous cock rubbing against your slickened hole. 

With his hands focused on shifting you into place, you can crane up your head, cry out one more time. “Nikolai, red, please!” 

He grows tired of your pleading, your denial of what is best for both of you, and shoves the boxers he just stripped himself of straight into your protesting mouth—then he taps you on the cheek, twice for good measure.

“Dumb little thing, nyet?” He scoffs as he returns to his rightful place at your rear. A quick rummage around his beside table produces the lube he's prepared just for a night like this. 

He flicks the cap, squeezes a plentiful amount on you, on him. 

After all, he's a gentleman; he doesn't want it to hurt… too much.

“Just like the other girls. Won't do anal, will do bondage. Can't say no, now, hmm?” 

He ruts against your hole with the head of his cock, gentle pushes that tease and taunt.

And then he breaches. You hiss, he groans, slowly sinking in until each fat inch is swallowed by your greedy, untouched hole. 

He can hear the choked-back sobs, feel the way your body trembles and your entrance chokes him.

“I know, first time. But this is your fuck hole.” He coos his explanation to you with sickening condescension, like you just needed a big, smart man to finally show you the way. 

Mercifully, a hand sinks lower, curls round to toy at the spot where his balls meet your other opening. “This? This is baby box. Only fucked when breeding. An honour, not fit for just any girl.” 

You shouldn't shiver; you certainly shouldn't gush the way your cunt does at that moment. 

He takes a moment to push in that final inch, sheathing himself fully in your virgin arse, his new home.

“But you're taking me so well. Asshole made for me.” 

Despite the attempt at preparation, it burns, and yet one of Nik's hands pets your head like it's all an act of love.

oh, shit. just when you’d nearly forgotten about the sloshing of your stomach, he proves that he knows you too well, is too skilled in the art of reading you. his free hand works its way under your tank top, hem twisting and bunching up to your waist until he can properly grip your tummy and press the heel of his palm into your bladder. your reaction is immediate, some mixture of discomfort and anticipation forcing out a moan that had been caught in your throat for far too long.

"caleb, please—" you gasp, head falling back to his shoulder as you attempt to squeeze your thighs together.

he has the audacity to laugh, chest rumbling against your skull as your knees are held in place by an invisible force, more powerful than you could ever comprehend. the thought alone makes you clench around him, earning yourself a moment of respite from his hand teasing your bladder as he buries his face in your neck again and groans out a few expletives. but it truly only lasts a moment, his hips jerking upwards to thrusting himself up into your wet cunt.

"please what, hm? if you want something you have to ask for it, baby."

"need to get up, need to pee."

"awww," his voice drips with condescension, the hand not toying with your belly tugging the neckline of your top down until he can free your tits from the thin material. "little girl needs to piss? go on, then."

his calloused fingertips find a hardened nipple, pinching and twisting until you arch your back with a harsh gasp. his laughter is downright mean this time, and though the warmth of your cheeks is due (in part) to embarrassment, you can’t deny the building heat that travels all the way down to where your bodies meet. all the way down to your fingers (one clawing at his forearm as the other tightens around his wrist, holding him in place where he continues to tease your nipples), and all the way down to your toes (curling against his shin as your body seizes); burning your insides until you consider letting go.

“just a couple hours ago it was ‘please, caleb! let me ride you! i promise i’ll be good! let me keep you warm, caleb!’”

all you can do is whine in defeat, head falling back to his shoulder. you meet his gaze, eyes hooded and hazy. the image of him before you is soft around the edges, his dewy skin nearly glowing in the cool, dark of the room.

“is it too much, sweetheart?” he coos, tone nearly bordering on sweet as he brushes his lips over yours. but it’s cloying and you know better, even with the slow pace your brain is currently working at. “you know what will make it all better…”

his fingers slide through your folds with ease, spreading your lips with the width of his palm before he slaps his fingers lightly against your swollen clit. it makes your body jolt against him, squeezing his cock and jostling your stomach. and it’s all a bit too much, a bit too intense. he’s rubbing you now, tight little spirals, so quick they make you cry out— and there’s something warm, something wet relaxing your reluctant mind and dripping down the veins of his cock.

you were always so confused about your body. growing up without an older sister, aunt, or mother figure left you with no one to guide you through the depths of your own body. you had no one to ask what did things mean, you were mostly clueless to women’s health. you pieced what you could together through basic info on the internet. googling symptoms, even spiraling in wikipedia hell, yet you still felt deeply embarrassed and ignorant.

after months of vague pelvic discomfort and irregular periods you decided to bite the bullet and book an appointment with your local gynecologist, especially after your best friend vaguely mentioned that “you should get checked out.” you chose dr. nanami because of his reviews, while there were only a few, they were all positive. they said he was “thorough” and “patient with anxious first-timers and younger patients.” everything you needed, yet as you sat in the waiting room with sterile white lights shining over you, you fidgeted. blushed while filling out the initial intake form. when the reception finally called you back, you knew that there was no turning back now. you sat on the hard plastic chair, already shy, clutching your purse, thighs pressed together so tight under your sundress it was like your unconsciously body is already refusing the exam before it even started. but when dr. nanami walked through the door, a small weight seemed to lift off your shoulders for a reason you couldn’t understand.

He greeted you with a warm, paternal smile that seemed to make you give a shy smile back. in that gentle, professional, doctor way that made patients relax “miss l/n.” mid-to-late-40’s, tall, deep voice, polished, impeccably dressed in a white overcoat over slacks and a white button down, and framed glasses. you didn’t notice the slight shift in his demeanor when he first saw you.

he knew the moment he laid eyes on you that he wanted to ruin you.

then the standard questions started. menstrual history, medical background, sexual activity (to which you admitted you had no past partners, only touched yourself occasionally, and even then it was only clumsy external rubbing). “it doesn’t really feel… good? Or maybe it does? I’m not sure what it’s supposed to feel like.” you admitted to him, because that was the truth, you could never bring yourself to finish or even get closer to that edge, everything just felt unsatisfactory but you just convinced yourself you were one of those people who maybe just didn’t find masturbation enjoyable? nanami listened with a perfect bedside demeanor, nodding empathetically that made you feel utterly seen “It’s quite common for young women without proper guidance to be uncertain about their own bodies. That’s why we’re here.”

but what he really thought? clumsy little thing doesn’t even know what an orgasm is. perfect.

he recommended a “full pelvic exam” for baseline health, emphasizing how important it is for someone your age with “limited experience.” you had to undress, pulling your dress off with shaky hands in the corner of the room, then your bra, then your panties, but nanami stayed in the room while you changed. his eyes locked onto the floor (or so you thought) from across the room, he claimed him staying in the room “saved time and reduced anxiety,” and poor old you believed every bit of it. the thin paper gown he gave felt harsh on your skin and made you feel utterly exposed, yet the warm aura that came from nanami made you believe that everything was going to be alright.

everything felt normal. he checked your vitals, the breast exam was swift, etc. he was thorough in ways you should’ve noticed if you weren’t so ignorant, lingering touches, the subtle bulge that slowly started to form in his slacks the longer his fingers were on you, him rolling your nipple between his thumb and index finger. just once. barely noticeable, and over as soon as it started but causing a small whimper past your lips that make his cock twitch in his slacks while explaining everything in textbook language you barely understood.

sensitive, bet she’d cry so pretty with my mouth on them while begging for more. you, so stupid, so naive, thought that maybe all doctors were this thorough.

stupid.

then the pelvic exam came.

so stupid.

he had you lay back on the stiff table, thighs pressed together as he changed his gloves. the latex snapping against his wrist sounded like a round being put in a chamber. you watched his back as he moved across the room grabbing the necessary equipment, you were actively avoiding the stirrups where your feet were supposed to go. but the moment he turned around and saw you there, shaking slightly, something shifted in him. most doctors would comfort you, take their time with you. but nanami? it fueled his disgusting brain even more. the look of you, so nervous and at his expense, he almost turned you over and fucked you raw on this very table. the sight of your thighs pressed together made his cock throb heavily against the front of his slacks. but externally? he just gave you the a small warm smile, the kind that made your shoulders relax despite your legs still being pressed tight.

“don’t worry, miss l/n, it’s alright. we’ll take it nice and slow. many young women find the stirrups intimidating at first. let’s get you comfortable, yeah?”

his voice was steady, professional in the way you believed everything he said. he rolled his stool right between your thighs. he then helped you position your feet in the stirrups himself, one hand lingering on your calf while the other stayed on your inner thigh for a moment too long “for support.”

bullshit.

the paper gown crinkled loudly as he lifted the hem up to your waist, exposing you completely under the harsh and sterile white light. the cool air hit your bare skin making you shiver, or maybe it was the way nanami gazed at your cunt, like he had been undressing you with his eyes long before you were actually naked, you couldn’t tell from which. you stared at the tiles on the ceiling like they were the most interesting thing in the world, afraid if you looked down that all of this would become real.

“perfect. just scoot your hips a little closer to the edge… there you go. excellent.” he adjusted the overhead lamp, staring openly at your pussy while pretending to calibrate it. he used his gloved fingers to slowly inspect the external vulvar area with clinical precision. parting your folds gently with his index finger, noting positively on the color, the lack of lesions, and the “healthy appearance.” but his sick thoughts inside his mind were a complete devoid of what he said outwardly.

fuck, look at the pretty pink slit. barely touched, clenching around nothing. dripping already just from being looked at. this little thing walked right into my office like a gift. he thought. no fucking way i’m wearing latex for this, i want to feel how soaked this clueless cunt gets.

his cock was already half-hard in his slacks. he palmed himself once, slowly, while “reaching for the light.” but what really got you was the sound of latex, not being put in place, no, being taken off. he peeled off his gloves right in front of you, tucking them in his coat pocket. your eyes snapped from the ceiling to him, searching, yet instead he told you “for the internal portion i’m going to proceed without gloves. latex can dull the temperature and texture perception, and for a baseline exam on a younger with limited experience, direct contact can give us much more accurate information about elasticity, lubrication, any subtle tenderness, and overall vaginal health. it’s standard in thorough practices. is that all right with you?”

you nodded quickly, too quick, embarrassed to even have an opinion. afraid of being a bad patient. afraid of being a problem. “if that’s what’s best…”

so so stupid.

he kept one hand on your inner thighs “to steady you.” you didn’t even remember trying to close your legs again, he used his other hand to part you open. his fingers were warm compared to the latex you braced for. slightly rough. bare. no latex barrier. just the friction of skin on skin.

the sterile room smelled sharply of antiseptics, but something underneath it was muskier. the paper crinkled loudly as you shifted, the cold metal from the stirrups bitting into your heels.

one thick digit traced your slit just like earlier, but this time he collected your wetness, circling your clit in small slow motions. “how does this feel?” he asked, voice low and even, bordering clinical like he was checking your blood pressure. like this was normal.

“it-it feels kind of… strange. tingly i guess?” you whispered unsure, staring hard at the ceiling tiles while your face burned. “perfectly normal,” he murmured. so fucking clueless that she doesn’t know that she’s doesn’t know that she’s getting wet for her doctor. pathetic, greedy cunt. i could knock her up right here on this table—fill her up until she’s leaking my cum for weeks.

“you’ll feel some pressure now. try to relax your muscles… good. how does this feel?” he pushed one thick digit in slowly, then a second, curling, stroking your walls with precision while his thumb “accidentally” kept brushing your clit. the wet squelching noise filled the filled the room obscenely as he scissored you open. the stretch burned slightly but sent a confusing spark to your gut as he pumped slowly. his other hand stayed resting on your inner thigh, parting, rubbing small circles into them all while gently but firmly keep them apart.

“it… it feels weird. full? but i don’t know if it’s supposed to—“ he deepened the motion instantaneously, hitting the spot you didn’t have a name for that made your hips jerk. the spongy spot inside of you he rubbed with deliberate yet professional strokes caused a involuntary moan to slip past your lips. “excellent response. that’s normal. some discomfort mixed with sensation is expected.” he said calmly. “your pelvic floor is quite reactive. that’s a good sign.”

like he’d had done this before.

his hand that was resting on your thigh moved abruptly. under the exam table, away from your vision, though not entirely, his other hand palmed his thick obvious bulge that was straining against his slacks. he squeezed himself once through the fabric, stroking once, twice, while his finger continued to work you open.

monthly appointments from now on— i’ll have her bent over this table like my own personal cumdump every four weeks, pretending it’s “pelvic floor therapy.”

the sounds that were coming from your cunt were obscene. wet squelching, those very noises would keep nanami up for days straight feeding his sick fantasy while he jerked off under his desk between patients, in the shower, in bed.

you caught the motion from your peripheral — the rhythmic movement of his arm, the way his hips shifted slightly. your eyes flicked down for half a second. was that…? no? no. you’re just nervous. hallucinating. doctors don’t… you’re imaging it because you’re gross and anxious. don’t be stupid. you snapped your gaze back to the ceiling, heart hammering. the nerves of your first gyno visit is clearly making you hallucinate.

no one ever taught you about this kind of thing, so this must’ve been normal.

he felt you clench and smiled that paternal smile.

“excellent muscle tone. you’re doing very well.” he said. she saw my cock. looked away like a scared little rabbit. but she saw it. next time i’ll make her watch me stroke it while i finger-fuck her. he kept the rhythm steady—slow, deep, agonizingly so. curling his fingers every few thrust—while his thumb brushed your clit “to assess sensation.”

“how does this feel now?”

you whimpered. “it’s… a lot. i feel really weird. like something’s building.”

he added a third finger, stretching you wider unpredictably. “breathe through it. tell me if the pressure changes.” i could cum in my pants right now just from how she’s sucking my fingers in. bet she’s never had anything this thick inside of her. i own this pussy now. she’ll be booking monthly appointments thinking that this is what healthcare feels like. stupid slut.

your mind questioned what was happening while your body betrayed you — slick coating his bare hand and practically leaked down to his wrist. you didn’t understand what was happening, only that it felt complete overwhelming, the pressure became intense. your thighs shook in the stirrups, you bit your lip to supress those pathetic whimpers and moans. you didn’t understand the heat coiling low in your belly or why your hips kept wanting to move.

“dr. nanami… it feels… really intense. like my body is doing something on its own. can we… can we take a break. please? or maybe i can finish this another time? maybe i could reschedule an appointment for another day…”

he didn’t pull his fingers out. he just slowed them. kept them buried deep inside you and he looked at you with that warm, parental, understanding expression that made your feel like you were the one being ridiculous.

“i hear you. and it’s completely valid to feel overwhelmed—many-first-time patients do. but stopping now would leave the exam incomplete. your symptoms, the pelvic discomfort, irregular periods, the uncertainty about pleasure—point to possible pelvic floor issues or possible vaginismus. this could indicate something that we’d need to catch early on. if you reschedule, we’d likely have to repeat a lot of this, which might be even harder next time. we wouldn’t want that, right? many patients regret not finishing. you’re already being so brave. just a little longer and we’ll have everything we need. you don’t want to be one do this girls who avoid care because of nerves, do you?”

you hesitated, tears forming in your eyes. “breathe. you’re safe. this is what a proper exam feels like. your body is reacting this way because it had never properly been examined before. trust the process.” he added, his voice dropping slightly.

you felt guilty. stupid. like you were wasting his time and being difficult to a man who was only trying to do his job.

you cracked, self-deprecating “i-i’m so sorry. you’re so right… i don’t want to be a problem, i’m just being silly. i can do it. really. please just keep going. i trust you. i’m sorry for interrupting…” you even spread your thighs a little wider in apology, mortified at yourself.

his smile softened. “no need to apologize. you’re communicating perfectly. let’s finish strong.” you didn’t even notice while you were apologizing he took the opportunity to palm himself again—full, slow squeeze of his cock through his slacks, thumb brushing at the angry head where a wet spot was starting to form. you didn’t look this time. you kept your eyes glued to the ceiling like it could save you. he rewarded you by speeding up, his mask slipping just a fraction. “Good girl. such a cooperative patient. how does this feel now?”

but you didn’t respond this time, you couldn’t, not properly at least. your breath hitched. your head was all fuzzy, tears blurring your vision. your walls fluttering, then clamping down hard around his bare fingers like your pussy was trying to both push him out and pull him back in at the same damn time. a sudden, intense, and overwhelming wave crashed through you—your whole body jerked, face twisted, back arching off the table. slick gushed around his hand and the table beneath you. you came with a broken little sound you’ve never heard yourself make before.

he kept fucking you through it, repeatedly hitting your g-spot, drawing it out and milking it, pupils dilated far beyond reasoning. your first real orgasm—you whimpered, ashamed. he prolonged it while palming himself to the edge but not finishing, saving it for a later fantasy.

when it finally subsided you were panting, confused, mortified. “i think… i had an accident? or… what was that?” he slowly removed his fingers, letting them linger on your swollen clit for just a moment too long. showing you, holding them up to the sterile light, then wiping it on your inner thigh with clinical detachment.

“no accident at all. that was an involuntary release—completely normal during internal stimulation, especially for you first time experiencing it. it tells us that your nerves are responding appropriately. nothing to feel ashamed about miss l/n.” he deepened his fingers one more time, claiming to “check your cervix” all while your body was still twitching, wanting to push you over the edge. he helped you sit up, praised how well you did, let you pull down your gown. the rest of the appointment passed in a haze.

“everything looks healthy. no abnormalities. however, given your full history and the fact that this did your first full exam, i’d like to see you back in four to six weeks for a follow up. we can recheck your cycle patterns and go over any self-monitoring techniques if you’d like.” he handed you his business card with his direct line scribbled on the back. “call the office to schedule. or you can reach me directly if anything comes up before then. please, don’t hesitate.”

you got dressed once again, slipped off your gown to put your sundress back on. you didn’t notice that your panties were gone, must’ve been the way way that your thigh were shaking or how your mind was still cloudy. you didn’t see just earlier when he slipped them inside his coat pocket. but as you thanked him and left the room he took the damp fabric and brought them to his nose, inhaling deep with a small smirk. i’ll wrap them around my cock tonight and jerk off to the memory of her gushing on my fingers. next visit i’m tasting her directly. he put them back in his pocket along with the facade he slipped back on.

you left on shaky legs, still wet, still throbbing, still telling yourself that this was normal.

later that night you tried to sleep. you couldn’t. every time you closed your eyes you felt his fingers, heard his deep voice.

how does this feel?

your hand slipped between your legs almost on autopilot without you even realizing. you started like you always did—clumsy circles on your clit—but it wasn’t enough. not after today. you slid two fingers inside yourself the way he had. tried to copy the curl, the upward press.

how does this feel?

you moved faster, chasing that same “tingly” feeling as you did earlier, the same pressure. shame flooded over you instantly.

no one ever taught me… this must be what he meant by reactive. i’m just following his instructions. he was helping me.

tears pricked your eyes even as you rolled your hips against your hand. you added a third finger, gasping at the stretch. though it didn’t feel as good as when he did it, but it was close enough to make you moan broken into your pillow. you whispered his words back to yourself.

how does this feel?

the guilt made the pleasure sharper, more intense. when it hit you again you had to bite your pillow to stay quiet. your body shook harder then it did on that exam table. you came again thinking of his calm face between your legs.

what the fuck is wrong with me? you thought. he was just doing his job. being through. and i’m here fingering myself to the memory like some gross pervert. he even said it was normal. i’m the one making it sexual. i’m the problem.

completely unaware that the real pervert had been that man in the white coat.

you curled up small, eyes burning. you felt dirty. ignorant. broken.

but you also knew that were already going to call in the morning and book that follow up. better yet? you would use his direct line.

his monthly toy.