30 Seconds That Could Have Changed Everything

[cumslutw]

Part 12: The Doctor's Gift as a Cure

As you reach for your jeans, a shadow falls over the stall door. You look up. He's standing there, leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed. The doctor. From your position on the floor, looking up at him, the bulge in his scrubs looks even more impressive, a formidable weight of flesh. His eyes are dark, fixed on you, and then they drift down to the mess on your chest and the trickle of cum leaking from your ass.

A slow, dangerous smile spreads across his face.

"Well, well," he chuckles, his voice a low, calm rumble. "I was wrong. You do know what you're asking for. And it looks like you've earned my gift after all."

He pushes the door open and steps inside, closing and locking it behind him. He unbuckles his pants, his eyes never leaving yours. He pulls out his cock, already hard and angry-looking. The thick, heavy metal ring is still encircling the base, making it swell to an angry-red, almost purple color, every vein standing out like a roadmap on the engorged flesh. Thick, clear beads of precum drip from the tip, falling directly onto your face, one hitting your eye, burning and clouding your vision. He wipes some off with his thumb, smearing it across your lips like lip balm.

"Taste that," he commands. "That's the real thing. Not that boy's little thrill. That's just the key."

He reaches down, not to grab your arm, but to press two fingers against your pulse point, feeling your heart hammer against his touch. Then he grabs your arm and yanks you to your feet. He spins you around and slams you chest-first against the grimy tile wall, just like in his office. You feel his body press against your back, his cock hot and insistent between your ass cheeks.

"That kid is just an amateur," he growls in your ear, his voice a venomous whisper. "Some college student chasing a thrill, fucking every bare hole he can find, exploring parties... a willing but innocent amateur. I saw his lab results: nothing a few pills can't fix. Importantly, HIV negative. So, a nice mindfuck, but no real risk there. But me... I have the real thing. He was the opening act. I'm the main event."

He lines up his cock and slams into you, his entry made slick and easy by the student's load. You cry out, a mix of pain and profound ecstasy. He doesn't pause. He doesn't tease. He immediately starts fucking you with a furious, punishing rhythm, his hips a piston driving into you.

"Feel that?" he grunts, his breath hot on your neck. "That's my toxic cock rearranging your insides. I'm chasing that boy's cum deeper into you, painting over it. Marking what's mine."

"You wanted to be converted? I'm going to fucking convert you."

His words are a torrent of filth and scientific fact, each one making you harder. "Every thrust is pushing my viral load closer to your bloodstream. That kid's reckless abandon is the welcome wagon for my army. The raw friction from his hard fucking together with whatever else he might have shared with you creates a perfect, fertile pathway. Essentially giving my bugs a ride to the front of the line. You're not just getting fucked, you're getting seized. Permanently."

His pace becomes relentless, brutal. The sound of his hips slapping against your ass echoes in the small room. "You're going to walk out of here with my poison inside you. You're going to feel me for days. And when you get the flu, when your body finally surrenders, you'll know who did it to you. You'll know who claimed you – the person you seeked for help, who gave you the get-out-of-jail card that you decided to flush down the toilet. You deserve it!."

With a final roar, he buries himself to the hilt. He reaches around and presses his hand flat against your lower stomach. His palm is warm, solid. The gesture shockingly gentle. He's holding you, anchoring you both in this intense moment. The touch focuses every sensation on that single point of contact where the hard, deep bulge of his cockhead presses against your inner wall. As his cock begins to pulse and spasm, you feel it from the inside, and his hand presses firmly, as if trying to feel the throb of his own climax from the outside. It's an unspoken, shared experience, a silent acknowledgment of the profound connection as he floods you with his essence.

He stays there, panting, his weight pinning you to the wall, his warm hand still pressed against your stomach, a grounding point in the aftermath. After a long moment, he slowly pulls out. As the flare of his bulbous cockhead pulls out your ass lips, a trickle of the toxic juice begins to escape. Before it can run down your thigh, he presses two fingers against your hole, pushing the escaping seed back inside you.

"Don't waste it," he growls. "Every drop counts." He then brings those two glistening fingers to his own lips, tasting the mixture of your ass and his cum, a final, possessive act.

He gives you a rough shove, stepping back. You slump against the wall, utterly spent, cum leaking from your ass and your own load drying on your chest. He calmly tucks his cock back into his scrubs, buckles his belt, and pulls a prescription pad from his pocket. He scribbles on it, tears off the sheet, and holds it out.

"Same as the college kid will get," he says, his voice once again cold and professional. "Standard dose." He pauses, then adds with a cruel smile, "For the other... there's no cure." You take the paper, your hand trembling. He turns to the door.

"See me in four weeks," he says, without looking back. "Maybe the result will be more to your expectations then." He unlocks the door and walks out, leaving you alone, shaking, loaded with two men's cum, and holding a prescription for the temporary distraction, while forever carrying the one you can't cure.

[sleazebugga]

Wow, that was intense 😈😈☣️☣️😈😈