6: Coming Undone
Informed Consent.
Simon’s trembling fingers gripped the armrests of his office chair, knuckles white. His chest heaved, breathing a struggle, each ragged inhale laced with the lingering funk of their coupling. The drab walls seemed to spin around him, reality crinkling at the edges.
“That was…novel,” he managed to say. The moment seemed to demand something.
Carol’s lips curved into a smirk. She reached for her bra.
“Was it really, Simon? You know what boundaries are for? To be broken. Anal?” She made a tick sign in the air. “Check. Was I tight enough for you?”
Her casual tone painted him in the grimy shades of shame. Another line crossed. Another sweaty betrayal of every principle that defined him as a doctor. As a man.
“We… we can’t… this can’t happen again.” Simon clutched at propriety, but even as he spoke, his body played traitor: his cock twitched with the aching memory of cleaving her open.
He wanted her. He wanted it. Still.
Carol chuckled, a rich, velvet sound, her face obscured as she pulled the scrub top over her head. “Oh Simon, always the perfect gentleman.” Her head emerged from the fabric, her gaze edged with amusement. “Don’t fret, pet. Your little secret is tucked away with me. For now.”
The veiled threat was unmistakable. A chill snaked up Simon’s spine.
“Carol, you can’t,” he whispered, panic rising. “I could lose everything…”
Carol slid off the desk with the fluid grace of a predator sated. She was still half-dressed, her lower body bare save for the faint sheen of sweat and the liquefying traces of his spend.
“Isn’t that what makes it exciting?” she said, her voice curling around him like smoke. “Isn’t that what you want? A spark to cut through the monotony? What could be more elevating than sodomising your trainee—the one you were meant to be mentoring, nurturing, protecting? Doesn’t it thrill you to know you’re nothing more than an animal when you shove your cock into my arsehole? To be on top for once? Come on. Admit it. Between friends. You love it. You can’t survive without it. Without me.”
Her nearness overwhelmed him, clouding his judgement. Simon closed his eyes, denial his frail shield against the conflicting desires hammering at him.
He was a respected surgeon, for God’s sake. He couldn’t throw it all away for…this.
But as Carol’s fingertips grazed his cheek, he leaned into her touch.
“I don’t know what I want,” he mumbled. Weak. Weak. Weak. His father’s voice. Tutting.
She patted his cheek as if consoling a pet.
“Oh Simon, I think you know exactly what you want. The question is, are you brave enough to do what it takes to get it?”
Carol’s fingers trailed away from Simon’s cheek. She reached behind her back, fastening her bra with a practised motion. The soft snick of the clasp brought him back to this small, dark space. Suddenly, he was aware of how constrained his existence was.
“So,” she said, “will I be seeing you again, Mr. Fraser? Or are you suspended for good? Is this how your illustrious career ends? A sticky fuck on the office desk with your young trainee?” A laugh. “Not a bad ending, I suppose. Certainly memorable. Should we say ’goodbye’? Or ‘au revoir’?”
Anger sparked. “I’m on leave, not suspended,” Simon growled. “There’s a difference. I can come back. If-I mean, when…”
Carol nodded sagely. “Of course. My mistake.” That smirk again.
He couldn’t take his eyes off her. He still wanted her, despite everything. Or perhaps because of everything. Desperation made the offer.
“We could still meet. I could… give you my number.” He paused, swallowed, choked the rest out. “If you’d like to. After work? Your work, I mean. I… I’d be free. Whenever it suits.” Waited, hands fists.
A flicker of something - pity? Amusement? - crossed Carol’s face. She shook her head.
“Oh, Simon, let’s not complicate things, yeah? No need to blur the lines between personal and professional. This stays here. I like fucking you here in the hospital but now that you’re a relic….” she shrugged. “I guess I’ll have to occupy myself some other way.”
Her dismissal cut deep, hitting bone. He swallowed hard, shame a bitter bolus in his gullet. “Right. Of course. That’s… probably for the best.”
Part of him felt relieved at her refusal. He had always known his dalliance with Carol would have to end some day, but she was an intoxicating drug. Giving her up would be hard, especially now he’d resolved to give up his other addictions. Resolved, he reminded himself, and failed.
Carol’s eyes glowed with mischief. “You know,” she said, leaning against his desk, “there might be other ways we could… expand our horizons. It could be something different.”
A thump beneath his breastbone. His heart. “What do you mean?”
She traced a finger along the edge of his desk, glanced at him sidelong. An eyebrow rose.
“I’ve been thinking about inviting someone else to join us.”
His mouth was dry, tongue cleaving to his palate. “Someone else? A… a third person?”
Carol nodded. “Mm-hmm. A woman. Can you imagine the possibilities, Simon?”
He didn’t need to. He was primed, like Pavlov’s dog panting for the bell. A word from her was all it took. A kaleidoscope of images clattered through his mind - tangled limbs, grunts, the wet slap of leather on skin, the forbidden thrill of it all.
But alongside the desire, fear lurked.
His reply quivered. “The risks…”
She laughed, mocking. “Oh, come on. Where’s your sense of adventure?”
His mind was already careening off the hard edges of reality. Desire and discipline shredded him cleanly into multiple quivering fragments.
“I need time,” he finally managed. “To think about it.”
She studied him for a moment, as if he were a tumour she’d just excised, before she leaned back against the desk, spreading her legs. He stared, transfixed, as her right hand slipped between her thighs, index finger toying with her clitoris. Her hips undulated oh-so-slowly, the rise and fall hypnotic.
Her counter was matter-of-fact, as if discussing a bestseller at a book group.
“You know, I’ve been exploring my sapphic side lately. It’s been… enlightening.”
“How?” One word was all he could manage.
“There’s this woman I’ve been seeing. She’s older, Simon, about your age but she’s something else. A true submissive. She does anything I want, just like you, but better. The way she moves, the way she tastes…mmm.” Her tongue flicked over her lower lip. “Yes. I think you’d like her. More importantly, I think I’d like having the both of you. I know she would enjoy it. And I think you would too.”
Simon sat still, transfixed. Her finger slithered between her pussy lips, glistening. She was wet.
“It’s different with a woman,” Carol continued, her tone almost reverent. “There’s an understanding, a shared language of desire. But then again, there’s something to be said for a man’s… firmness. Especially when directed. Oh! Oh, that’s good.”
Her finger was knuckle deep now, curling at the joint. Her hips pivoted, tilting up so he could see it burrowing into her.
“Carol, I—” Two words, this time. An improvement. A tiny triumph.
She glared at him. “Don’t interrupt me, Simon, especially when I’m fingerfucking myself. Shut your slack jaw and just picture it. The three of us, tangled together. Exploring. Pushing boundaries. She’s grown remarkably adept at following orders. She kneels without prompting now. Takes direction beautifully.”
A flicker of something crossed her face—something like pride, or maybe even affection.
“She’s got this… scent. Like lavender and old books. Strangely familiar. Comforting, in a way. But underneath it all—there’s this quiet desperation. Like she’s been waiting for me. Or maybe for both of us.”
Simon blinked, unsettled by the odd tenderness in Carol’s voice.
“Carol, what you’re suggesting isn’t—”
“—Ethical? Safe?” She laughed, low and dangerous. “You stopped caring about ethics when you let me gag you with your own tie the last time we met.” She pushed herself back onto the desk and placed a bare foot on the desktop. She was wide open, her pussy lips sticking to her probing fingers-two, now-as she masturbated. “Picture it: her collared at my feet while I command your cock. You’d both wear my marks—clamps on her nipples, a violet crop welt across your thighs. I’d orchestrate every gasp. I’m getting very, very wet just thinking about it.”
She described it in surgical detail: the woman bound spreadeagled to the examination table, Carol’s stilettos digging into the small of his back as she forced his face between the woman’s legs.
Suddenly, Carol slid off the desk and straddled his legs, her pussy at eye level. She bent forward, running that slick finger across his lip. Involuntarily, he lapped at it like a pug dog offered a rare treat. Her breath was hot in his ear.
“You’d learn,” she whispered. “How to make her beg in stereo. How to hold your orgasm until I permit it. How to thank me afterwards—on your knees, cleaning her juices from my heels.”
He saw it. He saw it all.
Carol straddling the woman’s chest, gloved hand fisted in the woman’s hair as she forced her mouth onto Simon’s cock. “Count his strokes,” she’d snap. “Twenty precisely, then beg him to stop.”
The power dynamic thrummed in his veins: Carol as conductor, Simon and the third trembling instruments.
Carol arched one sculpted brow.
“You’ve already fallen, Simon. This is just… gravity.” Her hand slid around his neck, nails scraping his jugular. “Or shall I tell HR how you wept the last time when I denied you release?”
That threat again, sweet and suffocating as chloroform, the anaesthesia of need. Simon’s mind fractured—visions of his wedding band discarded on the clinic floor, the sting of Carol’s bony palm across his face, her cackle as he gasped.
His heart pounded in his chest. “What do you want from me?”
That smirk again. “I’m inviting you, Simon. To join us. To experience something… transcendent.”
He opened his mouth. Found no words.
Her face loomed in front of his, eyes sparkling, lips glistening. Delight and danger. “You don’t have to say anything right now. Just think about it. Imagine. Dream.”
Simon teetered on the edge, unsteady, unready for the plunge.
“Carol,” he said, his voice hoarse, “this is… it’s a lot to process.”
She leaned in closer; her eyes were all he could see. Her breath washed over him.
“I’ve already scouted out a few locations on the campus, Simon. It would be easy. We could start in one of the peripheral operating rooms, after dark. They’re refurbishing the suite at the Eastman Building. It’d be easy to get in. Maybe we could strap her down in the gynaecological examination table, legs in stirrups, get out a tray of instruments, a speculum or two, maybe even the dilator?” She grinned. “We’d have to be quiet, of course. Maybe we’d have to gag her? Maybe gag you too?”
A chance to lose himself, to forget the weight of his failures. And the thrill, the buzz, the adrenaline surge, the jeopardy of discovery.
“I can’t deny I’m… intrigued,” he said. “But can we trust her?“
Carol’s laugh cut through the tension. “Mr. Fraser, ever the meticulous surgeon. Sometimes you need to make an incision without knowing exactly what you’ll find. We’re surgeons. The lives of others, danger, wounding to heal… we thrive on it. It’s our business. No?”
He met her gaze, seeing the challenge there. “And if it all goes wrong? If we’re discovered?”
“Then we’ll have had one hell of a ride,” Carol replied, her tone unapologetically brazen. “Isn’t that worth something?”
He ran a trembling hand through his greying hair, acutely aware of how far he’d strayed. “I need to know… what are the rules?”
“Rules?” Carol rolled her eyes. “Simon, Simon, Simon. We meet. We fuck. We fuck off. That’s it. Those are the rules.”
“You don’t understand,” he said, attempting to rise. “I have a lot to lose. My career, my reputation—”
She pushed him back down. He landed heavily.
“Already in tatters,” she finished for him, her tone sharp. “Face it, Simon. You’re not the man you used to be. Everyone’s talking about it. Everyone knows you’re having a hard time holding it together. You’re breaking up, honey. You’re coming undone. Like a badly tied suture. Maybe it’s time to embrace that. Let the wound split. Let it bleed.”
The truth. He’d been unravelling for months, one thread at a time. He knew it. And so did she.
“You could lose everything,” Carol continued, “or you could gain something you never knew you wanted.” She stood up, bent down, picked up her scrub trousers. “Think about it, Simon. But remember, opportunities like this don’t come along every day and I won’t wait forever for you.”
“I’ll do it,” he said, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. “Whatever you have planned, I’m in.”
Carol smiled, a grin splitting her face as she patted him on the head.
“That’s my boy. That’s my good, good boy.”
The room seemed to tilt. Simon’s hands still gripped the armrests, but now they trembled not with shame, but with anticipation.
The end—or the beginning.
Either way, he was already lost.