Doctor House Call
The brass nameplate on the gate swung slightly in the breeze—*Dr. Edwin Voss, MD*—as Dr. Carter pressed the buzzer for the third time. No answer. He rolled his shoulders, already sweating through his dress shirt in the midday sun, and peered through the wrought-iron bars. Movement caught his eye—not by the main house, but down by the turquoise shimmer of the pool. A figure stretched languidly on a lounger, one leg dangling off the side, toes skimming the water's surface. The pink silicone shape in her hand was unmistakable.
Mira Voss didn’t look up as the gate creaked open; she just trailed the toy lazily along her inner thigh, the tip catching a bead of condensation from her iced tea glass. "Dad’s at the conference in Boca," she said, as if Carter had asked. Her voice was syrup-thick with boredom—or something else. "Left yesterday." The dildo glistened under the sunscreen she’d smoothed over her skin, the scent of coconut hanging between them when Carter stepped closer.
"You ever use that thing properly?" Carter tugged at his tie, suddenly aware of how his shoes sank into the lawn’s overwatered grass. Mira’s laugh was low, private, as she finally turned her head. Her pupils were dilated despite the sun, the pink tip of her tongue flicking over her lower lip. "Define *properly*," she murmured, but she was already arching her back slightly, the strings of her bikini top loose where they were behind her neck.
Carter knelt beside the lounger, the chlorinated water smell mixing with her coconut oil as he slid a thumb under the damp fabric between her legs. "Prep work," he said, and the way her breath hitched told him she understood. The bikini bottom came off with a single tug, the wet fabric making a soft sound against her skin. He didn’t ask permission—just pressed his mouth to the inside of her thigh first, tasting salt and sunscreen before dragging his tongue upward in a slow, deliberate stroke.
Mira's fingers twisted in his hair as he worked, her hips lifting off the lounger when he found the right rhythm—not too fast, not yet. The toy lay forgotten on the concrete beside them, still glistening under the sun. Carter could feel her muscles tensing under his lips, hear the way her breath fractured into little gasps whenever he sucked just right. "Christ," she muttered, and her voice wasn’t bored anymore.
He pulled back just long enough to catch her gaze, her pupils blown wide, lips parted. "You ever let someone show you how that thing’s supposed to feel?" he asked, dragging his thumb through the wetness already smeared across her inner thigh. Her laugh came out shaky this time, half-moan. "You offering?"
Carter didn’t answer—just hooked her knees over his shoulders and dragged her to the edge of the lounger, the plastic creaking under their combined weight. The first lick was slow, deliberate, tracing the shape of her before diving deeper, his tongue working in broad, unhurried strokes. Mira’s gasp was sharp, her fingers scrabbling at the lounger’s vinyl as she arched into him. "Fuck—"
She was so close already, thighs trembling around his ears, when he pulled away abruptly, leaving her panting and slick. His belt buckle clinked as he undid it, the sound obscenely loud in the quiet backyard. The bulge in his slacks strained against the fabric, unmistakable even before he freed himself—thick and flushed, the veins standing out under the sun. Mira swallowed hard, watching him slick himself with the wetness still glistening on his chin.
"Tell me you want it," Carter murmured, pressing the broad head against her, not pushing in yet, just letting her feel the stretch already starting. Mira's breath hitched—she hadn't expected him to be this big, hadn't expected the slow burn of anticipation to coil tighter in her gut. "Jesus, yes," she managed, her voice cracking as he rocked forward slightly, just enough to tease.
The first inch was deliberate, his grip bruising on her hips as he held her still, letting her adjust to the thickness. Mira's nails dug into his forearms, her thighs shaking—she was so wet it should've been easy, but the stretch burned in the best way, her body resisting just enough to make her gasp. Carter exhaled through his nose, watching her face twist as he eased deeper, the glide obscenely slick. "Fuck, you're tight," he gritted out, his own control fraying.
Then he rolled them without warning, her back hitting the lounger with a soft thud, his body blanketing hers. He didn't pull out—just rocked his hips up once, twice, shallow and teasing, before gripping her waist and dragging her fully onto him. Mira's cry was muffled against his shoulder, her legs clamping around his hips instinctively as he filled her to the hilt. "Move," he ordered, voice rough, but his hands were already guiding her, showing her the slow, rolling rhythm he wanted.
She obeyed, tentatively at first, her fingers splayed across his chest as she lifted herself up, then sank back down with a shuddering exhale. The angle was different like this—deeper, the stretch more insistent—and she could feel every inch of him in ways that made her toes curl. Carter's thumbs dug into the soft flesh above her hips, his breath hot against her throat as he murmured, "That's it," when she found the tempo. The lounger creaked under them, the sound rhythmic, almost obscene.
It hit her suddenly—a coil snapping tight low in her belly, her muscles clenching around him without warning. Mira gasped, her back arching violently as the first wave tore through her, her vision whiting out at the edges. Carter groaned, his grip tightening as she came, her body pulsing around him in erratic spasms. Then—hot wetness splashed across his abdomen, her thighs trembling uncontrollably as she squirted, the fluid soaking his shirt and pooling between their pressed stomachs.
Mira Voss didn’t look up as the gate creaked open; she just trailed the toy lazily along her inner thigh, the tip catching a bead of condensation from her iced tea glass. "Dad’s at the conference in Boca," she said, as if Carter had asked. Her voice was syrup-thick with boredom—or something else. "Left yesterday." The dildo glistened under the sunscreen she’d smoothed over her skin, the scent of coconut hanging between them when Carter stepped closer.
"You ever use that thing properly?" Carter tugged at his tie, suddenly aware of how his shoes sank into the lawn’s overwatered grass. Mira’s laugh was low, private, as she finally turned her head. Her pupils were dilated despite the sun, the pink tip of her tongue flicking over her lower lip. "Define *properly*," she murmured, but she was already arching her back slightly, the strings of her bikini top loose where they were behind her neck.
Carter knelt beside the lounger, the chlorinated water smell mixing with her coconut oil as he slid a thumb under the damp fabric between her legs. "Prep work," he said, and the way her breath hitched told him she understood. The bikini bottom came off with a single tug, the wet fabric making a soft sound against her skin. He didn’t ask permission—just pressed his mouth to the inside of her thigh first, tasting salt and sunscreen before dragging his tongue upward in a slow, deliberate stroke.
Mira's fingers twisted in his hair as he worked, her hips lifting off the lounger when he found the right rhythm—not too fast, not yet. The toy lay forgotten on the concrete beside them, still glistening under the sun. Carter could feel her muscles tensing under his lips, hear the way her breath fractured into little gasps whenever he sucked just right. "Christ," she muttered, and her voice wasn’t bored anymore.
He pulled back just long enough to catch her gaze, her pupils blown wide, lips parted. "You ever let someone show you how that thing’s supposed to feel?" he asked, dragging his thumb through the wetness already smeared across her inner thigh. Her laugh came out shaky this time, half-moan. "You offering?"
Carter didn’t answer—just hooked her knees over his shoulders and dragged her to the edge of the lounger, the plastic creaking under their combined weight. The first lick was slow, deliberate, tracing the shape of her before diving deeper, his tongue working in broad, unhurried strokes. Mira’s gasp was sharp, her fingers scrabbling at the lounger’s vinyl as she arched into him. "Fuck—"
She was so close already, thighs trembling around his ears, when he pulled away abruptly, leaving her panting and slick. His belt buckle clinked as he undid it, the sound obscenely loud in the quiet backyard. The bulge in his slacks strained against the fabric, unmistakable even before he freed himself—thick and flushed, the veins standing out under the sun. Mira swallowed hard, watching him slick himself with the wetness still glistening on his chin.
"Tell me you want it," Carter murmured, pressing the broad head against her, not pushing in yet, just letting her feel the stretch already starting. Mira's breath hitched—she hadn't expected him to be this big, hadn't expected the slow burn of anticipation to coil tighter in her gut. "Jesus, yes," she managed, her voice cracking as he rocked forward slightly, just enough to tease.
The first inch was deliberate, his grip bruising on her hips as he held her still, letting her adjust to the thickness. Mira's nails dug into his forearms, her thighs shaking—she was so wet it should've been easy, but the stretch burned in the best way, her body resisting just enough to make her gasp. Carter exhaled through his nose, watching her face twist as he eased deeper, the glide obscenely slick. "Fuck, you're tight," he gritted out, his own control fraying.
Then he rolled them without warning, her back hitting the lounger with a soft thud, his body blanketing hers. He didn't pull out—just rocked his hips up once, twice, shallow and teasing, before gripping her waist and dragging her fully onto him. Mira's cry was muffled against his shoulder, her legs clamping around his hips instinctively as he filled her to the hilt. "Move," he ordered, voice rough, but his hands were already guiding her, showing her the slow, rolling rhythm he wanted.
She obeyed, tentatively at first, her fingers splayed across his chest as she lifted herself up, then sank back down with a shuddering exhale. The angle was different like this—deeper, the stretch more insistent—and she could feel every inch of him in ways that made her toes curl. Carter's thumbs dug into the soft flesh above her hips, his breath hot against her throat as he murmured, "That's it," when she found the tempo. The lounger creaked under them, the sound rhythmic, almost obscene.
It hit her suddenly—a coil snapping tight low in her belly, her muscles clenching around him without warning. Mira gasped, her back arching violently as the first wave tore through her, her vision whiting out at the edges. Carter groaned, his grip tightening as she came, her body pulsing around him in erratic spasms. Then—hot wetness splashed across his abdomen, her thighs trembling uncontrollably as she squirted, the fluid soaking his shirt and pooling between their pressed stomachs.
4日前
