1. Other Colors -- Ch.16


    Date: 12/23/2014, Categories: BDSM, Author: mascodagama, Rating: 3, Source: LushStories

    nearly crushed me. I’d been petrified of ponies, horses, mules, camels, and pretty much any other animal you could strap a saddle to ever since. “Well,” he nodded slowly, scanning me up and down, “perhaps we’ll go together this spring. I’ve never used one of these before,” he turned it over in his hand. “We wear spurs up north. But since you clearly have some experience, Penny,” he smirked at me, and struck the tongue sharply across his palm, “I think I might take the time to learn.” I flinched. The sound was palpable. I could feel it, still rippling through my bones until he finally set the awful thing aside. “Something else you ought to see,” he slid a second slip from the stack on his desk, and passed it over. “In case there was any concern…” My eyes widened. This one was more bizarre than the first. It was from a medical lab. I read his name at the top, and followed the familiar litany of sexually transmitted infections down the page, each paired in an adjacent column with a bold and crimson ‘négatif’. Admittedly, I had wondered once or twice. In each of our two intimate encounters, he’d seemed to me almost suspiciously well-experienced. But I never, not in a million years, would have asked for his test results. The fact that he’d handed them over unbidden struck me first as inconceivably libertine, but also, in a very strange and involuted way, a little bit chivalrous. I looked them over once more, and felt my lips simper. The test was dated the day after he bailed me ...
    out of jail, and I flattered myself to suppose that he’d procured them with me in mind. I passed it back, blushing. “Comme c’est romantique, Monsieur.” He crumpled up the sheet, and tossed it away into the wastebasket. “No. It’s not,” his words were frosty. “But it deserves to be said, Penny.” I lowered my eyes, regretting my little tease. “No, I um, I get it. I really do…” He nodded heavily, “Now, as for you, little girl,” he slid open a drawer, and my face went pale as he withdrew a steel otoscope, a stethoscope, and sphygmomanometer. “I’d like to look you over. I need to know you’re well before things between us get any more complicated.” More complicated? I almost laughed. As if it was possible . My stomach was still churning at the sight of his instruments. But oddly, I didn’t see any needles. I squinted as he strapped the cuff around my arm. “…Do you want my blood, Dmitri?” He shook his head, squeezing the black rubber bulb until the cuff grew bloated, and tight. I frowned, “Why not?” He ignored me, and set the cold, silver bell of his stethoscope against my arm. I shivered violently, “you um… you don’t think I was a virgin when we met?” He put a finger to my lips, hushing me, and shook his head once more. The gesture irritated me enormously. It reminded me of Doctor Foster at his finest, with its perfect blend of paternal, pedantic, and dismissive. Must be something they teach you in med school . I glared. The pulsations in my arm were getting painful. Welcome to ‘Art of ...