40 Explicit Adult Stories

by Heather Hearts

  I pushed the door of my car closed and stood there, leaning against it, for a couple minutes.

  If I just got this over with, there’s a chance I could be walking out with ease.

  I clung to that idea, and forced myself to walk forward.

  More like stumble forward.

  Moving slowly, trying to keep that leg straight, I made my way to the door of the office and pulled it open triumphantly.

  The young man behind the desk looked up and smiled at me.

  “Good morning, do you have an appointment?” he asked, watching me limp towards him.

  “I do, Becca Gradford for nine,” I said, trying to swallow back tears.

  “Just to confirm, can I have your birthdate?”

  “Sure, July 6th, 2000,” I offered.

  “Thank you, go ahead and have a seat and Doctor Moore will be right out,” he smiled, motioning to the seating area. I wanted to cry at the thought of moving again, but held it in.

  No need to make a show of myself.

  Pulling out my phone, I checked the time.

  I’d gotten there fifteen minutes early.

  I could have stayed in the car a little longer.

  Sighing, I reminded myself why I’d left so early. If he could fix me up in time, there was a chance I could make it to my eleven o’clock class. I couldn’t afford to miss it anymore. I only had the biology course twice a week, but the class was a three hour block, and I would be missing six hours of it in just a week if I missed another day.

  The math of it all was running through my mind, trying to figure out the best option for what I could do, so I didn’t even notice when a door behind the receptionist’s desk opened.

  “Your nine o’clock is here,” the receptionist said softly, catching my attention.

  “She’s early,” a deep voice replied. I couldn’t help but look up, wanting to see what face was responsible for that sexy voice. “Go ahead and send her back,” the man said, making eye contact with me.

  Good god.

  He was the most attractive man I’d ever seen.

  His face was chiseled, but thick. Like a model who spent time pulling logs apart and fighting bears with his bare hands. His chin had a slight amount of stubble on it, just enough to look groomed and purposeful. His deep green eyes devoured my blue ones as we looked at eachother.

  He had to be a full foot taller than me, granted I’m only five foot four, and I could tell that his button down shirt was hiding more than just a couple muscles.

  Looking away, realizing that he could see me staring, I felt more embarrassed than I did in that yoga class.

  “Actually, I’ve got this,” he said to the receptionist.

  “I’m Doctor Moore,” he greeted me as he walked towards me.

  “I’m Becca,” I said softly, unable to pull my eyes away from his face.

  “What brings you here today, Becca?” he asked. His voice vibrated through me like thunder, and I couldn’t help but enjoy it.

  “I think I pulled, or tore, my hamstring during yoga,” I admitted, embarrassed.

  “Alright, we’ll figure that out and get you fixed up, are you able to walk?” he stopped a couple feet from me.

  “Barely,” I bit the inside of my cheek and hoped to god he had a wheelchair stashed somewhere so that I wouldn’t have to walk on this cruddy leg.

  “Here, you can lean on me for the walk back,” he offered. I shifted to stand. and he helped me the rest of the way up. His hands were warm on my bare arms, and I couldn’t help but soften against his touches as we started to walk to the back. I didn’t want to milk it, didn’t want to seem worse than I was, but I let myself relax and revel in his attention.

  As we made it through the door, into a hallway, I was hyper aware of every touch.

  Every shared sensation.

  When we made it into his office, and I was given a seat to sit in, I missed the touch of his hands almost immediately.

  My face colored at the realization, knowing exactly how embarrassing it was to get a crush on your doctor.

  “I see you filled out everything online when you set up your appointment,” he said as he pulled up my information on his computer. “You don’t have any known allergies do you?”

  “Just to cats,” I laughed.

  “I promise there are no cats in my physical therapy,” he chuckled, surprising me. I didn’t expect him to have a sense of humor for some reason.

  “Has this ever happened before?”

  “No, and I was a cheerleader for years and years,” I sighed, frowning. “I haven’t done much since I started college, this was my first day at hot yoga,” I added. I waited for him to tease the idea of hot yoga, but he kept a straight face and moved on from it.

  “Well, sometimes when you start back into something you haven’t done in a while, you try to match what you could do before a break. You have to work back up to that,” he said, making a few notes. I knew he was right, but it was still embarrassing to make such an amateur mistake. “Here, let’s get you on the hot seat,” he smiled, motioning over to a chair that looked like a work out station from any late night infomercial.

  Offering his arm, he helped me over to it, and sat me down.

  He smelled like cologne and coffee.

  It was warming, nice, and I couldn’t help but want to lean closer against him for more of a smell.

  “In just a moment, I’m going to move your leg to try and access your range of motion, it’s going to hurt, sodon’t be strong for me. I need you to be honest when it hurts,” he explained.

  I had to bite my cheek to keep myself from making a joke about safe words.

  “Your right leg, right?” he asked, pulling up a chair so he was sitting right in front of me. If he moved forward just a handful of inches, his body would be against mine.

  “Yes,” I answered.

  Slowly, fluidly, he set his warm hands on my right leg’s calf and started to straighten out my leg. The first couple of inches were fine- until the exact moment it wasn’t.

  “There, it hurts,” I gasped. He let my leg rest almost immediately, taking a couple notes.

  “Have you taken any warm baths or anything to loosen up the muscle?” he asked, setting down his pen.

  “No, just hot showers,” I answered.

  “Alright, I need you to turn over, I want to massage your hamstring and see how bad the damage is,” he explained, standing up and taking my hand. He helped me stand, and then repositioned the chair so that I could lay on it on my stomach. It looked more like a massage table now. “Here,” he helped me up onto it and moved my hair so that it wouldn’t be in my face.

  “Thank you,” I said softly, trying to keep my calm.

  His hands started at the back of my knee.

  It was low, just beneath the pain, and he worked his warm hands over it, kneading into my skin. It was soothing, comforting, and I let myself relax. His hands moved higher, and I was glad I’d worn yoga pants, but hoped to god he couldn’t see my panty lines. I definitely didn’t think I’d have a doctor I’d be attracted to when I picked out my underwear that morning.

  When his hands started working my thigh it hurt, but it also had me alarmingly turned on.

  I froze, trying to keep soft against his work, but I could feel my body reacting welcomingly to his motions. I couldn’t help but imagine his hands going a little higher, working parts of my body that could really use it. My face felt hot and red in embarrassment, and I was thankful he couldn’t see it.

  His hands went up further, massaging just under my ass, and I resisted the urge to wiggle, to offer him to go higher.

  This was important.

  I couldn’t just play around and be flirty with the only person who could fix what I’d done.

  Biting the inside of my cheek, I waited it out, realizing I could feel the tension in my leg lessening.

  This went on for around ten minutes before he stopped, leaving me melted into the massage chair, unable and unwilling to move.r />
  “Did you fall asleep?” he asked, his voice had a lilt of a smile in it, and couldn’t help but smile too.

  “No, I’m awake,” I said, moving slightly. My leg felt incredibly better, not 100%, but I could see myself possibly walking out.

  “Here,” I felt his hands on me again as he helped me sit up and turn around.

  “Thank you,” I said, moving my leg slightly to test it out. It still hurt if I bent it or straightened it too much, but it was definitely an improvement.

  “I’m going to get you a crutch, it’s going to feel really good for the rest of the day, but in the morning it’s probably going to stiffen again, you definitely tore it,” he said, smiling at me apologetically. “I think you should come back in a couple days, until then go ahead and soak it in a hot bath once a day or so,” he explained. Moving away from me, he went to his desk and started typing this up.

  “Do you take insurance?” I asked, praying to god I was covered on this.

  “We do, I’ll take your information now,” he offered. There was a smile in his eyes that made me feel so comfortable. I was definitely looking forward to our next session.

  Chapter Two

  I was able to go to class that day!

  The next day was hell, but the crutch made me able to hobble around.

  The weekend came, and I found myself looking forward to going back to his office on Monday.

  Why was it so exciting?

  It was just therapy to make my leg work again, nothing titillating or interesting, and yet I was thrilled. Part of me wanted to show him how much I’d improved, the rest of me wished my leg would stay hurt a bit longer so that I’d have an excuse to have his hands on me more than just one more time.

  The morning of the appointment I wore yoga pants again, but this time I skipped the underwear. I told myself it was to avoid the pantyline, but some part of my mind made me think it was because I also just wanted to show him I was interested.

  I knew it was crazy.

  Sure, Doctor Moore was at least twenty years older than me, there were just barely touches of gray in his facial scruff. Thirty eight isn’t that old, though, and god I couldn’t hide the fact that I was attracted to him. I didn’t see a wedding ring on his finger while I was there, and his hands were just so skilled.

  My face flushed with color at the thought as I pulled up to his office.

  Adjusting my bra, trying to look my best, I took a deep breath and grabbed the crutch. I could do this. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do, but I wanted to just push through it.

  The same receptionist was at the front desk as I came in.

  “Good morning, Becca,” he greeted me, before taking a sip of his coffee.

  “Good morning,” I replied, relieved to just sit and wait.

  I was early again, but I didn’t mind.

  It gave me time to gather my thoughts.

  Although my leg was still in pain, my thigh was still hurting, all I could think about for the last couple days was Doctor Moore. I even had a dream where we met up outside of the office and spent an afternoon in a park somewhere, kissing and enjoying each other’s company.

  I knew it was probably just a silly crush.

  My heart still fluttered, though, as he came out to greet me.

  “Hey Becca, how’s the leg?” he asked as I followed him to his office.

  “It’s a little better, I’ve been doing the soaks every day and it’s best right after that,” I added. I didn’t add that I’d thought about him more than once while relaxing in the warmth of the baths.

  “That’s good to hear,” he said, walking straight to the massage chair and setting it up so that I could lay down on it. Handing him the crutch, I happily laid down on the chair, wearing my favorite yoga pants. They hugged every inch of my body they touched, and I couldn’t help but feel sexy in them.

  He immediately set to work massaging and working my leg.

  He started just above the back of my knee again, and then slowly worked his way up. It was a tease, slow and rough as he worked my thigh with his large hands. It still hurt over my hamstring, but I leaned into the pain, not wanting to discourage him. As he worked further up, to the top of my thigh, the pressure and attention had my heart beating quickly.

  I moaned.

  Oh my god.

  His hands froze on me, and my heart stopped in my chest as I tried to figure out a way out of this.

  “Did that hurt?” he asked, his voice was cautious, like there was a line he wasn’t sure if he could cross.

  “No,” I admitted, not wanting to lie to him. “It felt really good,” I was ashamed, but honest.

  “It happens all the time, nothing to be embarrassed about,” he brushed it off, working his way down my thigh again.

  I closed my eyes, embarrassed and wanting to vanish from the world.

  When his hands starting working back up again, I realized he was doing the same thing he’d done before. It was almost like he wanted me to moan. My heart stuttered at the realization, and I gasped, relaxing against his touch. I could feel myself getting more and more aroused, and I wanted his attention to go higher, between my legs.

  He didn’t, though, and when he stopped I was quick to turn around.

  If he thought I wasn’t into it, I needed to correct that.

  His eyes were dark with desire, and he licked his lips as we made eye contact, pulling my vision down to his mouth.

  Leaning into him, our lips met.

  He faltered at first as I kissed him, and then began to kiss me back. It was rough, hungry, and I could feel my whole body vibrating with desire and surprise as he pulled me into his lap. I sat there, wrapping my arms around his neck, and kissed him like I was starved for him.

  When I shifted my weight, I could feel his arousal through my thin yoga pants.

  My mind spun with the possibilities, and I let my hips rotate so that I was grinding softly against him. His hands found my hips, and he ground up against me as well, moving like we were made for eachother. My thigh ached suddenly from the angle and I whined at the sensation, but kept kissing him.

  Doctor Moore froze.

  His hands went still on my hips, and he stopped kissing me, pulling back.

  “This isn’t appropriate,” he said after a moment.

  “What?” I asked, surprised. I could definitely feel, through our clothing, that he was still excited. I didn’t understand the change of mind.

  “I’m your physician right now, this isn’t appropriate, I can’t do this to you,” he explained, shaking his head. He moved, and helped me off his lap. I stood there, leaning against the massage chair for support.

  “I want this, though,” I said, confused. “Doctor Moore,” I said, trying to lean down and kiss him. He turned his head, looking at his desk instead of my face. “It’s not right, you only need one more session, after that I think it’s best if you stop coming here,” he said, not making eye contact with me.

  What?

  It was frustrating, and I sighed, grabbing my crutch.

  “I mean, fine, if that’s how you feel,” I said, feeling bitter and rejected.

  I could feel his eyes on me as I walked out, and I had to fight back tears during the drive to my first class. I wanted him so bad that it hurt, it didn’t make any sense why he’d deny himself something that he obviously wanted as well.

  Chapter Three

  It was the day of my final session with him.

  I was a handful of weeks into class now, and I’d more than made up for my lost time at the beginning of the semester.

  Going back into his office, after embarrassing, myself didn’t excite me. I knew that he was a professional, so he’d probably try to ease any awkwardness, but I wasn’t sure I could look him in the face after how I’d acted. I literally moaned while he was trying to fix my leg.

  “Ugh,” I groaned at myself, staring down his office as I pulled up to it.

  My leg had gotten a ton better.

  I stopped ne
eding the crutch a couple of days before, and I was working on getting a more steady gait when I walked. He’d be impressed with me, I was hoping for that. I just wasn’t sure how I’d be able to talk to him.

  Would he be happy to see me doing better?

  He’d probably be happy just to get me out of his hands.

  I tried to cheer myself up, reminding myself that now that my leg was better I could go to parties or clubs with my friends again. I wouldn’t have to stay in or sit on the sidelines. There’s an endless amount of men out there, and I could find someone else. There was no need to get fixated on him.

  When he came out of the back hall, to greet me to come back to his office, my heart beat a little faster.

  I fought that down, reminding myself I needed to be calm. I needed to get myself in order. This wasn’t appropriate or right. He was a doctor just trying to do his job, and if someone found out about him sleeping with a patient he could get fired. No matter how badly I wanted him, I didn’t want to take his career from him.

  He deserved better than that.

  Pulling myself together, trying to figure out a better way to go about this, I smiled back at him and followed him to his office.

  Doctor Moore asked me the usual questions.

  “How’s the leg?”

  “Better.”

  “Have you needed the crutch?”

  “Just for a couple days after the last visit.”

  “Have you been doing the hot soaks?”

  “Yes sir,” I answered, trying to keep my tone normal and relaxed.

  “Alright, I just want to check how tense your hamstring is now, and if it’s feeling right you’ll be free to go,” he said, his deep voice sounded happy for me. I couldn’t keep eye contact with him.

  He changed the seat into a massage chair again, and his hands were warm on my leg. I wore a less assuming pair of tights this time. They were still snug to my body, but didn’t show me off quite like the others did. I’d spent the morning laboring over what to wear, even though it shouldn’t have been a hard decision.

  God, when his hands touched my leg it was like being given water after trekking through a desert.