Burn . . . Erotica Volume 2

by Jade Stone

“Really?” I asked.

  “Yes... for a woman!”

  My jaw dropped.

  “You’re kidding...” I said.

  “No! She’s an anaesthetist here at the hospital. Her girlfriend is a doctor here as well. After fifteen years with Chad she just up and left. He usually works during the day, but he’s now helping out as duty doctor at night so he doesn’t have to run into her or the doctor who took his wife.”

  She gave me a knowing look, looking pleased with herself for knowing and sharing this information. I still couldn’t believe her unprofessionalism, and I wondered how she kept her job. Yet I certainly wasn’t about to make a complaint.

  The nurse finally scurried away. I was very pleased she got assigned to me. My head was spinning. What a strange day this had been.

  * * * *

  After I woke from my ICD procedure, Chad came to see me and brought the photos with him. It was a good distraction, because I did not like the ICD. Due to my condition, I am very thin, so it poked out above my left breast like I was some sort of windup toy. It looked and felt awful. I probably couldn’t wear singlets from now on. But seeing the happy images of myself and his little sister was quite emotional, and before I knew it I was in tears again, and he had to console me. He also brought me some iced tea, and took me for a walk in the park outside the hospital when his shift was finished. I told him about my fiancé, but he didn’t tell me about his wife. I could tell he was still in pain. But he came to see me regularly—even when he wasn’t required at work, I noted.

  When he was gone, I was hot between my thighs. I would often request all the curtains be drawn, and I would lower my hand under the blanket and think about him. I knew he had noticed me, though only once was it obvious, when I had been feeding some ducks in the park outside the hospital. He had looked away when I caught him checking me out. He knew I had caught him, and his face blushed. Suddenly, he needed to go back to work. When he took my arm to lead me back, neither of us said anything until we were back at the ward. There was something happening between us, and it was getting stronger every day.

  I looked at myself in the mirror. My long hair needed a bit of a trim, and some of the dark re-growth was coming through underneath the deep red which I colour it, but in all modesty I wasn’t too bad to look at, even after being dead. I was annoyed, though, that I couldn’t put on mascara to at least enhance my green eyes, because I didn’t tell anyone I was here except my sister, and when my sister visited me she always forgot to bring anything I requested. Yet Chad remained largely impartial to my presence. He truly is one of the decent ones, I told myself. Or perhaps he’s gay, too, I laughed to myself. He’s my surgeon, I reminded myself again. He could get in serious trouble. I’m just desperate... I haven’t been banged for three years, and I’ve been too scared to get near anyone. I’m still hurting, I told myself. That’s why I was lusting after this man—because he would never get close enough to hurt me.

  When we were sitting in the park again, he finally told me about his wife.

  “Did she always like women?” I asked.

  “Yeah, she was bisexual. But that’s not why she left me,” he replied.

  I decided to pry a little further.

  “Why did she leave...?” I asked him.

  “Because I neglected her,” he said. “I was consumed with my work. I was so consumed with everything I wanted to do, I didn’t see it coming...”

  He swallowed hard. I reached over and touched his shoulder, and he turned his head and his eyes met mine. My touch was just meant to be reassuring, but it caused an electric shock to go through me. My mouth went dry as my heart went into a spasm. I thought I was going to have another heart attack right there. He quickly stood up. He was suddenly needed at work again.

  The final night before I got discharged, he helped me get into bed. The hospital had been having a slow week, and I was the only one in the room. He drew the curtains around my bed. The room was now quite dark, brightened only by the light in the corridor. I waited to see if he would turn the light on. He did.

  Suddenly I was pissed off. I was pissed off at his wife for leaving him, for hurting him. I was pissed off that the light was on. I was pissed off at him, for his false indifference toward the attraction between us. And I was likely pissed off that I hadn’t been laid for three years.

  So I reached over and flicked the light back off. He looked at me, and I stared straight back at him, my hand still on the switch. Looking into his eyes caused the blood in my veins to turn into a white heat that surged through me, and this time, I knew he couldn’t deny he felt it too. I could barely breathe.

  “Chad...” I whispered huskily. “Tell me, how could your wife even want someone else when she was married to you...?”

  His face darkened, his jaw clenched. He could no longer hide it. He looked me over, the lust filling his eyes, the rage from the hurt of his wife leaving... Then the hurt suddenly disappeared and was replaced only by a raging anger. I froze. He was going to hit me.

  “You tell me,” he snarled.

  But he didn’t hit me. Instead, he turned to leave. I raised my hand and met his cheek. He stared at me as I stroked his face, running my fingers over his cheekbone, down to his jaw, toward his chin.

  “You are amazing...” I breathed.

  As he went to push my hand away, his fingers met my wrist and closed over it. His eyes bored into mine as his fingers ran down my arm, reaching my elbow, causing the blood between my legs to pound harder than ever. He paused, still looking into my eyes, breathing hard. Then he pulled me up into him, and we were engulfed in a white heat as his mouth covered mine and he pulled my legs around him. I felt the huge bulge in his pants against me, his mouth still on mine as he ran his determined yet very gentle hands down my back, then over my chest, my nipples hardening through the hospital gown, even when his fingers brushed over my ICD. I gasped as he dropped his mouth to my neck, almost biting me as he ran his mouth under my jaw. The skin between my thighs was now on fire. As he continued kissing my neck, his hard, ripped muscles flexed under my palms as I ran my hands over his shoulders and up his neck, then all through his hair. He had the most beautiful, thick hair I had ever felt. He untied my hospital gown and let it drop aside. I sat on the bed topless, wearing nothing but my g-string. He lightly ran his fingers down the sewn-up wound on my chest, the wound he had put there with his scalpel.

  “Does it hurt?” he whispered.

  “Not anymore,” I whispered back, which was the truth.

  He ran his lips over my wound.

  “Oh my god....” I moaned softly as his mouth moved over to my breast, taking my nipple between his lips.

  I was now overcome with a blood lust. I was still weak from the surgery, but when I reached down and ripped his shirt open, the top button hit the floor. I felt the stethoscope around his neck. He pulled me toward him again in another kiss, the stethoscope cold against my skin. It reminded me of what we are doing. No surgeon wears a stethoscope. After care isn’t their concern. Except one like Chad. How wrong was this? He was my dead friend’s brother, my surgeon, an upstanding citizen, the most decent man you could ever meet, and I had just seduced him. He could lose his job because of me. But we went back twenty years...surely that makes a difference between doctor and patient? And what about the hurt—his hurt, my hurt. Is there anything that can make it go away? Three years of pain is a long time... Pain from your wife leaving you must be excruciating... What if my ICD was faulty, and I had a heart attack tomorrow and died permanently? The thought made me wrap my arms harder around his neck, and he kissed me deeper, his tongue rolling over mine in my mouth. I melted into him.

  All the curtains were drawn. No one could see us. His hands ran down my back again until they reached my ass, and he peeled down my g-string. I felt it slip down my thighs, past my knees and ankles as it fell on the floor. He put his hand between my legs, covering my now very wet pussy, rubbing my clit with his finger in circular motions, making me gasp into his
hard, muscular chest as waves of pleasure washed over me. He slid two of his fingers inside me, making me gasp harder into his chest as he caught my g-spot and fucked me with one hand, his other hand stroking the back of my head. I could feel his hard breathing against my hair. Then he removed his hands and softly pushed me down onto the bed, my legs hanging over the side. He ran his hands over my breasts again as he kissed down my stomach. As his mouth moved down my body, I raised my knees and parted my legs further, and he buried his face between my thighs. I let out a quiet moan as his tongue met the wet flesh there, which was now pulsating. His hands reached around to stroke my stomach, stretching my pussy up, and my knees began to quiver as my clit swelled in his mouth. I had never experienced such pleasure in my life. I covered his hands with my mine and clutched them hard as his tongue kept working me. Our fingers interlaced as his head moved between my legs, his tongue whirling around my pink folds, making me go into a state of ecstasy. I clenched my teeth to keep from screaming out as he kept flicking his tongue over and around my clit.

  I could feel myself starting to hit climax. I was going to explode. I reached down and stroked his beautiful black hair.

  “Chad....” I gasped.

  He looked up at me from between my legs. I sat up panting, still running my hands through his hair, then I lifted his face under his chin.

  “Allow me,” I breathed.

  He straightened up, and I hooked my fingers into his belt and pulled him forward. I felt his big bulge against my hands as I undid his belt. His huge cock popped out as I opened his pants. As I took it in my hand, he grabbed my face and kissed me again. Normally I didn’t like being kissed by a man after he’d just had his mouth between my legs, but everything with this man felt perfect. His cock pulsated in my hand as he searched my mouth with his tongue. I pulled away and dropped my face down to his neck, kissing under his jaw, and he moaned softly as I sucked around his Adam’s apple. I released his neck and got off the bed, raising my mouth to his ear.

  “Sit back,” I said softly.

  He leaned against the bed, and I dropped to my knees and faced his crotch. His cock got even harder in my hand as I held him steady at the base, then I gently took him into my mouth. I hadn’t had a man’s cock in my mouth for three years, but this was worth the wait. His cock was amazing. I ran my tongue all over his swollen head, then took him all in, right down to the back of my throat. He moaned and pulsed in my mouth as I kept taking him in, flicking my tongue over and around his head. He ran his hand over my hair and released it from my hair tie. I felt it spill out all over my back. He ran his fingers all through my red tresses.

  “You are incredible,” he breathed.

  Then he grabbed my hair and pulled me up. His beautiful blue eyes boring into mine turned me on so much I couldn’t speak. But we both knew what we were going to do next. He took my shoulders and turned me around so he was now behind me, then gently pushed me over the bed. I grasped the edge of the bed, and then I felt it—his cock entering me from behind. He filled me entirely, and then some, stretching me out. For a moment I was sure I felt my heart stop.

  Chad held my ass down as he started to thrust into me. He drew his hips back, sliding his cock back out, and it made me move up with him, my pelvis raising my ass toward the ceiling. I gasped at the sensation as I came back down with him as he slammed back into me, then out and up again, back in, then out and up again, again and again. The rhythm got faster and harder, harder and faster. We started to get louder with our soft moans, but neither of us cared. My pussy swallowed Chad’s cock deep down inside me and gripped around it as it slid back out. He put a hand on my shoulder as I started to spasm. I grabbed his hand and buried my mouth into it; otherwise, I was going to scream. My heart was thumping in my chest, pushing at my stitches. My surgeon was going to give my heart he’d just repaired a heart attack with his cock, but at least I would die happy.

  With his other hand, he gently pushed down on the small of my back as he exploded inside me, making me come two seconds later. My pussy convulsed around his shuddering cock, his balls convulsing against the back of my thighs. We both stayed still for a few seconds, my body still tremoring from the incredible orgasm he had just given me. He finally pulled out and collapsed next to me on the bed. I turned my head and faced him, and he pulled me into his arms. I could’ve laid there forever. I couldn’t believe how this man had brought me back to life...in many more ways than one.

  “Mr. Carsone, doctor, Sir....” I said, still out of breath.

  “Yes, my lady...?” he replied.

  “I need another appointment with you.”

  “How about dinner on Sunday night?”

  “I might need another examination as well.”

  “That can be arranged.”

  “Perfect.”

  Chad kissed me on the lips. I think I may have died and gone to heaven after all.

  Medusa

  There is a painting of me that hangs on the wall of our bedroom, overlooking the bed. It is of me portrayed as Medusa.

  It’s funny, because from all accounts, Medusa is meant to be ugly. There aren’t many people I show it to, and the few people who get to see it do a double take, and look back at me, because I don’t quite look like that to the naked eye...

  “You are so beautiful...” they breathe every time, without fail.

  I just smile and change the subject. Sometimes I am forced to tell the story of how the painting came to be, or at least some of it, because I never reveal all of it. It is too personal.

  Of course, they know it was my boyfriend who did this illustrious painting.

  I met him when I was minding a mutual friend’s beach house. His signature is on the painting, but it is not recognisable like it should be. He is a painter from London, and this was done for me in the most beautiful, seductive, and intimate manner imaginable.

  Jamie is renowned for his brilliant paintings of celebrities, often of an erotic nature. When we met, he was married to a famous Hollywood actress. Their tumultuous relationship was always in the news, so when I met him accidentally at the bottom of the garden, I knew exactly who he was.

  Yes, at the bottom of the garden was how we met. I will explain. I had recently been fired from my job as a journalist at a prominent magazine. It was an extremely unfair dismissal, because I had done nothing wrong. It was simply a personality clash between the new editor and I, so when he saw an opportunity to get rid of me, he took it. One day, I will pay him back.

  In the meantime, I took a friend’s offer to have some alone time at their beach house in Cape Cod.

  I spent the first two weeks just sleeping, reading, and drinking. Mostly drinking. Something I had been doing a lot, for a very long time. Even when I was working.

  My friend’s beach house had a beautiful garden at the back that led down to the sea. Twice a week, professional gardeners would come by to groom the flowerbeds, trim the trees, and cut the grass.

  On the days they weren’t there, I would lie on the grass, sunning myself and drowning myself in alcohol. I really didn’t want to leave. This was a beautiful house, and I wasn’t looking forward to returning to my tiny, scrummy apartment in New York, which I would have to do eventually.

  By eleven o’clock one morning, I was already starting on some gin straight from the bottle when I heard a voice.

  “Hey there.”

  I turned to look behind me.

  It’s funny when you have seen someone for so long in magazines and on TV, and then you meet them in person. They often don’t seem real. But I could see he was very real. And he was far better in the flesh. He was the sexiest man I had ever seen. He stood leaning against the fence. He had flowing dark brown hair, verging on black, which reached past his shoulders. He wore skinny black jeans and a matching shirt, held together with a black leather belt with a prominent shiny silver buckle. The shirt was rather ruffled, with the first three buttons lying open, revealing an impressive looking tanned chest. He raised an eyebrow at
me. I realised I had been staring at him for a while, and I still hadn’t greeted him.

  “Uh, hi...” I replied, still a bit stunned.

  I wasn’t expecting to see anyone here, especially in the garden. I was immediately self-conscious that he was seeing me in my nightdress, and that I’d not had a shower yet, or brushed my teeth. Thankfully, it was my mini black silk nightdress, which didn’t look too bad. I hoped I didn’t smell.

  He wasn’t standing that close, yet I could still smell the alcohol emanating from him, along with very expensive cologne. But he had a sexiness about him, a charisma which was rare to encounter. I have to admit, I was really turned on.

  He continued standing against the fence, looking at me. I raised my eyebrow at him.

  “I noticed you come down here regularly,” he said in his sexy British accent. “I was wondering if you might spare some of that? I can pay you for it.”

  He raised an empty tumbler glass, which up until then I hadn’t noticed. It took me a moment to get my thoughts together. Oh. So he wasn’t here to see me. Of course he wasn’t. I suddenly felt annoyed.

  “Why don’t you get your own?” I snapped.

  “Because I don’t drink and drive,” he replied.

  So he was obviously drunk, too.

  “Not my problem,” I said.

  I raised the bottle of gin to my lips and took a swig, then turned my back. He probably thought I was a real pig drinking straight from the bottle, but I didn’t care. I didn’t want to share my booze with anyone. I knew exactly who he was, too—my friends had mentioned he owned the place next door. I still didn’t care.

  I expected him to leave. Instead, I heard him come forward. He crouched down beside me and sat down on the grass. He extended his hand as he said his name.

  “I don’t care what your name is,” I retorted. “I’m not telling you what mine is. Leave me alone.”

  “Well, I actually already know your name,” he said. “Simone. Nice to meet you, Simone”