Tackled by the Team

by Sierra Sparks

  Luckily my hands are hidden under my bedspread and I quickly jump up, startled, trying to act as if everything is normal. But my mom is onto me.

  “Elizabeth Jane! What in the…”

  Her eyes are pointed into two beady dots staring right in my direction. I know she’s about to give me a lecture about purity and hell. I try to defend myself.

  “What, me?” I exclaim. “I’m just sitting here. How about what you? You just barged right in without knocking!”

  “This is my house and I have every right to walk into any room I want to walk into,” she said. “Plus, the reason I came back was that I needed to grab a sweater. It’s gotten chilly outside. I decided to come ask you if I could borrow that cute pink one I bought for you at T.J. Maxx. And then I started thinking about how much I’d really like for you to come with me, to the grocery store and then afterwards we could go shopping at T.J. Maxx again.”

  I try to resist rolling my eyes. My mom really needs to make another friend aside from me.

  “I didn’t mean to leave you out just because you have to study,” she continues. “I realized I could have helped you with your homework and then we could hurry and go afterwards. As soon as I drove off I was just kicking myself, knowing it was rude of me, so I came back to offer.”

  She says this in her normal tone, which is always full of martyrdom (and as usual, she says things like “homework” instead of “studying,” that make me sound like I’m younger than I am). She knows I don’t like to shop with her— or do much of anything with her these days— so I’m sure she just came in to check up on me. She’s always suspicious that I’m up to something.

  And this time she sure found out what I’m up to, all right. She’s always waiting to pounce on me for “sinning,” no matter what I do, and I’ve never even done anything very wrong.

  “Young lady,” she says, sitting daintily down on the side of my bed as if it’s infested with cooties. “I can’t believe what I just saw here. I thought you told me you were pure.”

  “I am, Mom! I promise.”

  An image flashes through my mind. It’s one of being fingered in front of a small group of friends sitting in a circle. It slightly turns me on, which is inconvenient timing. But it also makes me worry that somehow my mother will find out that I’m impure because of this one incident.

  “What I just witnessed was not the action of a pure young lady,” my mother chastises.

  I’m mortified that she’s caught me masturbating, but I still want to roll my eyes.

  What does she think a college-aged woman does if she’s not allowed to have sex? I think.

  I want to tell her she should be glad I was only thinking impure thoughts and not acting on them, or at least not with another person.

  But then she drops a bombshell on me.

  “That’s it, Elizabeth Jane. You don’t listen to a word I say anymore. I really think something’s wrong with you. I’m scheduling you for an appointment with Dr. Monroe.”

  “Dr. Monroe?” I repeat, squirming underneath my comforter.

  What does he have to do with anything, other than being the reason that I’m dripping wet down there right now? I wonder.

  “I’m going to have him examine you to make sure you’re still pure.”

  “You can’t do that, Mom! I’m nineteen years old!”

  I’m so mad at her that I want to leave the house and never come back. I would do it too, if I had anywhere else to go, or any money to get me there.

  How embarrassing.

  “If you want to remain under this roof, you’ll agree to the examination,” my mom says, her mind made up.

  This is another one of her reminders that I have to keep living with her unless I want to drop out of college and be homeless.

  “I want Dr. Monroe to report back to me with his findings,” she says resolutely.

  “Report back to you…”

  I’m speechless. Then I get mad. I know I have rights, even if she doesn’t want to think so.

  “Clearly what you’re suggesting would violate HIPAA law, Mom.”

  “I don’t know what that law is, and I don’t care about it at all,” she says, still authoritatively defiant. “I only care about God’s law. Which you’re breaking. There is obviously something wrong with a young woman who can’t wait until she’s married to experiment properly, with her husband. Maybe Dr. Monroe can examine your mental state too, and tell me if there’s something wrong with you psychologically.”

  She juts out her chin in that stubborn manner she has, as if it’s her final word on the subject.

  “That makes no sense, Mom,” I protest. “Dr. Monroe is a family practitioner. I doubt he knows anything about mental health or even about conducting purity examinations and reporting to mothers the results of whether their adult daughters have broken God’s laws.”

  He’s going to laugh you right out of his office, I think. I really hope that he will.

  Except first I want to see him. Just to get a peek of his handsome face and muscular body. Seeing him in person again will really be helpful for the next time I need “inspiration” for my fantasies.

  With a mixture of dread and excitement I wait while my mom goes to her room and makes the call to schedule my appointment. I feel like a naughty eight-year-old who has just gotten caught trying to steal cookies from the cookie jar.

  But part of me hopes that Dr. Monroe will be as happy to see me as I know that I will be to see him. It’s been awhile since I was in his office— the last time had been for my field hockey physical, senior year, to be precise— and I could have sworn he had flirted with me.

  At the time, I had just chalked it up to the fact that he has a very outgoing and charming personality. But now I can’t help but hope it’s because he actually finds me as attractive as I find him.

  A few minutes later, my mother pops her head back into my room, again without knocking— she never does.

  “Good news,” she announces cheerfully. “Dr. Monroe had an opening tomorrow.”

  That was quick, I think. I remember it taking forever to schedule non-urgent appointments, because Dr. Monroe owns the best family practice clinic in town.

  I’m not sure whether it’s good or bad news that his office had been able to schedule me in so quickly. I’m just anxious to see Dr. Monroe— and to get my mom off my back— as quickly as possible.

  Chapter 7 – Derek

  It’s nearly five o’clock and I’m glad I only have one more patient left to see before calling it a day. One of the best parts of being a family practice doctor is the hours.

  Many of my medical school classmates were striving to be surgeons or other specialists because they thought the money would be better. And they were right— most family practice doctors and generalists, on average, make less than the specialists do, especially in large cities where rent is expensive, and competition abounds.

  But most of my classmates had little to no interest in smaller town family medical practice, which can be quite lucrative. In smaller cities or college town areas such as Houghton, where I practice, both the overhead and the competition are lower, so good money can be made for less hours compared to other fields of medicine. And, while many of my classmates were knowledgeable and esteemed in medicine, few knew or cared much about business and they also seemed to have a very low tolerance for risk.

  They got into medicine because it was a relatively stable career whereas I can’t help but be anything but an enterprising entrepreneur at heart. I was raised around it— my father is a real estate investing and construction mogul who taught me that the best job is to work for yourself. I was born into money but also taught how to keep making more of my own.

  One thing my business partners and I batted around was the idea that doctors should invest in chain practices like dentists do. We put together a business model of mid-sized city to small town doctor’s offices that we built, invested in and work in, and we go in with other doctors who help us run them. Therefo
re, I combine business acumen with the practice of medicine to make use of two of my talents. And in the process, I make a hell of a lot of money.

  Suddenly, there’s a pounding on the door that jolts me out of my thoughts.

  “Dr. Monroe,” someone calls.

  I open the door to find the newest nurse at our office standing in the hallway, looking frantic.

  “Trisha,” I say. “Thanks for letting me know the next patient is here. I’ll be right with them.”

  “No, it’s not that,” she says, looking a little breathless. “Maria is here.”

  Fuck.

  “Crap. Where is she?”

  Trisha lowers her voice before answering.

  “She’s in the lobby and she says she’s not leaving until you go out and talk to her face to face.”

  Her eyebrows furl together and she looks around as if making sure no one overheard. She must have heard some of the rumors about me— how much trouble I’m always getting into, and why she was hired to replace Maria, the nurse before her.

  “I’m sorry, Dr. Monroe,” she says. “I tried to tell her you were busy…”

  “It’s fine, Trisha,” I tell her, smiling at her. “It’s not your fault. I’ll go right out and see her now.”

  “Okay,” she responds, looking relieved.

  But I’m annoyed. Not at her, but at Maria.

  I suppose that one of my talents is being as good with my hands (and other things) in the bedroom as I am in the exam room. And with every up side comes a downside. Because one of the drawbacks to having this talent is that I get a lot of what I like to call “clingers.” Women who like to say they’re just in it for the sex but then don’t ever want to stop seeing me again.

  The latest one is in my reception area, no doubt making a scene about how much she just needs to see me, to talk to me, to be around me. No doubt causing a ruckus that will lead to my business partners and fellow doctors calling me up and saying we need to talk, again.

  It’s been a long day of seeing many different patients and I just want to go home. But first I must deal with Maria. And hope that my ever-demanding sexual appetite hasn’t gotten me in trouble career-wise once again.

  Chapter 8 – Derek

  “What are you doing here, Maria?” I ask, as soon as I’m in the lobby. “Part of our agreement was that you stay away.”

  “That’s exactly what I’m here to talk to you about,” she says, her eyes boring into me.

  Damn. Those chocolate brown eyes shining off her olive reflection are part of what made me have to have her so bad that I would risk what I had built to sleep with her.

  But we were supposed to have an understanding. She’d approached me with the idea. Even though we’d worked together for a long time and I was her superior, we’d just be together once, and it would all be fine after that. She told she was moving away soon anyway, to be with her mother in St. Louis, to help take care of her because she was ill. So, then I wouldn’t be her boss anymore. It would just be for one night of passion.

  Of course, I upheld my end of the bargain. But I guess I’d given her such a good night that she wanted to extend it into many more. That’s the problem— I’ve never found anyone worth connecting to for good and doubt I ever will. A lot of these women are gold diggers who don’t say that up front but instead show their true colors after the deed’s been done. My mom died when I was young, and my dad met a gold digger like that, who took him for half of everything in the divorce, after she ran away with some pretty-boy actor.

  I’m not going to let that happen to me. I try to make a deal with these women and they seem to be all into it at first. But after once or twice everything changes. Once they get a whiff of how much money I have, they think that’s what they want, but then they get my cock— I’m not trying to brag but a lot of women have said it’s the best they’ve had— and they’re hooked.

  It’s like I’m a drug they can’t quit. And it’s turned me into a liability.

  “I’m here to discuss our agreement,” Maria continues, reminding me just how much of a liability she’s turned into. “I don’t really know if it’s fair.”

  “Well, you already signed it,” I tell her, for what must be at least the third time.

  I look around and see that the only patient still waiting in the lobby is my 4:45 appointment, Mr. Jefferson, and he’s over ninety years old and nearly deaf as a doorknob. Still, I lower my voice, just to be safe.

  “That money is already in your bank account,” I tell her. “And in case you’ve forgotten, it’s quite a lot.”

  She bats her eyelashes and shakes her tits at me, but those tricks don’t work on me anymore. Especially since I paid her to go away and she’s still here.

  “Perhaps I want more,” she says, with a wink.

  “Too bad,” I tell her, getting frustrated now. “I’ve already given you way more than you were entitled to, which was a big fat nothing. You signed a relationship disclosure form, remember?”

  It was true. Part of her allegedly brilliant plan to sleep with me without either of us risking anything was a disclosure form she’d signed agreeing that she and I were in a sexual relationship and that she wouldn’t sue me for any damages should the relationship end. Therefore, I didn’t owe her any money. At least not technically.

  After she went back on her word, asked me to move to fucking Arizona with her and started threatening to sue me when I said no— correction, I said, “Hell no, are you out of your fucking mind? Arizona is 2,000 miles away and an average of ten degrees hotter, not to mention this was supposed to be a wa’am ba’am thank you ma’am kind of deal, not a ‘let’s move to suburban desert Utopia for the rest of our lives together kind of deal”— my partners stressed that we were on shaky legal ground and reminded me of one of the important rules of business: avoid lawsuits, if possible. Plus, I felt kind of bad for her because obviously, she got a little too fucking attached and felt like I was breaking her heart when I had only ever meant to bang her and move on.

  So, I paid her to go away— quite handsomely I might add— although it’s chump change compared to being stuck with someone so gaga over me that she’d extort money out of me, for the rest of my fucking life. Yet here she is, still wanting more.

  “Maybe I don’t mean more money,” she says, curving an eyebrow at me in what I know is her attempt to be sexy. But she really just looks desperate at this point. “Maybe I mean I want more of your big, hard…”

  “Ahem,” someone says, clearing his throat, and I look at the open door between the doctor’s office portion of the building and the reception area to see Niles Stanton, one of my business partners and fellow doctors here at the practice, glaring at me. “Derek, do you need me to take Mr. Jefferson, since you are obviously pre-occupied?”

  I turn back to Maria.

  “No,” I tell him. “Maria and I were just finishing up.”

  Although that’s the same thing I’d said a couple weeks ago after I’d shot my cum over her back. I felt I was marking my temporary territory and moving on. But apparently, she took it as some kind of declaration of love and or some age old ceremony wherein I supposedly claimed eternal ownership of her. This is the drawback of having a huge cock and knowing what to do with it.

  Chapter 9 – Derek

  “I’ll let you get to your patient, Dear,” Maria says, with a slight chuckle.

  Niles raises an eyebrow at me, even though I think he knows as well as I do that Maria is in some fantasy-land pretend relationship in her head, and that I’m not her “Dear.” That would go against the agreement I made with my partners when they let me stay on— get rid of her, for good. And don’t do anything else that’s risky.

  I’m doing my best to keep the agreement, even though Maria keeps popping back up.

  “Let me know what you decide about my request for more money,” Maria says, heading out the door.

  “Derek. Can I see you in here for a moment?” Niles asks.

  I nod to Mr. Jefferso
n and say, “I’ll be right with you, good sir.”

  He smiles at me and holds up a small magazine.

  “Take your time. I’m just perusing your Readers’ Digest here. Thanks for keeping such entertaining material in your waiting room, Docs.”

  “You’re welcome,” Niles says, smiling at Mr. Jefferson. “Anything to keep our patients happy.”

  Then he pulls me into the reception area where Trisha is busy answering the phone for last minute callers trying to schedule appointments for the next day, which they won’t be able to do. Smaller town family practices are always so full there’s a waiting list. That’s part of what makes owning a chain of them such a great business model— there’s never any wasted time in which we’re not making money.

  “Derek, what are you thinking?” Niles explodes to me as soon as we’re out of earshot of Mr. Jefferson, which isn’t a hard feat considering his range of capable hearing distance. “You told me you were taking care of this.”

  “I am,” I tell him, rubbing my temples. “I’ll just throw a few more grand at her and she’ll be off to the desert mesas in no time.”

  “I hope you’re right,” Niles says. “Because I really don’t want to have to exercise the option to let you go, but you seem to be almost begging me to do it. You know the new company won’t put up with any of these shenanigans you always get yourself into…”

  “I know,” I tell him, hoping he’ll stop harping on it.

  This fall out between Maria and I couldn’t have come at a worse time. My business partners and I are in the middle of making a deal with another company to expand our chain practice model into more states. But the other company is in the due diligence phase and they want to make sure everything is legit.

  I don’t think that firing my nurse after fucking her would be something that they would consider “legit.” My business partner agreement with Niles and the other doctors gives them the option to cut me out of the deal for behavior that would harm their interests, and I’m determined not to let them do that.