4: He Spreads My Virgin Legs and Tells Me the Only Cure Is His Cock,

MIA

"Stay and treat me."

He smirks, and his thumb brushes my lips slightly parting them and thrusting his thumb into my mouth. "Are you ordering me?"

I shake my head. "NO. I want to get well. I'm begging. Please, daddy. I could even go on my knees and beg properly." 

His lips parts to say something-

My phone rings on the counter beside us. Mom’s name lights up the screen. The sharp, cheerful ringtone slices through the steam like a knife.

Marcus freezes. His cock is still pressed right there, throbbing against my entrance, the head already slick with me. For three long heartbeats neither of us moves. Then he steps back like he’s been burned, yanking the towel up, breathing hard, eyes wild with the war still raging behind them.

“Answer it,” he says, voice low and rough. “And lock the door when I leave.”

He turns and walks out without another word, the bathroom door clicking shut behind him.

I’m left alone on the counter, tits still dripping, cunt empty and clenching around nothing, the taste of my own wetness on my tongue, and the ghost of his cock still pressed against the place that aches for him most.

Mom’s cheerful voice comes through the speaker when I finally hit accept.

“Hi, sweetie! Just landed. Everything okay at home?”

I stare at the closed door, thighs still spread, juice and milk cooling on my skin.

“Yeah, Mom,” I whisper. “Everything’s fine.” I had just gone through something that could fundamentally change my relationship with both Marcus and her mother, yet I tell my mother everything is fine.

After the call ended, I pulled on the first shirt I could find and left the bathroom. I expected Marcus to have disappeared into his room.

Instead, he was waiting in the hallway.

“Mia,” he said quietly. “We need to talk about what just happened.” Marcus’s voice is low and controlled, but I can hear the strain underneath it.

"You left our treatment halfway."

"We crossed a line, and I swear I should have left sooner but-"

"What do you really want?" I cut him off. That dirty part of me wanted him to bend me over the nearest table and fuck me senseless, but I know we couldn't!

"I realize that your symptoms genuinely need further attention, but... I'm also struggling with whether to stay involved."

I was supposed to be the innocent daughter, yet here I was shamelessly throbbing for my stepfather, and now he wanted to be the bigger man by rejecting me? I sighed and continued to my bedroom. "I'd better prepare for school."

When I glanced back. I noticed he was following me. "I already called in sick on your behalf while you were on call with your mom."

 We’re in my bedroom now. My skin still feels branded where his mouth was. My cunt is still empty and aching. Mom’s cheerful “everything okay?” is still echoing in my head.

He didn’t leave the house. He didn’t go back to his own room. He followed me here after I hung up, towel still low on his hips, eyes dark, and told me we weren’t finished with the examination.

“You’re leaking. You’re in pain. I’m the only doctor in the house and your mother is gone for a while. Sit on the edge of the bed.”

I should have told him to leave.

Instead, some shameful part of me was relieved he’d come back.

I still didn’t understand what was happening to my body, and Marcus was the only person in the house who might have an answer.

I obey. My soft thighs press together. I’m wearing only the oversized sleep shirt I yanked on after he left the bathroom, nothing underneath. The fabric is already damp over my nipples.

Marcus stands in front of me, still half-naked, cock visibly hard beneath the towel. He doesn’t hide it. He just looks at me like he’s fighting a war behind his eyes.

“Hold them up,” he says.

“What?”

“Your breasts. Hold them up and present them to me. I need to see how much you’re producing.”

Heat floods my face. My hands shake as I cup the heavy undersides of my tits and lift them, offering the tight, leaking nipples. The position makes them look even fatter, more obscene. Milk beads instantly.

For a long while, he did nothing. He simply stared. There's so much emotions in his eyes... he is hesitating, stopping himself... or recognizing that he is no longer behaving professionally?

Finally, Marcus leans down. He pinches the left nipple hard between thumb and forefinger. A thin stream spurts. He catches every drop on his tongue, slow and deliberate, then moves to the right and does the same. The sharp pinch-suck-pinch rhythm makes my cunt clench so hard I whimper.

When both nipples are wet and throbbing, he straightens, cups the back of my neck, and kisses me.

It’s not gentle. He feeds the collected milk back into my mouth on his tongue. Warm, faintly sweet, mixed with the taste of him. I moan into it, sucking like I’m starving. His free hand slides under the sleep shirt and squeezes one breast roughly while we kiss, milking another few drops that run down his wrist.

He breaks the kiss first, breathing hard.

“Christ, the way you taste…” He stops himself. Swallows. “Lie back. Arms above your head.”

I do. He takes the towel from his waist—his cock springs free, thick and dark and leaking at the tip—and uses the damp terry cloth to bind my wrists loosely to the headboard. Not tight enough to hurt. Just enough that I can’t easily pull free.

“So you stay still for the exam,” he says, voice rough. “Tell me if anything hurts beyond the ache.”