Paging Doctor Roger: Medical Bedroom Emergency (Part 2)

Editor’s note: This post by Staci is a work of fiction. Read Part 1 here.

We arrived together at the restaurant in one piece thankfully (you never can be sure when you get into a European Uber). Sasha walked in first, opening the door and holding it for me as I entered. Strike three… pretending to be dominant. She was the girl who would tell a guy she likes to be on top, but would end up crying into her pillow if he had any truly masculine talents. I’ve always been completely submissive and I’ll never understand why other girls feel the need to hide their true demeanor with silly ploys like holding doors or wearing high heels to make themselves seem more formidable.

The hostess was hot as fuck. An Irish expat, with fiery red hair that refused to be ruled by the scrunchy she tied it with . . . if anyone in the place was competition for me, it was her. I always scout the room as soon as I enter. The good news is, a restaurant capable of keeping a hostess who looked like that was destined to have great food.

When we reached the table I had to try hard not to let my jaw drop. They were both handsome men, likely in their later thirties or early forties… I’ve always had a thing for older guys.  Obviously fit, the kind who probably play racquetball at the club because tennis isn’t strenuous enough.

As I found my chair and sat down, the newness of the moment started to wear off, and when he spoke, his deep voice quickly started to change my reaction. I was gradually going from being surprised to being intrigued. Robert was the kind of guy you bring home to mom. Smart, polite, well mannered, a doctor . . . if I was looking to get married, I might have considered him a prospect. Sasha was smitten; if she could have fucked him right in the restaurant on a table full of food she would have . . . and Robert knew it.

Roger was a different man altogether. Dashing is the right word for it. Something about him seemed a little off . . . like he had done something terrible recently but managed to get away with it. There was danger in his “strong eyes” and at least a hint of a mean edge to him. He was the kind of guy your dad warned you about . . . but I always did like playing with matches.

Dinner was a blast; the food was glorious, the wine was even better, and any time Sasha managed to keep herself quiet we had a very interesting conversation. About halfway through our second course, Robert figured out there were five good reasons to keep his hand in Sasha’s lap. He also clearly shared my view of her chatter. From then on, any time she started to speak too much, you could see her face change as he slipped his fingers inside her under the white linen napkin she clutched too tightly. I admired the way Robert had already learned to keep his date on a leash.

Roger seemed to be slightly disinterested in me. Any time the hostess walked through the room he noticed her . . . or maybe that was just my jealousy playing tricks on me again. If he was doing it on purpose, it was working. The more he fiddled with his bread and butter or watched the way the ice in his glass caught the light off the candles, the more I needed him to look at me instead. How foolish of me not to notice . . . it was his way of quietly putting me on a leash. Well played, Roger . . .

Dessert came and went, and when the check came, they joyfully made a show of fighting over who would pay for dinner. We got our coats and Robert started to say goodnight . . . ever the gentleman. Sasha looked at me desperately; she had no idea how to avoid the night ending and wanted me to save her. I gave her a pinch on the ass as I held the door open for her to walk outside, and in that moment she knew her earlier play for dominance was a farce. Roger was a real man; so was Robert, but any one of the three of us could own Sasha in a heartbeat if we wanted to . . . and I silently made sure she knew it.

“Robert, you can go home if you want,” I said coyly, “but it would be a big mistake.” Robert looked at me as if he honestly had no idea and maybe he didn’t. “I’m from the States; we don’t worry about subtleties as much as you do here. Sasha wants you to fuck her. Really fuck her. You can do pretty much anything you want to her tonight. If I were guessing, I’d say she has a thing for pain as well. At dinner, the look in her eyes kept telling me ‘I wish he would use more fingers.’”

Robert blushed. Sasha stumbled over herself verbally, wanting to explain away what I had said and fearful that I had somehow fucked it all up for her. Instead of waiting, I sternly took hold of her by the hair on the back of her head, right on the sidewalk in front of the restaurant, and stood her up fully erect.

“Sasha,” I said, “You talk so much and say so little. Be a good girl and stay quiet a moment while the grown-ups talk.” For the first time all night, Roger looked me straight in the eyes and noticed everything about me. His eyes were searching me, going through my mind like it was a set of file cabinets and he was leafing through one drawer after another in seconds.

“Your friend is correct,” Roger added. “Your mouth is not meant for talking, Sasha.” The way he said it left me wondering if he meant to say, “so much talking” or if he really was telling her the purpose of her mouth was completely nonverbal.

That did it. A whoosh of heat coursed through me. I could feel my own face getting flush, and the gentlest trickle of nectar escaped the crotch of my black panties. I was wet enough to drool down my own leg… and I was going to get fucked tonight by someone… my mind was frantic!

Coming next week: Part 3!