Chapter Text
“Can’t you be quiet for one minute?” I heard a deep chuckle over my shoulder. If we get caught, Sister Jude will kill us. Yet with the feel of his hard cock pressing up against my pants, I can’t seem to care too much. It’s been so long since anything has happened to me that I don’t even care that it’s Dr Threadson that is palming my erection and making my eyes roll to the back of my head.
I’m panting too hard, like I can’t get enough air into my lungs. He’s grinding into my ass and I just want things to hurry up. We’re tucked away in his office in one of my one-to-one sessions with him. This is becoming an arrangement of ours; I allow him to use my body for sexual release and he continues to ‘analyse’ me. I’m just waiting for the right time to get out of here.
Amongst my chaotic mind, a small part of my brain tries to shout that this is wrong. That I should feel bad about what I’m doing. That Lana is here because of her lifestyle choices; she’s been tortured because of it. But then he’s nibbling in that spot just below my ear and I let out a long drawn out moan. He chuckles again. I sound like a whore but I don’t care.
“Turn around and lay back,” his tone is rough and husky but I don’t mind, it means that I’m doing something right for a change. As I shuffle back on the desk and lay down, I can feel him tugging on the bottoms of my trousers, trying to pull them down over my aching cock. He’s not having much luck. I button them and pull the zip down. A relieved sigh escapes my lips and I look up to see him giving me an almost predatory grin. He likes it this way best; he says it’s so he can see my face but I know it’s so he can suck and tug at my nipples. It seems to be a kink of his, although I don’t really mind that much. I never knew my nipples were so sensitive until his tortured me with them for about 30 minutes in out last session.
“Oliver...”
I’m ashamed to say that it’s too breathy for me; he hasn’t unbuttoned his pants and I’m already so close. He pops his buttons and pulls the dress trousers down just enough for his cock and balls to fall out. Like usual, he isn’t wearing underwear. I wish I wasn’t.
I wrap my legs around his waist and pull him down to meet me. We don’t kiss that much, but I think that’s because we’re in lust, not love. We care for each other, but we could die for each other. As he takes me out of my underwear I have to bite my lip harshly from groaning too load. I can hear the nuns walking back and forth throughout the corridors.
We’re grinding together, he’s got his hand around both of our dicks with just the right about of pressure. My hands are clinging on to the edge of the table, trying to give myself more leverage to thrust upwards. His eyes are smiling at me but the rest of his face is deadly concentrated on getting us closer. I’m already leaking but he doesn’t seem to care. It disappoints me that it looks like we’re only going to jerk off. It means that we’re actually going to have to talk for the rest of the time.
His grip tightens to almost painful and so does the coil in my stomach. All he has to do is lick on my nipples and a hot spike rushes down my spine and through my cock. I pull his head up and kiss him to stop myself from screaming out my orgasm. As I relearn how to breath, I see that he has stepped back to jerk himself off.
Pushing myself up on unsteady arms, I barely get time to stroke him once before he’s come all over my shirt. I look down unimpressed - I have to go change now because of the mixture of his and my juices slowly dripping down my front. He’s slumped on the floor behind his desk so I crawl off and sink down next to him. We don’t cuddle, we just keep each other close.
“I’m going to try and cure Lana,” he tells me, still looking down and slowly tucking himself away.
“Cure?” I look at him wide eyed. If she was still sick to him, to them, then what was this we were doing.
“That way,” he continues to look at the floor, “I can spend more time here.” Then he suddenly looks me in the eyes and I’m shocked to see the emotion and determination in them. “More time with you.”
I don’t say anything, I don’t know what to say really. Once I break eye contact with him I stand, trying to process the information. I try to make myself presentable and then leave his office without a word. He doesn’t try to stop me, nor does he speak. He only watches me with inquisitive eyes.
I am Kit Walker, Oliver Thredson’s fuck toy. But maybe not any more.