"The Right Thing"

My latest story, "The Right Thing," is now at Ruthie's Club! Here's a tease:

I walked into the side door, the one marked Hospital Personnel Only. Robert followed me, even though I tried my best to slam the door in his face. I marched into the first unoccupied room I could find, and Robert was right behind me, making little noises that sounded suspiciously like whimpering, as though he wasn’t sure what to say but had to make some noise to show that he was trying to come up with something.

I rounded on him as soon as the door was closed. The fluorescent glow from the hallway fell through the small window in the door, leaving just enough light to see the mixture of emotions on Robert’s face. I got right up against him, toe-to-toe, and made him look me in the eye.

“What are you following me for, Robert? Huh? You want to get a promise out of me that I won’t run down to the cafeteria and announce your little indiscretions, don’t you?”

Even in the dim light, the ruddy flush on Robert’s face was unmistakable.

“Look, I know you’re mad. I know that’s my fault.”

“Mad ain’t the half of it, weasel.”

“Weasel?”

“Hell, I might not run down to the cafeteria. I might announce it on the intercom.”

Robert shook his head, his eyes wide as saucers. “You will not!”

“I don’t answer to you,” I said, punctuating each word with my anger. “Understand? You will have to wonder if I’m going to tell her. You will wonder for the rest of your life.”

“You can’t do that,” he said stupidly, looking at me like I had grown another head.

“You can’t stop me,” I growled.

Robert moved toward me. He meant to grab my arm, to shake some sense into me, to hold me steady in one place so he could tell me the way things were. I saw it coming and beat him to the punch, so to speak -- I reached out and slapped him. The sting of it traveled through my palm and all the way down my arm, a lightning bolt of pain. Robert’s head rocked to the side, and he looked back at me in amazement.

In the sudden silence following the slap, a tinny, disinterested voice boomed from above us. It called my name, and asked me to dial two-five-one.

Then he reached for me. Despite all my tough talk, I let out a little squeal that was half fear, half rage. Did Robert actually grow a set of balls? And if he did, God forbid and holy shit, what was I going to do?

He grabbed the bottom of my scrub shirt and yanked it up. He grabbed my scrub pants and yanked them down. He shoved me to the side of the bed and pushed me down on it. It all happened in a matter of seconds. It took a few more seconds for the whole scenario to register.

Did he really think he could fuck me into submission?

I helped Robert yank his belt loose. His penis was harder than I had ever seen it. He came down on top of me and the bed made a squeak of protest. One of us hit the adjustment buttons, and the bed moved up a few inches with a smooth, mechanical hum. We both froze, united in sudden fear of who might have heard, and who might come through the door.

A nurse in whispering shoes laughed with someone in the hallway, oblivious to what was happening in the room just a couple of steps away. After a few moments, the voices became distant.

Robert moved his hips. I arched my back. He pushed into me -- not slid into me, because I wasn’t wet enough for that, I was pissed off, after all -- and that anger rose to the surface. I was good enough to fuck now that he was angry, but as soon as he shot his load it would be the same old saw about doing the right thing.

“You don’t seem so upstanding now, do you, Robert?”

He glared at me and pinched one of my nipples. Hard.

I grabbed at his shirt. I yanked at it. At first I thought it wouldn’t work, but then it did. The fabric made an ugly ripping sound and buttons scattered to the floor.

“Explain that to your wife,” I hissed.

***
I'm a tease, so that's all you get!

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