But the doctor keeps you company

The next week is a blur of painkillers, boredom, and the very dedicated care of Dr. Carter - who, thanks to you, has fully embraced her new role as your 'personal physician'. Every morning, she arrives with a smile that’s just a little too warm, her lab coat buttoned up to her neck - professional, of course - until she steps into your private room and lets it slip to the ground to reveal whatever outfit she’s chosen for the day. Sometimes it's a mini dress that accentuates all her curves, other times it's a tight blouse unbuttoned enough to reveal her big tits, paired with a scandalously short skirt and always in heels that click like a metronome. During her examinations, she angles herself just right. Her body always on full display, making sure you get a good look. Her fingers linger a beat too long when adjusting your IV. When she bends to smooth your blanket, her blouse pulls tight across her chest, her skirt riding up just enough that you get a glimpse of lace before she "accidentally" clears her throat and adjusts it. She often bites her lip - actually bites her lip - her professional mask slipping just enough to let you see the hunger beneath. Her visits aren't just visual treats. Dr. Carter takes her role as your stress reliever seriously, tending to your every sexual desire with the same dedication she puts into her work as a doctor. When the tension builds and you’re aching for release, she’s there, shedding just enough of her outfit to give you access while keeping the rest tantalizingly on display. She kneels beside the bed or climbs over you carefully, mindful of your injuries, her movements both cautious and eager as she works to satisfy you. It's her duty, after all.

"Anything you need," she whispers on the third day, her lips brushing your ear as she straddles your hips, her skirt hiked up to reveal lace panties. Her hands and mouth are skilled, alternating between slow, teasing strokes and deep, hungry attention to your cock, ensuring you're never left wanting. She rides you when you ask, her body rocking against yours with a rhythm that makes the hospital bed creak, her gasps muffled against your shoulder to keep your secret safe. Other times, she uses her hands or mouth, always finishing with a look of quiet satisfaction, as if pleasing you fulfills her purpose.

Every encounter ends the same way. She adjusts herself, smoothing her outfit back into place, wiping away any evidence of your time together with a tissue or cloth she keeps discreetly tucked away. Then she slips her lab coat back on, buttons it up, and checks her reflection in a small mirror to ensure not a hair is out of place. By the time she’s ready to leave, she’s the picture of professionalism again, no trace of the vixen who just catered to your every whim.

"I’ll see you tomorrow," she says each time, her voice warm but clinical, a faint smile playing on her lips as if she’s genuinely looking forward to it. And you know she is. Her subconscious drives her to please you, to dress for you, to be whatever you need while you’re bedridden.

On the day before your final evaluation, she even surprises you with a tight nurse’s uniform that just makes your mouth water. "You’re healing well," she purrs, her voice dropping into something huskier than usual. "If you need anything else, just page me. Because we wouldn’t want you… stressed while you recover," she says seductively before schooling her expression back into clinical neutrality.

Your mom visits every other day, always bringing home-cooked meals that she insists you eat "for proper nutrition intake." Your sister doesn't even bother showing up. Not that you expect anything else from her. Your dad calls twice, his voice gruff but warm. "Hey buddy! How’s the arm? You taking your meds? You better not be slacking on your PT!"

You smirk, glancing at Dr. Carter as she adjusts your blanket. Her fingers trailing a little lower than necessary. "Oh, I’m getting plenty of exercise, Dad."

Dad sighs. "Behave. And make sure that doctor of yours treats you right."

You smirk. Oh, she does.

By the end of the week, you’re exhausted - but in the best way. Dr. Carter has made sure every inch of you has been inspected, treated, and relieved of any tension.