Return Home to a Surprise

You sat and enjoyed the afterglow of your orgasm for another minute. Your breathing slowed and your brain sharpened while below, Megan was similarly recovering. Her face screwed up in concentration as she turned to ask you a question.

“Is it normal for me to feel all fuzzy afterwards?”

“Do you mean in your head?”

“Yeah,” she responded, covering her chest with her shirt.

“Then yes it is.”

You quickly got your clothes back on while Megan picked herself up. She stared at her computer for another moment and the page that was still loaded up. It was some form you did not recognize, but you saw that it was on the IRS website.

“Alright, guess I’m back to work,” she said with a sigh.

You cracked a wry smile. “What, getting me set up to legally cum in your mouth isn’t all it’s cracked up to be?”

“Oh don’t worry about me,” she worked her jaw open and shut with her finger still massaging the joint. “I’m having the time of my life. Living the dream.”

“Uh huh. I’ll be back soon. Should I pick anything up on my way back?”

Her brows knit together and her lips pursed. “I am… not sure. I’ve been a little out of it this past week, so Rachel’s been pulling most of the weight. I’m sure she knows if we need anything from the store.”

“Alright. In that case, I will see you later.” You began to walk away, but stopped and wheeled around back to her. “Try to eat some complex carbs. Whole grains and all that.”

“What for?” she asked with a raised eyebrow.

“They provide a slow, steady release of glucose. It’s not the same as semen, but it can help manage crashes and stave off some of the side effects that you feel in between doses.”

“Ok… thank you.”

“Course. See you.”

With that final exchange, you left to find Rachel. She was in the kitchen, her own laptop on the center island. Her eyes flicked up as you entered the room.

“How is she?”

You shrugged and picked up a baby carrot from the small snack plate next to her.

“She is staying on top of her doses and… insistent on a more efficient treatment form. Meaning that physically, she is fine. But it’s tough for her mentally, obviously.”

Her eyes twinkled at your vague description of what you all knew to be Megan sucking your cock and swallowing your cum. But they sombered slightly at the mention of her mental health. She sighed at that and leaned back in her chair, her pronounced chest rising tantalizingly into view.

“Yeah, god, I know. I’m no cumslut, you know, but at least…”

She trailed off and looked at you as though she were afraid finishing her sentence might hurt you.

“But at least you like dick?” you supplied helpfully with a poor attempt at imitating Megan’s single raised eyebrow.

“First of all, only Megan can do that,” she began with a playful tone. “But, yeah.”

“Don’t worry, I know she’s a lesbian… People with addictions do things all the time that go against who they are as a person. It’s the same with her and millions of others out there.”

She gave you a soft smile and leaned forward to pat your forearm.

“I know you know,” she said simply.

You put your own hand over hers, only for a moment, before clearing your throat and stepping away.

“Alright, I won’t be too long. I’ll just grab my laptop and come back. Since it seems like Megan needs me first thing in the morning and last thing at night I assume you two will want me to stay until we figure something out?”

“I have been thinking about that, and I do think that’s the way for now. Maybe… you could move in or we could move out?” she asked tentatively. “I don’t remember your apartment being too big though…”

“We’ll figure it out later,” you said with a wave of your hand. “Since I will be staying here then, should I pick up anything from the store for the extra mouth to feed?”

“Ooh, good idea. I’ll work on a list and text it to you. There are a few things we need.”

You nodded and said your goodbyes, before walking out to your car. Sitting down, you suddenly felt as though you were stepping out of a strange dream, more whirlwind than anything. Dismissing the sensation, you started your car and drove through the city.

It was an easy enough drive, though you hit some traffic during the lunchtime rush hour. Still, you made it to your apartment building relatively quickly. It was a beautiful building, all new construction, and you damn well paid for it. You might have preferred another, cheaper apartment, but you did enjoy the amenities you had here, including a nice pool and some gas grills scattered throughout the property.

After you parked, it took another few minutes to walk through the entrance, wait for an elevator, and find yourself in front of your door.

“Mr. Anders?” came a nervous behind you.

You turned around and smiled at Aika, the highschool daughter of Mrs. Tanaka, a neighbor of yours. You had actually helped Aika study for some of her more difficult science tests after she learned you were a doctor. It had been fun, in part because of her natural bubbly energy and happiness. But now, her face was stained with a frown and her eyes seemed to border between unfocused and agitated.

“Oh Aikia,” you said sadly. “You have it don’t you?”

She silently nodded, chewing on her lip and wringing her hands.

“I heard Mom mention that you work on this stuff… Can I…?”

You nodded, though a voice at the back of your head worried about what she would ask for once she was in. But you unlocked your door and held it open for her all the same.

She walked in with her back stiff despite the weight you knew she was bearing. It was a difficult thing with a heavy stigma, it must have been even worse for a young girl like her.

“So, Aika,” you began as made her way across your kitchen to the sofa. “When did you get diagnosed?”

“I won’t get diagnosed,” she said solemnly.

You blinked in surprise and walked over to sit at a chair across from her.

“I know it can feel demeaning to have that on record, but it’s important for you. Without it, you won’t be able to go to a clinic.” You searched her eyes but saw only hard set determination past the visible signs of her addiction. With a sigh you shook your head. “It’s the right choice, Aika, it is.”

“No it isn’t!” she urged and leaned forward. “Because if I am diagnosed, I read that it’s harder to get treated.”

“That’s not true though. You need a diagnosis to schedule anything at a clinic,” you responded.

She rolled her eyes, lighting a spark of frustration in your chest.

“Yeah, because those are all great and flawless. Did you know that there are Twitter accounts devoted to hovering over clinics with drones and taking as many pictures as they can of every girl that walks into them?” The unfocused haze burned away into anger now, not at you but directed your way regardless. You pursed your lips and waited for the teen calm before responding.

“And they share those pictures,” she continued. “They tag the area too so everyone can prowl through and figure out if they know anyone so they can fucking dox them! Not to mention that they’re a fucking scam. The entire healthcare industry is of course, these are just extra bad because of men.”

You waited for a moment and took in a deep breath.

“I’ve heard some of that,” you admitted, “But assumed it was mostly the internet blowing up something isolated. It’s disheartening to hear that it’s bigger than that. Regardless, you do need to be diagnosed or won’t even be able to consider your options.”

“Oh I’ve considered them,” she said with her chin raised. Her eyes lowered to your groin and considered you, making you suddenly realize her intentions.

“Aika, that is not happening,” you tried to inject a measure of authority into your voice, but you had only ever been a scientist. Authority came unnaturally to you, if at all.

“But I need it,” she whispered softly, batting her lashes at you.

Suddenly you realized she was in her school uniform despite it being the weekend.

“Aika, you’re a fucking kid!”

“I’m 18,” she responded gently, eyes fixing back on the bulge that began to grow against your will. “I turned 18 two months ago. Don’t you remember getting an invite to the party?”

“I… I’ve been busy,” was all you managed as your brain slowly began to break down. “Regardless of your age… this is wrong. You realize that, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” she said, before slipping to her knees and beginning to crawl over to you. “But you haven’t left and you haven’t told me to leave.”

It was true, you hadn’t. Even as her delicate fingers worked on your belt, fluttering over your hardening cock, you wanted to do both things. You wanted to get up and tell her to leave. It is what you should have done. But instead, your voice caught in your throat as the teen below you took out your cock with the express goal of draining it.