Recovery

by Emily

My boss is so beautiful. And sweet too. You don’t think of dentists as being sweet, but Dr. Tyler is so different. She loves her patients, her staff, and her work. She got me this great job when I was only fourteen. Sure, ten-fifty an hour isn’t amazing, but it’s a great working environment and easy work.

Dr. Casselyn Tyler is twenty-seven years old, just barely eleven years older than me, and she looks like she could easily be my age. She’s beautiful, like I said. She’s about five foot four, weighs maybe a hundred twenty pounds, and she has a fabulous figure. Scrubs and a lab coat hide a lot, but I’ve seen her in regular clothes, and she’s stunning. She’s perfect in her rounded breasts, her amazing hips, her creamy skin, her sweet face, her flat belly, her delicate hands, the unintentionally flirty way she walks... everything about her is perfect.

I came into work the day after it happened, bruised and shaken, and told them it was a car accident. It was easier that way. I mean, with the amount of damage done, I looked like I could have easily been in a wreck.

“Emily? Can I talk to you about something?” she approached me after work. Everyone else had left the building, and it was unusual for her to be hanging around after work. I was getting some of the last papers filed for the day.

“Sure.”

“Emily, what really happened to you? And don’t say you had a car wreck, because I know when you’re lying. Did someone hurt you?” Her voice wasn’t accusing at all, just loving. It melts my defenses.

“Yeah, after school, some guys...” I mumbled, struggling to not cry. “Did you just get beat up, babe, or was there more to it than that?”

“More,” I choked up the word, unable to speak anymore.

“Sweetie,” she said, “You were so brave to tell me that. And I’m so very proud.” My heart flips at the sound of her voice, so loving and tender. “I know it was hard. And I honestly don’t think you should have to tell anyone else, unless you want to. But there’s one thing I’m concerned about. You took a horrible beating, and there could have been some serious injury. You need to have a full body exam, just to be safe.”

“No. No doctors. Please.” I stammer.

She pauses. “Would you let me do it? Dentists are doctors too. And I’ll be really gentle, I promise. And afterwards I’ll hug you and you can cry or talk or whatever you need to do. We can even go out and have dinner if you want, on me.”

“One problem, though,” she says. “You’ve got a really bad latex allergy, right? We’re all out of latex-free gloves. But I promise, I’ll wash my hands really well.” I nod slowly, not really seeing much difference between gloves and clean hands.

She tells me to take my top off and lay on my belly in a dental chair. She runs her hands over my back, gently at first,then pressing harder. I moan in pain when she presses certain spots, and she always apologizes when she hurts me. She murmurs to me the whole time, that I’m brave, that I’m so strong and so sweet and such a good girl. She tells me she’s so sorry about what happened to me, that she wishes it could have been her. That she loves me. And when she’s done examining my back, she starts to rub softly, like a friend or a lover would, and my whole body relaxes. Her fingertips caress me, and I moan again, this time from pleasure.

“Okay sweetie, I need you to roll over and take off your bra. I’m so sorry if this reminds you of what happened to you, I just need to examine you. I’ll be gentle, I swear.” I nod slowly, removing my bra and rolling onto my back.

She holds one of my breasts in her hand and gently starts to rub. I can feel a little wetness between my legs. I try to stifle the moan, but it comes anyway. It feels so nice, to be touched so tenderly in that area. I let out a louder moan, I can’t keep it in- and she smiles. “You like that, sweet girl?” I nod.

“It’s like you’re making it so what happened before doesn’t really count as my first time being felt up. I mean, I know you’re examining me, not feeling me up, but you’re being gentle.

She looks lovingly into my eyes. “I understand, baby. Does it feel good?”

“Yeah, actually. It kind of does.” I moan, softly, from deep in my throat. Encouraged by my reaction, she keeps massaging, rubbing the soft flesh and taking the nipple between her fingertips, lightly tugging.

I know what you’re thinking. How could this woman take advantage of you when you had just been raped? Well, there’s a few problems with that. One, if I asked her to stop at any moment, she would stop immediately, I know it. And two...

This is nothing like a boy’s touch. There’s nothing rough, feral, carnal, about it. It’s soft, visceral, a physical projection of a soul. It’s in every way the opposite of rape. It’s tender and lovely and so respectful, almost worshipful. She isn’t using my body for herself; she’s using her body for me. She and I love each other almost like sisters, and this somehow feels like a natural extension of that love.

“May I kiss you?” she asks, all the love and respect in the world in her voice. I nod and close my eyes.