10. You Will Do

"Don't let the door hit you on the way out," I say more to myself because I know she's long gone by now.

I push on the darkly polished wood door, closing it. A burst of energy and excitement explodes in my chest. I can't contain the grin forming across my face. That was the most fun I've had since taking over my brother's job and manipulating his patients in ways they could never imagine. I stride to my desk, where Monica's patient file remains open. The only sound in the room is the metal of my belt buckle clanking as I close my pants.

The sparse information gives me her occupation, place of residence, and that, as of three years ago, she had no sexual partners at twenty-two years old. Her file says she's five-nine which is the perfect height for bending her over this desk and deep dicking her warm tight cunt. I'd pull on her waist-long, platinum hair, making her arch her back. My dick would bottom out, hitting her cervix. My head would pass through that tight ring of muscle, stabbing at her womb. From what I've seen today, I can almost guarantee she hasn't had any living and breathing significant others.

"Ah, fuck." I suck in a sharp breath between my teeth, pulling on the tight crotch of my jeans. The thought of teaching her everything I know and completely breaking her down has my cock at half-mast already.

It's a good thing she never went to mortuary school then, she would've never come in because she would know what we look for. She had to have been grandfathered into the practice. They used to do that when all you needed was skill, and no one required your education on paper. Hands-on experience ruled over any academic achievement. It's lucky if you find anyone willing to take the time to teach you the skills you need nowadays. You typically see this only in family businesses.

Leaning against the desk, I examine her papers. Her name stands out in bold black letters on the documents, and I can't help thinking of how much fun it would be to continue to mess with her since I know her dirty little secret. I know I came across as an asshole when I did it, but I was correct in what I prescribed her. Abstinence for a few days will easily cure her rash. I am curious to know if she will be a good girl and listen.

I rub my palms together, imagining all the sinister and delightful things I could do to her as punishment if she didn't obey me. Or how I would punish her resistance when she defied me. How much would she resist? I would want her to fight me every step of the way if I took her. Perhaps make her demonstrate how she got that rash.

A loud, clipped knock on my door wipes the grin off my face. I roll my eyes because I know who that is. It's the annoying nurse who wears too much makeup. Her scrubs are always way too tight, leaving nothing to the imagination. I mean, I do get a little chub from her display, but she's trying extremely too hard for my taste. Makes me wonder if Sampson is getting a piece of that on the side behind his wife's back. It wouldn't surprise me either. Like father, like son.

The door opens, and she peeks her face through the crack. Her eyes widen when they land on me. She knows she's fucked up. And yet she proceeds.

"Sir, you have–" she starts to say, but I interrupt her.

"What did I tell you about coming in unannounced, Karen?" I honestly think she wants to catch me in the act of doing something nefarious. Maybe she's a spy for Sampson to keep me in line. Or perhaps she wants a view of my cock. Can't blame her. My cock is fucking fabulous.

She pushes the rest of the way into my office. "That's not my name." Her shoulders stiffen, and her jaw tightens.

Oh. Miss Tattletale has some balls today. I push myself from my desk as Cathy squints her eyes in disdain. She opens her mouth like a fish gulping in the air, and I press the fingers I used to examine Monica against her lips. It makes them bunch awkwardly as she closes her gaping maw. What makes this so satisfying is that neither Monica nor this Barbie-wannabe knows that I wasn't wearing gloves when I finger fucked the necro lover's tight cunt.

Getting a great idea, I lean close and whisper, "Shh, Karen. Respect is a two-way street. Now. Get the fuck out of my office before I expose you to Dr. Sampson's wife." Her eyes widen slightly at the hidden innuendo.

Gotcha!

Once I remove my fingers from her lips, she crosses her arms under her tits, making them almost spill from her top. Glaring at me, she hisses, "You don't know what you're talking about."

Mmmm, that sweet, sweet denial sounds decadent in my ears. I'm grinning like a cat that just ate the canary. I stroll around Cathy while she stands in place, her arms falling limply at her sides. Her mind is probably racing in panic right now, wondering what I know and will do with that knowledge. Good. I love having the upper hand.

I stop behind her, wrinkling my nose. The hairspray fumes from her brittle bleach-dyed mane are overpowering with the amount of overuse. But I saddle up to the plate, ready to hit a home run with my cruel intentions.

With a shake of my head, I whisper in her ear, "I'm sure Mrs. Sampson would love to hear how Dr. Sampson doesn't actually have any patients after six p.m." I place my hands on her hips and pull her ass into my cock. She gasps at the sudden action, so I grip her neck with my right hand, ready to catch any other noises that may try to escape. With my left, I slide it under her scrub top, flesh against flesh. "That his late nights are reserved for stuffing his married cock into your greedy cunt on examination room tables."

Her throat rumbles, signifying she's trying to talk, but I tighten my grip around her throat. The cunt grinds her ass against my cock. Whatever she's going to say turns into a moan.

"You're all kinds of Whore, aren't you?" There's a sizzling in my chest that demands more of this. Probably from the concoction of uppers I took this morning. Beneath the poison running through my veins, I have a feeling it's Monica I really want, but I'll use this sausage wallet to pass the time. Either way, I'm here to play. My fingers come in contact with the rough lace of her bra, so I slip them beneath the wire of her push-up and forcefully yank it up and over her breasts. A yelp spills from Cathy when the restricting fabric cuts into her.

Que the obligatory refusal.

"Dr. King, you should stop," Cathy moans unconvincingly as I pinch a nipple.

Finally allowing my malicious chuckle to break free, I shove her against the nearest wall. She doesn't even struggle when I push my chest to her back. Maybe she thinks this will be one of those vanilla Dr. Sampson's dicking downs. I remove my hand from her throat and unzip my pants, letting King Junior back out for another adventure. I roughly squeeze the bitch's tit as I guide her right hand behind her back and place it on my dick. She begins sliding it up and down my length with no coercion.

They're always so predictable, but let's see how she handles a curveball.

"That's it, cunt. Maybe if you make me come, I won't tell Sampson's wife about the abortion you had last month. Did Sampson make you murder his unborn child?"

She gasps loudly and tries to yank her hand away, but I don't let her. I wrap my much larger hand around hers, securing her grip on my fuckstick.

I return my mouth to her ear. "Tsk, tsk, tsk, Cunty Cathy. That wasn't an empty threat. Now start jacking." I love looking in people's files and snooping around. You get to see everyone's dirty little secrets and use them. I noticed she had an abortion, but I didn't know who the father was. I do now. Her silence says it all. Sampson was definitely the baby daddy.

She tightens her grip around my shaft and begins jerking me again. It's an awkward position, but she makes it work. She tries to turn toward me, but I palm the back of her head, shoving her face against the wall. "I didn't say I wanted to see your face while you did it."If I see her face, it will ruin the fantasy running wild in my head. It's the living dead girl I'm envisioning, and if Cathy destroys it for me, I'll be pissed. I want the girl who let go and gave in to her orgasm on my table. What made that moment even better was that Monica was visibly embarrassed and hated herself for liking it.

Cathy's grip is firm on my dick, her movement methodical. I know this isn't her first handy in the office. Her fingers are cold from the chilly air conditioning, and I imagine them being Monica's pussy lips wrapped around me.

"That's it, keep going," I groan, thrusting into her fist.

Her body shakes as I grip her love handles beneath her scrub top. The slight tremble in her frame causes lightning to race down my spine. I close my eyes, and Monica is there with her sweet pink insides on display for me. She's dripping, shiny and slick. I piston into Cathy's pumping hand as the picture behind my lids shifts to Monica straddling a dead man, riding his rigor mortis cock. She's losing herself while she thinks no one else is looking. Her almost translucent nipples are spiderwebbed with blue veins. She bounces to a rhythmic beat only she can hear as her eyes cross in ecstasy.

Then she sees me. Her eyes widen, and her body stills. Her gaze flits to the only door in the room, but I block her exit. There's nowhere for her to hide.

The pressure building in my lower spine is clawing for release, and I rut into Cathy's palm. Pushing up her scrub top to expose her back, I grunt, "Fuck, Monica."

After stuffing the hem of her shirt beneath her bra clasp, I gripped her hand around my cock. Precum is slick between our fingers as they glide over my head. My sack draws up with intense pressure before warmth spurts from my dick. Squeezing her hand over my shaft, I make her milk me dry before letting go. The tan skin of her lower back looks fake compared to my girl's snow-white complexion. I wish it was her back that my cum was dripping down instead of this bitch's.

The fact it's not Monica has me unreasonably angry with Cunty. "Hands on the wall," I demand as I wipe any excess dribble from my dick on the ass of her bright blue pants.

"Did you just—" Cathy tries to shriek before my hand lands on her ass with a resounding crack.

"Hands on the wall, bitch," I growl more forcefully, and she does as I say. I move my palms into my semen dripping down her spine, then glide them around her ribcage, leaving a snail trail in their wake. Then I squeeze her tits, massaging my jizz into her flesh, giving her my special skin rejuvenating treatment. God, I can't wait to do this to Monica. Not that she needs it like Cathy's sun-baked skin, but just to have me over every inch of her.

After a few more moments of nipple pinches that have her moaning, I run my fingers through her cum-flavored tramp stamp again. But this time, I don't stop. I go lower, scooping from the remaining pool, ensuring a good sample size. Hooking my finger in the waistband, I tug down her elastic pants.

"Wow." I give a low chuckle. Bitch is going commando. "Someone came prepared. Spread your legs."

Finally, understanding our dynamic, she widens her stance as far as the release of the elastic will allow. From behind, I jam my fingers into her. She keens at the intrusion. I was hoping it would hurt since I gave her no warning, but the bitch is slipperier than a waterslide.

I pump a few times, making sure I get all my juices in her, then slide them out and run them along her lower lips and clit. Her knees shake whenever I flick her bean. Bitch, probably thinks I'm about to return the favor and give her that sweet release she seeks. Sadly for her, that's not happening.

I pull up her bottoms and do it with so much force that I give her a bad wedgie. "Tonight, when Sampson wants to get his dick wet, make sure he eats you out first. I want my cum in that mother fuckers mouth, got me?" She whirls around, her breast bare and jiggling. My kids are streaked across her chest as if she's ready to take them to daycare. She doesn't even hide herself, allowing me time to admire my handiwork for longer.

"How dare you, you….you…," she trails off when she sees the glint in my eyes. I'm high off her humiliation, and I'm sure it's obvious.

"I think the name you are looking for is King." Then, I roughly slap her right titty and watch it bounce. She gasps and brings her hands to her chest, and my eyes are drawn to the wall where her hands had previously been. "Now turn around and lick my cum off the wall."

"Lick your what?" She seems confused until she turns and sees the smudge of substance on the pristine white wall. The hand that jacked me off must've had spunk on it, so it got on the wall when she put her hands there. The look of absolute disgust contorts her well-contoured face, and it's so satisfying, even more so than her actually yanking my rod. Watching her turn her head and her eyes widen really gets me going. Her reluctance at the mere idea of licking the wall is glorious.

With one hand shoved in my pocket and the other pulling out a cell phone, I arch a suggestive brow at her. "Should I call Mrs. Sampson right now? See what she thinks you should do?"

Cunty Cathy's brows scrunch, and her bottom lip trembles. She shakes her head vigorously. "No, no, please. I'll do it."

Regardless of her horror at my command, she faces the residue of semen on the wall. Her body shakes with nervous anticipation. My guess is she's worried I'll do something even worse when she reaches the wall, but slamming her head against the wall may leave a dent. She sticks her tongue out a centimeter away from the spot. I lean in closer, showing her the number on the phone. Mrs. Sampson is smiling prettily from her contact photo, unbeknownst to her husband"s workplace fuckery. "She's only a call away. Show a little more enthusiasm for my cream, Karen."

Her eyes are glistening, ready to spill tears. She turns slowly and thrusts her tongue out farther, flattening it against the wall. As black mascara streaks down her cheeks, she licks up every last drop in one long stroke.

"Ahhh, perfect," I admit, shoving my cell back in my pocket. Then I roughly yank down her scrub top. My jizz soaks through the thin fabric for everyone to see. Her tremble is now a vibration, and when her eyes meet mine, her face is red and furious.

I give her a little pat on the asscheek. "Thanks, you were a good sport, doll. You can leave now." Striding back to my desk, I pay her no mind as if she's merely a bothersome fly. She huffs out a breath, and before she can exit, I call over my shoulder. "And maybe next time you come to tell me a patient is waiting for me, you won't barge in. Now, will you, Cathy?"

With fists clenched and balled up at her sides, Cathy leaves even more pissed at me than she had been the last time she invited herself into my office. I'm surprised no one has figured out yet that I'm the wrong King. It's kinda tricky for others to tell when a twin decides to take over the other twin's life. Who would've thought my charming brother had just gotten divorced before I killed him? People around him can easily explain away the shift in behavior on that. It's just another reason I've been able to slip in here unnoticed. I just tell people I got a haircut to remove those shitty highlights. I shake my head, thinking of those hideous money pieces. At face value, they're meant to signify wealth due to the upkeep, but I'm fairly certain he got them to appear edgy to get chicks. Can we say midlife crises much?

Turning back to my desk, Monica's folder remains open with her picture the front desk took three years ago. It's a standard procedure for the receptionist to take a photo of the patient if they are new to the facility. I'm sure it's more for the convenience of remembering faces and not names, but I'm glad for it nonetheless. Monica isn't smiling in her snapshot, which causes her to appear much younger. The thick black eye makeup she's wearing in the picture makes her look like a goth girl, but she didn't have any of that on today. She was ghastly to the point I could've sworn she walked right out of a grave. I close the file and tuck it into one of my side drawers. This won't be going back in the clinic's files. I want to keep this to myself just a bit longer.

Stepping into the silent hallway, I scan the doors for my next appointment. When my gaze lands on the next manila folder, I know exactly where I'm supposed to go. I take it out of its plastic holder.

"It's show time." I chuckle to myself and open the door on a half-dressed middle-aged woman. Her eyes bulge with instant shock, and she covers herself.

"I'm sorry. They told me you were ready," I say in my well-practiced line and step back out into the hallway, awaiting my chance to manipulate another unknowing patient. Or victim. Just depends on how you want to see it.

Another dull day of fuckery.Well, besides Monica, that is. If it weren't for the fun I had with her today, I'd murder everyone right here, right now, and never look back. No wonder my brother was always such an uptight asshole. There's no fun to be had here without someone complaining, even when I restrain myself and don't fuck the patients. It's as if they are better-mannered when I dick them down.

There's a weird clinical smell to this place. Almost a strong bleach scent mixed with There's a strong, artificial bubble gum spray to cover up the toxic fumes of the cleaner. I clear my throat and tap my fountain pen against the desktop in a rhythmic beat that would annoy most people, but I'm bored. Monica's folder sits in my drawer, taunting me. Only a few minutes crawl by before I remove it from its space, nestled among the other manilla folders and papers. My limbs buzz with excitement for a new adventure. I've written enough prescription meds to the head of the underworld mafia… and to myself, of course, that I don't need to stay in this role much longer.

After I lost my license with the board, Archibald Gambino contacted me. He was made aware of my situation. He's always looking for skilled people to patch his men. Sometimes, when you are met with a gunshot wound, you need more than what cocaine and alcohol can provide. Such as painkillers. Painkillers, mhmm, fond memories with those.

Oxycodone, Morphine, Methadone, Ketorolac. You name it, and I've tried it, but my favorite is amphetamines. They're better than any high, downers can provide. The imitations you find on the streets don't cut it. They are usually laced or watered down to extend supply. So what better way for me to get my fix and take care of Archibald's men than to kill my own brother and have my way with his prescription pad? Losing my license was like chopping off my arm in the medical world. No more free-flowing access to any drug I want. We basically had the same education, so it wasn't too hard to steal my identical twin's practice.

Setting the folder down in front of me, I flip it open. I mentally trace her name—Monica W. Adams—the only name I care to remember from this place. Then my eyes snag on something. The contact portion of her form is left blank. No emergency person. There's no one to care for her if anything goes wrong. She's a loner, a ghost in the night.

She lives and works around the dead so much that she's become one of them. It's not just her pale skin that's nearly translucent, with a tinge of blue from her veins showing through.

No. It's her eyes. They are such a light blue they almost blend with the whites of her sclera. The muted color of a corpse. A living, dead girl.

I'm rarely taken by surprise, but she's unlike anyone I've ever met. With her rash, I guess I shouldn't be surprised by her extracurricular activities. I've never fucked a corpse, but I'm not above trying it. Well… okay, I take that back. There was that one time with my ex-girlfriend. We did a massive amount of ketamine at this high-rise party, and she overdosed and died while I was fucking her missionary. Or maybe she was dead when I started? I don't know, but the point is I didn't realize her departure until after I'd finished inside her. That's the only time I've slept with a corpse. It wasn't the worst thing imaginable. I don't understand the appeal, but if it were with her…

My thoughts trail off to fucking Monica. Taking advantage of her like a corpse, she wouldn't be able to say anything, and I wouldn't reap the repercussions of my debauchery. Who is she going to say anything to? The cops? She couldn't if she wanted to stay out of prison. We'd have a mutual quid pro quo of sorts of withholding each other's dirty secrets. I could make her do things that would make her question her sanity. Things she would want to refuse to do and fight me on. Endorphins rush through my veins like I've taken a hit from my poison ring, but the only drug I've had is the thought of her.

With her file open before me, her address is a beacon calling to my darkest desires. I should visit her and see if she took that bit of advice I gave her. Maybe I should sneak into her house at night and take a little taste of her while she's sleeping? Wait… when does a living dead girl sleep?

"Ugh, fuck," I groan at my dick for demanding more room in the already shrinking space. What is this? My third chub of the day?

I need to scratch this itch. I need to see her, and I need to get some stretchy pants. These straight-legged slacks need to be more accommodating to my many woodies.