David
Let me make one thing clear:
When you were as rich as me, the world was your oyster. More specifically, the female population was yours for the taking. Putting it simply, David Strowman was a name that women heard and immediately dropped their panties. It had a certain sort of appeal that I was pleased to hold, as cocky as it may sound. Granted, cockiness carried the implication that I was putting up a front; believe me, I was never wanting for female attention by any means. I had a lot going for me, even discounting my wealth.
Name one of the sexiest jobs you can think of — you’d think of a doctor, right? Not the sort of old doctor who was around when it was still common practice for a woman’s period to be mistaken as some sort of a mental derangement — although that’s still questionable at best. But no. Think of your average television doctor, the type you’d see on a soap opera. Handsome and rugged, with a strong jawline and… well, I guess a heart of gold. After all, being in the profession called for a certain kind of kindness.
Well, I was a locum tenens physician in the prime of my life, currently working at a fertility clinic to see that happy couples could expand into a proper happy family. It could be disconcerting at times, seeing these smiling men come in with their wives, a hopeful glint in their eyes. I couldn’t imagine ever settling down with one woman, let alone spawning a child with this hypothetical wonder woman. Yet these men seemed so happy — like having a family could actually be more fulfilling than a life where fun was your only priority.
Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t a monster by any means. I enjoyed seeing the look of delight on a young woman’s face when she found out she was going to finally, after months of trying, be a mother. I’d gotten to know a few of my clients rather intimately — though not in the same manner of intimacy I shared with the hot receptionist at the ritzy joint.
I knew everything from what these couples wanted to have (more often than not, they hoped for their own respective gender, though there were always the blowhards who insisted they’d be happy as long as the baby was healthy) to how many times a week they were fucking — pardon, trying to conceive. I knew the exact dates when every female patient ovulated. Hell, I knew more about the virility of the men who came to the clinic than I knew about my own — not that my mojo was ever in question.
I came to know and care about my patients, but there was a lingering feeling that there was something extremely wrong with the fact that these men were willing to settle. The women were beautiful, God love them, but no woman was beautiful enough to give up the life for.
I should tell you that the bachelor life does get boring at times. Not boring enough to consider settling down with some old broad, but boring enough that I strive to spice things up whenever I can. After so many hours of bending the receptionist over my table, I wanted something else. I wanted a woman who was unlike the bimbos I spent so much time with — the ones who would drop their panties at the drop of a hat. I wanted a woman who would give me a bit of a run for my money, someone I would have to fight for. I know it sounded unusual to want to fight for a woman, but hooking up was like fishing out of a barrel at this point — fishing with the stink bait that trout loved so much.
As the door of my office was pushed open, I knew in short order that it was the receptionist I’ve spent the most time with entering the room. I could never quite place her name, but she didn’t seem terribly troubled by the fact that I didn’t care enough about her to remember her name. I doubt she cared all that much about me either. Except that I had a big dick, a big ego, and could fuck a girl’s brains out just how she liked. That’s all any girl ever saw in me, and honestly, that’s how I liked it. It would be outright tragic if some nice girl developed feelings for me. Fortunately, this particular receptionist — Angela, if I remembered correctly — wasn’t a nice girl by any means.
“Oh, Davey,” she cooed, sauntering toward my desk with her breasts nearly popping the buttons of her blouse. Our relationship wasn’t professional by any means – in fact, I’d go as far as saying it was the exact opposite of professional. She never seemed to care about putting up any sort of front, however, not even for our clients. It might have been refreshing if I didn’t need this job so badly.
“Hello,” I answered mildly, not wanting to give too much away. Honestly, I was a bit annoyed by her presence in my office. I had work to do, and we were booked solid at the clinic. If she wanted to get off, she could go diddle herself in the bathroom as far as I was concerned. I didn’t plan to do anything to jeopardize my position as lead physician at the clinic, at least not today. She rested her hip against the side of my desk just the same, her too-short skirt hiking up on her thighs. She offered me a sultry smile, but I simply rolled my eyes and turned my attention to my schedule.
“You always stay so busy. I’m starting to think you don’t have enough time for me.”
I ignored her, sorting through my files. I was a doctor; of course I was busy. It wasn’t as if I had a job where I could sit behind a desk and check people into the clinic all day. Even on my lunch break, I had work to take care of. It was rare that I even got a break, and I didn’t plan to waste the little downtime I did get with Angela.
“It’s the nature of the beast, ‘ela,” I mused casually, ignoring the scrutinous look she turned upon me. I paused in spite of myself, closing my file as she seemed to grow more agitated. “What is it that you need?”
“After all of this time, you still don’t know my name? After all of the times you’ve bent me over your desk, you can’t even remember my name?!”
“It’s Angela, isn’t it?”
“Angel! It’s Angel!”
I lowered my eyes to my desk, not horribly affected by her outburst. She was lucky I had even remembered the first syllable of her name, but she didn’t seem to appreciate how many women I’d spent my time with.
“Angel, then. What can I help you with?” I asked coolly, checking on when my next appointment was scheduled and praying it was in the next twenty minutes or so. Unfortunately, I had around an hour before the next patient would be coming in, which meant I had to deal with Angela — shit, Angel — for the next forty-five minutes or so.
“I want you to fuck me. I’ve been trying to send you signals all day, but you’re too dense,” she hissed out. That wasn’t exactly the whole truth. I wasn’t dense. I had picked up on the signals. After all, the receptionist wasn’t subtle by any means. I just hadn’t been interested. She was too common, too usual. I was tired of dealing with the usual fuck toys I played around with, at least for the next few days.
I wanted more. I wanted more excitement than Angel could offer me. As exhilarating as it was to fuck her against the door of my office while it nearly bounced off its hinges, it wasn’t enough right now. It hadn’t been enough for some time.
“The clinic is booked solid today. I don’t exactly have the time to waste getting you off.” That was cold, but I couldn’t afford to be particularly warm with her today. She would get the wrong idea, like she always did. She even seemed to have the wrong idea now. Did she think she was in charge of our relationship? Did she think she got to choose when I wanted to fuck?
“It’s not exactly a waste of time if you’re getting off too, is it?” she pressed. I hesitated for a moment before smiling politely.
“I need to conserve energy. Like I said, it’s going to be a long day. I don’t have time to bust a nut in every woman who steps into my office. I’m sure you understand,” I said mildly. Her expression twisted into one of rage, and I expected her to go off on me. I was prepared for her nonsense, though I would have liked to avoid dealing with it.
“Alright. Well, maybe if you’d take the time to ask me on a date instead of just fucking around with me in the office…” she trailed off, her expression hopeful. As partial as I was to the sound of her desperate mewls when I plunged into her just right, I would never consider dating Angel. She was too easy. I know, I know, it’s a bit hypocritical for me to comment on someone being easy, but I had my own priorities.
“You know I’m not interested in a relationship, Angel,” I said simply, staring at her for a moment before returning my attention to the file in front of me. I jotted some notes regarding the patient, making my best effort to ignore the other individual in my office as I worked.
“You won’t even give me a chance,” she whined, stomping her foot much like a child throwing a tantrum.
“Nope.”
I watched as she seemed to grow increasingly agitated, as if she were going to explode at any given moment. It might have been entertaining to watch, that is, if she would actually blast into thousands of pieces. It wasn’t a kind thought, but I’d been dealing with this receptionist longer than I liked to consider.
“Fine!”
With that indignant shout, she turned her back on me and stalked out of my office. Of course, she slammed the door shut behind her, but I’d expected as much. I frowned to myself, shaking my head in disbelief. It seemed that I would have to find someone else to occupy my time, considering how clingy the receptionist was getting. Perhaps I’d been calling on her services too often, for too long. It wouldn’t do for her to form an attachment to me, though it seemed like too little, too late at this point. There was only one solution to my problem.
Flipping through my day book, I blocked out my plans for that night. A trip to the Red Room was in order, of that I had no doubt. It was the hippest nightclub in town, and there were a plethora women who frequented the place — women who would love to get plowed by a handsome doctor with a huge cock. It was just the place I needed to escape to. I wouldn’t be playing any games that night. I knew what I wanted from my trip to the Red Room, and I planned to get it.
Look out, ladies.