Apparently, her needs are more important than my desire to stay on schedule, because even after I check my watch, the clawing need isn’t gnawing at me in the same way it normally does.
“We need to clean up and eat,” she sighs, yawning tiredly.
The afternoon passes slowly, and by the time Octavia cleans up her space and restocks her supply cabinet, it’s way past 2100 hours. When her jaw splits with yet another yawn, I hurry her through her goodbyes and lead her out to the car.
The moment I open the door, the smell of sex assaults us, and a soft, sleepy grin tips the corners of my doll’s lips. “It smells like a brothel in here.” She chuckles, exhaustedly climbing into the seat before letting her arms fall to the side, not even considering trying to strap her own seat belt.
She’s asleep by the time we get home, and I carry her out of the car, strip her clothes off, and crawl into bed behind her. The next few days pass in a similar way. We wake up happy, then bicker, before we make up, and everything is fine until lunchtime. Like her body has its own internal alarm, by 1200 hours, her neediness has started to grow, and instead of just me giving her an orgasm, she’s started to demand I fuck her, only settling after her swollen and dripping pussy is full of my cock.
I suspect that her birth control has fully left her body, and that’s why she’s feeling a greater sexual drive, but when I suggested that to her, she burst into tears and informed me that I’ve made her a sexual deviant, and that it’s all my fault she’s a freak.
Our appointment at the doctor’s is this afternoon, and while I know it’s unlikely she’s pregnant, I’m hoping that the gynecologist will confirm that she’s no longer protected by the birth control injection she’s been using for the last few years.
Holding my hand tightly, Octavia clings to me as she scans the faces of the other people in the doctor’s office. “I don’t knowwhy we’re here. I know I’m not pregnant, so this is a waste of time,” she hisses quietly.
Not bothering to respond, I sit down in a corner and pull her onto my lap, ignoring her reluctance and knowing that we’ll both feel better the more connected we are.
“Great, not only am I a freak who looks like a gothic Bratz doll, but I’m sitting in my husband’s lap, like a fucking idiot,” she murmurs to herself quietly, but loud enough for me to hear.
“Wife,” I say, lowering my voice in warning.
“What? It’s the truth,” she states.
“I think tonight might be the time for that spanking you asked for,” I whisper into her ear.
Her shocked gasp is the only sound she makes until the nurse calls her name.
“Octavia Taylor.”
Pushing out of my lap, she stands and starts to walk away, not waiting for me. Closing the distance between us in a single stride, I take her hand, following behind.
“What are you doing? You can’t come to my gyno appointment with me,” she says, glancing around us to see if anyone is watching.
Ignoring her protests, I step past her, taking the lead, and towing her behind me as I follow the nurse down a corridor and into a room.
Watching us as we enter the room, the nurse eyes us both, then closes the door behind her. “I’ll need you to fill out some paperwork, then pee in a cup. I’ve put a gown for you to change into. Then you can take a seat up on the bed. The bathroom is just over there.” She points to a door. “And the doctor will be in to see you shortly. Your husband can stay with you until the exam, but the doctor usually asks everyone except for the patient to step out at that point.”
Octavia nods. I don’t. I’m not leaving, and both my wife and the doctor will have to accept that.
Handing Octavia a clipboard and a sample cup, the nurse smiles, then leaves, closing the door behind her.
“I’ll help,” I tell my wife, taking the clipboard from her and leaving her with the sample cup. Placing my palm on the base of her spine, I steer her toward the bathroom, opening the door and turning on the light. Placing the clipboard on the counter, I take the cup from her hands, lift up her skirt, and pull down her panties.
“What are you doing?” she asks, flashing me an embarrassed grin.
“Helping,” I tell her, unscrewing the lid of the cup, then crouching down onto my haunches at the side of the toilet.
“You really want to hold the cup while I pee in it?” she asks.
“I’m not scared of a little pee,” I advise her, then tug her down, holding the cup beneath her. Once she’s finished, I screw the top on, then wash my hands while Octavia cleans up, her cheeks pink with embarrassment.
“We’re so weird,” she says, shaking her head as she steps around me to wash her hands in the small basin.
“We’re perfect,” I remind her, turning off the light as I trail her back into the room with the clipboard in my hand. Taking the pen, I fill out the insurance forms, and as much of her medical history as I know, memorizing her answers when there’s a question I don’t know the answer to and I have to ask her. When I’m done, I unzip her dress and help her pull on the gown, then lift her onto the examination bed.
The doctor knocks on the door and enters, reaching out for the forms as she introduces herself. “Hi Octavia, I’m Dr. Singh. And you are?” she asks me politely.
“Knight Taylor, husband,” I tell her.
