The Surgeon

Diane wiped the sweat from her brow, not from the hospital's sterile chill but from the lingering burn of her laps at the Aspen Club pool. The chlorine-scented air clung to her skin as she emerged from the water, her one-piece swimsuit hugging every curve she'd earned through years of nursing shifts and midnight swims. She'd dated a few doctors before—cocky types who treated the OR like their personal kingdom—but none had stuck. Still, the idea of ditching the scrubs for a life where someone else footed the bills? Tempting, if the guy was worth it.

That's when she first really noticed the new surgeon. He'd transferred to Aspen General about a year ago, a tall guy with sharp features and a build that suggested he didn't just cut people open but kept himself in fighting shape. Over the months, their paths crossed in the hallways: quick jokes about botched coffee runs or the latest patient drama. He had that surgeon edge—confident, a little commanding—but it didn't grate like the others. Diane, ever the observer, clocked it during their pool overlaps. He'd slide into the lane next to hers, his strokes powerful and precise, water sluicing off his broad shoulders. She caught glimpses of his toned chest and the V of his hips, and yeah, he was checking her out too—her strong back flexing with each pull, the way her ass powered through the turns.

One evening, after they'd both finished their sets, he lingered at the pool's edge, towel slung low. "Diane, right? From peds?" His voice cut through the splashes, easy but direct.

She nodded, wringing out her hair. "Guilty. And you're the hotshot surgeon everyone's whispering about."

He grinned, eyes flicking over her wet form. "Dr. Ellis. Call me Mark. Drinks after this? There's a spot down the street that doesn't water down the wine."

She was in a mood—frisky from the endorphins, the way her body hummed post-swim. "Why not?"

The bar was low-key, tucked into Aspen's quieter side, with vinyl booths and a bartender who poured generous reds. They talked for an hour, easy flow about hospital politics, the absurdity of ski-season ER rushes. Mark had a way of listening, really listening, without the ego trip she'd come to expect. Two glasses in, her cheeks warmed, not just from the wine. When he suggested his place—a sleek apartment overlooking the slopes—she didn't hesitate. Why not see if this one was different?

His apartment smelled like pine cleaner and faint cologne, modern lines with floor-to-ceiling windows framing the darkening mountains. They settled on the couch with fresh glasses, the conversation dipping into lighter territory: favorite trails, worst dates. Diane laughed at his story of a blind setup gone wrong, her hand brushing his knee. The air thickened, charged.

Mark set his glass down, turning to her. "You know, I've been watching you swim. That back of yours—strong, like it could handle anything."

She felt a thrill, heat pooling low. "Flattery from a surgeon? Careful, I might believe it."

He leaned in, lips capturing hers in a kiss that started slow but built fast, tongues tangling with the urgency of held-back tension. His hands roamed her arms, then her waist, pulling her closer. Diane pressed into him, tasting the wine on his mouth, her fingers threading through his damp hair. They broke apart, breathing heavy.

"You've got an incredible body," he murmured, eyes dark. "Especially that ass. Firm, powerful. I want to see more."

Taking the cue, she stood, heart racing. "Like this?"

He nodded, shifting into something firmer, his surgeon's command slipping out. "Slowly. Start with the top. Unzip it, let it slide off your shoulders."

Diane's pulse quickened at the directive tone, but it sparked something in her—curiosity, maybe a thrill at letting go. She reached back, easing the swimsuit's zipper down inch by inch, the fabric peeling away to reveal the pale skin of her back, freckled from summers past. It pooled at her waist, her breasts freed, nipples hardening in the cool air. She shrugged it lower, stepping out, standing in just her suit bottoms.

"Good," Mark said, voice low. "Now the bottoms. Turn around first—let me watch that ass as you bend."

She complied, facing away, hooking her thumbs in the waistband. The material clung wetly as she pushed it down, exposing the curve of her cheeks, the dimples at her lower back. She bent slightly, sliding them to her ankles, feeling his gaze like a touch. Naked now, she turned, skin prickling.

"Undress me," he instructed, standing. "Shirt first. Unbutton it slow."

Her fingers worked the buttons, revealing his chest—smooth, defined from those pool sessions. She pushed the shirt off his shoulders, tracing the lines of his abs. Then his shorts: she knelt, tugging them down, his boxers tenting obviously. When she pulled those too, she gasped, eyes widening. His cock sprang free—thick, veined, easily the longest and girthy she'd ever seen, curving slightly upward, the head already flushed.

"Fuck," she whispered, staring. It had to be nine inches, maybe more, and the width? Her hand wouldn't circle it fully. Doubt flickered—could she even take that?

Mark's hand cupped her chin, tilting her face up. "You'll handle it. Open your mouth. Suck me."

She leaned in, lips parting around the tip, tongue swirling the salty pre-cum. It stretched her jaw, but she worked it, bobbing slowly, taking more each time. Her hand stroked the base, the other cupping his balls, heavy and full. He groaned, fingers tangling in her hair, guiding but not forcing. "That's it, Diane. Deeper. Use your tongue on the underside."

She hollowed her cheeks, saliva slicking him as she took half his length, gagging slightly but pushing through. The taste was musky, intoxicating, her pussy aching as she imagined it inside her. Minutes passed, her knees on the carpet, until he pulled back, cock glistening.

"Hands and knees on the couch. I need to see that back and ass."

Diane moved, positioning herself, arching slightly to present. The vulnerability hit her, but so did the want. Mark knelt behind, hands gripping her hips, thumbs digging into her cheeks. "Beautiful," he muttered, spreading her. His tongue surprised her—lapping at her pussy, firm strokes that made her moan, clit throbbing under the attention. He ate her out methodically, like diagnosing a patient, fingers joining to curl inside, hitting her G-spot until she was dripping, pushing back against his face.

Then the head of his cock nudged her entrance. "Breathe," he said. "Relax for me."

She did, but as he pushed in, she gasped sharp, the stretch burning. "Oh god—it's huge. Wait, fuck, I'm not sure—"

"You can," he said firmly, inching forward. The girth split her, filling her completely, pressure building until he bottomed out, balls against her clit. She panted, adjusting, the fullness overwhelming, every nerve alight. He held still, letting her acclimate, then started thrusting—slow at first, building to a rhythm that had her crying out. "Fuck, yes—harder."

He obliged, hands on her hips, slamming in, the slap of skin echoing. Her back arched under his gaze, ass jiggling with each impact. He reached around, rubbing her clit, and she shattered, orgasm ripping through her, walls clenching around his massive dick. He didn't stop, pounding until she came again, legs shaking.

"Turn over," he ordered, pulling out. She flipped to her back, legs spread, and he entered her again, this time face-to-face, the angle letting him grind deep. His weight pinned her, cock dragging against her insides, hitting spots that made her see stars. "You're so tight, Diane. Taking me like a champ."

She wrapped her legs around him, nails raking his back. Sweat slicked their bodies, the room filled with her moans and his grunts. He kissed her hard, then trailed bites down her neck, sucking marks into her strong shoulders. Another climax built, coiling tight, and when it hit, she squirted a little, soaking his thighs. He growled, thrusting erratic, then pulled out. "Mouth. Now."

She scrambled to her knees, mouth open, and he stroked himself twice before erupting—huge ropes of cum flooding her tongue, thick and hot, more than she could swallow at once. It dribbled down her chin, salty-bitter, but oddly, she liked it, licking her lips clean as he watched.

"Not done," he said, still hard. He guided her to the bed, positioning her on all fours again. "Ass up. I want that pussy again."

He slid in easier this time, her juices easing the way, fucking her relentlessly. The bed creaked, her tits bouncing, back bowed perfectly for his view. He spanked her ass lightly, the sting heightening everything, and she begged, "Cum inside—fill me."

With a roar, he did, burying deep, pulsing load after load into her pussy, so much it leaked out around his cock when he withdrew. Cream-pied and spent, she collapsed, but he wasn't finished. "One more. On your back, legs wide."

Diane's body hummed, sore but insatiable. He lubed up—smart surgeon, prepared—and pressed against her ass. "Relax. Push back."

The entry was shocking, tighter than her pussy, the girth splitting her open. She gasped again, eyes watering, "Fuck, it's too big—slow." But he went gentle, inch by inch, until he was seated, the fullness intense, bordering on pain-pleasure. He rocked slowly, building, one hand on her clit to ease her into it. Soon, she was moaning, pushing back, the taboo thrill making her wetter. "Yes, fuck my ass—harder."

He ramped up, gripping her thighs, the slap louder, her back arching off the bed. Orgasm hit her like a wave, ass clenching around him, and he followed, flooding her with another massive load, cum deep in her bowels, warm and copious. He pulled out slow, watching it drip, then collapsed beside her.

They lay there, panting, bodies tangled. Diane's mind raced—intense, yeah, but that control? It bordered on too much. As the high faded, he turned to her, casual. "That was incredible. If we got married, I'd let you keep working as a nurse. No need to quit."

Let her? The words landed like a scalpel, cold and presumptuous. She sat up, grabbing her clothes. "Let me? Thanks, but no thanks, Doctor. I'm good with my scrubs."

He blinked, surprised, but she was already dressing. "Diane, wait—"

"Goodnight, Mark." She left, the door clicking shut behind her, a mix of satisfaction and relief washing over her. The sex had been mind-blowing, his size and loads something she'd replay in the shower for weeks, but the ego? Classic surgeon. Controlling in bed was one thing; in life? Pass.

Back at her place, Diane texted her friends Annette and Jess, the ones who'd heard her doctor-date rants before. Over coffee the next day, she spilled it all—the pool flirt, the wine, the gasp-worthy reveal of his monster cock, the way he'd directed every move like an OR procedure. "And get this," she laughed, "he said he'd let me keep nursing if we tied the knot. As if I'd trade independence for that dick, huge loads or not."

They howled, Jess fanning herself. "Sounds like a wild ride, though. You okay?"

"More than. Felt empowered, you know? Like that time with the player nurse after drinks—fun, no strings." Diane sipped her latte, feeling lighter. It was a reminder: she craved passion, adventure, but on her terms. Confident guys turned her on, sure, but not the ones who thought they owned the script.

Six months flew by in a blur of shifts and swims. Mark kept his distance at the hospital, professional nods only, though she caught him eyeing her back during rounds. Then, word spread: he'd landed a spot at a big LA hospital, chasing fame in the cutthroat world of celebrity surgeries. Good riddance, she thought, waving off the gossip.

One crisp Aspen evening, Diane hit the pool alone, slicing through the water with renewed vigor. Her body felt alive, strong—back powering her strokes, ass propelling her forward. No surgeons needed. She emerged grinning, towel in hand, already plotting her next adventure. Maybe a trip with the girls, or that flirty paramedic from ER. Life was too short for let-mes; she was ready for more of whatever came next, on her own stroke.

In the locker room, her phone buzzed—a text from Annette: "Heard Mark's gone Hollywood. Spill more on that night?" Diane chuckled, typing back: "Epic dick, epic ego. But hey, I swam better the next day." Freedom tasted better than any cum she'd ever swallowed, and damn, it made her horny for the possibilities.