Playing Doctor

Savannah Sixx fidgets in the waiting room, knees bouncing. Vanessa Sky lounges beside her, legs crossed like it's no big deal. "You’ll be fine," Vanessa says, smirking. Dr. Kit Mercer steps out, clipboard in hand, and leads them down the hall. Savannah clears her throat. "Hey, can she stay with me?" The doc barely pauses. "Sure." Inside the room Savannah strips fast, cold paper crinkling under her thighs. The doctor’s hands work over her—lymph nodes, belly, muscles—businesslike at first. Vanessa watches from a plastic chair, knees together, lips parted. When Dr. Mercer cups Savannah’s tits, pressing lightly, testing the weight, Vanessa swallows. Her foot taps faster. Fingers dip under a thigh, slide along the outer lips; Savannah’s eyes flutter and Vanessa shifts, damp heat blooming under denim. Pulse check. Stethoscope. Murmur. Savannah’s face flickers between fear and relief. "Common in athletes," Mercer says, leaving the scope behind. Door clicks shut. Vanessa snatches the cold metal. She slides behind Savannah on the table, cool diaphragm pressed to warm skin. A beat thumps through plastic tubing. "That’s insane," Vanessa breathes—then she flattens both palms over Savannah’s breasts, slow circles. "I got a cure for nerves." Kiss happens. Shirts drop. Jeans crumple. Vanessa pushes Savannah down, knees spreading thighs, tongue meeting wetness. Mercer returns, pauses. Apologies tumble. She grins. "That’s the best thing I’ve seen in here all week. Mind if I jump in?" Savannah answers with a nod, biting her lip. Mercer’s coat’s coming off before the girls can think twice.