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swiftispunk · 4 months

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good to me, part two | joel miller x f!reader

masterlist | kofi | follow @swiftispunkupdates for fic notifs

pairing: gynecologist!joel miller x female!reader rating: 18+ explicit word count: 3.7k

summary: when the results of your pap turn up inconclusive, you once again find yourself in dr. miller's office. warnings etc: [NO OUTBREAK] doctor/patient shenanigans, smut for real, vaginal fingering, oral (f receiving), medical kink, reader has anxiety, literally just getting a pap smear (again) and all that entails, dirty talk, pet names, sexual tension, competency kink, praise kink, panty kink, squirting, glove kink, one (1) pov swap, reader is described as wearing a dress. no use of y/n. disclaimer: obviously i am not a gynecologist ya'll so i make no guarantees that the language used here will be one hundred per cent accurate. this is wish fulfillment, not medical school. anyway this is just supposed to be a bit of silly, horny fun so pls just take it for what it is or scroll on by if it's not your thing thank you love you bye

a/n: thank you to everyone who showed part one so much love. you're all too good to me.

special thanks to @knopes-waffles for mining the depths of pinterest to find some pictures for this instalment. i love you!

part one | part three

You cannot believe you're here again.

Cowering under doctor's office lighting barely a week after your mortifying appointment with Dr. Miller. An appointment you can't seem to forget - no matter how hard you try.

His hands, his lips, his delicate touch, the feel of his hard cock pressing into your stomach...you can't shake him. Even if his hasty departure had left you humiliated and worse, unsatisfied.

When you'd touched yourself that night, you'd thought of paper sheets beneath you, gloved fingers opening you up, a low drawl telling you, good job, darlin', doin' so good...

And you know, you know that when that damned receptionist had called to tell you, "Dear, we're so sorry, your results were inconclusive. There's no need to panic, but we'll need to have you back," you should have just said no, found another doctor so you never had to show your face in that office again. Only then she'd said, "Dr. Miller is still in, are you okay to see him again?"

And despite your better judgment, you'd found yourself agreeing, a little too enthusiastic at the prospect of seeing him again. Maybe your...outburst hadn't scared him as much as you'd thought. Surely if he hadn't put you on a medical no-fly list, what you'd done couldn't have been...that bad. Right?

No, it was bad. It was very bad. You know that. But it occurs to you, the longer you sit nervously in the same examination room where you'd kissed him last week, that maybe that's exactly what you'd liked about it.

You're more daring this time, or perhaps just more practical, donning a simple sundress and a flouncy pair of lace underwear - mostly for confidence. You know he won't see them.

Your foot taps anxiously against the tiled floor until a light knock finally comes at the door, and Dr. Miller is stepping through, clipboard in hand.

You audibly gasp at the sight of him. He wears no white coat today, just an ivory button-down with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, thick, tanned forearms glowing even in fluorescent overhead lighting. His salt-and-pepper curls are loosely combed back out of his face, and whereas last week he'd entered the room with a sweet half-smile, today his features are hard, eyes cast downward at the files in his hand until the door is firmly shut behind him.

You watch with nervous exhilaration as he locks it.

Neither of you says a word as he places the clipboard on the desk beside you, turning his back to you to prepare his tools before going perfectly still, broad shoulders rising and falling as he sucks in a long breath.

Maybe the scolding is finally coming. You know you deserve it.

But then at last he turns to face you, striding towards you with slow, deliberate steps until he's close enough to touch, towering over you. You watch with bated breath as he extends a hand and gently cups your face.

You straighten at his touch, electricity coursing through you.

"On the bed, please," he whispers.

You want nothing more than to obey his command but -

"I'm still wearing my underwear," you protest, already breathless.

Dr. Miller just shakes his head, dropping his hand to step away from you and gesture towards the examination table.

He waits until you stand before nodding and turning away again, this time to take his place on the wheeled stool and rummage through a drawer by the foot of the bed. You warily perch yourself on the edge of the table, watching as Dr. Miller slowly slips a pair of blue latex gloves on. You swallow tightly at the familiar elastic snap, swinging your legs up on the bed in front of you and folding your hands in your lap.

"I'm sorry to make you do this all again," he says, his back still to you. "It was my fault your specimen was damaged. Got distracted and - "

"That's okay," you assure him honestly.

Dr. Miller chuckles, putting you at ease and taking you right back to last week, arousal sparking in your core in an instant.

"It's not," he contends, swivelling to face you with a soft smile. "But thank you for comin' back."

He places a hand on your ankle and you jolt at the touch, latex dragging across your flesh as he slowly glides his palm up your leg to your knee.

"Lie down," he breathes.

Your breath stutters and you do as he says, unfolding your spine down onto the paper sheet beneath you. Dr. Miller taps your shin gently.

"Little closer, darlin', you know the drill."

Fuck. You shimmy further down the bed, your knees curling upwards until you feel your toes hit the edge of the mattress.

"There ya go," Dr. Miller hums.

"I'm also sorry..." he continues, both hands now languidly sliding up the outsides of your legs till his fingers find the lace edge of your panties. "For how I left things last time - lift up for me, sweetheart."

Your heartbeat hammers in your ears, unflinchingly lifting your hips up off the table to let Dr. Miller pull your underwear down your thighs, up and over your knees to your ankles, past your feet where he finally lets them fall into a heap on the floor.

"Just caught me off guard, is all," he says, coaxing your knees apart with no resistance from you this time. Your sundress pools at your waistline, leaving your already wet pussy on full display for him once more.

"Fuck," he sighs, a sound almost pained.

You crane your neck to watch him staring openly at you, feeling yourself warm at his ravenous gaze.

"So you...you weren't mad at me?"

He tears his eyes from your pussy to shoot you a small half-smile. "Not at all. Couldn't stop thinkin' about you, actually."

"Me neither," you admit, returning his smile.

"Lie your head back," he tells you then.

It's nearly impossible to look away from him, but you work to obey his orders, letting your head fall into the mattress beneath you, eyes fixed on the ceiling.

"Gonna touch you now," he whispers, the same gentle warning he'd offered you last week.

"Please," you softly croak.

You hear his low chuckle and then you feel his hand trail up your inner thigh, taking his time as he inches towards your cunt.

"You know I have to ask..." he says, just as his fingers make contact with your folds, making you gasp, too loud. Whereas last time, he'd swiftly spread your lips apart and carried on with his work, this time he is slow, gently raking his digits from your hole to your clit, up and down, arousal squelching lewdly under his touch. "Have you been sexually active since your last visit?"

He's still absently running his fingers over your sex, so your responding, "No," escapes you in the form of a choked squeak.

"Didn't think so," Dr. Miller chuckles and now two fingers do spread you open, tracing wet patterns over your sensitive lips, setting your skin on fire as he touches everywhere but your clit. "Still just as wet for me."

"Mhm," you agree, not even bothering to deny it.

"Should make this easy, then," he murmurs, retracting his fingers to retrieve the speculum beside him. "Deep breath, now. Need ya nice and relaxed, darlin'."

Your chest rises and falls in a shaky breath as Dr. Miller nears your entrance with the shiny, metallic tool. Your eyes squeeze shut out of habit.

"Still with me?" he checks in.

"Yes."

He touches the end of the speculum to your hole, the cold making you flinch just as it had last time.

"I know, sweetheart, I know," Dr. Miller coos. "Just a little pressure now, okay?"

"Okay," you say through gritted teeth.

"I got you, I got you," he softly soothes, pushing the speculum into you in a practiced, careful motion. It aches, the discomfort unavoidable, and your muscles tighten instinctively at the intrusion.

"There..." he's humming as he adjusts the arms, opening you up for him and locking the nasty thing in place. "Y'alright?"

"Yes - yes, Dr. Miller."

He groans at that, a sound that goes straight to your cunt, your walls fluttering around the sharp, uninviting edges of the speculum.

"Goddamn," he whispers to himself as he turns to gather the spatula. You peek up at him, watch as he deftly preps the tiny tool and swivels back around to hunch between your open legs.

"This perfect fuckin' pussy..." he marvels, leaning in close to rest the fingers of his free hand at the hinge of your hip, nearing your opening with the spatula. You shiver with anticipation, your head once again falling back behind you.

"You must...see a lot of them," you muse breathily.

"I do," Dr. Miller confesses with a grin, his voice low. "Couldn't get yours outta my head, though."

At that, wetness pools around metal and your core aches with emptiness. Dr. Miller seems to notice.

"So needy," he hums. "Just beggin' for some attention, huh? Someone to make her feel good?"

"Dr. Miller - please - "

"Shh," he cuts you off and it's just as well, you suppose; you're not even sure what you're asking for anymore. "Gonna feel a little pinch, okay?"

"Okay - okay."

He moves quickly now, but no less gently, slipping the spatula inside you and scraping at your inner walls with a feather light touch, pulling back just as fast to stash away the sample.

"Alright, all done," he announces. "Stay still, now, baby."

Baby has your fucking head spinning but you do as he says, frozen where you lay as he makes quick work of loosening the arms of the speculum and carefully easing it out of your dripping hole, setting it aside along with your sample.

He's back on you in a flash, gloved hands finding your thighs and holding them open so you couldn't even move if you wanted to.

"Stay still," he repeats. "Wanna do somethin' for you."

"Please."

Tell me to stop, he thinks. Tell me to stop and I will.

Maybe part of him wishes you would put a stop to this before he crosses yet another line. Because he really shouldn't be doing this here, not when you're still so powerless on the bed before him, not a lover but a patient. Hell, he's got another appointment lined up in just ten short minutes - though, admittedly, he's certain it won't take him that long to give you what he's hoping to give you.

Of course, if he were a stronger man, he'd stop himself. But he's not, so he doesn't.

Instead, he leans into the apex of your thighs, your soaking cunt calling out to him like a siren, pulsing expectantly right before his eyes. God, you need this.

He knows better than to jump right in with the obvious. How much more there is to work with. He's spent his whole goddamn life studying this part of the human body, the keys to making it feel good no exception.

And you need to feel good.

So he starts with a tease, pressing his lips into your inner thigh, hearing your quiet gasp above him, the sweet sound egging him on as he drags his mouth along your skin towards your core, licking his lips before planting a tender kiss against your folds.

"Oh," you whimper quietly, a breathy little noise, laced with desire.

Perfect.

He moves his hands closer, thumbs spreading you open so can see your tight, leaking hole and your aching, puffy clit. He breathes you in for a moment, lips hovering over your heat before his tongue darts out to lightly trace your entrance. His eyes slip closed at the taste of you, salty-sweet and warm against his tongue as he begins to lap at you in wide, sweeping strokes. You're squirming now, slick gathering on his tongue - just as he'd expected.

It's all about the build-up. He knows this.

"Taste so good, baby," he tells you earnestly, placing another wet kiss over your lips before pulling away.

"Dr. Miller - please," you whine, voice rising in volume as your desperation grows. "Don't stop."

"Shh, m'not," he assures you. "Stay quiet for me, though, okay?"

He reaches up to grip your hand against the paper sheet, squeezing down in a silent reminder.

"Mhm," you nod frantically, clamping your free hand down over your mouth. He smiles.

"S'Joel, by the way," he whispers. "My name."

Your breath hitches behind your hand and at last, he presses forward, closing his lips around your needy clit. He begins with patient little flicks of his tongue, up and down over the pearly bud. Your breathing quickens then, huffed hot through your nose and Joel smirks against you, eager to give you more.

He flattens his tongue as he begins to work over your clit in broad, languid circles and god, you like that, if the clenching of your stomach muscles and the binding grasp you have on his hand are anything to go by. So he applies more pressure, all while maintaining that same even pace as he swirls his tongue around your most sensitive spot.

It's something far too many men get wrong, he's learned. Harder doesn't mean faster. Gentle doesn't mean soft. It's all about intent, patience, attention to detail.

It doesn't hurt that he loves it.

It's why he's in no rush as he moves his lips lower to tongue at your hole again, plastering his mouth over your folds to reverently make out with your pussy. He knows the warmth can be stifling, a hot mouth closed over a hot cunt, knows it must feel all the more dizzying to feel his nose prodding at your clit as he daringly presses the tip of his tongue inside you.

Sure enough, your hips rise up off the bed to meet his mouth, a whimper getting caught behind your hand when it drives his tongue deeper into you. Joel hums his approval, sucking at the slick that pools at your core in response.

You're so fucking sweet.

He reaches up to press your hips down, never unlatching his mouth from you as he resumes his place over your clit. Only then does he increase the pace of his ministrations, now that he can tell you're starting to fall apart.

He just wants to try one more thing.

He pulls away from your cunt with a wet pop and you whine in protest, your eyes snapping open, wide and blown-out with lust. He pays it no mind; you'll be thanking him a second.

He untangles his hand from yours to swipe his gloved fingers over your soaking folds, watching you twitch as he grazes your clit, so sensitive. Then he focuses, touching the tip of his middle finger to your hole before slowly sinking it inside.

In his periphery, he sees your head fall back into the mattress.

"Yeah, that's it," he encourages you quietly, pumping his digit in and out until slick coats the latex. "You want more, baby?"

He sees you nod, hears you hum something that sounds like yes and it's all the encouragement he needs to add a second finger alongside the first. You cover your mouth with both hands now, fighting to contain a moan at the stretch. Joel smiles. He'd love to hear what you sound like when you're not trying to be quiet, to discover all the sweet noises he could draw from you.

Luckily, Dr. Joel Miller doesn't need words to know when he's on the right track.

Because now his fingers are searching, curling and beckoning inside you while his eyes scan your face, watching for the moment you -

"Hmmmm!"

There it is, he thinks, while the tips of his gloved fingers nudge at that spongy spot inside you and a series of high pitched sobs turn to muffled sighs against your palms. Your thighs quiver beside his head while your walls clench around him, confirming what he already knows to be true.

"Feels good, don't it?" he coos lowly. "Right there?"

You drop one hand from your face to clutch at his curls, tugging softly, pulling him in closer.

"Yeah?" he whispers, pressing forward to ghost his lips over your clit again, fingers still expertly working your g-spot. "I got you."

And he does. His mouth engulfs your clit and now he swirls his tongue over it in deliberate little circles, harder and faster than before, chasing your release now. His free hand sprawls out on your tummy, feeling it flex and loosen with each pulse of your walls around his fingers.

Should he make you squirt? He knows he could, if he just pressed down a little right above your mound, if he kept prodding at your g-spot and sucking at your clit the way he is right now. Already he can feel wetness dribbling over his knuckles, the fist you have knotted in his hair yanking hard enough to make his eyes water - all the telltale signs of a powerful impending climax.

Maybe not here, he decides, softening the press of his palm on your lower belly and instead sliding it up under your dress to roll one of your nipples between his thumb and forefinger.

And - fuck, that seems to have its desired effect. You cant your hips into his mouth as the squeaks catching in your throat begin to rise in pitch.

He hums against you, long and low, his eyes fluttering closed. Savouring you, because he knows it won't be much longer now.

A few more precise circles of his tongue and your body is seizing up beneath him, walls pulsating around his fingers. He doesn't let up his efforts as you come, drawing it out, taking care to make sure it lasts as long as possible. You tremble, shake with the force of it, thoroughly silent as release rolls over you, but Joel still knows. You do gush for him, just a little, warm liquid trickling down into his palm as he coaxes out the final waves of your orgasm.

He doesn't stop till he feels your muscles slacken and you're clawing at his scalp and while he'd love to keep going, to make you come again and again and again...he notes the hour on the clock on the wall and knows this is neither the time nor the place.

So he heeds your wishes, retracting his mouth first and then, slowly, his fingers. He removes his drenched gloves and tosses them in the trash, watching you carefully as you finally free your mouth from behind your hand to sit up.

"Fuck," you pant weakly, scooting hurriedly down the bed to meet him at the edge of it. You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him into an endearingly appreciative kiss.

You moan when he licks into your mouth to let you taste your come and all at once, his own desire catches up with him, feeling his cock strain behind the zipper of his trousers. He stands, kicks the wheeled stool out of the way and takes your face in his hands, hinging at the waist to kiss you deeper while you bow your spine to do the same.

Fuck, he wants you. A thousand different ways and a thousand different times. Your fingers begin to fumble with the buckle of his belt, arousal punching him hard in the gut but he knows -

It's neither the time nor the place.

"Shit, wait, baby," he sighs, sounding unconvincing, even to himself. Still, he fights to regain control. He pries your hands off him and places them at your sides, chuckling at the sight of you pouting up at him. He cringes internally when he remembers how shocked and dejected you'd looked when he'd left you last week - he won't do that again.

"Please," you beg softly and he almost caves - almost.

"Not here, sweetheart," he soothes, his hands once again cupping the sides of your face, thumbs stroking lightly over your cheekbones.

"Then where?" you press him and he chuckles.

He traces the slope of your lips with his fingers, memorizing the shape of you.

"Did I make you feel good?" he asks, already knowing the answer.

You nod.

"Do you want me to make you feel good again?"

"Please," you repeat, your voice oozing need.

He bends to press his lips to yours again - not quite a kiss, but something more like a promise. He swallows, reining himself in as he reaches behind him to grab a card off the desk. His card.

"Call me," he tells you as he turns back to face you, holding it out to you with one hand while he uses the other to gently stroke your hair. You stare up at him doe-eyed as he speaks, his tone all measured and even. "Let me take you out on a proper date, yeah? Bring you back to my place and show you all the ways I can make you feel good. What do you think about that, sweetheart?"

It'll be better that way, he thinks - for him and for you.

"Okay," you whisper, keeping your eyes on his face as you take the card from his outstretched hand.

Joel hums, leans in to kiss you one more time and then finally steps back. He straightens out his collar and runs a hand through his hair, scrubs a hand over his face and feels his scruff is still sticky-wet with your release. He smiles to himself when he thinks of how the scent of you will be trapped in his moustache while he tends to all his other patients today.

He collects his things and just about makes it to the door before he notices your underwear still bunched up on the tiled floor. He crouches to pocket them without giving it a second thought.

When he turns to face you this time, your face is all awed, mouth agape and eyes wide, fingers loosely clutching his card. He nods towards it with one hand on the doorknob.

"Call me," he says again. "M'serious."

"I will," you promise him, nodding fervently.

"Good," he winks, and despite how desperately he wishes he could stay, Joel steps through the door with one final steadying breath, leaving you behind - at the very least, more sated than last time.

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