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Filthy Doctor

By:Amy Brent

The doctor will see you now... ALL of you.

I’m a world-renowned cardiologist, but breaking hearts is what I do best.

When women are lined up for a turn between my Egyptian cotton bed sheets – it makes it difficult to limit my services to just one.

With these movie-star looks and a bank account almost as sizeable as the surgical instrument between my legs, you can’t really blame them.

Rumor has it that my hands work magic – both in the clinic and in the bed.

It felt like I had everything figured out, until Lucy walked back into my world – causing me to lose all focus.

We were HOT lovers in high school – and I can remember the night I took her V card.

Now she's back, as the producer of my reality TV show.

My brain tells me to leave the past in the past,

but one look into her sultry blue eyes tells me she still wants me – and I’ve learned so many new talents since our last night together.

I’m so ready to be her FILTHY DOCTOR.

Her delicious curves tempt me to take her.

I want to own that voluptuous body.

But doing so would mean risking her career and breaking my biggest rule: Never fall in love.


Cole ordered the driver to take us to his penthouse, then raised the tinted glass behind the front seat so we could have a little privacy. We sat in the back seat making out like the two horny teenagers we once were.

His tongue hungrily probed my mouth as his warm hand slipped under my blouse and bra to massage my breast and roll my nipples. Little sparks of electricity shot through my body from head to toe, as if I’d touched an electric fence.

I could feel the intense flood gushing between my legs as my hand slid between his thighs and found his thick cock hard and ready, just like the old days. It felt magical beneath my hand, as if touching it had transported me back in time.

I moaned into his mouth when his hand slid down to my crotch. He rubbed the fabric between my legs until the heat was so intense I thought my slacks might catch fire.

“We’re here,” he sighed in my ear as the car rolled to a stop in front of his Manhattan penthouse. It was a short ride that ended not a moment too soon. “Let’s continue this upstairs.”

“Yes, let’s,” I said, blowing out a long breath and adjusting my blouse as the doorman hurried across the sidewalk to open the car door.

“I have a huge boner,” Cole whispered with a boyish grin that I recognized from years ago. He took off his jacket to drape over his arm to cover his protruding cock. He slid out of the car and held out his free hand to me.

When I got out of the car I “accidentally” brushed his cock with my hand. He jumped and I giggled.

“Let’s go upstairs and I’ll take care of that for you, Dr. Walker,” I said. Without another word, he grabbed my hand and literally dragged me inside the building, across the marble foyer, into the gold-paneled elevator, and into his penthouse suite.

We attacked each other the moment the elevator doors closed.

Chapter 1: Dr. Cole Walker

“You fucking cardiologists… You all think you’re gods or something,” Efram said bitterly, albeit it with a smile, as he stared at me from behind the cup of shitty coffee they served in the hospital cafeteria. Dr. Efram Schoenberg was the top anesthesiologist in the city. That’s why I brought him in for all my complex operations. Patients who died on the operating table rarely paid their bills. It was Efram’s job to keep them breathing while I cut open their chests to repair or replace their hearts. Efram was also one of my best friends and the biggest buster of my balls.

“We don’t think we’re gods,” I said with a smile. I picked up my cup of coffee and held it up in a toast. “Some of us are gods, Efram. And some of us might even be the God. So, watch what you say. I’d hate to waste a good lightning bolt on your ass.”

“Jesus, how do you carry the weight of that ego?’ he asked, rolling his eyes. “It must be a terrible burden.”

“It’s a burden I willingly bear for the good of mankind,” I said with a smile. I tapped my cup to his and settled back in the hard chair to stretch out my legs and let my eyes wander around the room. It was after four in the afternoon, but the Mercy General cafeteria was still bustling with staff and visitors eating the lousy hospital food left over from lunch because it was convenient and relatively cheap. The food was decent if you didn’t mind the abundance of grease and salt the kitchen used to give the food a semblance of flavor. I ate there only if I was desperately hungry. Otherwise, I choked down the coffee after long operations with Efram and that was it. I was Dr. Cole Walker, after all. I ate for free at five-star restaurants, not shitty hospital cafeterias.

Efram and I had just come out of a nine-hour heart surgery and admittedly, I was beat. The patient, a fifty-year-old construction worker with total blockage in all three major arteries, was lucky to be alive. Or perhaps I should say that he was lucky that I was in the hospital when the paramedics brought him into the ER after suffering a massive heart attack. No one expected him to live. No one but me, that is. I cracked his chest and manually massaged his heart as he was wheeled into the OR. I stinted his arteries and Efram kept him breathing until I was done. Now he was resting comfortably in ICU. I expected that he’d make a full recovery. How long he would live after that was totally up to him.

Like I said, in this hospital, I was God.

Nobody died on my watch.


If you asked most surgeons what the most difficult part of their job was they wouldn’t say that it was replacing a patient’s heart or resecting a bowel or reattaching a limb. That stuff a good surgeon could do in his sleep. The most difficult part was standing over a patient for hours at a time as the muscles in your legs and back tied into knots. Most of my peers had back problems after years of hovering over an operating table. I was only thirty-six and in peak physical condition, but today my back was killing me. I needed a nice deep tissue massage, preferably administered by a blonde with big tits and the willingness to finish it off with a happy ending. As if on cue, Monica Craft, one of the scrub nurses I serviced on a regular basis, i.e. fucked whenever the mood struck me, strolled into the cafeteria and headed my way. I could tell she wasn’t wearing a bra beneath the pink scrub shirt she wore. And if history was any indication, she wasn’t wearing panties either.

“The patient is resting comfortably in recovery,” she said, sliding into the chair to my right. She picked up my coffee cup and took a drink, then made a sour face that wrinkled her cute nose. She smacked her lips and grinned me.

“Really?” Efram said, bouncing a frown between us. “Do I need to leave?”

“Nah, you’re good,” I said, winking at Monica. Efram shook his head and looked away. He knew I fucked Monica on a regular basis and that didn’t bother him. He fucked as many nurses as I did. Most doctors did. What bothered him was her air of familiarity. I might have had a God Complex, but Efram had a Class Complex. In his mind, doctors walked among the clouds while nurses, and everyone else, occupied the ground far below. Nurses were beneath doctors, no pun intended. Doctors should not sit or eat or socialize in public with nurses or hospital staff. It was okay for doctors to fuck as many nurses as they pleased, but it was not okay for a nurse to sit down with a doctor in public and sip from his cup. It didn’t matter that in a few minutes I’d be fucking Monica’s brains out in an empty hospital room or a broom closet.

“It’s okay to fuck them,” Efram would say. “But don’t date them or marry them. And certainly, don’t socialize with them in public. It will only cause trouble.”

“I’ll check on the patient before I leave,” I said with a sigh that signaled that I was ready to get the show on the road. I felt my cock twitch in my scrubs as I watched Monica licking the coffee from her lips. She gazed at me with her big blue eyes and let one eyebrow twitch, which was her signal that it was time to play. She was a cute redhead with big tits and thick nipples, and a bush of red curls that proved that the carpet did indeed match the drapes. She was petite and flexible, like a contortionist, and she loved to create new positions. I could literally pick her up and bend her this way and that, or she would climb up me like a kid on a monkey bar and impale her tight pink pussy on my big cock.

Her favorite position was clamping her fingers around my neck while I held on to her ass and swung her into me like a kid on a swing. She was small, but she somehow managed to take most of my ten inches inside her. Monica was a sexual marvel, but Efram was right. I would fuck her till her eyes bugged out behind closed doors, but that was where our relationship ended. Once we left the hospital, there was nothing between us. Monica understood that and said she was fine just having a good time. Besides, she was engaged to a guy who worked in accounting, Bob something or other. She didn’t want to marry me, she often said. She just liked fucking doctors.

I was glad Monica knew how the game was played. Again, I was Dr. Cole Walker, the world-renowned cardiologist who literally held life in my hands. I was not only successful and rich, I was also six-foot-two and two hundred pounds of lean muscle, thanks to my daily workouts and five-mile runs.