Tears Down My Leg - Blog Posts
meOW
a closer look
synopsis: every time you try to take your relationship to the next level, you always shy away at the last second. lucky for you, dr. zayne has a solution!
tags: inexperienced reader & zayne, soft dom zayne, reader fears penetration at first, zayne sets up a surgical camera so she can watch him finger her, vaginal fingering (duh), “anatomy” “lesson,” praise, “good girl,” improper use of hospital assets pairing: zayne x fem reader word count: 2.3k
a/n: this came to me in a dream. enjoy
“Have I given you reason to be afraid of me?” Zayne asks you softly, attentive gaze trailing down your stiff body.
“N-no!” you blurt, thrusting your hands out in mortification. “You haven’t, I swear you haven’t. This is just…new to me.”
“Me as well,” he retreats from above you, moving back on the sofa to give you breathing room.
Just moments ago, you’d been writhing under him needily, his tongue plunging into your eager mouth as you groped each other with abandon. Spurred on by your initial pleas, he’d dared to take it further this time—further than either of you had ever been. But as his hand had traveled down your body, dipping just the slightest bit inside your panties, you’d gone rigid. Zayne, ever aware of your reactions, had stopped his movements immediately, looking seekingly into your eyes for answers. Unfortunately for him, once that cautious hazel gaze had found yours, you’d squeezed your eyes shut in embarrassment.
“It’s nothing that you did, Zayne,” you sigh as you sit up, running a hand through your hair in frustration. “I know you’d never hurt me. I’m just…scared.”
“Of?” he asks softly, and the way his kind face is void of any judgment makes you want to extract your brain and beat it for denying you the chance to feel him.
Another sigh escapes you as you gather your thoughts. “What if it hurts?” you wonder shyly, fiddling with your clammy hands. “I always imagined it’d hurt. And there’s never…been…anything there, outside of medical stuff. That’s the only thing I have to compare it to.”
Nodding along patiently, Zayne extends a hand to you, pulling you to him when you accept it gratefully. “I’m sorry that you’re frightened, but I understand your hesitation. I’m content to just hold you in my arms, if you’ll let me. As long as it takes, I’ll wait for you.”
“No, I-I want to. With you, soon. That’s the problem—I’ll think I’m ready, but then the second we get close, I freeze up. I just don’t know what to expect, and that scares me.”
Humming contemplatively, Zayne laces your fingers together. “I think I can help with that.”
The usually bustling corridors of Akso Hospital are eerily quiet at night.
Hurrying through them as if a ghost will jump out at any second, you scour the door plaques for room 429.
I’ll be finishing up early today. If you’re able, can you meet me at the hospital this evening? Room 429, Zayne had messaged you hours ago. And with no other plans and a lingering sense of guilt that you know he’d disapprove of, you’d agreed almost instantly.
Combating pangs of confusion—he never asked you here at night, outside of official events—you don’t realize you’ve scurried past the door until the room numbers grow too high. Backtracking briskly, you tap the wood with two soft knocks before a calm “Come in!” beckons you inside.
Room 429 is a standard hospital room—a large examination table, a sink and cabinets, and two simple chairs. At the small table near the back of the room—much humbler than the sleek standing desk in his office, you note perplexedly—Zayne sits, pen in hand, leafing through an endless stack of paperwork. Why did he move his office here for the night?
“Great, you’re here,” he says, setting his pen atop a thick packet. “Take a seat.”
“Um, okay,” you mumble obediently, heading toward one of the navy guest chairs.
“Not there,” he calls.
Turning to face him, you catch the way his eyes shift to the examination table. “Is this some kind of impromptu appointment?” you ask, his secrecy filling you with stubbornness.
Zayne rises from the rolling chair that’s too small for him, crossing the room in measured strides. “Not a sanctioned one.”
Before you can ask what he means, his hands are wrapping around your waist, lifting you up to deposit you on the soft table padding.
“Hey!” you squeak, surprised but not fighting him. “What is all this? I had my annual checkup a couple weeks ago, I’ll have you know. And I won’t be your guinea pig, either.”
Zayne tsks with amusement. As he presses a button, a large black mount lowers from the ceiling, its sturdy hooks securing a small silver device. Another button, and the device’s tiny red light flicks on.
And suddenly, your reflection stares back at you from a monitor on the opposite wall.
Anticipating your interrogation, Zayne speaks before you can. “This is a high-definition surgical instrument. It’s used to help us see the body during minor procedures.”
You blink at him quizzically. “So…a camera?”
“Yes. A camera. Repurposed for…recreational matters,” he quips with a slight upturn of his lips.
“You should know your own body,” he continues gently. “Exploring yourself—whether with or without me—is your right. And after last night, I figured…perhaps being able to see my actions as they happen would assuage some of your fears.”
“You…when did you have time to…?” you trail off, staring up at him in wonder.
“I believe I told you I finished my work early today. This was the reason,” he reveals. Even with you perched on the examination table, Zayne’s imposing height exceeds yours. His assurance is a warm blanket as he stands beside you, resting a large palm on your bent knee. “I’d like to help you explore yourself now. Will you allow me to?”
With a heavy gulp—more from anticipation than nerves, you realize—you nod your consent meekly.
“I don’t know what that means, darling. Can you give me words?”
“Yes,” you exhale shakily. “Help me. Please.”
Smiling softly, pride flashing across his face, he leans in to kiss you sweetly. Then, reaching up to bring the camera closer, he angles it toward your lower body. On the far wall, the feed is dangerously close to revealing what lies beneath your skirt.
“I’ll raise this,” he says, lifting the fabric with care. “And these…will need to come off,” he eyes you, gesturing to your thin cotton panties.
For a moment, you debate removing them yourself. But if this was about overcoming fears….
“Can you do it, Dr. Zayne? I wouldn’t want to get in the way,” you whisper coyly.
His eyes widen as he pauses. Then, collecting himself, he inches his hands forward to tug at the sides of your panties, sliding them down with precision. “Of course,” he says softly. “I’ll take care of you.”
As he sets his eyes on your naked cunt for the first time, Zayne shows admirable restraint, looking away after only a few tense seconds. Some hypocritical, eager-to-please part of you would almost be offended, if not for his tells: his quickened blinks, heavy breaths, and fidgeting fingers.
“I’ll get started now,” he exhales, voice husky with veiled desire. “You’re free to stop me at any time.”
And as you gaze at him with trust and only a little bit of fear, Zayne begins.
“This is your pelvic bone,” he gestures slowly. “It supports your body weight.”
The warmth of someone else’s hand on your bare hip is a foreign feeling. Foreign, but not bad, you decide, relaxing under his touch.
“The mons pubis,” he continues, hands ghosting over the mound beneath your belly.
“And this,” he murmurs, spreading your folds carefully, “is your pretty little pussy.”
The word—in here, from him, in reference to you—is so scandalous it makes you gasp. You try desperately to avoid his gaze, eyes flitting across the room in panicked arousal, but you don’t find the reprieve you’re looking for.
Because on that far wall, looking back at you tauntingly, is the velvety skin of your most private part, glistening with your growing desire.
Snapping you out of your staring contest, Zayne taps the flesh of your thigh twice. “Open, please. Wider.”
Swallowing thickly, you oblige.
“Good,” he praises, tracing your exposed entrance with an elongated index finger. “This is where I’ll touch you. Is that alright?”
Through heavy drags of air, you forget his earlier instructions, nodding quickly as your answer. When all he does is lift a brow, a teasing smirk playing on his lips, you hazily remember his request. “Yes,” you whimper apologetically. “It’s alright.”
“Well, then. Suck,” he orders simply, holding his finger to your mouth.
The command startles you at first. But as you look between the man beside you and the far wall, recalling how frustrated you’d been with your fears last night, you part your lips slightly. Just enough for him to enter.
Timidly, you circle your tongue around him, coating his finger in your saliva. Once he deems it wet enough, he taps your thigh again, and you release him with a soft pop.
With half-lidded eyes, Zayne hums his approval, pushing closer to you to angle the digit at your entrance. “Hold onto me if you need to,” he whispers, pressing a light kiss to your shoulder.
And then, his finger sinks inside you.
It’s one thing to feel the tension. To clench as a light, unfamiliar pressure pushes firmly inside your heat, claiming the untraversed territory with every inch.
But as the discomfort subsides and you open your eyes, seeing it unfold is something else entirely.
On the large screen, Zayne’s slender finger pumps in and out of you slowly, impactfully. With every exit, your pulsing pink walls hug his retreating digit, begging him to stay. And when he grants their request, every thrust back inside has them clamping around his finger, as if barring him from leaving them lonely.
Watching with rapt attention, Zayne splits his focus between the monitor and you, gauging your expression for signs of discomfort.
But as your body melts with newfound pleasure, you sigh softly along to the rhythm of his pumps, eyeing the way he breaches your wetness with wanton intrigue.
The way he disappears inside you, giving his body to yours…you want to kiss him. You need to kiss him. But the moment you lift your gaze to his lips, licking your own as you lean in, Zayne moves his face just out of reach.
“No,” he murmurs his denial, stroking your walls with added vigor as he turns your face back toward the screen. “Don’t get distracted.”
Grumbling your disappointment, you allow his hypnotic movements to recapture your attention. But before long, you’re curling into his touch. “Can you…m-more?” you pant, risking a longing glance up at him.
“More?” Zayne repeats, slowing his pace to a deep probe that makes you writhe in impatience. “Is that something you can handle?”
“Yes,” you cry, clutching his pristine lab coat. “Can handle it, if it’s you.”
He hums contentedly. And a split second later, another long finger joins the first.
Eyes glued to the screen, you see the intrusion before you feel it: his thick, united digits headed straight for your core. As he prods at the small opening, advances met with quivering resistance, you almost think you’ve asked for more than you can take. But as slick dribbles out of your squelching hole to welcome him, the fluid dulls the stretching sensation, and your fluttering cunt sucks him in greedily.
A loud, lewd moan has you arching erratically, and Zayne wraps a strong arm around your lower back to support you.
“How does it feel?” he murmurs between steady pumps. “Are you still frightened?”
“No,” you mewl ardently. “It’s good. You’re good. But I…” you pause, racking your fuzzy brain for the right words.
“You what, my love?”
“I can’t…I don’t think I can…like this…” you trail off with an embarrassed whine, hoping he understands your babbling.
“Mm,” he nods sympathetically. “It’s natural that you can’t come from this alone. What a good girl you are for telling me.”
With his free hand, Zayne leans forward to adjust the camera, centering it over your glistening cunt. Once satisfied, he flexes his thumb to rest gently on the twitching bundle above your entrance. “You know what this is, don’t you, darling?”
“Clit,” you breathe, the word leaving you in a garbled gasp thanks to the shocks of his feather-light touch.
“That’s right,” he praises, kissing your temple while his fingers scissor lazily inside you. “This is how you’ll finish.”
As your voices fade, room filling with the wet sploshes of your tightening walls, the force of his thumb grows heavier on your clit. You almost squeal as the pressure increases, instinctively lifting your hips out of the camera frame—to which Zayne firmly pushes you back down.
“Watch,” he commands sternly. “So you’ll know how to do the same when I’m away.”
Curling his other fingers inside you, Zayne rolls his thumb in devastating circles, grinding so deeply against your nub that it greets you with spasmic, greedy twitches on the monitor. For a moment, his movements are mesmerizing, his thumb drawing patterns on your clit in time with his measured pumps. But as he slips out his index finger to pinch your aching bud, the gushing slick heralding your release is the last thing you see before your eyes screw shut from ecstasy.
As you writhe against him with thankful sobs, Zayne’s movements slow before stopping altogether. “It’s alright,” he shushes you. “Let it take you. You look beautiful like this.”
And in the comfort of his reassurance, those sobs turn into quiet, blissful moans.
You’re not sure how he does it—the sink and paper towels are on the other side of the room—but when you open your eyes, Zayne’s hands are clean.
“I’m very proud of you,” he says gently, wiping a stray tear from your eye. “How do you feel?”
“Good,” you mumble, nuzzling into his palm. “You were right. Seeing it, knowing what you were doing…it did help,” you finish shyly.
“I’m glad. And in that case,” he adds, tapping the camera appreciatively, “I’ll ask around about the cost of installation in my home office.”