A.K.A Drunken Fuckfest

The next week was a flurry of conflicting emotions. Embarrassment, hope, self-loathing, fear, all vying for first place in the pit of her gut. She was constantly looking over her shoulder. Henderson, her best team member, even commented on her change of demeanor. "I'm pretty sure if the cops were going to arrest one of us, they'da done it by now and that drug kingpin we cured a month ago was more than pleased with our techniques despite our poking into his business more than the average doctors might."

She waved off his concern and pulled off her reading glasses to meet his eyes. "I'm fine. I just had a weird dream the other night," she lied. "It felt so real and was really disturbing. I think it's just made me a little paranoid. Probably our fucked up schedule this last couple of cases. Nothing a week of normal sleep can't cure."

Henderson smiled and nodded. She could tell he wasn't really buying what she was selling, but he also knew her well enough to know if she didn't want to share, she wouldn't regardless the amount of prodding.

He was a good-looking younger man — 28 years-old and ready to be a rock-star doctor. He had the thought process of a Foreman with the charm of a Chase and the demeanor of a Wilson. He had a way with patients, especially the female and gay male variety that put them at ease like no one she'd ever worked with. He was tall with dark hair and blue eyes.

She knew she was going hire him the minute he walked in because of how he looked. He wouldn't have made it to the interview if his professional pedigree didn't pan out, so his looks were as good a factor as any to base the final decision. She imagined that if House hadn't been mind fucked his whole life, Henderson is like what House would have been.

Henderson was flirty with her, but she could never be with him. Firstly, she was his boss. Secondly, she thought he deserved less baggage and she was determined not to fuck him up the same way House had fucked her up. Henderson, at least, had a handle on his feelings toward her. She was glad. In her current state, he was just the kind of distraction she might take full advantage of. She did, she freely admits to herself, hire him as much as lobby art as she did for his mind.

It bothered her some days — just how much like House she was becoming. It really was like a vacuum. Together their polar opposite approaches balanced and pulled against the other. They kept each other in orbit, in sync. Of course, it wasn't her that had kept him balanced outside of work. Wilson served that purpose in his real-life.

It wasn't until House was truly gone, and not just in another state, that she became fully aware of the effect he'd had on her. Even half a continent away, the idea of him had kept her grounded. His death shattered her orbit, sending her spiraling to the unknown.

And now, he might not be dead.

Or she has a stalker.

Or she's just lost her mind and none of it happened at all.

She had an MRI scheduled for later this week to see if she'd developed some sort of problem that might cause her to hallucinate this whole thing up. It's not like she can invite someone over and ask them to text this man on her burner phone and see what happens. Hell, if she's that far gone, she could be leaving these 'gifts' for herself.

She kept treating everything as if it were a symptom of some sort of mental illness. At least that was a little less scary than scenario two. As for scenario one… she wasn't even ready to decide what that might mean for her. He hadn't texted her again and she didn't know if she was ready to open that door unprompted. Returning to her paperwork, she debated on what she should do next and hoped a case would come across her desk soon to serve as a distraction.

The day drew on and there was no such luck. By four, she was sneaking shots from the bottle of vodka she kept hidden in the back of the locked file cabinet under her desk. By five, she was a little tipsy and headed out to catch the El home. Or, more specifically, to her home station. She headed straight to the little street level pub a couple of blocks away, just below the apartment building where she lived.

She ordered wine there, her true drink of choice, and was happy to re-engage the portion of buzz she had lost on her commute.

Two glasses later and the man sitting at the end of the bar was looking rather fetching. A second later she was caught looking. He bought her a drink and she went to his place and rode him like she was breaking in a wild mustang on the floor of his condo, not two feet from the door. He asked for her number after she was dressed and ready to walk out the door. She told him "Don't spoil a good fuck by expecting another," and walked out, closing the door behind her.

Ten minutes later she was back at her place, pouring another glass of wine and thinking that maybe she shouldn't have been in such a hurry to leave, as the orgasm she just received only served to make her want another.

Of course, there was always him.

With that thought, she headed to her bedroom, fished the gifted phone and silicone cock from her panty drawer and tossed them to the bed. After stripping, she joined them. She placed the phone face up on the bed and straddled herself over it on her knees. She looked at the image of her freshly fucked pussy staring back at her from the screen and wondered what he would have to say about it. She set the timer, pulled her lips open and let it take the image. She texted it to him a moment later and waited with butterflies in her stomach and a finger circling her clit, occasionally bringing it to her mouth to taste herself.

No foreplay this time?- it buzzed back about two minutes later. Then followed quickly with another - Of course, if I were a doctor, I'd be able to tell you've already had an appetizer and now you're ready for the main course.

She smirked and typed. - A guy bought me a drink. I fucked him. Now I want to fuck you

Again a reply came quickly. - Good thing for you, I've never minded sloppy seconds. I want to watch you this time. All of it.

No sooner did she read the message than Skype began to ring the phone. She's excited. He wanted to video chat with her. After answering she was disappointed to discover he had put something over his camera. She said aloud, "That's hardly fair."

A message bubble answered her. - You know by now life isn't fair. Prop up the phone between your legs so I can see your wet little cunt and fuck yourself so I can get off

"Yes sir," she answered with a salute and did just as he had asked. Once pleased he could see everything, she rubbed her clit hard and came on her fingers. A few seconds later she grabbed the dildo and plunged it inside her with a moan of sheer ecstasy. "Oh, god. Your cock is so much better. I wanted to just think of you as I fucked him, but he didn't have this." She pulled out the dick and sucked it like she wants to suck him, then thrust it back inside her pussy and pounded it as hard as she could.

It's not enough.

It's not real.

She needed him.

Hearing an alert, she looked to the screen and read: - You need me to really fuck you, don't you

"Yes. I need your cock inside me. I want you to fuck me raw and come inside me."

Another bubble popped on the screen. - You got some lube?

"Lube? I'm dripping wet."

She watched the dancing dots as he typed his reply, the whole while she fucked herself in front of the camera. Finally, the message appeared. It's not for your pussy. I've always wanted to pound that tight little ass of yours. Since the first time I saw it, I wanted to fuck it. Over my desk. Hard. I wanted to make you cum from a good ass fucking.

Cameron was not one for anal. Even in the drunken state she was in, it caused her to take pause. Dirty sex chat about it was one thing. Fucking her own ass for real, quite another. And yet, she never could say no to him.

"I think I have some leftover from when I was with Ray." She said aloud, not so much to him. A year into their marriage, Ray and she had long since lost the spark so lube was something she needed to give him the weekly fuck that kept him happy and off of her the rest the week.

She tossed her underwear around until she found the small, half-full bottle and returned to the bed. She found an angle comfortable enough to work yet still gave him a full show, then squirted some lube in her hand and began circling her anus with slick fingers.

It felt superbly dirty to touch herself in this way. She took a little more lube and returned her hand to her rear entrance and pushed in her middle finger, fucking it slowly. A few minutes later she'd graduated to two fingers and was about to take the third when she heard the alert.

Goddamn, Cameron, I might have just ruined my keyboard.

The line disconnected and he was gone.

"What the hell!" She yelled at the phone, in frustration.

As if it heard her, a text buzzed in.

I lied about not minding sloppy seconds. Don't ever fuck someone else again and text me to show it off. If you want to fuck me, come fuck me, otherwise, don't play this bullshit game. Believe it or not, I am past games.

She grabbed the phone, not caring that she was smearing it with her fluids and bottled lube. - Not into games! Then wtf is this?

His reply sobered her. - This is how it has to work when you decide you want to be with a dead man