Subculture by Sarah Veitch

on her door.
Chapter Six
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    Lisa froze into position, the dildo against her cervical tip. The knock sounded again. Most of the staff knew she’d gone to her room to read - she had to answer. Maybe Carmen wanted to find out what she’d like for dinner tomorrow night. Hastily, Lisa pulled the arousal-smeared dildo out of her glistening interior, and shoved it under the grey leather Welcome Pack. ‘Coming,’ she called, then winced at the irony. She needed to come so bad...
    Kicking her discarded pants and stockings under the bed and smoothing down her skirt, she hurried to the door. Reluctantly she opened it a little way. Michael stood there.
    â€˜Sorry to disturb,’ he said, smiling. ‘This’ll just take a minute. I wanted to talk to you about sexual release.’
    â€˜I bet you do,’ Lisa muttered, genuine sarcasm entering her voice. Dania had probably fallen asleep on him, and now he was looking for a conveniently oiled vagina to penetrate. He could go to Hell.
    â€˜I wanted to talk to you professionally about sexual release,’ the doctor interjected. She watched the slight narrowing of his dark brown eyes. ‘It’s very important. We have to broach the subject with our patients, even though it’s not the British or Maltese way.’
    â€˜You mean ask them if they’re having intercourse?’ Lisa strove to keep her voice and hands as calm as she could. The thought of a thrusting thick cock was making her hungry core even more hungry. ‘Surely that depends on what they’ve come to see me about?’
    â€˜A person’s sex life is always relevant,’ Dr Landers said, shifting the pile of forms he was carrying from hand to hand.
    â€˜But if a woman presents with migraine...’
    â€˜It may be partially caused by tension due to a lack of orgasm,’ the doctor replied.
    Lisa swallowed before she spoke. ‘I suppose, but... well, it’s such a delicate subject.’
    The doctor’s voice contained a sarcastic half laugh. ‘Isn’t it better to broach the subject than to let headaches mar the rest of her life?’
    Put like that, it was hard to disagree. But was he trying to sexualise this conversation for his own agenda? He was still an unknown quantity.
    â€˜Some priests and nuns don’t orgasm,’ she muttered, determined not to let him have the final word.
    â€˜They may not masturbate or have sex, but they come in their sleep like teenage schoolboys,’ the former surgeon said.
    â€˜Do celibates orgasm as often as sexually active folk?’ Lisa had a sudden vision of endless semen-stained laundry piled up in every monastery.
    â€˜No, less often - there’s some truth in the saying that if you don’t use it you lose it,’ Michael replied.
    â€˜Ah - so my migraine patients have gone beyond desire?’ Lisa asked triumphantly.
    â€˜What do you think?’ He looked her up and down then returned to making eye contact. ‘Do breasts with hundreds of tiny sensitive pathways no longer need stroking? Does a firm round backside not yearn to be cupped or squeezed or erotically slapped?’ His gaze locked with hers. ‘Doesn’t a clitoris want to be gently fondled? Doesn’t a warm wet woman want a man deep inside?’
    She was going to come in a minute, and she feared the bastard knew it. Trying to gather her hectic thoughts, Lisa let her eyelids flicker down. ‘They... alright, I’ll ask patients about whether or not they’re having intercourse,’ she said hesitantly.
    â€˜Intercourse isn’t the key word - many women don’t orgasm that way, and even pressurised men have been known to fake it,’ the former surgeon parried. He put his free hand on the right side of the door frame and leaned forward slightly. ‘Orgasm’s what’s vital here.’
    â€˜And if they don’t come, do I...?’ If he said she had to act as a sex