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Camilla walked into her fake gyno office in order to practice learning everything there was to know about vaginas. All the inner working and how they were vaginas.

She made sure everything was set up so that she could get a good look at the practice dummy’s vaginal canal, now she just had to wait for the dummy to be brought in. Eventually she would get to perform vagina tasks on a real person, but right now it was just a piece of plastic with a very realistic looking vulva and functioning wet ass pussy.

She heard footsteps coming down the corridor. What she saw when she turned around was not what she was expecting at all. Ianthe stood in the doorway with nothing but a purple turtleneck on. Her whole pussy was out. It was a very in-your-face outfit.

Ianthe leaned against the door seductively. “The wet ass pussies of the mannequins have malfunctioned. I’m here as the replacement.” she said.

Camilla took this very matter-of-factly. “Okay, can you lay on the examination table and get in the stirrups for me please?”

Ianthe strutted over to the examination table and did a quick kartwheel so that her pussy was on full display briefly before it would be on even fuller display in the stirrups.

She climbed into the vagina bed (the bed for examining vaginas) and spread her legs into the stirrups. “Just so you know,” said Ianthe, “you can feel free to do more than just examine me. There are lots of other things that can go in me besides a speculum. Also feel free to touch any part of me….with any part of you.” she sat up a little bit to wink.

“Okay,” said Camilla neutrally while unzipping her pants to reveal a gray strap on “but only if you cooperate for me to practice first.”

“Oh of course doctor, I don’t want to get in the way of your learning, feel free to poke and prod at my every nook and cranny.”

Camilla put on gloves and sat on a rolly-chair to vault herself over to Ianthe with a completely neutral expression. The bitch didn’t even say “wheee!” on a rolly-chair.

She placed herself in front of the vulva to start her examination. It looked like a vulva that belonged to Ianthe, which it should, because it did, in fact, belong to Ianthe.

Camilla spread the blonde lips out of the way to get a good look at the wonderland that was Ianthe’s pussy. Her clit was already swollen at the thought of a thorough gynecological examination. She was dripping more than a simulation pussy ever could.

She stuck a finger into the wet hole to make sure it felt correct. Ianthe screamed in pleasure like a pterodactyl.

“I think we can skip the speculum.” said Camilla as she slipped another finger in. Ianthe was in so much ecstasy that she started belting out the lyrics to the ABCs. She was in so much ecstasy that she could only remember the basic alphabet.

“I’ve always wanted to get fingerfucked by a stoic gynocologist.” said Ianthe.

“I think in order to truly understand your pussy I have to get a taste so I can measure the pH balance with my scientific tongue.” said Camilla.

“Oh please doctor fuck me with your science tongue.” screamed Ianthe.

Camilla slipped her fingers out of Ianthe and stuck them in her mouth for a preview. She then ran her tongue up and down Ianthe’s pussy. She made sure to pay extra attention to her entrance so that she could understand the exact taste of her juices.

Ianthe whimpered on the table. Camilla used her science tongue to figure out that Ianthe’s pH balance was normal. She licked up to give Ianthe’s clit attention before she got ready to give her her strap on.

Camilla stood up and positioned her strap in front of Ianthe’s entrance. “Are you ready to get fucked into oblivion?” she said neutrally.

“Please fuck me like I’m some kind of puppet in desparate need of fucking!” cried Ianthe.

Camilla thrusted into her and Ianthe’s eyes fluttered shut as started singing once again. Camilla continued to thrust until Ianthe announced that was about to “be one with the puppet and come screaming into the void.”

Ianthe’s legs shook in the stirrups as her soul briefly left her body and then came back down. Camilla pulled out of her and mentally patted herself on the back for a job well-done.

“Before you go,” said Ianthe, “could you do me a huge favor and fist me?”

Camilla shrugged and prepared her hand. She entered Ianthe again, this time with her whole hand. Now Ianthe was truly one with the puppet.

“Wow,” said Ianthe, “That feels amazing, but do you know what would be even better? If you fisted my wanting butthole.”

Camilla shrugged and pulled her fist out of Ianthe’s vagina. She walked over to the desk and pulled open the drawer. Inside were: a copy of the movie Shrek, Tools to make sweet corn, a remote that controlled the robotic man that lived at the end of the hallway, and a package of ass lube. She pulled out the ass lube and squirted it all over her arm.

She walked back over to Ianthe and placed a couple fingers in her ass to warm her up. “Do you want me to strap you first?” asked Camilla, thinking it would be more comfortable and open for her that way.

“Nah just punch my butthole real good, I should be fine, I love butthole punches.”

Camilla once again shrugged and inserted her hand into Ianthe’s ass. It was pretty tight, but a comfortable fit. Ianthe metaphorically opened a refrigerator door only to find the best leftovers known to man and microwaved them and ate them and enjoyed them to the fullest. It was the best orgasm of her life. Dr. Cam certainly knew how to anally fist someone. She was thinking about whether or not she should refer her other friends that she knew loved getting anally fisted to Cam.

Once Ianthe had her 27th consecutive anal orgasm, she finally told Camilla that she could stop. Camilla pulled her hand out of Ianthe’s gaping anus with a plop sound.

“Is there any way I can repay you for the perfect favor you have done me by fisting my asshole in perfect rhythm with the p!nk album that plays on repeat in my head?” asked Ianthe.

“It cool if I sit on your face?” asked Camilla, completely deadpan.

“I would give five hundred copies of my favorite novel for you to place your scientific pussy upon my face.” said Ianthe, she was practically begging.

Camilla removed her strap on, then her gray pants, then her gray boxer-briefs. She did a handstand and walked on her hands up to Ianthe’s face. She wanted to give Ianthe a preview of what was about to be placed upon her.

Camilla then got back on her feet and climbed onto the examination table. She placed her thighs on either side of Ianthe’s head and lowered herself down.

Ianthe started slurping her up like she was the greatest french onion soup this side of the nine houses. Camilla almost couldn’t keep her composure but remembered to keep her Camilla face straight as Ianthe went to town on her pussy.

Camilla came neutrally.

The End

Chapter Text

Corona writhed on the beach, the eight arms of an octopus fully enveloping her. one tentacle slither over her large, gelatinous breasts, two of its suckers covering her diamond-hard nipples and sucking at them. she moaned in ecstasy, and a second arm slid down her buttcrack and around until it began to insert into her vagina. she would have started screaming with octopleasure, but a third tentacle slid itself into her mouth, muffling any noise she tried to make. as the tentacle in her vagina began to pump back and forth, one of the suckers further up attached itself to her butthole and began doing the only thing it knew how to do — sucking. Corona LOVED getting octorimmed while being octofucked.

Corona loved her octolover, each of her eight arms holding a special place in Corona's heart. but beach sex with an octopus had its downsides, including the dreaded sandgina she was always left suffering from. as her octolover bestowed her with eight phenomenal octorgasms, corona knew where she would have to go as soon as they were done.

Doctor Cam was the best gynecologist in the world. She knew absolutely everything there was to know about pussies. She even INVENTED some NEW things there were to know about the pussy. Doctor Cam was the only Doctor Corona would entrust with her perfect, plump, pink pussy.

"Doctor Cam," she said, "I have managed to get an incredible amount of sand stuck in my perfect, pink, plump pussy."

"Third time this week, Tridentaurius?" she asked, very seriously.

"Yes," said Corona, because it was indeed the third time this week she had had Doctor Cam clean out her perfect, plump, pink pussy.

After cleaning out her perfect, plump, pink pussy for the third time that week, Doctor Cam looked at her sternly. "Corona," she said, "I want to try a new treatment on you. It is experimental, so I need your explicit consent."

"Doctor Cam," said Corona, "I give you explicit consent to do anything experimental with my perfect, plump, pink pussy."

Doctor Cam raised her arms and slowly they began to turn into tentacles, perfect, plump, pink tentacles. They were long and thick and very wavy. Corona wanted them to wave around in her perfect, plump, pink pussy

"Wave your arms in me!" she cried out.

Doctor Cam slid one perfect, pump, pink tentacle into Corona's perfect, plump, pink pussy. Corona loved it. She waved it around. Corona loved it even more. Then Doctor Cam brought her other tentacle up to wrap around Corona's neck and squeeze just a little bit. Corona loved that THE MOST.

When they were done, Doctor Cam stoically asked, "Are there any other such issues you might need treated in the future?"

"No," Corona said. "My sister may have every possible kink, but I only have the one."

Doctor Cam made a very serious note of that on Corona's chart.

"Perfect. Well, I think we have a new solution for you to stop the recurring problem of sand in your perfect, plump, pink pussy. Whenever you need an orgasmic release, make an appointment with me and we will take care of you here."

Corona loved that THE PERFECT PLUMP PINK MOST.

Chapter Text

“Uh, um ... hello, Doctor Hect?” 

You stood nervously outside the door to Camilla Hect’s office, one hand half-raised to knock and the other fidgeting with the rosary of knucklebones in your pocket. The sign on the door read, “ Dr. Camilla Hect, Vagina Therapist”, which you were certain wasn’t an actual thing, but she was the only professional you’d found who specialized in your particular ... problem

Underneath that sign was another that read, “ Tri-Sex Health Clinic.”  

You honestly didn’t know if the name was simply the unfortunate result of meta-level surname conventions, or if you should start worrying immediately about the outcome of your doctor’s visit. Probably some combination of both. 

“come in,” said a dry voice from the other side of the door. Her voice was the sonic equivalent of paint drying, but it was also kinda hot. It made you tingle. “door’s unlocked.”

You came.

Into the office, I mean. 

Everything in the office was gray: gray door, gray walls, gray carpet, gray drapes, gray couch, gray desk, gray larger-than-life-hyperrealistic-mannequin-of-a-pussy by the window. For a second, you even thought the doctor herself was gray, but then you realized it was just her clothes. 

You could’ve sworn you saw something purple on the ground, but the doctor kicked it away nonchalantly with her foot when she realized you were looking at it. 

“sorry about that. sit down,” said Camilla.

This was your first time going to a gynecologist, or to a therapist, for that matter, which is why you were practically shaking in your robes (it didn’t have anything at all to do with your repressed horniness, not at all), but that’s okay, and honestly it’s nothing to be ashamed of. Everyone gets nervous from time to time. Especially naughty little nun whores like you. 

Dr. Hect, if she even cared about that sort of thing, made no effort to ease your nerves. Frankly, it didn’t seem like she gave a single fuck. She stared blankly at you while solving a Rubik’s cube (without looking at it) as you sat on the couch across from her desk. 

“so what’s wrong with your pussy,” she asked without a question mark at the end of the sentence. “i mean, with your vagina.”

“I-I,” you stammered, “am experiencing … an issue .” 

Camilla finished two sides of the cube and was going on three. “what kind.”

“An issue with … intimacy .” You whispered the last word as if it were the worst blasphemy you could possibly imagine. In the back corner of the room, next to the pussy mannequin, you saw a spectral image of your good friend, who you met in a tomb, giving you the thumbs-up in encouragement before drawing a fancy S on the pussy in gray marker. It gave you the strength to continue. “M-my partner and I were … um … performing our sacraments and … and--,”

Before you could continue stammering like a nun in a sex therapist’s office, the door flung open with enough force that it literally flew off its hinges. “Doctor! Help me!” You turned. An anaemic-looking blonde nurse wearing skimpy, translucent purple scrubs with no underwear cartwheeled into the room. You saw her Whole Pussy through her pants, but then she ripped her pants off and you saw her Whole Pussy^ 2 . She didn’t seem like the type to wear pants anyway. “I can’t find my panties!!”

Camilla picked up the purple thing you’d seen earlier, which was, indeed, a lacy thong. “ianthe. how many times do i have to tell you you can’t just leave your thongs in my office so you can have an excuse to come get them while i’m working.” There was probably supposed to be an exclamation mark there, but they don’t teach punctuation on the Sixth, apparently. 

Ianthe flailed her arms and made a pouty face, then turned conspicuously and shot you a wink, then made another fake pouty face at Camilla and said seductively, “Oh no, I’m so sorry Doctor, I’ve been a bad little nurse.” She walked around Camilla’s desk, sat on the edge, and spread her legs in mid-air like a model in one of those titty mags you never opened. “I guess you’ll just have to cancel my problematic pussy again.”

You were astounded. Flabbergasted. Your good friend was making a rapid up-and-down motion with her hand over her crotch in the background. 

“fine,” said Dr. Hect, although it was most certainly not fine , “but if i cancel your problematic pussy you have to be quiet. i have a patient.” Camilla switched her Rubik’s cube to the other hand and started solving the fourth side as she casually started finger-fucking Ianthe’s Bare Pussy, all while looking straight ahead at you. “please, continue.”

Although you’d never stirred macaroni before, you had stirred soup, and the sound was close enough. A tender memory now corrupted by Tri-Sex hedonism. 

Your cheeks were so hot you felt like you’d stuffed Dominicus itself in your mouth. You opened your mouth to say something-- maybe like, “what the fuck?” or “can you not?”-- but before you could say anything, Ianthe started screaming like she was already about to cum. You were torn between wanting to leave (but, unfortunately, your insurance didn’t cover this check-up and you were paying out-of-pocket) and wanting to get a better angle to see the doctor’s finger technique. For the cube, of course.

You settled somewhere in the middle and just continued fumbling through your embarrassing story. “Um, yes, so, my beloved and I were--”

“Yes Doctor! Fidget-spin my clit!1!” As you looked up from your hands, you noticed that Ianthe had, at some point, changed positions, and was bent over face-down on the desk, looking directly at you while Dr. Hect used some unseen toy on her.

“--and I … was on the verge of--”

“Diagnose me Doctor!! Tell me how much longer I have to live!!” Yet again, they’d switched positions instantaneously between the time that you blinked and reopened your eyes; this time, Camilla had materialized a gray strap-on and was calmly fucking Ianthe senseless as she lay on her back with both ankles in the doctor’s hands. Somehow, Camilla was still solving her Rubik’s cube between her middle and ring fingers. 

“i can tell you how much longer you’ll have this job,” said the doctor, pounding away quietly, like she was in a library, or maybe a church. “go on, harrow.”

“--and, and, and then--”

“Talk dirty to me, Doctor!”

“sand. gravel. dust. silt,” Camilla was saying, yawning as she fucked Ianthe reverse-cowgirl. 

Ianthe shouted, “Oh fuck, oh fuck, keep going; ‘silt’ is only a typo away from ‘slut’ !!”

You couldn’t take this bullshit any longer. Your corpse ghost friend was mouthing, fight, fight, fight, fight while flapping the fake mannequin pussy lips. Finally, you clenched your bony fists and screamed, “ And then I squirted bone dust out of my pussy! ” 

For a brief moment, the strange debauchery paused-- Ianthe was now on the floor in full shibari bondage with both hands behind her back, and began laughing like a blonde hyena. 

The sheer force of your candor made your nose gush blood like a fountain. 

“oh, your nose is bleeding, wait.” Dr. Hect opened a drawer, pulled out a roll of medical tape, and used it to tape a vibrator over Ianthe’s clit. Then she went to go get you some cotton swabs before your nose could drip red all over the gray decor. 

“sounds like you have an acute case of cooch dust,” said the Doctor, shoving the swabs up your nose as she balanced the finished Rubik’s cube on her pinky, “very common on the ninth. easy solution, just stay hydrated and you should squirt normally.”

“S … squirt normally?” 

Before the doctor could answer your question, Ianthe yelped, “cHOKe mE DaDdY!!! [sic]” and orgasmed with the force of ten Resurrections, squirting all over Camilla’s nice carpet.

“see? she’s properly hydrated,” Camilla said. 

You thought you were going to pass out. 

“nice intracranial hemorrhage.” 

Chapter Text

Camilla Hect bit her lip and suppressed a gasp as fingers glided diligently over her pussy. The fingers were her own, however the pussy was a five foot gunmetal grey anatomically correct but also deeply sumptuous wax model that stood diligently in the bay window of her fourth story office. After five years of diligent work, it was almost complete. She moaned softly as her right hand carved and her left hand completed the sixteenth rubix cube of the morning. It was during this careful, artful, and deeply sexual work that Camilla was interrupted by a crash and the sound of broken glass.

 

Someone had thrown a brick through her window; not the one the vagina stood in, but another window. Attached to the brick was her nurse, Ianthe Tridenatarius, awake and apathetic. Tied to her was a manila envelope. Camilla stepped over the broken glass and Ianthe’s broken body to pick up on the envelope. “Good morning,” Camilla sighed as she pried the envelope off of her eternally sticky nurse. “It’s a subpoena,” Ianthe said before coughing out some shards of broken glass, “The Gynecology Board of Dominicus wants you to answer for your sex crimes.” Camilla tosses her finished rubix cube into a five foot laundry bag stuffed to the brim with finished rubix cubes. It was addressed to a proctologist Camilla had dedicated her professional life to ignoring and hating forever. Her cunt quivered at the thought of him drowning in the overwhelming evidence of her intellectual superiority. “Doctor,” Ianthe inquires, “Could you pull these glass shards out of my skin and also maybe finger me for a bit?” “No can do, nurse,” Camilla said, “I have to go to court effective immediately.” “Then could you just finger me? I’m in a lot of pain, Doctor.”

 

Camilla was late to her summons.

 

“You’re late to your summons,” one of the nine judges sitting behind the tall, shadowy bench intoned darkly. “I had an emergency appointment,” Camilla explained. “Do you know why you’re here?” another of the nine judges accused, darklier. “Because I’m too good.” “Elaborate.” “I’m too good at pussy. My pussy game is too strong. That terrifies you.” She scanned the hidden silhouettes on the bench as she said this. One of them, in the corner, shook a little. “You,” she pointed, “Are you a woman?” “Don’t answer that!” said another judge. But too late, the silhouette nodded. Camilla smirked, “I can make you cum in six seconds.” “Do not approach the bench!” “I don’t need to.” She stared directly at the silhouette of the female judge, maintaining her Dreamworks smirk. Slowly, carefully she raised her pointer finger at eye level, fingernail facing the judge. She could see the anonymous woman quiver in place. Suddenly she moved her finger in a “come hither” motion and the judge screamed, “OHHHHH GOD,” before collapsing out of her chair and out of site. “Judge Mercy!” One of the other Judges screamed and ran to her side. “Told you,” Camilla gloated.

 

“You are hereby accused of malpractice. Your gynecology license is forfeit.” “Shouldn’t there be a trial?” “It’s unanimous,” The Judge said before Mercymorn groaned from behind the bench. “It’s almost unanimous.”

“This is Kangaroo court.”

“We don’t know what a Kangaroo is and moreover you have no power here.”

“Where’s my attorney?”

“Where’s our prosecutor?”

“Do any of you know how trials work?”

“Just hand us your license.”

“No,” Camilla Hect said decisively, and turned for the door that no one saw her come in.

“Then you’ve forced our hands Doctor Hect. Bring out the hostage!” Camilla heard the flash of a spotlight behind her and kept walking until a familiar voice stopped her in her tracks. “Still haven’t finished those rubix cubes, have you Doctor Hect. Or should I say, Doctor Hack!”

Camilla wheeled around, “I was going to mail them out this morning you prostate-obsessed gibbon!” The prostate-obsessed gibbon was none other than her arch rival and categorical opposite, proctologist Palamedes Sextus, MD. “I’d ask how the medical board held you hostage, but it’s no surprise that a proctologist would make such an ass of himself.” “The left fallopian tube on your model is three cenimeters too wide,” Palamedes reposted. “Camilla Hect,” one of the Judges interrupted, “If you do not forfeit your medical license to practice gynecology this instant, we will kill your friend and colleague, Dr. Sextus.

“Please do.”

“What?” Palamedes and all the Judges said at once.

“I’d love that, actually, please kill him.”

“She’s joking,” Palamedes said.

“I’m not. I want you to do it.”

“Oh,” the Judges murmured to themselves briefly, “Well. Alright.” Five skeletons materialized all holding baseball bats. “We will now administer the euthenasia,” the head judge said. All five skeletons raised their baseball bats at once. Palamedes started to cry.

“Wait,” Camilla said, holding up her hand, “You can’t kill him that way.”

“Whhyyyyyyyyyy,” the whole panel whined peevishly. “It just won’t work. He’s too dense.” “Okay, Doctor, then how would you kill him?” “Easy,” Camilla smirked again, giving Palamedes a knowing look, “By stroking him off and stimulating his prostate simultaneously while playing old reruns of LAW AND ORDER: SVU in the background, but only the scenes with Gibbs in them. He loves Gibbs.” “It’s true,” Palamedes sobbed quietly, “I do love Gibbs.” “He’s a sapiosexual, you see, so it’s the only way he can cum. And once he cums, he’ll die,” Camilla said with all the confidence of a world renowned sex doctor slash mortician.

 

The panel exchanged looks. All five skeletons shrugged and then one of them grew a three foot cock while another put on a pair of leather gloves and the three remaining skeletons pulled in a CRT Monitor and VHS player. “It’s not season 3 is it?” Palamedes enquired as he wiped away his tears. “It’ll do,” Camilla murmured, pulling out a dusty bottle of dick lubricant from her satchel. She hadn’t used it in ten long, rubix-cube filled years. Two skeletons formed a sex swing for Palamedes as Camilla removed his pants and guided the dick skeleton to his eager rectum.

“I always knew you’d be the one to put lube on my cock before five skeletons fucked me to death,” Palamedes moaned to Camilla as she gooped expired dick lube on his soon-to-be-expired dick.

“Did you?” Camilla asked. “Of course I did. I know everything, I’m the greatest proctologist of my genera-tiOOOOHHHHHH FUCK!” Pal screamed as the skeleton’s three foot cock entered him with a loud shlorp. Camilla could barely hear Detective Gibbs on the crt through all of Palamedes screams but he couldn’t take his eyes off that sexy grey-fox. Thick rivulets of drool loosed from Pal’s mouth and Camilla backed away to allow the leather-gloves skeleton more room to jerk her former colleague sometimes lover off with vigorous skeletal abandon.

 

After forty-five minutes of sub-par television Palamedes was ready, but Camilla, ashamed as she was to admit it, loved watching him get absolutely railed. It reminded her of Paris, the Pyramids, deep space, all places she had fucked Palamedes with a three foot strap. She couldn’t take it anymore. She shoved the jerk-off skeleton with the expensive leather gloves aside and took over, wrenching Palamedes stupid face away from the television to look directly into her terrifying grey eyes as she jerked him.

 

“I’m your intellectual superior. Say it.” “I-I-yuh-y” “Say it Palamedes. You’re not allowed to cum until you say it to me.”

“You’re my,” his limbs were flailing in his skeleton seat, “You’re-you’re my intellectual suh-suh” And she slammed her throat down on his cock like Martin Luther nailing the 99 theses to the wall. She screamed into his cock like a victorious berserker as cum dribbled out of her nostrils. She pulled back, cheeks full like a chipmunk, aimed her face at the benches and opened fire like a dolphin. Cum drenched the panel of gynecological experts and all of them screamed. The skeletons dematerialized and Palamedes fell to the floor, very much alive. He crawled, quietly towards the CRT and took out the VHS to save for later.

 

“But,” one of the Jurors said, choking and sputtering on Palamedes’ backwashed cum, “You said this would kill him.” “None of you are fit to be panelists or Doctors,” said Camilla Hect without mercy (who was still cumming) or compassion. “All of your medical licenses are forfeit. And you’re going to prison. And you,” she said pointing to Palamedes, “I finished all those rubix cubes within the appointed time and now, according to our bet, you’re my sex slave forever. Pick up your clothes and follow me back to the office. You have broken glass and a nurse to sweep up, and a fallopian tube to restructure.” Palamedes nodded reverently and followed Camilla Hect back to her office, a trail of bone dust snailing behind him from his throbbing rectum.

Chapter Text

“Doctor,” said the evil-looking apricot-haired woman outside, “you have to help me!” She was pressed up against the glass door to Tri-Sex Health Clinic and the glass was smeary where her bare titties, which had burst through her weird-ass holographic robe with sheer passion, were rubbing up against it. This was very annoying because it was like seven am and the clinic wasn’t even open yet. Camilla was in the middle of ordering around her new sex toy, Palamedes, and sighed. This would have to wait. She went to the door.

“Who are you,” Camilla said.

“I’m—” the woman said, but then she gasped and her eyes rolled back in her head “I’m—I’m cumming!’

“Hello cumming, I’m Doctor Hect,” said Camilla. “How can I help you.”

“Yesterday—you—made—me—cum,” the woman said, panting heavily, cheeks red, “with—one—gesture—and—I—haven’t—stopped—since—and—I—need—a—doctor’s—touch—”

“Oh, you’re Judge Mercy from the gynecology trial judge panel,” Camilla said, “Yes, I remember you. I’m very powerful. You shouldn’t have talked back to me like that.”

She hadn’t said it sexily at all, because Doctor Hect never said anything sexily, that was her power; but a fire came into Mercy’s eyes nonetheless. “I know I’ve been a bad bad girl. Tell me more about how bad I’ve been.”

“You have a gynecological condition, but that doesn’t actually make you a bad person, morally speaking,” Camilla said. She unlocked the door and let her patient inside.

Palamedes was restructuring a model of a fallopian tube in a corner, totally naked, but tied up with interesting leather straps and things with maybe some satanic decoration idk. a little chain around his balls kept him in the corner of the office so he couldn’t wander off. Camilla showed the patient to the examination table. Mercy immediately ripped off whatever robey thing she’d been wearing on her bottom half, but even the touch of cold office air couldn’t stop her from cumming. Camilla watched with vague boredom as the pussy in front of her quivered and trembled with zero stimulus whatsoever.

“Interesting,” was all she said, pulling out a fresh rubik’s cube with one hand and a fresh notepad with the other. “You say you’ve been cumming continuously since yesterday?”

“Y—yes—yes—oh fuck!” Mercy screamed, tossing back her apricot hair in ecstasy.

“I am so powerful,” Camilla said quietly to herself in amazement.

“Cam, you are so powerful,” Palamedes repeated admiringly from the corner, but she held up a finger and he zipped it.

“And you want to stop cumming, that’s it?” Camilla said, tossing her now-finished rubik’s cube into the corner and pulling another one out from behind her ear.

“Oh no,” Mercy said, “I just want you to touch me. I heard you had a science tongue.”

“Now that I will not be doing,” Camilla said. “I’ll do my best to cure you.”

She pulled out an impressive array of toys but since she was a doctor these amounted to: several test tubes, a blowup globe that was so out of date it showed the USSR, a copy of Erica Jong’s Fear of Flying , seven crayons in flesh tones, and a hairbrush. “Let’s start with the least sexy one,” she said, and calmly pushed the hairbrush handle in and out of the quivery pussy in front of her. This did not stop its quivering at all. “Hmm,” Camilla said, pushing in the crayons one by one. “Nope.” Then she read aloud several paragraphs from the book, which could barely be heard over Mercy’s continual moaning, and bounced the blowup globe diligently onto the spread-open vag from a great height. It came away sticky but had no effect. Just as Camilla was readying the test tubes, there was a commotion outside, as of a horny nurse very late for her shift.

“Sorry I’m late!” came a horrible Californian whine. “I’m really horny and really late for my shift!”

And Nurse Ianthe rushed in.

At the presence of a genuine infant, Mercy stopped cumming immediately because she wasn’t a monster. “Yuck! Pfaugh! I can’t cum in the presence of an infant!!”

“Oh, thank goodness,” said Camilla neutrally.

“I’m twenty-three?” Ianthe said.

“Well I’m ten thousand,” Mercy said, and they had a long staring contest before Mercy finally left, her sex problem solved. Camilla quickly locked the door behind her.

“Excellent,” Ianthe said, making sex eyes at her. “Now no one can walk in on us.”

“Um I’m still here,” Palamedes said.

“No,” Camilla said, “I did that so she doesn’t realize that once she leaves your presence she’ll still be—”

Her words were cut off with a huge moan from outside as Mercy started cumming again. Thankfully the moaning and groaning sounded like it was travelling down the street, so Mercy must have already been inside one of the newfangled convertible taxis when she started cumming again.

Camilla looked at Palamedes. “Now to finish what I was doing,” Camilla said, “which was using you for sexing purposes before the practice officially opens.”

Ianthe came and drooled next to Palamedes, eager to help, but Camilla pushed her away. “In the course of my studies as a pussy doctor,” she said, affixing a grey strap-on to Palamedes’ chest, “I have discovered,” she continued, talking to nobody in particular, “that there is nothing so inessential to the human pussy as the human penis.” She fucked herself on the strap-on as both Palamedes and Nurse Ianthe looked on in admiration, and when she came she let out a wild “Okay”.

 

Chapter Text

It was night in the clinic. The phone rang. This was very spooky because it was night and no one called the clinic after hours. The sound rang through the dark and scared Ianthe because it was night. She had a terrorgasm, squirting horrified fluid all over her nurse's desk. Her terror was such that even her squirt juice screamed, as she was a lyctor and could make body fluids do weird shit.

When she and her squirt juice recovered, she answered the phone. "Help me! Help me!" she heard a woman screaming.

"Abigail Pent?" she said, "Is that you?"

"I need Doctor Cam to help me!" Abigail said, "I have a sex ghost!"

"You're the ghost expert," Ianthe said. 

"It's in my vagina! Please help! It tried to rip my husband's dick off as we were doing reverse cowgirl!"

This was so terrifying that Ianthe had another squirting orgasm and she and her squirt screamed in perfect unison. It was almost like having Corona with her.

"Oh, I see. Well, she has an opening tonight at midnight. An appointment opening that is. She always has openings. You should come in then. We'll have everything ready."

She looked at the disaster that was her soaking wet desk.

"Sex Pal!" she shouted, "Bring a bucket and a mop and come clean this up!

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

When Abigail arrived at the sex clinic, it was completely dark. She wasn't even sure it was open. Then she noticed something at the end of the hall and realized it was set up for an exorcism. As a ghost expert, she knew an exorcism when she saw one. Ianthe was doing a handstand with her legs spread open to form the shape of a pentacle, like this:



Pentacle shaped things always meant an exorcism was happening. Next to her was Harrowhark Nonagisimus who was dressed like she'd had a bolt of black fabric wrapped around her in innumerable layers covering every inch of her body. This was not a metaphor. Abigail saw the cardboard tube that had held fabric propped against the wall. It was phallic and she wanted to fuck it and the sex gost inside of her wanted to eat it. She came just from imagining both of those things happening.

There was a hole cut into the layers and layers of black fabric just big enough for Harrow's pussy to be on full display.

Doctor Cam was standing in front of Ianthe.

"I may be a perfect lyctor," she said, "but I will need the help of my sister lyctors to do this. I will need to siphon their sex juice in order to have enough sex power to extract the sex ghost." She said all of this in perfect monotone.

Abigail knew how exorcisms worked and went to stand on the other side of Ianthe, so that the three women were forming a circle around her. There were satanic wards and symbols glistening all over Ianthe's body and Abigail assumed they had been drawn with the cum of Doctor Cam's sex slave, Sex Pal.

Doctor Cam, Ianthe, Harrow, and Abigail chanted some satanic words around the satanic arrangement of Ianthe's satanic pentacle body. Abigail felt the sex ghost inside of her start to scream. The screaming gave her another orgasm.

 

"This is going to be harder than I thought," said Doctor Cam. "Abigail, I am going to need to get inside you. Are you ready for this?"

"Yes."

"I will need to power up," said Doctor Cam.

She reached out to put two fingers in Harrow's pussy. She stuck out her tongue to eat Ianthe's pussy. She put her whole hand inside Abigail's pussy.

Harrow screamed with pleasure as the lyctor's fingers moved to syphon her sex power. Ianthe screamed with peasure as the lyctor licked her lyctor pussy to eat her sex power. Abigail screamed with pleasure as the lyctor's fist tried to reach for the sex ghost.

"I may need to reach deep. I may even need to use my perfect lyctoral powers to elongate your vagina so I can reach your very soul." She said this all with zero inflection while not moving her mouth from Ianthe's pussy.

Abigail took a deep breath. She'd had a third orgasm at the sound of Doctor Cam's voice nonchalantly saying "elongate your vagina".

She added a third finger to Harrow's vagina. She slurped harder at Ianthe's vagina. She reached deeper into Abigail's vagina. She used her lyctor powers to deepen the vaginal canal until she was able to reach Abigail's soul.

"Ghost!" she shouted without actually raising her voice or putting any emotion into it whatsoever. "Get out of Abigail's vagina!"

"NoooooOOOOOOOooooooooOOOOOOOOOOOoo" said a spooky voice that everyone assumed was the ghost.

"Yes!" Doctor Cam screamed without actually raising her voice or putting any emotion into it whatsoever. She managed to speak clearly even as her mouth was full of Ianthe pussy. All four women orgasmed simultaneously.

"Ugh, fine," the ghost said and left Abigail's pussy.

 

The End

 

Chapter Text

Doctor Cam was on duty again. It seemed as if she never left this clinic, was always here dealing with the endless stream of necromancers and their endless vagina problems. Haunted pussies. Health problems related to eternal life…it was always something.

Harrowhark Nonagesimus was due at the clinic in 3 minutes. Cam tapped her foot and waited.

Harrow finally walked in. Almost late. But this was not Harrowhark. The Harrow that was not really Harrow introduced herself. “I know who you are, but you also aren’t,” said Dr. Cam.

“What the fuck?” asked Harrow, confused. Aren’t you Dr. Cam? “Yes indeed I am. But you seem to be some type of alternate universe Harrow. Did you crawl through a portal to get here? Maybe made a deal with a mischievous creature in the woods? We’ve never met. Therefore I don’t have your pussy’s accurate medical records.”

“Well that’s unnecessary”, said wrong Harrow. This isn’t a pre-existing condition. I’m here about something new. I’m nervous I may have an unusual STI, or illness. I study anatomy in school, but am unfamiliar with whatever this—she gestured vaguely toward her pussy—is.”

Dr. Cam was curious. Alternate Harrow seemed to have brought her an Alternate ailment with her! “Ok”, she said in her most doctory doctor voice. Let me just put on my vagina inspecting gloves. How about you take off your garments, and hope up on that exam table.

The Doctor grabbed her tools, and gazed down into Harrow’s vagina. “Dark and spooky, just like its owner, I see.” Harrow glared at the doctor, wondering if it was too late to request a new appointment with someone else. Or if she could get away with murdering a medical official. She sighed deeply, and resigned herself to this bizarre doctor’s inspection.

“What seems to be the problem?” Dr. Cam asked her. “Well”, Harrow began, “I had a one night stand two nights ago. Or sort of did? I’m not really sure. But ever since, my pussy seems angry. And it is completely insatiable. It doesn’t matter if I touch myself, or something brushes against my skin. It’s out of control. I swear I even heard it muttering a name as I dozed off to sleep last night…”

“Hmmmm.” Dr. Cam muttered. I have a strong suspicion of what’s happening. But I need to examine you first”. Harrow nodded, agreeing. She stuck her fingers inside Harrow and swung them around. “Did you have pizza recently?” Dr. Cam asked. “What the fuck kind of medical question is that?” Harrow shrieked. “Well, I thought I felt a pepperoni for a minute there. But that was just your cervix. Never mind.”

“It could be a case of a missed orgasm,” said Dr. Cam. “Pretty sure I can account for plenty of those” Harrow whispered under her breath. “The other possibility is some type of revenant hiding in your pussy”. “I can make you cum now, to see if that, or the missed orgasms are the cause.” Dr. Cam said. “Fine. Just make it quick” Harrow said.

Dr. Cam removed her gloved hand, and rolled her chair over to the industrial size lube pump on the exam room’s counter. She pumped about 18 pumps onto her opposite, gloved hand, and then rolled back over to Harrow. “Isn’t that a bit excessive?” Harrow enquired. “You never know. Now, just lean back, and try to relax. Think happy, sexy thoughts. Of bones, and tombs, and necromancy”. “WHAT?!” asked the Harrow that wasn’t really Harrow. “Never mind”, said Dr. Cam. “I forgot for a minute you were from somewhere else. No worries, I can still help you.” And she got to work.

Dr. Cam wasn’t lying when she said she would make Harrow cum, and be quite quick about it. A few wiggles of her fingers, a stroke of her G-spot later, and Harrow was cumming. Loudly. “OK” said the doctor. Doesn’t look like that’s the problem. I have to unfortunately tell you, you have a case of Soulmateitis. A clinical term for a disease I totally just did not make up on the spot.” Harrow eyed her suspiciously. “It’s real. Ma’am, I am a doctor. And the foremost pussy doctor in this universe. Maybe not in yours. I don’t know what they get up to there. But here, yes.”

“Whatever” said Harrow. So how do I treat this supposed ailment?”. The cure is One Flesh, One End”. “Excuse me?!” “It’s totally up to you to figure out what exactly that entails, said Dr. Cam. “My best guess is to speak to the woman who gave it to you. Clearly your pussy has decided it needs something, or someone. Only that woman can cure it.”

“Thanks for the exam I guess?” Harrow got dressed, then quickly left the exam room. On her way out, she stopped and pulled out a crumpled up piece of paper from her coat pocket. Doctor Cam watched, as she smoothed it out, took a deep breath, pulled out her cell phone, and dialed the number written on it. “Hi Gideon, she said. “It’s Harrow”… Dr. Cam smiled to herself, happy to have fixed yet another pussy. Then walked off to deal with her next patient.

Chapter Text

It was the fifteenth of October and the utilities bills were past-due for *The Unlocked Tomb*—the modest strip and poker club owned by one Harrowhark Nonagesimus. Harrow huffed in frustration. It was hard work, I mean *hard* work, inheriting a strip club. The stress had bled over into Harrow’s sex life, causing her to seek professional help. It was expensive, but worth it in the end. Having a bone-dust-cooch affliction caused terrible chafing. Her partner’s poor hand was rubbed so raw it looked like it had been degloved.

This month would be a stretch, but Harrow also had a few tricks up her . . . sleeves. She opened the drawer in her writing desk, moved the black and grey clown mask to the side—it had belonged to her mother—and picked up the club’s office key from beneath it. She hopped on her black dirt-bike (she had never bothered to learn how to drive) and rode to work. Another night, another dollar.

The bouncer, Corona, greeted her at the unmarked door. “Haarrrowhark…” she drawled. “How nice to see you.” “Why are you dressed like a pirate, Tridentarius? And isn’t Babs supposed to be working,” Harrow said coolly. “Ianthe got soooo huuungry. All that nursing work makes her raaaaaavenous,” the buxom bouncer replied. Harrow had put misplaced trust in the Tridentarii twins when she hired them to redo the club’s interior. If she saw another gilded, bedazzled, bone or boner, she would implode. Assessing the latest fashion crime, Harrow rolled her eyes and made her way into the club.

On stage, on the greased “Pal Pole”, was that ginger idiot, clad in combat boots and pants, titties out, doing crunches twenty feet up. Gideon’s approach was…. unusual, but Harrow had to admit the calisthenics act brought in a mad crop of paying customers—mostly women. She stopped to watch. But, you know, only to assess the technique.

Harrow went to the back, layered a shimmery white robe on top of her five black robes, and got in the headspace for her routine. To do this, she thought about how stupid everyone else was and let the rage burned in her like 1000 dominicusses, dominici(?), dominicums (?). She heard Nine Inch Nails blast from the speakers and strutted out onto the stage on cue, swirling her over-robe with a flourish, and casting it off to the thirsty crowd. (She had practiced this endlessly.) They roared. And she . . . stared at them with hatred for the full length of “Closer”, spat into the crowd once causing the recipient of the sprinkle to squeal and faint, turned, and strode off the stage. She had a private appointment to attend.

In the back room, she was greeted by Dr. Camilla Hect, her sexologist or gynecologist or whatever, who had Sex Pal on a leash beside her. “Dr. Hect, I love a good proctology appointment as much as the next woman, but I was not aware we’d have company.” “That’s just the thing,” said Hect in exasperated monotone, “Pal and I have a relationship problem and only you can help.” “*Me*. *Help*?”, Harrow replied incredulously. Cam continued: “He’s getting bratty again. I thought the trial would take care of things, but lately . . . “ Harrow slowly peeled through fifteen layers of black robe to stick her fingers deep inside an internal, lacy, black pocket, and removed . . . an individually wrapped, moist, so moist, makeup removal towelette. With slow, long strokes, she stripped the skull paint off of her ferrety little face.

As this was happening, Sex Pal got down on all fours next to Dr. Cam and started to whimper and shake. Twice, when Harrow accidentally trailed a finger across her own dripping wet eyeball, Pal squealed. Cam’s eyes opened wide and darted back and forth between Pal and Harry. She held the other end of the leash like it was a live wire. The finale was coming. The finale was cumming.

Harrow ran her eyes over the emaciated proctologist, pausing for a moment to notice the obscenely large bulge in his pants. It seemed physiologically impossible and Harrow wondered if Ianthe had flesh magiced Pal’s prodigious peen. Who knows what went on in that office. And, just, eew. The vision of Pal’s pole caused the spite to well up inside of Harrow. She dragged her black eyes up to meet his lambent, grey ones, and began talking . . . “Dr. Sextus. You’ve been a *very bad boy.* You are not the greatest proctologist in a generation. My tiny hands are so much better suited to butt spelunking than yours. In fact, I think you learned all your medicine from CSI. THAT’S NOT *SCIENCE*,” she bellowed.

All at once, Pal mooed like a cow in heat and drenched his baggy grey trousers. Cam yelled at the top of her lungs in monotone, “OKAAAAAY” and twitched. Everyone panted with satisfaction. Harrow’s fitbit showed she had logged 500 steps. “Good, then. Dr. you have the money?” Cam handed over a pile of Benjamins and said over her shoulder to Harrow, “therapy’s free for you,” and winked without emotion, once with each eye.

Harrow felt immensely relieved, like she had run a few laps. At times, she almost liked this job. As she counted bills in the back office, she thought she *would* go back to Dr. Hect’s office after all to continue working out the kinks in her sex life. And a new idea hit her: could the basement be turned into a dungeon in time for halloween? She began sketching a stoma on the notebook on her desk and wondered where her hole-saw had got off to…

Chapter Text

Coronabeth Tridentarius writhed on the vagina bed (the bed for examining vaginas) in the office of Dr. Cam.

Doctor Camilla Hect, MD, VT (vagina therapist) (a therapist for vaginas) was a normal-looking doctor woman from the shoulders inward, but where her arms should have been were actually very long thick pink tentacles. One of these was dutifully plunging in and out of Corona’s perfect pink plump pussy while the other lashed her beautiful perfect plump body to the vagina bed (the bed for examining vaginas). This had been going on for some time, as Corona’s appointments for vagina therapy (therapy for vaginas) tended to run long. Doctor Cam, though she was extremely trained in tentacle arts, was beginning to get a little weary.

It was three in the afternoon, just about time for a coffee break.

“Miss Tridentarius, if you don’t cum soon we’ll be going into overtime,” said Doctor Cam, deploying a sucker to the clit in a last-ditch attempt.

There was a knock on the door, and the horrible vocal-fry-filled voice of Nurse Ianthe drawled from beyond it, “Doctor, there’s someone here to see you. It’s an emergency, they say. Can I let them in?”

And then, because Nurse Ianthe was a tall hot glass of skank, the door opened right away. In wheeled a huge acrylic tank of water containing a large pink octopus, distraught. When it saw Doctor Cam’s tentacle arms taking care of Corona, it wailed and burbled and started thrashing around in the water. Doctor Cam quickly withdrew her tentacles from Corona, and as she did, they shrank back into arms. Very wet arms. She shook them out in a businesslike manner and reached for a notepad and pencil. “What can I help you with?”

Corona was still laid out on the vagina bed (the bed for examining vaginas) and was making pouty noises from the loss of Doctor Cam’s tempting tentacles. When she sat up to see why they’d withdrawn, she gasped. “Octolover—no—this isn’t what you think it is!”

I know what I saw! burbled Corona’s Octolover, because in addition to being a large octopus it also had the power to project its thoughts telepathically to everyone in the room. You’re cheating on me with another set of tentacles! How dare you, Coronabeth! I thought what we had was special!

“Octolover,” Corona said, now with the grace to cross her legs and hide her perfect pink plump pussy from Octolover’s view, “it’s not at all the same! Remember our trysts on the beach—they were real! But it was untenable. There was so much sand in my perfect pink plump pussy, Octo. So much sand!” And she turned her perfect golden head into her shoulder and began to weep.

You could have told me! Octolover roared, sloshing around in its tank. Instead of coming to this freak for help!

“I am but a simple medical doctor,” said Doctor Cam blandly. “A doctor of medicine.”

Your arms can turn into tentacles! It’s unnatural! It’s obscene! It's octopodal appropriation!

“The things I do in this office are nothing I didn’t learn in vagina school,” said Doctor Cam, referring, of course, to the school which gave her her vagina degree (degree in vaginas).

“It’s true,” piped up Nurse Ianthe, who was leaning suggestively against Octolover’s tank. “She’s got a bona fide vagina degree, which is a degree in vaginas.”

The Gynecology Board of Dominicus ought to revoke your license! burbled Octolover, purpling (literally, because it was an octopus) with rage.

Doctor Cam’s eyebrow quirked. “They tried.” She grabbed a rolly chair and wheeled her way over to the drawer where she kept fun things. She did not say “whee!” as she rolled, because she was cool and medical. “My office is for vagina therapy,” she said. “I hate to discriminate, or be exclusionary in any way, but Esteemed Octopus Person Sir, do you have a vagina problem I can help you with?”

I want my Corona back!

“Well, you see,” Doctor Cam said, rummaging around in the drawer between spare hot corn tools and three biographies of George Bernard Shaw, “that’s not a problem for my medical office. That’s a problem of whether Corona wants you back. If I can’t solve it with the clinical application of several dildoes, it’s not a problem for me. Perhaps try Magnus Quinn, Marriage and Family Therapist, next door?”

If you won’t give me her back, I’ll take you out myself! warbled Octolover, sloshing threateningly around its tank. Its eight arms (one of which was secretly a penis, if Doctor Cam’s high school biology groupchat had been correct) waved in a tentacular spectacular, and one of them extended further than frankly anyone thought was possible and wrapped around Corona’s bare ankle. Corona screamed and scrabbled for the ankle, but Doctor Cam was quicker!

“Oh no you won’t,” said Doctor Cam, and sliced off the tentacle with her favorite implement from her drawer of secrets.

It was a small green avocado knife, and it was filled with rage toward octopodes.

It sliced through Octolover’s tentacle (or maybe penis? 1/8th of a chance) with the anger of something very small forced to pretend it doesn’t contain a great deal of pent-up hatred, releasing a gush of tepid cephalopod blood. Octolover howled, and they all felt its pain in their hearts; but no one in the office gave a fuck really. The tank rolled itself, through no discernable power, out through the  door again, and then the door slammed shut. All that was left was a greedy-looking Nurse Ianthe, a distraught Coronabeth, a Doctor Cam whose chill had never fled, and a knife that was very pleased with itself.

“Doctor Cam,” Corona said, in her breathiest and most whispery voice, “I have to tell you something. These aren’t just normal appointments for me. What your tentacle arms do to my perfect pink plump pussy…they also do to my hot red heavy heart.”

“There’s a cardiologist down the hall.”

“I don’t want a cardiologist,” cried Corona, throwing herself at Doctor Cam’s feet. “I want you!”

“Ooh,” said Nurse Ianthe, who lived for the drama.

But Doctor Cam ignored the writhing naked very beautiful woman at her feet. Instead she turned to the window, to stare pensively out at the late afternoon vista and stroke her avocado knife and seethe. They had bigger problems than doctor/patient relations.

Octolover was now on the run.

Chapter Text

It was quiet. Too quiet. Enough that things felt...unsettling. Suspicious even. There was a sharp tang in the air, and for once, it wasn’t emanating from anyone’s plump pink pussy.

Doctor Cam the vagina doctor, a doctor of vaginas (you should really know this by now) sat at her desk wondering why it was 10:00 AM, and none of her patients had shown up.

She whistled a high pitched screech, a sound that normally would have her assistant Ianthe— not a doctor— (don’t let that bitch tell you she is a real doctor) galloping down the hallway like a gangly great dane awaiting its evening gruel. But the dog, (Ianthe. Ianthe is the dog) did not appear.

Curious.

She was probably in the restroom masturbating. Ianthe was just like that sometimes (OK, most of the time).

Cam called the front desk on the inter-office phone. Did anyone else besides the over excitable blonde masturbator even work here? Fuck if she knew. The phone line rang...no answer. She could hear it echoing down the hall.

Doctor Cam (they’ll never take her license) tried another approach. She texted Palamedes Sextus, proctologist and her favorite bitch boy. Surely he would jump at her beck and call? And yet...she once again received no reply. SexPal knew the rules— reply in five minutes, or else. Cam tapped her foot, quickly beginning to come to a realization.

Once again, some sort of fucked up dimensional shift was interfering with Cam’s livelihood. Weird patients, amorous aquatic creatures, and “Dopplebangers” weren’t enough— of course things had to get worse.

Doctor Cam quickly ran through all the possible scenarios in her mind. Maybe the Nine Houses were finally collapsing; the world gasping for one final breath, like God having a wheezing, asthmatic orgasm at a once in a myriad geriatric lyctor threesome. (Or maybe, whoever is telling this story just has a thing for terrible AU’s. No kink shaming!). But Doctor Cam knew deep down in her cold black heart: something more sinister was at work...

There was only one other option of communication left open to her (short of the nuclear option, but thats the one she’s saving for later. You don’t get to hear about that one without signing the waiver first). Doctor Cam took the secret, enchanted key off the chain that she wore around her neck and never took off (not even during sex. You never know when you’ll need to unlock a mysterious butthole portal! They sure can be tight!), grasped it in her fist, then one-handedly cartwheeled over to her cold metal desk. She crouched down and opened the bottom drawer.

The toy drawer. (Of course you know what that is, you probably have one too.)

Her hands shook with fear and anticipation as she pulled open the drawer, and ransacked her third most sacred hiding spot. The object she was searching for had to be inside (of the drawer, sicko, not inside Doctor Cam). Cam manically tossed aside expired boxes of condoms, coupons for discounted lube buckets from Costco, what looked like a feather duster butt plug, a polaroid photograph of a clown mask (that most definitely did not belong in her drawer), a matchbook from Mike’s Aquatic Shop (“We specialize in Cephalopod retrieval and removal”!), one single slice of petrified pepperoni, and then finally... the thin rectangular box (ha, she said box) she had been grasping for.

A Spirit Board. (Not Ouija. That’s trademarked.)

Abigail Pent had made her promise to only use it in the direst of paranormal emergencies. Doctor Cam supposed her entire office staff, full roster of patients, and the man who made her ass cheeks flap like an unattached sail in high winds (that’s Palamedes, please pay attention) vanishing all at once qualified as dire.

“Fucking Hell”, said Cam (who prior to this point in our story, was making that volleyball from Castaway look loquacious).

Doctor Cam took another peek into her toy drawer, which was bigger on the inside than it appeared from the outside (just like the Tardis, and your Mom’s vagina). She found the objects she desired much quicker this time; a set of small candles from Corona’s Cented Candle Confectionary (most definitely an MLM business). The candles smelled like pure ass (not the fun, dummy thicc kind either). But they would have to do.

Doctor Cam grabbed a salt shaker off her desk, poured a perfect circle onto the floor (she could have been an artist. Instead— she told herself she was a vagina artist!), then arranged both the candles and the spirit board, before sitting down inside the perimeter.

She spoke the words Abigail Pent had made her memorize like wedding vows: “Oh spirits across the River, heed my weary call. Eternal ones! Answer me, and deliver unto me untold mysteries! Reply to me with the great answer I seek now— WHERE have all the problematic pussies gone?!”.

The spirit board shook, and demonic howl screeched throughout Doctor Cam’s office.

The planchette twitched beneath Doctor Cam’s fingertips like a shy butthole on a third date. It began to move. Slowly spelling out a message which Cam recited out loud to herself, letter by tortuous letter:

“G-O F-U-C-K- Y-O-U-R-S-E-L-F.”

Doctor Cam shrieked in astonishment. Why would she ever do such a thing, when she had so many other people who could do it for her (because when you are a doctor, you can hire other people for your dirty work).

Doctor Cam made a second attempt at communicating with whatever demonic entities were at work here. “Spirits!” she bellowed” tell me what I must do to break this curse and bring back my clientele?” A terrible, menacing laugh once again echoed throughout her office. The planchette ground across the board, spelling out a single cursed word, ever so slowly:

“U-W-U”

“NO!!” shrieked Doctor Cam. “Anything but that!”

“UWU!” the planchette spelled again; quicker this time. It thumped on the board impatiently, demanding a response.

“Fine”, sighed an exasperated Cam. “I’ll do it”.

It appeared humiliating herself was the key to breaking this curse. Suddenly the planchette rattled angrily, zooming across the board faster than Doctor Cam could keep up. She grabbed a small notepad and a pin out of her labcoat’s pocket, and began to take notes, suddenly busier than a whore on dollar day.

Once she had her instructions written down, she removed the feather duster buttplug, a ketchup packet of lube, and a previously unseen headband with fuzzy ears of indiscernible origin attached to it from the toy drawer. She generously lubed up the buttplug, and inserted it into her backside with a loud SQWIIIIICK. The headband, she placed gently on her head (tender, like a lover), and then began to speak in a booming, theatrical voice:

“I’m doctow cam. I’m a howny wittwe bitch, who desewves tuwu be punished. Pawamedes iws the best doctow of hiws genewation. My patients habe the best pussies evew. Ianthe twidentawius iws the hottest woman I have evew seen.”

Doctor Cam’s eyes narrowed. She was beginning to suspect she knew who was behind this supernatural act of terrorism against her medical practice. But she would deal with them later. Cam cleared her throat, and continued with her monologue:

“octopi desewve bettew. Cwown pown iws nothing tuwu be ashamed of. Cwonawbeth is jwust havwing a phwase. Wwiting shitty fan fiction with weiwd kinks iws ok. All pussies awe cweated equaw. I desewve tuwu wose my medicaw wicense fow mawpwactice.”

Doctor Cam danced in a circle, shaking her feather duster tail, and screamed out “ARE YOU SATISFIED, YOU SICK FUCK?!”.

Suddenly, all the candles blew out simultaneously. A noise like a generator coming back online after a power outage clanged loudly, and the overhead lights all turned on at once. The office phone line rang. Voices sounded from the medical practice’s entryway. Doctor Cam had banished the sex demons, and life would soon go back to normal (“normal” is a relative term here, let’s be real.) She yanked off her tail feathers, washed her hands (because otherwise: ewww), then sat back down at her desk, and checked her next appointment time. It was going to be a long Monday.

————————————

Far down the hall, hidden like a sun bleached spider in the rafters, high up in the ceiling, a furiously masturbating Ianthe Tridentarious finally came (once), sat down the blunted avocado knife handle she had been thrusting inside herself, and cackled like a witch (twice). She turned off the closed circuit television feed from Doctor Cam’s office that she’d been studiously watching on her cell phone, and for the first time in months, felt at peace. The curse she bought from one of the wizard shits at CUNT (Committee of Unified Naughty Thots) had worked, and finally taught her disrespectful mentor a lesson: Doctor Cam would never forget to pay her overtime wages again.

Chapter Text

Send home the final patients, cured of their ills.

Lock all the doors; turn off the lights. 

Stack the finished Rubik’s cubes like a tower of off-brand Jenga blocks. So delicate, they stand, a technicolor spire in your monochrome sea. As you exhale and place that final stone, they waver-- just so-- but you slide your dextrous hand up the tower’s spine, careful as a lover, and the swaying halts. 

On a good day, you wouldn’t have breathed at all. 

Have you grown sloppy, Doctor?

Save the question for later; there’s more to be done. 

Finish the last exorcism, and finish your sweet corn. Try not to lick your calloused fingers in the aftermath. 

Finish the needy nurse. This might take some time. Insatiable Californian blonde. Keep your stoic face and it’ll end quicker; she likes that. Look out the window at the gray sunset as you fidget-spin her clit into oblivion and shove that old subpoena in her mouth, make her taste the memory. It’s over in a stream of lyctor liquor-- of pussy lacroix-- which you dodge, same as always, not a single drop of sweat at your temple. 

You’ve locked all the doors already, so you defenestrate the blonde. Out the window she flies, still moaning on the way down. Shut the window to stifle the sound of her moist collision. 

Lower the fiftieth gray shade. Same as any other day.

Mundane. 

Mmm , mundane-- 

--no, no. Don’t think about that word , Hect, it’ll only turn you on, tempt you to linger, and that’s not what you need right now. 

You’re better than that. 

It’s almost night, and you’re alone in the office. Just you and your cherished gunmetal pussy replica, standing so quiet, so demure in its corner of the room. The closed blinds cast it in the most magnificent, grayest gray of shadows. 

It’s exquisite poetry. 

Your breath hitches.

Allergies.

Don’t let that tender mood hamper your pace, Doctor, you don’t have much time. You know what she’s planning to do tonight, that revenant pest. 

You’d be the first to admit you were never a fan of those knives, but to see them murdered in the comfort of their kitchen domicile, as they slept? You couldn’t let that happen. You couldn’t let her get away with this-- this blatant discrimination-- so soon after you’d rescued their marriage with that cheese grater sex swing you’d commisioned for them.

It’s time to don another uniform. 

To speak those foul words. 

Silently, you slam your fist into the secret panel next to the bookshelves on the back wall. A hidden closet opens, nearly flying off its hinges (although it’s a sliding door), and your other hand tears your doctorly jacket from your shoulders, revealing the sexy, dark gray leotard you wear underneath it (you breast boobily, just the once)

In the closet, an array of identical doctorly jackets awaits your hand. 

You put one on. 

Much better. 

Now for the real costume change. 

You flick your name tag off your chest and pull another from your pocket. A name shared only between you and your sworn enemies. 

Another you. 

Kamyllagh S*x

 

“gunmetal gina--” you always address the pussy by name when you do this, out of reverence,  “--dilate the hymen for me, i’m entering the lair.”

“As you wish, Doctor,” quoth the pussy.

With no one around to witness you, you treat the tenebrous twat the way you’d designed it to be treated: as a lever, a mechanism, a lock. You slip your middle and ring fingers inside, curl them up against that near-imperceptible row of pins (the fabled G-lock; something that a bastard proctologist would never find). Your thumb circles the combination-lock clit-- 6 o’clock, 9 o’clock, literally the entire alphabet-- until it clicks into place. 

These nights are rare, but your Rubik’s cubes have kept you nimble. You crack a smile, lips unmoving; not even you are immune to the charms of your foresight.  

The carpet retracts beneath you. The floor itself falls away. Arms crossed over your chest, you casually fly down the chute ( you thought I’d say ‘shaft’ there, didn’t you? ) at breakneck pace, sinking further and further into the depths until you reach your destination: your secret lair, your umbral cave, your dungeon of drear.  

Gray lights spring to life for you, but you’re already nonchalantly storming your way to the bathroom. 

You’d summon her here on your territory, intercept her before she can lay a finger on those innocent knives. 

In the mirror, your eyes stare blankly back at you (or is it you? do you recognize the woman in the glass anymore, Kamyllagh ?!). You feel your brow attempting to furrow, but it stays absolutely still. You haven’t been this tense in a long time. 

But you must go on. 

You say the words.

“milf milf milf.” (!)

 

Th e scent of gunpowder. 

A trail of cigarette smoke.

Yellow eyes behind you. 

Yellow eyes, and glorious red hair, although some gray wouldn’t hurt. 

“WRETCHED WIZARD! YOU ARE A FOOL TO CALL ME HERE. THOSE KNIVES DESERVE DEATH BY INAPPROPRIATELY-HARD SURFACE FOR THEIR SINS AGAINST THE SOFTBALL BATS OF AGES PASSED.” 

“please be quiet in the library,” you taunt , “or else i’ll have to go loud.”

“YOU HAVE NO POWER TO DEFEAT ME, KAMYLLAGH, AND YOU KNOW IT! YOU SUMMON YOUR OWN DEATH BY BRINGING ME HERE!”

“i said--,” you swing around, turn to face her, “-- be quiet.” (!)

And the battle begins. 

The MILF shoots first, submachine guns spraying wild-- much like your nurse-- all over your bathroom walls. Your sexy backflip is faster; you kick the bullets away, and the dummy thicc fabric of your doctorly jacket catches the ones you miss. 

“EAT LEAD, LICH!”

Into the cool gadget room that you should’ve visited before starting this boss fight, she chases you, guns ablaze, but your plot armor keeps you safe. 

“lead poisoning is a terrible plight against an unfortunately high number of disadvantaged american cities,” you say, cartwheeling backwards and onto a table.

“DON’T MAKE ME AGREE WITH YOU WHILE I’M TRYING TO KILL YOU, DAMMIT!” she screams in her completely-normal speaking voice. “I KNOW WHAT YOU ARE! VAGINA WIZARDS LIKE YOU HAVE TOO MUCH POWER. IT’S APPALLING; EVERYONE IN THE LOCKED TOMB FANDOM IS SIMPING FOR YOU TO VARYING DEGREES OF SEVERITY, AND IT’S DISTRACTING THEM FROM THEIR JOBS!”

“that literally is not my fault. i can’t help it. every time i walk into a room, genitals quiver; i’m just written that way, baby.”

Despite your best efforts to give her your stoic smolder, the MILF doesn’t budge. She narrows her yellow eyes at you, stands her ground, grimaces. 

There’s only one thing left to do.

“DON’T EVEN THINK ABOUT IT!”

You outstretch your hand--

“YOU KNOW IT WON’T WORK!”

--extend one long, dextrous digit--

“ARE YOU NOT LISTENING TO WHAT I’M SAYING!”

--and curl.

“Come hither.”



Crickets.  

“come.” 

“HA!”

“come hither,” you shout, whispering. “come. hither.” (!)

But the stubborn redhead doesn’t come. Instead, she makes a reluctant grunting noise-- a single “nngh!” exactly like a character in an anime-- jolting forward the slightest bit before straightening her shoulders and erupting into a fit of laughter.

“YOU FOOL! I TOLD YOU YOUR SILLY LITTLE TRICK WOULD HAVE NO EFFECT ON ME!”

“that’s impossible,” you yell, not yelling, “my cuntlepathy is flawless.” (!)  

“NOT AS FLAWLESS AS YOU THOUGHT, KAMYLLAGH S*X! YOUR CUNTLEPATHY HOLDS NO SWAY OVER MY VENGEFUL VAGEEN!”

“how can this possibly be --”

“I,” sayeth the MILF, slowly encroaching upon your table perch as your impotent finger twitches in midair, “ONLY HAVE ONE KINK!!1!”  

And for a moment, just for one weeny millisecond, your eyes widen, all of an eighth of an inch.

“fuck.” 



TO BE CONTINUED

Chapter Text

Dr. Cam walked into her office normally. She turned on the light. In her chair was her nurse, Ianthe. She was wearing an old timey waistcoat and under-breeches, and they were historically accurate. As to say they split in the middle and Ianthes perfect plump pussy was on full display. She winced in the light, and yelled this:

"Dr. Cam, I have a problem. A very sexy problem."

"Oh?" Dr. cam said neutrally "As long as it has to do with pussies I can help. Pussies are my specialty."

"Oh yes, my coochie has a problem, a big problem. My hoo-ha is sooo thirsty. Come over here doctor and save me!" Ianthe puts her legs in the arms of the rolly chair and leans back, putting her lady garden on full display. Well, fuller display. Dr. Cam walked over and knelt between Ianthe's legs. Ianthes cha cha was....

was.....

dry and cold? Dr. Cam was so used to Ianthe’s kitty being wet, gaping, and generally turned on that she had to walk out of the office and redo the whole scene again.

 

Dr Cam walked into her office. It was so early that the sun was not up yet. She turned on the light, but she had forgotten to turn it off when she left so as she hit the switch the lights went off. No matter. Dr. Cam was unflappable. She continued. Ianthe was on her rolly chair again, bits out. And tits out. Ianthe wiggled her eyebrows.

" Are you ready for my problematic privates doctor?"

"Yes." Dr. Cam said. She approached Ianthe's situation. "Please describe your pussy problem."

"My fuzzy peach HUNGERS!" Ianthe yelled. She slid down Dr. Cams’ chair, hiking her old timey garments up in the process.

"What does it hunger for, nurse?" Dr Cam pulled over her knee pillow and kneeled on the floor.

"MY NO NO ZONE HAS A HUNGERING THAT ONLY HANDS CAN SATISFY!! A HAND VAMPIRE HAS BIT ME, I NEED HANDS IN MY PLEASURE MOUND!!" Ianthe wiggled her legs so hard the chair groaned in protest. You’d think Dr. Cams chairs would be well lubricated with all the fucking going on in her office, but cum gets crusty. Dr. Cam sighed. She made a note to deep clean her chairs again.

"Ianthe."

"Yes?"

"You've always hungered for hands in your vagina. It's what you do." Dr. Cam got out her lube bucket and inserted her hand in the lube. Then she smeared her lubey hand on Ianthes dry tunnel. And to get the blood flowing she slapped her folds around a couple of times. And then some more for good measure. She put her ear to Ianthes flesh. She could hear the blood flowing.She nodded, satisfied with her work. Dr. Cam put her fingers in Ianthes secret hole. She wiggled them around in her fleshy cavern. Ianthe moaned loudly. “I will now fist you.”

“Yes!!” Ianthe screamed “Fist me, Dr. Cam!!” Dr. Cam withdrew her fingers, then suddenly without further preamble inserted her whole hand, fisted, into Ianthes carnal flower. Ianthe screamed in pleasure, and started wiggling around in the chair.. Dr. Cam wasn't going to have that though, so she put her other hand around Ianthes neck, and held her down while she fucked her. It was a glorious scene, and very sexy. Unfortunately you don't get to read any more of it, because the author (me) is going to make herself an egg, and the reader (you) are coming with me. I put my laptop down, and go out into the kitchen. I get a pan and an egg out. And butter. As I'm waiting for the butter to melt, there's a tapping on the door that doesn't work in my kitchen. I, disturbed, go and check it out. Outside my door, in thirty degree winds and rain, is Dr. Cam, fist still in Ianthes’ forbidden rose. Ianthe, on her rolly chair, has become wedged in between the side of the house and the truck. She's screaming.

 

a drawing of the above paragraph

 

“Wow.” I say, completely monotone through the glass. Dr. Cam lifted an eyebrow. I shifted on my feet. She put one hand on her hip. I shrugged. She lifted the other eyebrow. I coincide. She gave me a nod, and walked off. With her Dr. sex powers she unstucked the rolly chair. When she got to the driveway, a portal opened up, and she dragged Ianthe in it, and she disappeared as well. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the rolly chair catch on the uneven curb and rocket downwards.

I get a drink.
----------

A closet door in Dr. Cams’ building opened normally. Out of this door came Dr. Cam, pulling a soaking wet (literally) Ianthe on a rolly chair. They walked past the break room and the dildo museum to Dr. Cams’ Office, and entered. Dr. Cam, newly back in her office, gets bored of fisting Ianthe. So she reached further in, and grabbed her intestines, while simultaneously putting her other hand in Ianthes OTHER, even more illicit dungeon. Ianthe screamed so loud it circled back to silence, and cumed.

Dr. Cam, now covered in girlcum, let go of Ianthe. She flopped to the floor lifeless. Sated. Dr. Cam then got out the hoover and cleaned off her chair, and opened up shop for the day. Sitting in her chair, she said to herself:

“Just another day at the office.”

Chapter Text

Dr. Cam was enjoying a relaxing day in her office. Her sex pal was out for groceries, and she was finished with clients for the day, so her only bother was Ianthe. It was just like old times, Ianthe as her practice vagina.

Dr. Cam was getting neutrally horny, but also bored. It seemed like she had tried so much already, she was ready to experiment with more unusual techniques.

Ianthe walked in the door. “I’ve acquired the serum,” she said.

“Perfect.” said Cam. She walked over and grabbed the syringe from Ianthe. She took off the cap, got the bubbles out (or whatever doctors do idk the professional term what am i? A dictionary?), and stabbed herself in the arm to inject it.

Suddenly she grew the armor of an armadillo on her back. Dr. Camilldo was here. And she was ready for pussy.

Camillla nonchalantly pulled a dildo out of her pocket. She turned to Ianthe. “Are you ready to get Camilldo’ed?” she asked with absolutely no emphasis.

“Of course I am! I’m begging you to please camilldo my problematic pussy, armadillo lady!” she yelled and layed down on the examination table. She spread her legs to give Dr. Cam easy access.

Camilla attached the dildo to the harness that she often kept on for convenience’s sake, and pushed her way into Ianthe’s problematic pussy disinterestedly.

Ianthe screamed in pleasure (as she often does), but this time she screamed about how much getting fucked by an neutral armadillo woman reminded her of the feeling of going to the grocery store and finding that you could grab the last of your favorite food, it was for you and no one else, it was your little dirty grocery secret you horny armadillo slut.

Camilla continued to thrust with the strength of 12 horny armadillos with her armadildo. But this time she had a secret surprise. “Ianthe,” she said in the tone of someone who was grading the most boring homework on Earth and had just decided to give everyone 95% so that she wouldn’t have to do it anymore.

“Yes???” screamed Ianthe both in pleasure and to acknowledge that Camilla had said her name.

“I have programmed my armadildo to have a tongue burst out and lick your cervix. Is that something you would be interested in? Would you like to have your cervix licked via mechanical strap?”

“Yes please use your robotic science tongue on me!” she screamed.

Camilla pressed the button she had installed in her left tit. The tongue was deployed. Ianthe screamed again.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. Camilla backed out of Ianthe’s problematic pussy which got her protest from Ianthe. “Dr please come back, I need your science tongue, either one of them! You’re the only one who can make me come like I’m having the feeling of a two for one sale on fresh cut Babs steak!”

Camilla pulled on her doctor skirt and opened the door. It was none other than Babs from a parallel universe that was somehow alive.

Ianthe pulled a fork from behind her.

The End.

Chapter Text

A whooshing noise sounded in the sir, then suddenly, there came a noise-- "PLOP!".

Like fingers pulling out of a moist vagina, the sound echoed across the alley just outside Doctor Cam’s office.

"Plop!" Came the noise again.

Then it stepped through the portal, and began its search.

----------

Elsewhere, Doctor Cam’s ears perked, like a deer or rabbit sensing oncoming traffic. (Except Doctor Cam is much smarter than a deer. Those dumb fucks run right into cars.) The air was full of static electricity. Cam’s arm hairs stood up like an excited dick rising to attention. Thoughts of Sex Pal began to drift into the forefront of her consciousness, before she slapped herself in the face, and said out loud, to absolutely no one else: “NO CAM”.

Cam always knew this day would come. She suspected it would be the angry, redheaded woman she kept in her office’s secret basement.
Down through the gunmetal ‘gina, her greatest foe, and ultimate fantasy rested. An undying revenant, whose touch would haunt her own pussy for all eternity. She knew one day, that angry spirit may mean her end. But not today…

How her assumptions were wrong. (You know what they say about assuming: It makes an ass out of you and me. But we’re skipping the butt stuff today.) Of course this would be an outside attack. Cam grabbed her bullet proof lab coat. Scooted her stool to her toy drawer (again, just like yours.) Then began the search for what she needed.

A weapon. A real one this time.

----------

Ianthe Tridentarius languidly relaxing in her ceiling rafter spider lair. It was her new home when she wasn’t assisting the doctor with patients. Her day so far had been a quiet, and uneventful Thursday. She lounged in a moist, wet heap. Sated after her 32nd masturbation session of the day. Enjoying her bliss.

Until she, too herd the “plop!”, and sensed the electricity in the air. Her spider sense was tingling (and not just in her pussy). She was unsure her excitement was from sexual anticipation, or fear. Maybe both. Something was just not right… She carefully wiped herself down with a sex wipe, pulled her nurses gown back over her exposed vagina, and slithered down from her tinsel-y web.

Time to investigate.

----------

The door to Doctor Cam’s office slammed open with a bang!

Something too terrible to truly comprehend with human eyes slithered through the door way. It opened it’s mouth to speak, and a noise that sounded like a shitty soundcloud remix of a car crash, horror movie screams, and pornographic moans twisted out of it.

“I need to speak to the creator!”, it howled!

“The one who named us. She has someone I want. Tamsyynnnnnn Muirrrrrrrr…where is she??”.

----------

Doctor Cam’s nose hairs burned from the sulfuric tang in the air. She ran full speed toward the front of her office, making the journey fast enough to do one last cartwheel (she was forever a gymnast). And then, with her own, totally real med school educated lambent gray eyes, she glimpsed the eldritch terror standing near her front door.

The front desk secretary (they had one of those? Who was this character even?) fainted in shock. Cam ignored her. Her vagina was fine, so medical attention was unwarranted.

Ianthe suddenly skidded around the corner, nearly colliding with Doctor Cam. Her eyes bulged as she gazed upon the creature’s glory. Moisture dripped down her bare legs in excitement.

“Is THAT really what I look like?!?”, she asked, hornily.

The creature gazed back, tilting its head in question. Blood dripped from its mouth and sizzled on the linoleum like burning acid. Its gilded bone arm clanged metallically, like the keening death rattle of the handle on empty lube bucket tumbling down the storage room stairs. Its other arm was a gray, bulging tentacle. Which slapped back and forth on the ground, as if giving the flooring an overeager spanking session.

“I was summoned here by the screams of my brethren. Much like myself, he was created beast by beast, assembled together in an unholy union. He, too is on the hunt for his maker. You may know him by his name in your language.”

The creature screeched some sort of unholy, incomprehensible bullshit, which left Cam and Ianthe’s ears bleeding more than ever.

(But I’ll translate for you.)

There were two words:

“The Turducken”.

Doctor Cam tilted her head questioningly like a confused puppy, looked at the monstrous, disgusting alternate reality version of Ianthe, and immediately burst into laughter.

“Bitch, were not even in America right now. It’s not Thanksgiving here...wrong hell-universe.”

----------

Monster-anthe chittered, and screeched again.

Now Real Ianthe, and Doctor Cam’s noses also began to bleed from the sound.

It scooted closer to them both with a disgusting squish squish noise, then spoke directly to Ianthe: “Gaze upon me child. Behold all you could be, and become if you shed your mortal shell, and joined me in hell.”

It continued to speak, (because of course it would have an annoyingly long monologue.)

“Too long I have been denied what I truly want: Harrowhark Nonagesimus. Give her to me, or direct me to our creator, and I shall return from whence I came.”

Doctor Cam again burst into a fit of laughter. “First of all, which one you pervert? We have a few. Second: no. A doctor swears an oath to protect her patients above all. So no. Just no.”

The creature screeched in rage, and advanced. Doctor Cam pulled out her aerosol Revenant Repellant Spray (Thanks Abigail!), and prepared to fire. But Ianthe threw her arm out in front of Cam, stopping her.

Monsteranthe quirked her eyebrows at Nurse Ianthe suggestively.

“I can show you pleasure the likes of which you’ve never seen”, it said.

“OK”, said Ianthe, who was never one to turn down the offer of a good time. “I don’t know where Harrow is, but you can take me instead.”

Monsteranthe slid towards Ianthe. Its disgusting head tilted its disgusting mouth toward Ianthe, and slipped its slimy, monster tongue into Ianthe’s own mouth.

“YUM”, she said in response.

Monsteranthe tweaked one of Ianthe’s nipples, causing her to moan, loudly. (In a very over the top manner, to be honest.)

The tentacle arm reached behind Ianthe, slapping her ass (but not calling her Sally). It slowly lifted her dress over her head. Of course she had no panties on (because who has time for underwear when you work in a horny doctor’s office?). Then it slid its slimy, gray tentacle tip into home base. And got to work.

Doctor Cam looked on, stunned into silence as her nurse, and favorite problematic practice pussy was undressed, then totally railed by her alternate reality monster doppelganger’s tentacle arm. It slithered, squished, and slapped, leaving Ianthe moaning louder as every second passed by.

“Wow.” Ianthe gasped. “I haven’t been fucked like this since I had a threesome with my sister and octo-lover!".

The tentacles kept thrusting, making angry macaroni noises which grew faster and faster. The golden arm kept nipple tweaking. Monsteranthe again kissed Ianthe, muffling her moans, which were increasing ever louder, decibel by decibel. Ianthe panted, her body twitching as if she was being electrocuted by a cattle prod, before she came with a screaming shout “Oh, Doctor Cam!!”.

Doctor Cam’s eyes bulged out her head in horror.

“Whaaaaaat” said Monsteranthe, at the same time, while a look of betrayal overtook its face.

“I faked it. All of it. You’ll never be as good as the Doctor. Or my sister, really”, Ianthe said, before plunging her stolen avocado knife into Monsteranthe’s chest.

Monsteranthe screamed in rage. Too stunned and hurt to strike back. Ianthe removed the knife, then slashed and slashed, shredding the monster into ribbons; cutting off the tentacle arm, and flinging it against the wall. Ianthe licked the blood splatter off her lips, moaning even as it sizzled against her skin, and ran her hands through her butter colored hair (as if that helped clean anything).

Doctor Cam looked as if she would rather liquefy herself, and drip down into the floor drain than deal with what she had just seen and heard.

“Why did you betray the monster?” she asked her nurse.

“No one fucks my problematic pussy like you do, Doctor.” Ianthe replied, and then batted her eyelashes seductively at Doctor Cam.

Doctor Cam just shook her head, then stepped over the front desk secretary, picked up the office phone, and called for a disposal dumpster.

Cam took a sad, yearning look at her poor avocado knife that was still clutched in Ianthe’s hands.

“You’re gonna need to disinfect that.”

Before Ianthe replied “I’m good. The gore just adds flavor.”

 

With Monster-anthe defeated, Doctor Cam turned off the reception area’s lights, locked the front door, and drifted back to the safety of her private office. She would definitely be calling in sick tomorrow.

----------

Outside in the alley across from the Doctor Cam Vagina Doctor’s office doors, tiny webbed feet pitter patted over the pavement. It picked up speed, reaching ever closer to its goal, until it arrived at the office's entryway. It shrieked an unholy sound, setting off car alarms up and down the block. There would be no peace, and no days off for this Vagina Doctor.

 

The Turducken was here.

Chapter Text

Doctor Cam was having a nice normal early morning propping her feet up on a ball-gagged and fully erect Palamedes Sextus, who was acting as a human ottoman for her that day. She wriggled her gray-socked toes on top of his warm bare back and let out a neutral “Ah” of contentment before reaching for her microwaved kombucha (kombucha that has been microwaved) and morning paper (a paper you read in the morning). No horny nurses to disturb her, no bizarro turduckens darkening her door. Just her, her human sex servant, and the day’s copy of the Dominicus Times

Wait. Wait. What was that, on the front page?

Doctor Cam did not startle, did not blench: that was not her way. She merely held out her microwaved kombucha for Palamedes to take, neatly unfolded the paper for further study, and then said, “It appears we are related.”

Palamedes made a noise around the gag that Doctor Cam interpreted as, “Who?” It was early and he had not had any kombucha to perk him up. Not even food. Not even the ball gag, because that was not food. A ball gag being food actually defeats the whole purpose of a ball gag since if you just eat it you are no longer gagged. 

“You and I,” she said, laying the paper on the counter (which had been sanitized, after yesterday’s last pussy inspection had happened on it instead of on the pussy examination table as usual). “Apparently, we are second cousins. This means we share a great-grandparent.”

Palamedes jumped in surprise at this revelation, which meant he spilled half of Doctor Cam’s kombucha on the floor, and then ran around for towels to clean it up. (You never want to leave spilled kombucha to set; it’ll smell terrible.) Feeling slightly sorry for him, Cam removed his ball gag, so he could react properly to this news. They bent together over the newspaper article in question. 

CAMILLA HECT AND PALAMEDES SEXTUS RELATED! screamt the headline.

“Well I never,” said Palamedes. “If this was such news, why didn’t anyone know about it beforehand?”

They looked at each other, bemused. 

“Front page news is normally supposed to mean something,” Cam said. “Let’s find out what this means.”

They read the article silently and together, like a pair of people reading the same article in a newspaper.

“Ah, so what this means is that ‘shipping’ between us is not allowed,” Cam murmured, running her finger down the newspaper article, which was very long and filled with dramatic moralizing statements. 

“All right,” Palamedes hem-hawed. “Let me get ahold of CamPal Transports, Ltd. I think we still have a cargo ship headed here from Ida but maybe we can nuke it in space.”

“Yes,” said Doctor Cam, steepling her fingers. “In space, no one will hear them scream.”

“And then I’ll have my people talk to your people and divvy up the shareholdings between us, leaving us with two unconnected, smaller, and possibly debilitatingly unstable business enterprises, so that there cannot be said to be any shipping between us whatsoever.”

“Sounds good,” Cam said, continuing to read the article with her eyes, while her science tongue licked the backs of her teeth for lingering kombucha taste. “God,” she muttered, “the Dominicus Times has really gone downhill lately. How does this pass for journalism, and why are all these people so furious?”

Palamedes was typing businessedly on his phone, which he’d sourced from a waterproof clear thigh holster since he was otherwise just as naked as the day he’d been born as Cam’s second cousin. “The enterprise, apparently sordid, is now sorted.”

“There’s more,” Doctor Cam said neutrally, spinning a Rubik’s cube between her socked toes. “These writers are concerned we may do harm to others, by being distantly related. There is only one solution.”

“What?” Palamedes said.

“We have to block each other and die.”

They stared at each other for a moment. 

Palamedes deflated. “I don’t remember any of my tae kwon do,” he said. “If you tried to hit me you’d just succeed. Can I just block you on Insta instead?”

“Sure. Actually, why don’t we trade phones and search ourselves on every social media site possible.”

They traded phones, searching their own usernames on every single social media site possible.

“Twitter?”

“Done. Facebook?"

“Done. Insta?”

“Yep. Snapchat?”

“Yep. WhatsApp?”

“Confirming. Discord?”

“Nah, don’t bother, blocking on Discord’s pretty useless.”

“Word. Kik?”

“You got kik?”

“Says the man who still has a Xanga —”

“Pillowfort?”

“Respectfully, Warden, what the fuck is Pillowfort—”

“Tumblr?”

“Stop, you’re embarrassing yourself.”

On and on it went. They all had many accounts on many mediums where they were somehow connected; but alas! There was nothing for it. They all had to be blocked, blocked, blocked; as neither of them were free of sin.

When they were done with this, Camilla sourced a pair of gigantic knives from a knife-holder on her back, and said, “Time to die.”

A single tear dripped off the end of Palamedes’ nose. He grasped the knife offered to him and planted a chaste second-cousinly kiss on Cam’s cheek. “Time to die.”

“WAIT!!” boomed a voice. They turned and looked in amazement as Augustine, the Saint of Patience, flew saintily through the window, scattering glass everywhere. 

“Who are you?” both of the Sixth said, never having been acquainted previously with the dude. “Why are you here?”

“I’ve come to help,” Augustine said, which clarified nothing. He then turned around and began pulling something up through the window by a thick black rope, which also clarified nothing. What did eventually clarify things was the gondola car that was hoisted up and smashed through the room as a result of this, though not all the way. “Behold!” Augustine cried. “Your spiritual forebears!”

“Our what?” said Cam. 

“I heard people were being weird about the cousin thing, so I brought you something to cheer you up.”

The door to the gondola car swung open. “First, Fred and George Weasley!”

A sweatered pair of twins popped out, looking very ginger and identical. 

“Next, Jaime and Cersei Lannister!”

Two Westerosi royals tumbled into the room, looking guilty.

“Then, Sam and Dean Winchester!”

Two jeans-wearing guys in their forties who didn’t actually look all that related stepped out of the gondola car.

"Aaaand the grand finale, Luke and Leia!"

Two space people jumped out.

“Now, what does everyone here have in common?” Augustine said.

Palamedes said, “Have...have they all been vehemently cancelled in a public forum, just like we’re going to be?”

“Yes!” Augustine said brightly. “And they’re all still around.”

“We’re a little different, I think,” said the lady Lannister twin. “We’re canon.”

"And we're the worst," said Leia, slinging an arm around Luke's shoulders. "We actually kissed before being retconned into siblings."

“Have faith, my bros,” said one of the jeans guys. “People are always gonna have weird shit to say in newspapers. Fuck ‘em.”

“Yeah,” said the other jeans guy. He pulled out a cooler of cold ones and tossed them around to everyone in the room. They all cracked them open and toasted to not giving a shit. 

“Great,” Palamedes said, as they all finished their cold ones in silence. “Nice to know we don’t really have to die.”

“Yeah, this makes my day a lot better,” Doctor Cam said. “Now get out of my office, all of you. I have a vagina practice to run.” She looked at the lady Lannister twin. “You wanna stay and be my first patient of the day? You look like there’s definitely something wrong with you.”

“Sure,” said the lady Lannister, hopping up on the pussy table as everyone else left. Palamedes began to clean up the wreckage of the gondola, and everything went back to normal.

For now.