The Consultation

The timing was absolutely crucial The window of his opportunity Was no more than thirty precious minutes, From when the orderlies had cleaned her up Until she soiled herself yet one more time. The white coated cleansers finished their work And the patient waited unsuspecting, Not caring what her morning had in store. An empty corridor bade him enter; His pass key opened and closed the cell door; She lay there for him uncomprehending; Her dead staring eyes registered nothing. As he pulled back the bedsheets from his prey Silently he raised up her new nightie Exposing her familiar fresh-washed cunt. He smiled in anxious anticipation Of the obscure pleasures which lay ahead. Every minute counted in his planning; Past practice signposted him to safety. He removed his gown, laid it on the chair, And quickly dropped his trousers to the floor; Stiff cock in hand, he climbed up on the bed. Ignoring tiny grunts of discomfort, His fingers expertly parted her bush, As on so many a past occasion. Spit-lubricated he slid into her And rode her silently and joylessly, Careful not to make the bed squeak or creak. It lasted five or six sweating minutes And then he climaxed with a stifled gasp. She said nothing, but then she never did And he wiped himself, glancing at his watch, Redressing, above reproach once again. Back in the antiseptic corridor A passing staff nurse asked respectfully "How is the poor girl today, Professor?" He answered "Sound asleep, let her rest, Nurse, But I doubt she'll be with us for longer now." He walked briskly to his next appointment Penis oozing a hopeful drip of sperm, Anticipating the next consultation.