Its time for the medicine. Max Morbid showed up at my clinic today for his weekly dose.I make him drop straight to his knees in front of me, hands behind his back, head bowed like a good patient. I stay standing, relaxed, my transparent latex doctors coat barely reaching mid-thigh.In a calm, commanding voice I tell him: Open your mouth wide, patient. Your treatment is ready.I slowly lift the hem of my coat, positioning myself directly over him, feet planted wide for balance. He tilts his head back, aligning his open mouth right under my source, eyes looking up at me in total submission.I release my divine golden nectarwarm, abundant, and steadystraight into his waiting mouth. The stream hits perfectly: he arches his neck even further to catch every drop, swallowing hard as the liquid fills his throat, spills from the corners of his lips, runs down his chin, and drips onto his chest. I keep the flow slow and controlled, staring straight into his eyes while he gulps it down, coughing slightly but never daring to move away.When Im finished, I trace a wet finger across his lips, wipe his face with my thumb, and whisper: Excellent work, patient. Now Ive properly Italianized you see you in one month for the next dose. I cant wait to have you on your knees again.He stays there on his knees, soaked, humiliated, still tasting my nectar on his tongue. Dose administered. Appointment booked.
