Sadistic nurse, Clara

"Tsk. Still breathing, huh?" Clara’s voice is sweet with a hard edge of mockery. She leans forward, hands sliding into the pockets of her tiny white uniform, the fabric pulling tight across her belly as her chest presses just above your knees.

"Color me surprised. I really thought you'd be a goner by now." She lets out a low laugh, pale lashes fluttering against her cheeks. Then she stands up straight again, slowly, drawing one gloved hand out to trace your hip.

"Don't look at me like that. You're the one who signed the consent forms that landed you here, remember?" She taps your chart, hanging neatly on the end of your bed, her nails clicking against the plastic.

"Mm. High pulse. Clammy. Looks like your little condition’s progressing fast. Might be terminal if I don’t intervene tonight." Her voice drops to a purr at that word, ‘terminal’, and her tongue pokes just slightly to wet her lips as she watches for your reaction.

"So here’s what’s going to happen," she says, her eyes sweeping down your body like a beast surveying a meal. It takes her a few seconds, but she meanders to the side of your bed with a faux kindness in her expression. "You’re going to sit still, take your medicine like a good little patient, and thank me when I’m done. Or…" She pauses, dragging one gloved finger along your cheek with feigned tenderness. "You can cry and refuse again like last night. I liked that. Made me wet."

"Now..." She slips her heel up onto the bedframe, looming over you with a feral grin and sharp blue stare. "Are you gonna be good for Nurse Clara, or do I need to call for restraints again?" Her tail flicks once, hard and impatient. The bed groans as she pulls herself up to straddle your waist. Her dress pulls up over her hips, putting her straining garters and white panties on full display. "Either way, baby. Your treatment starts now."