The Old Village Doctor's Special Therapy

My name was Thea Gilmore, and I was a lonely wife who felt restless and empty if a single day went by without relief.

After seven years of marriage, my husband, Hank Sawyer, was as limp and useless as a withered vine. He couldn't satisfy me at all.

My body felt like a parched, dry desert desperate for a torrential rain.

By the end of the year, he took me back to his remote hometown for the Christmas holidays.

I wasn't prepared for how filthy his mom, Paige Turner, was. The water she used to wash the dishes had a foul smell, and the food was starting to spoil.

I had barely taken a few bites before my stomach churned violently. The pain came in waves, and I dashed for the bathroom.

Toilets in the village were crude. There wasn't even a door, and anyone who walked by could see me taking a dump.

I rushed to the toilet in such a hurry that I forgot to grab the toilet paper, so I had no choice but to call my brother-in-law, Reid Sawyer, to bring some.

As a college student majoring in sports science, he was tan and rippled with muscles.

When he handed me the toilet paper, he stared so hard. That was when I realized that my lower body was completely exposed.

Having someone stare at my private part so intensely had me feeling a strange mix of thrill and embarrassment. My body vaguely stirred with a restless warmth and an itching need.

Even after I came out of the toilet, the cramps in my stomach wouldn't stop.

"Is there a hospital nearby?" I asked Hank. "I must've eaten something bad. My stomach is in terrible pain."

He shook his head and impatiently said, "We ate the same thing, and all of us are fine. Why are you the only one with a stomachache? There are no hospitals out here in the village, so stop making a fuss, will you?"

I was disappointed, but then Paige said, "There's an old traditional medicine doctor in the village. We always go to him when we're sick. He's better than doctors in the city.

"His name is Chad, and he lives at the west end of the village. When you get there, just say that I sent you."

I nodded. At this point, the traditional medicine practitioner, Chad Warlock, was my only option.

Soon, I found his place. He was in his late 40s but looked incredibly fit and sturdy, typical of a traditional medicine practitioner who took good care of himself. Still, I wondered how strong his stamina was.

I explained my situation and told him that the pain in my stomach was killing me. After listening, he nodded and gestured to the bed in the room.

"Simple. I just need to draw the toxic energy out of your core," he said. "Just lie on the bed. I'll give you a massage, and you'll be fine."

There was only one bed in the room, so this was clearly the bed he had slept in.

As I lay down, my heart raced with a little flutter of excitement.

This was the first time I had ever lain in another man's bed. But given the rustic conditions out here in the village, I didn't have much choice and had to make do.

Chad's consultation room might look modest and rustic, but he had a complete set of tools. He brewed a cup of herbal tea and told me to drink it.

"This herbal tea will help with your stomach pain. Drink it, and I'll start the massage."

After I drank it, a flush of heat began to spread through my body.

He opened a toolbox containing an array of massage tools. I took a glance and, to my surprise, spotted a toy inside!

Things looked a little off. He was clearly running a quite comprehensive range of services.

Next, he lifted my shirt, revealing my smooth stomach, and my body tensed.

There was something strangely thrilling about having a man lift my shirt. I found myself eagerly anticipating what he would do to me next.

Chad produced a bottle of essential oils and poured a few drops onto my skin. The cool drops slowly trickled down my hips.

Then, he placed both hands on my stomach and pressed down with a slow, gentle pressure. His rough palms were covered in calluses, and the touch on my stomach stirred a strange restlessness deep in my gut.

Soon, the oil was spread evenly across my abdomen. Its slick, gliding sensation was mixed with the steady warmth of Chad's palms.

Heat began to radiate from my stomach until my entire body was warm, and my lower body started itching restlessly.

Chad gripped my waist with both hands, his thick thumbs pressing in gentle yet firm circles around my navel.

I had to admit that he was truly skilled, and the pain in my stomach eased considerably.

But then, his hands slid beneath my shirt and started moving higher.

My heart jolted, and I panickedly asked, "C-Chad, where are your hands going? It's my stomach that hurts, not my chest."

Still, his hands didn't stop. He pushed my shirt all the way up until the soft curves on my chest were bare and exposed.

His eyes widened as he stared hard and complimented, "I had no idea you were so gifted."

I felt myself melting. Being stared at like this made my cheeks flush with embarrassment.

"Chad, what are you doing?"