He was on edge. Flushed, tense, barely holding it together — and I knew he couldn’t wait for his next appointment.
So I showed up in my lab coat, climbed into his car like the professional I pr3tend to be… but we both knew why I was really there.
I sat beside him, whispered low and filthy, stroking his stress away — slowly at first, just my hand, just my voice. I told him it was okay. Told him how good it was supposed to feel. And when his eyes rolled back, I gave him everything.
My mouth wrapped around him, deep and sloppy, tongue working like a dream. We were interrupted — a cyclist passed by, I froze. But just for a second. I wasn’t about to leave my patient unfinished.
He came hard. Right in my mouth. I let it drip, played with it, swallowed like the dirty little secret I am.
Buttoned up, fixed my hair… and walked away like nothing ever happened.
Just another successful session.
