The evening dress clung to her curves, the silk shining in the light— a flawless, feminine sculpture. She was framed in the doorway like some sort of goddess. The doctor found it hard to take his eyes off of her, but he managed to do so in order to read her file.
"I, ah, must confess that today is not your appointed date," he explained carefully. "I don't work on Sundays."
"But you're here."
"Only to do some paperwork. I was about to leave, in fact." The file was very bare. No address, no bank details, not even a summary. Just her name.
"Do you know what I was about to do? I was about to go to a gala I wasn't even invited to." She folded her arms. "You know why?"
"I can't say I do..."
"To get fucked. By a complete stranger." She stepped inside. "I told myself I dressed like this to be classy, and that I was going because I cared about art or culture or charity or whatever the hell it was for, but that's not true. I dressed like this so that men would want to fuck me."
The doctor suddenly recalled her case. It had been a very brief phone call, and he'd forgotten about it. But now it all came rushing back... he had thought it was a prank caller at first.
"Oh, yes." The doctor swallowed. "Your compulsive disorder..."
"Nympho, slut, whatever. Call it what you want. But whatever it is, you're going to help me."
"We still need to sort out various things. Your background, your mental health in the past—"
"You're going to help me. Now."
There was anger and desperation in her voice. Her expression was one of frustrated despair.
The doctor frowned. "Fine." He walked over to the door and slammed it shut, and looked up at her. She was defiant, her hands on her hips.
He grabbed her, dragged her across to the desk.
"What are you... what are you doing...?"
He hitched up her gown, tugged aside her panties, and forced himself up her ass. She cried out in shock, murmured one word, perhaps it was "no"...
For a moment the doctor savoured the tightness, the all-encompassing warmth, and then gripped her hips. He bent her over and began to vigorously sodomise her. She cried out in shock, lurching forward with every powerful thrust, her breasts heaving beneath the silken fabric of her dress.
At first, he suspected that she wasn't enjoying it— in fact she'd began to scream. But her protests didn't sound entirely convincing to his ears. And, of course, he was an expert in such matters.
"N-no... please...aaah... no... oh..."
"Patience, Miss Fent." He grabbed her hair, pulled her upright, ran his hands across her bust and felt the rock-hard nipples beneath the satin. "Let me do my job."
Squeezing her breasts, kissing her face, balls bouncing off her perfect silk-clad derrière, the doctor was in his element. This was what his profession was all about.
Eventually her cries subsided into softer gasps. And then moans. And then she screamed again, this time in ecstasy.
"Oh, yes. Harder."
She was masturbating furiously, rubbing on and under her panties as he filled her other hole. She was pushing back into him, her free hand clawing at his buttock, her lips now seeking his instead of trying to pull away from him.
It was time for the next stage. He disengaged from her, turned her around to give her one last kiss, and then forced her to her knees. She knew what to do.
His fingers clutched at her luscious curls, damp with sweat, as her ruby-red lips caressed his tip. He suddenly pulled her closer, back and forth, hearing her noisily gag and gurgle as he fucked her face. He paused for a moment, pulling out to let her breathe. She smiled, licked his glans, and then darted forward and took his whole length again, enthusiastically servicing it as she serviced herself with her slender fingers.
With a single, bestial grunt, he climaxed. She took the first eruption in her mouth and sighed in satisfaction as the rest worked its way down her cheek and chin to form errant pools across her chest.
But she wasn't quite done. Gripping it firmly, she attacked it hand and mouth— forcibly and wetly, working until his fading erection decided that it was still needed and began to harden up again.
When he was fully erect, she pushed him to the floor and lowered herself on top of him. The liquid contours of her dress hid both their genitals from view, but the doctor knew that she was using her ass of her own accord— that pulsing soft heat was unmistakable. She began to bounce and grind like a woman possessed, with such expert technique that the doctor was far too distracted to care about the severe carpet burns he was getting upon his back.
This continued throughout the evening, until even the doctor was raw. He had finally reached his limit— shrivelled and sore but, again, he frankly didn't care in the slightest.
With her rear reddened and glowing with a sheen of sweat and semen she glanced over her shoulder at the doctor, and then pushed herself up from the rug, adjusting the hem of her dress and pulling her underwear into a less revealing position.
Her face, cleavage, and rear were sticky with the produce of hour upon hour of violent sex. Not that she'd missed out— from the sounds of it, she had come just as often as he had, and then some.
"Thank you doctor," she began, and she meant it, "but the aversion therapy didn't work." She wiped a hand over her lips and licked off the creamy globules. "I'm just as horny as ever."
"Oh, that wasn't aversion therapy," he said, contentedly zipping back up and adjusting his shirt. "That was the first of your monthly payments. Now, tell me about your mother..."