Snap! Crack! Pop!

Every year around my birthday, my chiropractor's office sends me a postcard offering me a free treatment. This year's card had been sitting in a drawer in the kitchen for a couple of weeks when I came across it and realized I needed to use it soon, before it expires. I wasn't in any pain, but figured I was probably due for a general tune up. I planned to be in their neighborhood that day, so I went online and made an appointment for later in the afternoon.

When I walk into the office I'm greeted by the doctor's cute Filipina receptionist. I've been going to this clinic every few months for several years, and they know me pretty well by now. She's usually a bit flirty, and we often joke around. We chat for a minute and then she sends me off to the warm-up room.

In the warm-up room there are three stools with rotating seats. Part of the warm-up routine is to sit in the stool and rock your hips left to right ten times, then back and forth ten times, then make a circle ten times in each direction, and finally make a figure eight pattern fifty times in each direction. All of this pelvic gyrating naturally leads to dirty thoughts. It's actually a little embarrassing if there are other patients doing it at the same time, all grinding their hips in various ways. Fortunately I am the only patient in the clinic today. But I still feel a bit self-conscious because the warm-up room looks directly through the door into the front office area. The girls who work at the front desk can look right in, and sometimes they do. This time the receptionist is busy, so I'm free to do my exercises and have my dirty thoughts in peace. Until the chiropractor walks in.

"Aren't you modern, making your appointment online?

She asks if I had any trouble using the new system, which I didn't.

"Slow day?" I ask her.

"Not too many people come in this time of the afternoon. This is kind of the dead time. "

She sits down on one of the stools and makes small talk as I start my figure-eights. Which makes me a little uncomfortable, though not in an entirely bad way.

My chiropractor is actually pretty hot: she's from Miami, probably in her early 40s, has a couple of kids but is still in good shape and sexy in that way middle-aged Latin women can be. Especially ones who haven't been laid in a while. She's feminine but has a bit of a tough edge, a no-bullshit attitude. I like that. The last few times I've been in I've noticed she no longer wears a wedding ring, and she never mentions her husband, just the kids, so I suspect they've split up. And she's seemed friendlier, more familiar lately. She maintains her professional boundaries, but it feels like maybe she's pushing them just a little.

She leaves to go do some paperwork while I finish my warm-up exercises. I get done with the pelvic rotations but there's one more thing I have to do. On the wall of the warm-up room there are some eye bolts at various heights, with nylon ropes dangling from them by hooks. The ropes are looped, with foam padding on the loop where it goes around your neck, and a padded steel bar at the top that you grab onto. These are for doing a kind of mild traction to stretch out the vertebrae in your neck. You stand facing the wall, slip the loop around the back of your neck, hold the padded bar to your forehead, and bend your knees slightly so that the weight of your body causes the rope to pull your head straight up. You're supposed to do six long pulls of ten seconds each, followed by sixty short ones for one second each. Again, this isn't something you really want to do when other people are there; it looks like you are fucking someone standing up against the wall, or using a glory hole.

As I finish I happen to glance through the door and notice the receptionist looking at me, though I pretend not to see her. I walk down the hall to the front of the desk and she gives me a sly little grin as she hands me a clip board with my chart on it.

"Room four."

I walk back down the hall to the treatment room, put my chart in the basket that hangs on the wall outside the doorway, and sit on the padded treatment table to wait for the doctor. She comes in a few minutes later, makes a bit more small talk. She starts to review my chart but drops her pen and bends over to pick it up. She is bent over at the waist and I can't help but look right down the top of her scoop-necked shirt. Her ample breasts are dangling straight down, barely held into her bra, swinging as she fiddles with the pen.

After a few seconds she stands up, looks at my chart some more, asks what I want done.

"Just the basics: neck, shoulders, middle back."

"Did you hurt yourself, are you in any pain?"

I assure her that I'm basically fine, just a little tight in those areas.

She has me start off lying face down on the table. She arranges my feet and looks at my hips to see if they are in alignment. And then she reaches for The Machine. I don't know what the real name for this thing is, but it's basically an electric sabre saw, only instead of a saw blade it has a shaft with a hard rubber ball on the end of it, and it pounds your muscles hard and fast. It's really noisy, but feels amazing. It kind of hurts, but in a very pleasant, almost orgasmic, way. And she knows I love it. She runs it up and down my back a few times (never enough). When it hits certain places the muscles involuntarily spasm, which makes my ass lift up off the table. She hits those spots a few times, and I wonder if she secretly enjoys this.

She sets The Machine aside and places her hands firmly between my shoulder blades. I know the drill. I take a deep breath, let it out. When she feels the end of my exhale, she presses down hard. Crack! Ahhh... She moves her hands a little further down my back and does it again. Then she grabs my feet and turns me on my side, leans over me across my waist and pushes my shoulders one way and my hips the other. Pop! Same thing on the other side. Then she tells me to lie on my back, and walks around behind my head. I close my eyes and try to relax, breathe, and loosen all the muscles in my neck. She holds my head and rolls it around gently to find the places where my neck is stuck. When she finds one she holds it in a steady position for a few seconds, then gives it a quick flick to the side. It feels like a jolt of electricity going up my spine and into my skull. Yes! She tilts my head the other way, and finds a tight spot on that side, but it doesn't want to release.

"Let's do a little manual traction on you to loosen things up."

She pulls up a stool and sits down there behind my head. She's holding my head but she's also pressing her fingers into my neck to loosen up the muscles. This also causes my head to tilt back slightly. This goes on for several minutes. She's talking about this and that, and I'm quite relaxed. But then she goes quiet for a long time. All I can hear is her breathing. I open my eyes and find I am looking straight up at the underside of her breasts, which are gently rising up and down with each breath she takes.

Now, this is interesting. I'm not quite sure what to make of it. I decide to simply relax and enjoy the view while it lasts. No big deal. But after another few seconds she looks down and sees me looking up at her. Busted! I quickly blink and turn my eyes away, but she doesn't. She keeps looking down at me, like she wants me to look back at her. So I do. She's still tilting my head back, breathing. We hold that look for a while. She clearly wants something to happen. Being a good, compliant patient, I slowly raise my hands, reach behind my head, and cup them around the sides of her tits. Now her eyes close, but otherwise she doesn't move. I begin to slowly rub her tits, gently squeezing them now and then. I notice her breath quickening and her weight shifting as she leans into my hands. Still holding her breasts, I pull her forward, guiding her until she is leaning over my face. I can smell her damp cunt from here. I slide my hands down to her waist and pull the shirt up over her head, drop it on the floor. Tug the bra down and pull it towards me, and her with it. Her tits are now hanging directly above my mouth. I kiss the underside of each breast, still fondling them, lightly tracing my fingers across them, rolling her nipples between my thumbs and fingers.

She lets out a little sigh, so I pull her closer to me and suck a nipple between my lips. She breathes harder, moans a bit louder. I suck the other one as well. I kiss and lick and gently bite them. She reaches forward and unbuttons my jeans. I grab one of her arms and guide her around to the side of the table. She unhooks the bra, steps out of her shoes and skirt. No panties, just a small patch of hair.

She unbuttons my shirt, kisses my chest, sucks and nibbles at my nipples before she works her way down my stomach. Then she pulls my jeans down below my waist. Buries her face in my pubic hair, inhales deeply. She cups my balls in her hand and runs her tongue up the underside of my cock, from the base to the head. She does this a few times, watches me get a little harder with each lick. She pauses between each one, teasing me. Finally she takes my cock in her mouth, and I let out a little gasp.

"¿Te gusta?" she asks, in Spanish.

"Si, a mi me gusta," I whisper back.

"A mi tambien."

We smile at each other. Like the song says, Spanish is the loving tongue.

She goes back to sucking me, and as she does she reaches up to pinch my nipples. After a few minutes of this it gets to be too much. I'm not ready to come yet. I grab a handful of her thick, dark hair, pull her face up to mine and kiss her deeply, for a long time. Nothing tentative about it. I let go of her hair and let my hand slide down her back, around the curve of her ass, between her legs. She stands up and spreads them so I can feel her wetness. I slip my fingers through the folds of her pussy, get them wet with her juices, put a finger inside of her and rub her clit with my thumb. She inhales sharply as I put in another finger, and begins fondling her tits, rolling and pinching the nipples, pulling them up to her mouth to suckle on them. Rocking her hips on my hand.

She's moaning more loudly now, getting more worked up. She pulls my jeans off and climbs on top of me and slides onto my cock, hisses under her breath as she lightly drags her nipples across my chest.

"¡Coño!"

"Ah, sí...te gusta mi bicho, ¿que no?"

"Mmmmm, sí sí sí sí...Dame lo..."

She sits up on her knees, my hands holding onto her hips as she rides me. She stuffs the fingers of one hand in my mouth to get them wet, then reaches down to rub her clit. Her other hand plays with her tits, caressing and pinching and kneading them. I can see little ripples move across them as she bounces on my cock. Her noises are getting louder, little yelps and gasps and grunts.

I push myself up to a sitting position on the table and she wraps her legs around my waist. We are hot and sweaty and close, breathing hard into each other's faces. Our bellies stick together, and make a hollow sucking noise when they pull apart. I like the smell of her sweat, and bury my nose in her neck, her arm pit, suck at her tits, grab onto her ass, her hair.

At some point I glance over her shoulder and am surprised to see the receptionist standing in the doorway, watching us. She has a hand in her pants and a dreamy look in her eyes. It takes her a few moments to notice that I see her. Our eyes meet and I smile at her to let her know it's OK. She grins back and relaxes and leans against the wall, unbuttons her shirt, reaches inside to fondle a small, lovely breast. If she wants a show I guess we should give her one.

I lay "la doctora" onto her back on the table, pull her feet up onto my shoulders, and fuck her slowly at first, then faster, then slower again, alternating between them. Sometimes I pull out and rub my wet cock across her clit, then plunge back into her quickly. She's rubbing her clit, panting, getting closer. She's saying all kinds of things, most of which I can't make out with my rudimentary Spanish, but I get enough to know they are filthy and I'm loving it. Behind her, the receptionist is also getting close. She's managing to not make any noise, but I can hear her breathing and see the hand in her pants moving faster. I focus on the little ripples that go through the doctor's tits each time I thrust into her. Her eyes are closed, in deep concentration. Suddenly they open and stare straight into me, the noises stop, and I feel her legs tighten around my shoulders as her body goes stiff.

"¡Puta madre!"

Seeing her come puts me over the edge, too. I arch my back and push into her as hard and deep as I can, hold it there until the spasms subside, then collapse onto her chest. As I catch my breath I suddenly remember the receptionist, look up expecting to see her, but she's gone.

We pull ourselves apart, get dressed, kiss one last time. Smile quietly. No words. She heads to the restroom to get cleaned up. I go to the front desk, return my chart to the receptionist. This time we exchange sly little grins as I pay my bill.

"Feeling better?" she asks.

"Much, thank you. And how are you?"

"Oh, I'm fine. It was slow, so I locked the doors for a while and had a nice little coffee break. Would you like to schedule another appointment?"

"No, I think I''m good for now."

"Well, just let us know when you need another adjustment."

"Will do. I was thinking it might be good to get adjusted on a weekly basis."

"I'm sure we can find time to squeeze you in."

"I'd appreciate that, thanks. See you later."

"Come again. Soon."