Friday morning at the doctor’s office. Last patient: Mr. Robert Chagnat, 58, silver fox with a naughty grin. Doctor’s off to lunch. We’re alone. Heart pounds. His usual tease: “Come on, Jennifer, take off that blouse. Show me what’s underneath.” Pulse races. Forbidden heat builds between my thighs. I’ve played this game for months—flirty banter, winks even with his wife there. But now? No one’s watching. Except him. “Not here,” I whisper, voice husky. “Your place.” His eyes light up. We dash 100 meters in the May sun. My blouse sticks to my skin, nipples hardening already.
Door opens. He yells for Nicole. She’s all smiles, pouring aperitifs. Cozy living room. Sofa soft under me. Banter flows. She knows our game. He plops beside me, hand on my knee, warm and bold. “Bet you wear sexy panties.” She laughs, fetches tissue boxes. Vintage lingerie, new slutty buys. Tension thickens. Air electric. My pussy twitches. They push: “Strip, Jennifer. Try it on.” Hypnotized, I obey. Blouse drops. White lace balconette bra, matching thong. Unhook. Tits spill free, nipples stiff peaks begging touch. Panties slide down thighs. Naked. Bushy mound exposed. Their eyes devour me.
The Awakening
She hands open-crotch thong. Resille white, size perfect. Pull it up. Lips bulge through the slit, swelling wet. Can’t hide it. Nipple pushers next—tits thrust forward, slutty perfection. White stockings, lacy garters. Foot on sofa by him. He stares at my spread thighs, asshole to dripping slit. Her hands fix garters, fingers graze inner thighs. Shiver rips through me. Pussy lips part, juice slicks.
Camera whirs. They’ve been filming. She confesses: watched me flash thighs at a boy patient, unbuttoned blouse teasing half-nipples. “You’re a sensual slut, Jennifer. Touch your pussy. For us.” Legs wide. Fingers trace thighs, belly, tits. Pinch nipples. Dive to clit. Slow circles. Faster. Wet squelch. Eyes lock on lens. Moans build. Hips buck. First orgasm crashes—juices drip down thighs. Not enough. Again. Fingers plunge deep, three now, pounding. Scream it out. Five times. Legs quake. Can’t stop.
The Raw Act and Lingering Secret
They strip. He mounts her on the sofa. Long thick cock slams her soaked cunt. She bucks, tits jiggling, winks at me mid-thrust. Her cries mix with mine. I rub furiously, cum again watching him stretch her wide. She’s loud, gushing.
Time up. “Keep it on under blouse,” she orders. “Top and bottom buttons undone. Tease the afternoon patients.” Promise of more whore outfits if I obey. Door closes. Whisper: “He hasn’t been that hard in years. Come back soon.”
Back at work. Blouse gaps, garters peek, pussy lips rub thong slit with every step. Patients stare. Secret thrill pulses. I did it. Stripped for strangers. Masturbated like a pornstar. Oozed for them. Crave more. This forbidden rush? My dirtiest high.