Indecent Exposure

Jane (Ella Knox) sits jittering in the waiting area outside Dr. Bishop’s (Alex Jones) home office when the door finally creaks open. "Come in," he says, and she follows him like a nervous little animal. He shuts the door, points her toward two chairs, and tells her to get comfy. She drops into the seat that faces away from his desk. He shakes her hand, tells her his name, and asks if Dr. Hill sent her. She nods shyly, yes. He strolls behind her, bragging that he’s here to smooth the transition now that old Dr. Hill has checked out. "Why’d you need therapy in the first place?" he asks. Jane freezes. Doesn’t he have her file? Sure, he says, but he wants it straight from her mouth. She sighs, screws up her courage: "Dr. Hill says I have a fear of... intimacy." Another tight breath. "I’m afraid of... sex. Can you help me?" Dr. Bishop spins his web, cocky as hell. "My specialty, sweetheart. I’ll do everything in my power." Then he drills deeper. How’d it start? Jane dodges, says she’s clueless. Has she even done it before? She mumbles she lost it at eighteen—about four years ago. "Walk me through the whole thing," he says, cool as ice, while he quietly unzips behind her head and pulls his thick cock out into the open. Jane stays blind to it and stumbles through the story: parents gone, brother throwing a party, random guy she kinda knew telling her he had a crush. Drunken kisses, clothes vanished, and next thing she knows she’s naked with him. Dr. Bishop tells her to lay her head back, close her eyes, and use a relaxation trick while she talks. She obeys, voice trembling: "We kissed, he ripped my shirt off... I just felt like I had to." All the while he’s stroking himself inches from her lips, grazing her shoulder with fake concern, breath hot on the side of her neck. He cuts her off at the good part, tucks the dick away, and smiles sweetly: "That’s enough for now." She blinks up at him, looking hopeful and wrecked. He declares that broken-virgin night the root of her problem and calls it exposure therapy. "Time to relive it—exactly—with me." Jane panics, blurts no, threatens to bolt. He looms closer, traps her with kind poison words: fight it alone and she’ll die lonely. Tears well; she finally nods, shaky consent. He makes her strip. Those fat tits spill free, and he lays her on the edge of his desk, spreading her legs wide. He dives in, tongue first, slurping every fold. Jane’s legs twitch; muffled moans leak out of her until she’s grabbing at his hair and grinding her cunt against his face. When she’s wet and glassy-eyed, he hauls her down onto her knees. Pants off, cock slap-heavy against her cheek. This filthy therapy’s just begun—and Dr. Bishop has every intention of drowning his trembling new patient in every obscene thing she’s never dared to dream.