Dr. Stud

But I am not here to be charmed. I’m here to offer a service, as agreed.

“Do you like the blue? Or how about the violet? Or maybe the tangerine? That might be too much with my hair, don’t you think?”

I clear my throat. “I thought perhaps I could give you some instruction,” I begin, keeping my voice steady. “Maybe teach you how to pleasure yourself. Would you like that?”

Her lips pop open with a tiny sound and she pauses, swaying for a moment. Again I have a vision of her swooning, allowing me to catch her, allowing me to gather her up.

All right, Dr. Stud, I tell myself. That’s enough of that. Just stay focused.

“Like now? Like right now?” she whispers.

“That’s what you requested. So, yes. Right now,” I confirm, taking the chair from behind the dressing table and placing it in front of the mirror. I sit in it and pat my lap. “Come and sit.”

Obediently she walks over to me, biting her lip as she lowers herself onto my lap. I wrap my hands around her waist and reposition her so that we both face the mirror. Her legs naturally drape over mine and I nudge them apart.

“Just let your legs fall open,” I direct her. “Lean back against me. You will be able to see.”

From my pocket I withdraw the small, handheld vibrator I brought to give her. It snaps on, and her eyes go wide.

“Is this how you train everybody?” she breathes.

“No. This is just for you,” I assure her. “Pull up your skirt.”

Her fingertips play at the hem of her skirt for a few moments till she gathers the courage to reveal herself. The blue fabric slides up over her open thighs, gradually pushing that amber-thatched pussy into view. She is already wet and gleaming, the petals of her sex unfolding in front of us.

I pluck her left hand off her lap and spread her fingers into a V-shape. “Use these fingers to massage your outer lips.”

Her nostrils flare as she breathes deeply, enthralled by the vision of herself spread open in the mirror. Obediently her fingers drift toward her sex and gently pull her lips slightly farther apart.

“That’s good,” I encourage her, shifting so that she can’t feel the hard-on that is raging beneath her. I thought I could control myself, but this is more intense than I expected.

Handing her the vibrator in her other hand, I nudge it toward her vulva.

“Your clitoris is the pearl at the top of your sex,” I explain. I can hear my voice getting hoarse. “I want you to take the head of the vibrator and simply circle it. Don’t touch it directly. It’s too sensitive for that. Just slowly circle it.”

We both watch as the device brushes the candy-pink flesh near her clit. Gleaming strands of wetness surge around the metallic knob, glistening as she strokes herself.

Her head drops back and her eyes close. I hear her breath deepen as her weight shifts against me. Taking a chance while she is distracted, I let my hands move to her hips and direct her ass cheeks over my cock. Her clenching muscles send shockwaves through my body.

“Like this?” she gasps as he arches her back, her expression transported, her mouth trembling.

“Just like that,” I confirm, trying to keep my voice even. “Just stay there until the tension builds, until you absolutely have to change positions. Don’t touch your clit until you have to. Until you can’t hold back.”

I can smell her sweat changing, feel her heat through the back of her dress. The image in the mirror is almost too much for me: this vintage vision of a woman in rapture, her throat exposed, her pussy spread open right in front of me under the folds of her full skirts. As she writhes, her ass cheeks clench over the underside of my raging cock, threatening to milk me through my trousers.

“Yeahhhh,” she moans, “I think… I need…”

“Just let it build,” I coach her, aware that my fingers are gripping her hips tighter, my own hips barely holding back from grinding ferociously into hers.

“I need… I want… I want you inside me!”

“You’re doing fine, Joanna,” I tell her sternly, though my body fights against me. “Just keep going—”

“No, I need it!” she insists.

She suddenly hops off my lap, her skirt wrinkled and twisted around her thighs. With cheeks flushed, she claws at my shirt, gasping for breath.

“Sorry, Sturgill… Can I call you Sturgill? I think… I really am gonna need you inside me.”