Elias 

Mrs. Peterson’s thighs were still trembling when I eased my fingers out of her, the slick sound sounding so... wrong in the quiet room. 

She lay there on the table, her gown shoved up to her ribs, pussy flushed and glistening from the two orgasms I’d just dragged out of her under the pretense of “checking pelvic floor tone.” 

“Everything looks perfect, Lauren,” I said, voice calm while my cock strained so hard against my slacks I could feel the seam biting into the head. “You’re responding beautifully. Very healthy.” 

She gave me that dazed, grateful smile they all do—like I’d cured cancer instead of tongue-fucked her until she...