She’s always been your superior—every visit starts with that goddamn white coat framing a body meant to turn men weak: narrow hips, but firm thighs clamped around those leather shoes, fingers gliding down spine lengths as she ‘checks’ you. The power? All hers. One smirk sends you stiffening as she guides her latex-covered hands toward your throbbing cock while murmuring something about ‘testing vitals.’ No warning needed—her lips seal tight around the head seconds later, tongue swirling deliberate circles as muffled moans betray just how starved this woman has been for dick these years. No slow buildup here.
