Rocco sat on the examination table, his muscular frame barely contained within the confines of the white paper gown. His dark hair was mussed, and a small cut above his eyebrow had begun to scab over. The doctor, a middle-aged woman with tired eyes and a kind smile, approached him with a clipboard in hand. Good afternoon, she greeted, her voice soft but professional. I’m Dr. Jones. How can I assist you today? Rocco shifted uncomfortably on the table, his thick thighs pressing agat the metal edges. I came for treatment number 13. he said, his voice low and gravelly. Dr. Jones nodded, turning to consult her clipboard. Ah, yes, she said, glancing up at him. The usual? Rocco grinned, flashing his white teeth in a sly smile. Usual. he replied, his voice full of promise. Without another word, Dr. Jones moved to the side of the table and began undoing the buttons on her lab coat. Rocco’s eyes followed her every movement, his breath quickening as she slipped out of her clothes and stepped closer to him. Are you ready for me? she asked, her voice husky with desire. Rocco swallowed hard, nodding his head in agreement. Yes, he said, his voice barely above a whisper. Dr. Jones reached out, her hand settling on Rocco’s muscular thigh. Good, she murmured, her touch sending shivers down his spine. Let’s begin.
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