Doctor's Forbidden House Call
Copyright© 2026 by VelvetQuillX
Chapter 2: The Touch that Allured
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 2: The Touch that Allured - Bored housewife Seraphina books a discreet house-call doctor for back pain. Dr. Thorne Blackwood's firm hands turn clinical exam into erotic invasion: oiled massages, probing fingers, anal surrender, squirting climaxes, creamy releases. Guilt fuels the thrill as texts from her husband are ignored. Explicit doctor-patient, anal, squirting, creampie, infidelity. 18+ only.
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Consensual Heterosexual Fiction Cheating DomSub Rough Anal Sex Cream Pie Exhibitionism Facial Massage Masturbation Oral Sex Squirting Tit-Fucking Voyeurism Big Breasts Doctor/Nurse Public Sex Slow
Her acquiescence was something like a shouted word caught in the air, her body already shuddering with a buck as she flopped onto the leather couch on her stomach, the coolness of the couch against her bucking thighs, as her tight pink shorts rose up to reveal glossy ridges where her yoga-toned legs joined her heart-shaped ass.
Her heart was beating jitterily, misaligned with her half-conscious mouthing his name as her fingers hooked around the cushion, with Dr. Thorne Blackwood looming behind her.
Is this really necessary? she thought, her cynicism colliding with the malignant pleasure in her guts, her folds already slick from the ambiguities earlier.
Or is he playing games with me, leading this on like a forbidden affair?
“Change your position just a little, upper body forward, legs straight down, for optimum ability to access muscles,” he said, his baritone voice deep, clinical, and devoid of the rogue intent that skittered past the edge of his abyssal dark eyes.
He held her hips, his warm palm straying over the underside of her thin cotton apparel and throwing sparks of electricity up her spine.
Deliberate?
He let his palm linger just a moment longer over the hem of her shorts, and she bit her lip to hold back the gasp.
Protocols, he said.
But her body isn’t following protocols.
Gooseflesh prickled up her olive skin, her nipples strained for attention against her tank top as if they were desperately begging him for a touch.
He pulled her shorts up inch by inch, the cotton whispering along her thighs, revealing her naked ass inside the posh living room.
“Full exposure is required for injection and proper massage. Relax, this is a routine,” he purred, professional, but she saw the sly smile pull at his lips in the reflected image of the mirror at a distance.
Her heart-shaped ass lit up in the soft light, the tan lines fading along the forbidden paths, her cleft opening slightly to reveal the sparkling labia below, her clit budding and pouting as it was exposed to the chill of the air.
She gasped sharply, like a grunt, and she heard him gulp, his breath quick, hollow, almost hungry, as it passed, and he straightened, head up, posture pulled taut, “muscle tension could be seen here,” he said, pushing his thumbs into the dimples at the base of her spine, with a firm but gentle pressure to cause her to arch.
He drew from his sleek black medical bag a bottle of lavender-scented oil with a promise on the label of being a therapeutic relaxant but packed with just a hint of warming agents that promised much more.
“A therapeutic relaxant to make the penetration of the needle easier and soften the knots,” he said, pouring warm trickles over her crevice.
The beads rolled down her skin, dripping drops of floral haze over her inner thighs mingling with her burgeoning arousal’s musk.
The warmth blossomed instantly and spread, increasing her sensitivity and countering the coldness of the leather over her legs.
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