Nils finally broke down and made an appointment with the eye doctor. He was more than a little nervous about it. “My vision’s been a little shaky the last few weeks,” he told the doctor. “When I’m painting, what I see gets a bit jittery.”

“You’re an artist?” the doctor asked.

“I try to be,” Nils replied.

“You know, I think I saw some of your work. Some very sexy nudes. Quite erotic.”

“Thanks,” Nils said, more than a hint of blush burning his cheeks.

“Well, let’s see what we can see,” Doctor said. “We’ll just do a few basic tests to start.” She sat on a stool about five feet from Nils’ chair. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

Nils tried to focus. “Um, three? Three and a half? Should I count the thumb?”

“Close enough,” Doctor said. “Maybe I’m a bit jittery, too.”

“Oh? How come?” Nils asked.

“Thinking about your erotic nudes, perhaps. Try it now.”

“Three fingers,” Nils announced. “Again I’m not sure about the thumb.”

“Very good,” Doctor said. “Very very good.”

Adjusting her uniform, she stood.

“Which would you say is better? Right?”

“Or left?”

“Oh gosh,” Nils said. “They’re both—I don’t know.”

“Mmm. Maybe if I moved closer. How about now? Better?”

She moved closer yet.

“B-B-B-Better?”

Her eyes squeezed shut, her cunt clenched tight about Nils’ cock, Doc sang the top line of the vision chart with a profound softness and clarity and sweetness fully befitting the intensity of her orgasm.

But what about Nils’ vision, you ask?

Never underestimate the healing power of pussy juice.