Epilogue

The circumstances of this Saturday morning consultation were decidedly irregular, but not without precedent.

First, of course, was the day of the week, for Dr. Cohen did not, as a general rule, accept appointments on Saturdays, preferring to preserve weekends for his own mental health regimen-- that is to say, his enjoyment of the variety of teenaged females available to him through the Daughter Share Program.

However, in Leo Cohen’s view, seeing to one’s clinical duties need not always require deferring one’s pleasure, and this session was to be a demonstration of that point. He looked down between his spread thighs, into the adorably freckled face of Prudence Parker, a lovely ginger-haired moppet who continued to believe that her defloration, several weeks earlier, at the hands of her randy maternal Uncle Randy, had come of her own volition and by way of her own seductive efforts. In reality, this notion had been planted, its scheming had then been fostered, and its execution had been assured through her course of treatment under the good doctor’s Track B biofeedback conditioning protocol, all sponsored and financed by the very same uncle the youngster had been moved to “seduce.” During the interval since she had first “maneuvered” her “innocent” uncle into sexual intimacy, the darling soon-to-be-a-seventh-grader had already accommodated miles of uncle cock, six inches at a stroke.

Prudence was currently being groomed under Track D biofeedback conditioning, for entry into the Daughter Share Program (technically “niece share” in this case), and so she had by now also become quite accustomed to pleasing Dr. Cohen’s own experienced penis. At this moment she was demonstrating her comfort with this state of affairs by easily accepting said organ fully within her throat, her lips resting against its trimmed, graying pubic patch, her eyes, watering only slightly, patiently gazing up into those of her caregiver. She was a natural, having hardly gagged even at the beginning of her training in this Track. Dr. Cohen was confident she would become a very popular — and hence very busy —member of the lending pool.

“Now, Prudence, you know this exercise, the ‘Surreptitious Sucktress’. You’ve enjoyed it many times. In a moment, another patient will enter this room, sit in front of this desk, and begin a consultation with me. She will not be able to see you under there, nor, I assure you, will I betray your presence or activities. But you are to diligently service my genitalia, keeping me on edge, until such a time as I place my hand on the back of your head; at that signal you are to take me deep, just as you are doing now, and receive my spend. We’ve been conditioning you to this for some time now — you have been successfully climaxing in response to this combination of stimuli about 60 percent of the time, as measured over your ten most recent trials. Hmmm, yes, a “fail” is about to roll off. So if you properly orgasm in response to my ejaculating down your throat this morning, you’ll be at 70%. If you recall, at 80%, you’ll be “certified” at this required skill.

“Now, I know you know the drill, and I thought your efforts Tuesday afternoon were exemplary. However, there is an added element of difficulty this morning. The patient will be accompanied by her mother -- a mother completely in the dark about the nature of the courses of treatment provided in this practice — she knows nothing of protocols such as those you have enjoyed and are this morning again enjoying. It is very unusual for any parent, even fully-aware sponsors, to join us in the consultation room, but today it cannot be helped. The patient needs my assistance in mollifying her mother, as you will learn if you choose to eavesdrop. My point is, while remaining undetected is always part of this exercise, you understand that it is absolutely essential to my practice, your continued treatment, and the treatment of scores of other young ladies now and in the future, that this unsuspecting mother have no inkling that as I am reassuring her at length, the length of my penis is all the while ensconced within the throat of a highly accomplished and energetic thirteen-year-old fellatrix. Do you understand?”

A nod, a long, succulent, but silent withdrawal of her pursed lips along his shaft until only his fat knob remained enveloped, a cute wink, and a voracious re-attack all the way down to his root wordlessly demonstrated Prudence Parker’s unambiguous enrollment in the plan.

A layman might consider his taking of the upcoming meeting under such conditions to be an outrageous risk, but then again, Dr. Cohen’s entire professional (and private) life would, to said layman, seem unbelievably foolhardy in the first place. Dr. Cohen was no fool, he knew how to manage risk, and he knew that if properly managed, nearly non-stop hebephilically-enhanced rewards were the pay-off.

“Good then.” A knock, right on time, an electronic lock silently released. “Come in.”

“Oh, good morning Bethany, and you must be Mrs. Weathers. Please take these seats. I apologize for not getting up, I have been feeling a little stiff in my lower extremities and it is better if I remain seated.” He felt Prudence’s teeth gently squeezed him, mid-shaft, teasing him in their shared secret.

“Oh that’s quite alright, Doctor, I’m just so happy you were willing to see us. Don -- my husband, Bethany’s stepfather -- said you don’t normally accept Saturday appointments.”

“That’s true, but I understand you are very concerned about Bethany’s well-being, and I want to help if I can.” Kristie Weathers was a striking woman, beautiful and in excellent physical shape for a thirty-five year old mother of the fourteen-year old girl beside her. The mythical layman already in attendance might wonder why a man like Don Weathers would ever need anything else, sexually, if he had such a enticing wife to hand. But Dr. Cohen is, as we’ve established, no layman, neither clinically as a sexual psychologist, nor as an insatiable satyr in his own right.

Indeed, the irresistible challenge to Don Weather’s monogamy sat to her mother’s right, that is to say the left in the Leo Cohen’s field of view. Bethany Michaels: Kristie Weathers’ daughter by a man who, according to her husband, had never even learned he had a child. Bethany Michaels: that husband’s stepdaughter, sexual plaything, and now co-conspirator in his campaign of ravishing her schoolmates, up to a half dozen so far, and counting. And Bethany Michaels: Leo’s own patient, and more significantly, the object of his most frustrating case of sexual envy. Her lovely face bore a calm and demure aspect, and her conditioning under Track E protocols had much to do with the complete lack of any blush or apparent embarrassment on her part to be in this seemingly delicate conference. Her tight top, tucked into Daisy Duke jean shorts, hinted at breasts beginning to swell, but as of yet her tummy remained flat and, to the doctor’s id, taunting.

“In that case, Doctor, I need help getting comfortable with Bethany’s decision. Are you sure that she will be all right -- you know, psychologically -- having a baby at this young age? That termination wouldn’t be better for her?”

“Ah, yes, a very understandable concern. If my comprehension of the situation is correct, then yes, you have nothing to concern yourself about on that front. In fact, given the particulars of this case, you and your husband’s plan -- to allow Bethany to carry the child to term, and then for the two of you to adopt and raise the child as your own -- is the very best thing we can do for Bethany’s current and future mental health. Sorry to talk about you in the third person, my dear.”