Medical Malpractice

Casey’s in for her yearly. Dr Wales gloves up, then swaps them three times. Every swap earns Casey a fresh dirty comment—“Nice swell on those lips,” “Never seen a clit this greedy.” Gloves snap, questions hit low and crude. “How many fingers do you take before you soak the sheet?” “Ever squirted on latex?” Casey’s eyes go wide, but heat pools between her legs, louder than any protest. The “tests” are nothing routine. Wales spreads her with two, three, then four fingers, twisting deep, palm grinding her clit on every pull. Casey’s thighs twitch. Wales notices, smirks, curls her knuckles just right and keeps them there. “Last measurement,” she says, reaching under the table. A slim black harness snaps around her hips—medical grade strap, smooth silicone, flared base built for depth. Wales coats it, lines up, pushes in slow, savoring every inch Casey’s cunt gives. She fucks her with steady, deliberate strokes, eyes locked on where slick gathers around the shaft. Casey starts pushing back, chasing it, breath ragged, the exam table creaking under them.