Paging Dr. Free-Use

Bunny sits on the exam table, legs swinging, her gown wide open. Dr. Phoenix checks her ears, throat, the whole routine, cool as ever while Nurse Fiera stands behind her, cock buried to the hilt and pounding with zero shame. Every thrust rocks the doctor forward, but her stethoscope stays steady on Bunny's chest. Sweat beads on Charli’s brow; she barely blinks. Ember grins, gripping the doc’s hips like handlebars, hips snapping hard enough the paper on the table crinkles beneath Bunny. “Deep breath,” Charli says, and the breath comes out ragged because Fiera just slammed in balls-deep again. No one bats an eye. Pulse, blood pressure, reflexes—Bunny answers every question like the doctor isn’t currently getting railed. Ember picks up the pace, skin slapping loud, and Charli still manages to jot notes. Bunny watches, legs parted, fascinated and unfazed. The doc’s professional tone never cracks, not even when she leans in for the breast exam and a particularly rough thrust nearly knocks her into Bunny’s lap. The whole room smells like latex and sex, but they carry on. Next up, the tongue depressor. Bunny sticks her tongue out. Behind them, Charli Phoenix is gasping now, but her hands stay clinical, her gaze sharp. Fiera slams in one last time, grunting, finishes without ceremony, and pulls out still twitching. The doc clears her throat, snaps off her gloves, and moves right on to the pelvic exam like nothing happened. Just another Tuesday at the clinic.