Thwack!
The first strike landed with an unfamiliar sensation—the taut, smooth, and slightly cool fabric of the stockings, beneath which lay plump and remarkably elastic flesh.
The sound was crisp, echoing faintly in the quiet clinic.
Dr. Carter's abdomen tightened sharply, and she drew in a barely audible breath.
It wasn't a cry of pain but more like a sigh of morbid pleasure.
Her eyelids fluttered, and a complex glint flashed in her azure eyes under the dim light—endurance, encouragement, and an excitement born of violence that she herself was unwilling to acknowledge.
The sound strangely stimulated Rohan.
The second strike, the third… he no longer hesitated.
The arc of his swing widened, gathering all the strength his thin arm could muster, and he slapped fiercely against the soft, exposed, and defenseless inner thigh.
Thwack! Thwack!
The sounds grew louder.
The delicate texture of the stockings left a fleeting impression on his palm, followed by the searing heat of the flesh beneath rapidly warming.
He could feel the skin beneath his strikes growing hot and reddening, with large, ambiguous blushes spreading beneath the smoky gray stockings, like blood-red flowers blooming in snow.
"Mmm… good… keep going…" Dr. Carter's voice was hoarse, interspersed with faint gasps.
The hand guiding him trembled slightly at the fingertips, but the rhythm of stroking his penis grew more precise and oppressive—each upward stroke deliberately brushed against the sensitive coronal ridge, while each downward motion pressed the base of her palm against his swollen scrotum.
Rohan surrendered to this permitted violence.
Each slap seemed to truly shatter some shell that had confined him.
He felt a twisted, burning pleasure, rising in tandem with the physical ecstasy swelling and throbbing in Dr. Carter's grip—the boundaries between the two blurred, merging into a torrent that made him tremble—so this was it.
Inflicting pain could bring pleasure, and being hurt could also become a source of pleasure!
This realization was both terrifying and mesmerizing.
He couldn't see Dr. Carter's expression, couldn't see the rapidly overlapping crimson fingerprints appearing on the pale inner thighs under his increasingly heavy strikes, some areas even beginning to darken into bruises.
He also couldn't see her tightly bitten lower lip—her teeth sinking into the soft flesh, leaving pale marks that quickly regained their fullness and rosy hue under her unconscious licks.
He couldn't see, beneath her skirt, untouched for eight long years, her legs uncontrollably and slowly parting wider, like a shameful yet devout offering—the fabric of the bodycon skirt stretched to its limit, taut over her suddenly expanded hips, the plump, fleshy buttocks almost spilling from beneath the hem, the camel toe forming an enticingly voluptuous silhouette under the light.
But Rohan could hear Dr. Carter's increasingly ragged breaths, hear the suppressed, fragmented whimpers in her throat, like a wounded animal or a female beast in the throes of extreme pleasure.
He could smell—beyond the perfume and disinfectant, an unfamiliar, cloying feminine scent began to permeate the air, emanating from between her parted legs, mingling with the faint, musky odor of his own pre-ejaculate, forming a decadent and aphrodisiac blend.
Dr. Carter's entire willpower was focused on two things: first, maintaining the steady, skillful rhythm of her hands serving Rohan, even as her arms began to ache and the muscles in her forearms twitched from sustained exertion.
Second, suppressing the moan threatening to burst from her throat—she could not, at least not now, let this boy hear her utter defeat.
Slap! Slap! Slap! Slap!...
The fiery sting on her inner thighs transformed strangely, turning into surges of scalding warmth that rushed straight to the depths of her abdomen, igniting a wildfire across the barren, strictly disciplined landscape of her long-neglected body.
This body, which had endured nearly a decade of living widowhood, this body that had only known two men and had never been truly fully explored, had never experienced such vivid, unprecedented sexual pleasure—aroused solely by pain and the feeling of being dominated.
She could clearly feel the thin crotch of her panties between her legs rapidly soaked by a torrent of warmth—it wasn't sweat, absolutely not.
It was arousal, terrifyingly abundant, the damp, sticky fabric clinging tightly to her swollen labia, every slight friction bringing a pleasure so intense it bordered on pain.
The walls of her long-unused vagina began to contract and relax in spasms, craving to be filled, stretched open, to be brutally penetrated by that terrifyingly large, increasingly hot and hard object in her hands—just imagining the sight of that wrist-thick penis entering her tight, narrow depths sent a hollow, aching sensation deep within her womb.
Rohan's slaps became the metronome of her pleasure...
Slap!
Her body contracted violently inside, a hollow, helpless ache radiating from the depths of her womb.
Slap!
Her nipples stood fully erect beneath her bra, hard as pebbles, rubbing against the fabric, sending waves of tingling, sharp sensations.
Her nipples were already larger than most women's, with flesh-toned areolas that now swelled and darkened to a deep brown from engorgement, the tiny bumps on their surfaces protruding—if Rohan were to tear open her white coat and shirt now, he would see these ample D-cup breasts fully aroused, the heavy flesh swaying with the motion of her arms in lewd waves—the fabric over her peaks was visibly tented, even through the bra.
Fine beads of sweat formed at her temples, gathering into drops that slid down her violently throbbing temples, disappearing into her golden hair.
The slender lines of her neck tensed, pale blue veins standing out, pulsing with her increasingly uncontrollable, ragged breaths.
Her cool, pale skin began to flush with arousal, spreading from her collarbones down to her chest and further... The tops of her feet strained taut in her silver high heels, her arches arched in a breathtaking curve, toes digging desperately into the soles, trying to anchor her drifting consciousness.
Her buttocks tightened, unconsciously arching slightly toward his palm, as if welcoming the punitive strikes.
Beneath her form-fitting skirt, the two plump mounds of her buttocks were rich and full, like ripe, fleshy peaches. Now, tensed with muscle, they appeared even more pert and rounded, shifting restlessly on the chair.
The defenses of reason crumbled piece by piece in the flood—professional ethics, age difference, social norms...
Once-solid barriers now trembled under the assault of primal, physiological reactions.
All her senses were focused on two points: the searing, stinging patch of skin where Rohan's palm had landed, and the terrifyingly large, throbbing organ in her hand that grew hotter and more alive by the second.
Just as she felt herself about to be completely swallowed by this strange and ferocious tide, Rohan's body suddenly tensed.
A suppressed, guttural roar burst from his throat—a sound mixed with agony and ultimate release. It didn't belong to a fifteen-year-old boy; it was more like a long-imprisoned beast finally breaking its chains.
"Now!"
Dr. Carter, relying on the last shreds of her professional instinct, rasped the command in a broken voice, "Hit me with all your strength! Release all your anger! Then! Let it out!"
At the same time, she used every ounce of her strength to accelerate the motion of her hand—no longer a skilled stroking, but a nearly savage, rapid pumping, as if trying to squeeze every last drop of semen from his body.
She could feel the monstrous organ swell to its limit in her palm, pulsing like a drumbeat, the glans frighteningly hot. Thick, sticky pre-ejaculate continuously seeped from the slit, completely soaking her glove with loud, obscene squelching sounds.
Under the final command, all the images in Rohan's mind exploded—Max's sinister grin, Sarah's contemptuous gaze, the darkness of the locker room, his mother's indifferent profile outside the door... All these fragments coalesced into a torrent of violent rage!
With all his might, he slapped the softest part of her inner thigh!
"Guh—!"
Dr. Carter finally couldn't hold back a tearing, violent groan—not of pain, but of being shattered by overwhelming pleasure!
The slap was too heavy, so heavy that the skin beneath the smoke-gray stockings instantly bloomed with purplish-red bruises, so heavy that her entire body trembled violently...
At the same time, Rohan's control completely gave way.
Scalding, thick semen erupted in fierce spurts, the "splurt, splurt, splurt" sounds exploding in the silent clinic—viscous and loud!
The first jet struck the front of Dr. Carter's white coat, splattering a large, milky-white stain across the beige fabric. The second and third jets shot even farther, some even splashing onto her face and neck.
A drop of the burning semen landed precisely on the edge of her slightly parted lips. The salty, pungent scent of male essence instantly flooded her nostrils, while more was caught by her white coat.
Dr. Carter closed her eyes, tilted her head back, her neck arching into an elegant yet fragile curve like that of a dying swan.
Her lips trembled, her tongue unconsciously flicking over the drop of semen at the corner of her mouth—salty, raw, carrying an aggressive, life-filled essence she had never tasted before.
That action pushed her physiology, already teetering on the brink, into complete collapse—Rohan's and Carter's climaxes formed one final, resonant explosion!
Carter felt an unprecedented, tearing pleasure erupt from deep within her womb!
It shot up her spine, straight to the crown of her head!
This was no ordinary climax—the intensity of the pleasure was unprecedented, as if all the suppressed desires and unmet longings of her forty-three years had finally found their outlet in this moment.
Her long-deprived body, after enduring over ten minutes of slapping stimulation and the dual visual and tactile impact of the massive organ in her hand, finally—after tasting that drop of semen, the final straw that broke the camel's back—surpassed a certain threshold.
She abruptly spread her already open stocking-clad legs even wider, almost beyond a straight angle—fully exposing her most private collapse to this boy who had utterly shattered her physically with just his palm, without any need for a massive member!
She… was gushing.
Violent spasms swept through her lower body. Warm, transparent arousal fluid wasn't seeping out—it was gushing forth like a fountain, in a terrifyingly large amount. In an instant, it soaked through her panties and stockings, streaming down the inner sides of her thighs, mixing with Rohan's semen and her own sweat, forming a small, sticky puddle on the clinic floor.
She could feel herself losing control—no, not incontinence, but a squirting orgasm. It was that physiological phenomenon she had only seen in medical literature and pornography, belonging to a very small percentage of women, and now it was happening to her.
White light exploded before her eyes, a buzzing filled her ears. All sound, light, and thought were stripped away, leaving only the void of pure sensation and the lingering aftershocks of extreme trembling.
She maintained that posture—head thrown back, mouth agape—her pupils dilated and rolled upward, her sexy red lips forming a perfect "O" shape that she couldn't close. Her lips trembled violently, and a glistening strand of drool escaped uncontrollably from the corner of her mouth, sliding down her chin and mixing with the semen on her face.
She gasped for air as if starved of oxygen, her chest heaving intensely. That pair of voluptuous breasts, so aroused that veins bulged beneath the skin, swayed with lewd waves beneath her white coat, their nipples so hard they almost pierced through the fabric…
She didn't know how long it lasted—maybe just a dozen seconds, maybe an eternity.
Rohan was the first to collapse, his arm slipping from between her legs, which were still twitching slightly, and falling heavily to his side. His palm was bright red, stinging with a burning pain—he had struck too hard, and his own hand was swollen.
He gasped for breath, his gaze unfocused as he stared at the ceiling. Semen still dripped slowly from the tip of his half-soft penis, clinging stickily to the base of his thigh.
The air was thick with the pungent, decadent scent of mingled semen and the cloyingly sweet aroma of female arousal fluid.
Dr. Carter gradually returned to earth from the heavenly heights of pleasure.
Panting, she slowly lowered her head in a daze, her vision struggling to focus.
The first thing that came into view was her own wide-open legs—the inner sides of her stocking-clad thighs were red and swollen, crisscrossed with finger marks. In some places, purplish bruises had already begun to form, stark and shocking against her cold, pale skin.
And between her legs was an even greater mess—the crotch of her panties was completely soaked, dark wet patches spreading out, mixed with transparent arousal fluid and a small amount of squirting fluid that resembled incontinence, shimmering shamefully under the light.
She could feel warm liquid still slowly seeping from inside her, her vaginal mucosa sensitively contracting in the lingering aftershocks of orgasm.
"So… my body is capable of squirting…"
At forty-three years old, Carter felt, for the first time, that her own body was so unfamiliar, so… wanton.
She had never experienced such an orgasm with her ex-husband or any of her past boyfriends—let alone such a messy, gushing release.
In fact, with those two men, the number of orgasms she'd had in her entire life was pitifully few, countable on one hand…
If anyone found it strange or pitied Emily Carter, she would cite the following scientific data: "According to statistics from the World Health Organization and the International Society for Sexual Medicine, approximately 10% to 15% of women meet the clinical diagnosis for 'female orgasmic disorder.'"
Difficulty reaching orgasm during heterosexual intercourse: This is the most common scenario.
Approximately 70% to 75% of women cannot achieve orgasm through penile-vaginal intercourse alone (without direct clitoral stimulation).
This is determined by female physiology, as the clitoris is the primary physiological basis for female orgasm.
Never having experienced orgasm through any means (including mastheurbation): The proportion of "lifelong anorgasmia" is much lower, but still ranges from 5% to 10%.
That's right—Carter had faked orgasms plenty of times in her life, like many women, to please her partners.
But the number of real orgasms she'd experienced during sex? No more than five.
Even so, that was still better than one in ten women—so the ones truly deserving of pity were that one in ten.
Now, Emily Carter, in front of a fifteen-year-old boy, under the violent stimulus of his slapping her thigh, had squirted like a mindless, lust-crazed beast pumped full of aphrodisiacs.
This absurd yet undeniably real thought made her hurriedly look up, just in time to meet Rohan's dumbfounded gaze fixed between her legs.
In his eyes, there was shock, confusion, and a hint of… curiosity? Inquiry?
Or even a fleeting, instinctive satisfaction belonging to a male witnessing a female's breakdown?
She quickly clamped her legs together, but the movement made the damp fabric rub against her swollen labia, sending a tingling aftershock through her—she nearly moaned again.
The bruise on her inner thigh throbbed sharply under the pressure, making her gasp.
"Hey! Boy!"
Dr. Carter's voice was terrifyingly hoarse. She tried to mask her shame with a stern tone, but her words came out fragmented:
"Watch your eyes… Don't think this is… This, this is just sweat. You know I get very tired treating you, sweating a lot is normal… Yes, that's it… It's normal…"
She had come too violently, her thoughts sluggish. Driven by intense shame, she was just instinctively saying something, trying to stay composed.
But her flushed cheeks, unfocused eyes, trembling and weak voice, along with the sticky semen splattered across the front of her white coat, the dried white streaks on her face and neck, the obvious wet patch and redness between her legs—made any excuse seem pale and ridiculous.
She forced herself to stand upright, her legs still weak, the muscles in her calves trembling slightly beneath her stockings.
With shaking fingers, she fastened the top button of her white coat—only then noticing the front was splattered with thick semen.
The white fluid stood out starkly against the beige fabric, some of it already soaked into the fibers, forming dark stains.
She cursed inwardly, quickly took off the coat, balled it up, and threw it into the medical waste bin in the corner.
Fortunately, there was a spare one in the cabinet.
She turned her back to Rohan and changed into the clean white coat, her movements hurried and awkward.
During this process, Rohan caught a glimpse of the large expanse of skin on the back of her neck—pale, cool skin flushed pink from arousal, sweat-dampened blonde hair clinging to the side of her neck. Her gray silk shirt, soaked with sweat, clung tightly to the curve of her spine, the line of her vertebrae smooth, her waist fleshy and soft.
Further down, her hips flared out abruptly, the edge of her black panties digging into the flesh of her buttocks, creating a sexy indentation.
The backs of her thighs were also covered in red palm prints, some already deepening to a dark crimson—marks left when she had unconsciously arched her hips to meet his strikes earlier.
After changing into her white coat, Dr. Carter smoothed her disheveled golden hair, tucking it back behind her shoulders.
The woman reflected in the mirror still had flushed cheeks, her eyes moist and unfocused. At the corner of her lips lingered a trace of unwashed fluid—a mix of saliva and semen—making her a stark contrast to the cool, professional Dr. Emily Carter she usually presented.
She hastily wiped it away with a tissue, her fingers trembling slightly.
Just one orgasm had left her in such disarray…
If that boy had truly entered her, claimed her completely with that terrifyingly large member, what would have become of her?
The thought sent another spasm-like flutter through her lower abdomen, her legs trembling almost imperceptibly.
She turned, leaving Rohan with a straight yet slightly rigid back, and walked toward the window.
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