Chapter One
Midland City, 10:36 PM
The neon night skyline of Midland City glittered like lube under a strip club mirror ball, sweltering in the summer evening air. The kind of heat that clung to the skin like a needy ex. Asphalt sweated like a drunk uncle at the titty bar buffet. The air was thick with humidity, every breath a mouthful of cherry vape, body spray, and crotch sweat. The whole city pulsed like a dirty thought. Velvet ropes lined pavements outside clubs called The Slurp Tank, The Sin Bin, Fuckhut and Analectric Avenue. Girls with high heels, low necklines and lower morals laughed on street corners. Guys with even lower IQs and high libidos revved muscle car engines, windows down, bass heavy trap music and talk radio blaring across the street. But in the heart of the Media District, from a rented radio booth on the 17th storey of a high-rise owned by Midland's hottest talk radio broadcaster '69.5 Oral FM', one sultry voice cut through the noise of the city like a stiletto heel through hot body butter.
Doctor Penelope Price, neuropsychologist and renowned celebrity sexpert, leaned into the mic with a slow, deliberate exhale, a smile curling the corners of her plumped lips like a cat who just knocked over a fishbowl. The red "ON AIR" light glowed. The line clicked.
"Welcome back, lascivious listeners," she cooed, her tone smoother than a silk glove wrapped around a lubed-up cock. "You're listening to Deep Inside with Doctor Price, and tonight, gird your loins because we're talking about compulsive masturbation. Again. For the fourth night in a row. Because apparently, Todd just can't keep his hands off his hog. Todd, you're live."
From behind the glass at the other end of the studio, Kate, Penelope's redhead deadpan, dead-hot but long-suffering producer, didn't even look up. She just raised an eyebrow and sipped an "Irish" almond milk latte from her 'it ain't gonna suck itself' novelty mug.
Penelope chuckled low as Todd's rhythmic, strained breathing came over the line. Her thighs crossed beneath the desk, the delicate fabric of her pantyhose making a soft whisper. Penelope was 28, with a degree in Analytical Psychotherapy from the prestigious Roxford College of Medicine; or as she told her colleagues and friends, she had a degree in Anal. She was short and slender with a tousled bob of auburn hair framing a face that could make grown men weep from their cocks, lips that could suck a rugby ball through a garden hose, and a body like Michaelangelo's wet dream. Tonight that body was poured sinfully into a tight white blouse buttoned so low it technically qualified as a vest, showing her tanned toned midriff and almost all of her tits, an expensive black suit jacket, and a skirt so short it wouldn't get into any of the rides at Disneyland.
She leaned forward, her voice dropping to the kind of husky, wet velvet register that made perverts fall to pieces.
"Todd. You've called me three nights in a row. Are we really doing this again?"
On the other end of the line, there was the faint rustle of sheets and the unmistakable wet, fleshy slap-slap-slop of a single man's entertainment.
"H-hi, Doctor Price," he breathed, heavy, grunting. "I, it's just your voice... it's like, like a dog whistle for my dick..."
"Darling" she interrupted, her tone half-mock, half-molten, "I'm flattered, but if I had a vibrator for every man who came to the sound of my voice, I could build a fucking novelty xylophone."
Kate snorted into her coffee. Penelope reclined in her chair, legs elegantly crossed, one stiletto dangling with lazy, predatory grace. She took a long drag from her passion-fruit vape and exhaled. "Okay, Todd," she purred, breathy, "My voice appears to be a trigger for your uncontrollable onanism so let's work through your little issue. I want you to listen to me not as a sex aid but as an instructor, take a deep breath and not touch your cock."
slap-slap-slap
She sighed.
"You're touching it, aren't you?"
"...I can't help it! You said 'cock!' That's so hot! Say it again?"
There was a strangled groan from the receiver. He was close, again. Probably had a whole graveyard of shredded tissues around him. Penelope rolled her eyes and focused her senses, reaching out beyond the high rise to wherever in the city Todd was rampantly throttling his dick.
She closed her eyes.
Psychic waves shimmered from her mind like invisible sex pheromones, latching onto Todd's wriggling, overworked little consciousness. He gasped. The slap-slap of his fist on meat paused.
In his mind, Todd saw a hallucination, a vision so realistic it seemed impossible; Penelope, on her knees in a candlelit boudoir, her mouth slick and smiling, lipstick smeared, tits bouncing as she pumped her fingers into her shaved, sopping tight cunt while whispering, "You're such a dirty little cumslut, Todd... mommy's proud."
"There you go," she whispered, still perfectly composed in her booth. "Take your hands off your cock, Todd."
"Fuck Doc..."
Penelope narrowed her focus.
In Todd's mind she was on him now, her mouth on his cock, swallowing him all the way as her head bobbed up and down with expert precision and perfect pressure.
"You're not touching yourself, are you Todd?"
"No Doc but... auuugggg"
There was a wet splurging sound as Todd shot his load everywhere, and a second later the call disconnected with a click. Penelope shook her head.
"Every damn time," she muttered with a grin. "Midland City, stay tuned, we'll be right back to cure your sexual dysfunction together right after these messages from our sponsor."
A jingle for 'Loveslick Lube and Toys' twinkled from the monitor as Penelope removed her headset. She stood up, stretching like a cat. Kate cracked the booth door.
"Well, another one busts a nut, as Queen famously sang."
Penelope chuckled and adjusted her tits.
