Dr. Callahan could not stop thinking about her. No matter where he was in the clinic, or what kind of a case he was monitoring, she seemed to be in his field of view. He saw the curve of her hip where it folded so sweetly into her belt, the inviting roundness of her as she leaned over a patient, tools held firmly in her beautifully manicured hands. Every time he consulted with her, casually leaning in, her smell was intoxicating, her neck drawing his eyes down into her shirt where lived a promise he could feel. Her red lips, always perfectly made up, made him quiver. All he wanted to do was touch her.
He had been floored that such a beautiful, relatively mature woman would be studying dentistry. He had reviewed her student file. Her name was Althea. She was 37 years old, had immigrated to the US at age three from Morocco, was married, had two kids, parents, a husband in some kind of commercial business. She was exotic as hell, North African and Irish, olive skin, deep blue-green eyes, perfect body, five foot six or so, thick black hair cascading halfway down her back, with round breasts that rose fully under her shirt, so different than his wife's A size. She usually wore clean silk pants and a tailored cotton shirt to clinic; he would always find an excuse to be near the lockers when she took her lab coat off to put on her jacket, just to catch a glimpse of her curves and imagining what it would be like to run his hands all over that body. Over the months, he collected several photos of her on his cellphone that he would take home and, hidden from his wife, masturbate to the vision of taking her over and over again.
It was impossible, he knew. She had a complex life. He was old, a mature man at ease with life's compromises. His kids were grown and gone, he loved his wife. . . but he couldn't leave the vision aside. When they had face to face conversations he felt shamefully transparent. As the year wore on, he thought that maybe she was teasing him just a bit—one day an extra button seemed to be open on her shirt. Another day she had a black bra under her white shirt. In the springtime she started to wear skirts, and when talking to him she crossed and uncrossed her legs, sending the hem just a few inches up her thigh. It was nothing you could really call flirting, but to his fevered mind the teasing made him yearn for her even more. His friend thought he was being ridiculous.
"Look, Jim," he would say, "She keeps asking for you to look at her, finding excuses to talk to you. She's saying she's available! You have to give it a try. Look, you can use my office."
"How am I going to get her there?"
"I'll invite her to my next CEU meeting and you can try your luck."
**********
There were about 15 people there, and as the presenter droned on one by one most of the attendees left. He didn't hear a word of the presentation, wandering in and out, trying to defeat his anxiety, to summon the courage to face her. She took the decision from him, finding him in a back office and closing the door behind her.
"Dr. Callahan, there you are. Everyone else has left. But I have to speak with you. You have been looking at me all semester. You must like what you see. Do you want to see more?" She was unbuttoning her shirt as she said this, and slipped it off her shoulders.
"What? Do you mean it?"
"Doctor, I am a grown woman. I do not remove my shirt unintentionally. As it happens, you might be able to help me. My husband's business is slow this month and we are going to be short of cash. I occasionally moonlight as an escort. And I am available to you tonight for $2000."
He had never hired sex before. Even when fishing in Argentina with his friends, men who spent their nights with prostitutes, he couldn't. But he looked at this perfect woman, standing before him in her bra and business skirt, with her dental shoes and hair and makeup perfect . . . It was now. He apologized to his wife, hoping she would understand, and said, "I don't have that much on me, and its beyond my ATM withdrawal limit."
She smiled at him and said, "That's OK. We take credit cards."
She took out her phone and its tiny card reader. He thrust his card at her. She processed the transaction, then reached down and unzipped her skirt. She stepped out of it and hung it carefully behind the door, where her shirt already was on a hanger. She stood before him in her the tiniest lacy silk bra and panties. She spun the examining stool, raising it, and sat down.
"Get in the chair, Doctor Callahan," she said.
He would do whatever she told him. He sat down; she slid the stool over and reclined the chair, expertly working the switches with her foot while unbuttoning his shirt. Slipping it off, she ran her hands up and down his chest. His cock was throbbing. She ran her hand down and over it.
"It is 5 in the afternoon, James. May I call you James? I'll be yours until midnight. We will be back in clinic on Monday and this will be done. It will never happen again. But for the next few hours, you will be pleasured more than you could ever have imagined. Take this."
She reached into her purse and handed him a Viagra. She took out four condoms, a vibrator, a tube of KY jelly, a small video camera and two vials of amyl nitrate. She laid these tools out on the device tray.
He said, "You are well prepared. I would never have suspected you had all of that in such a compact bag. You were pretty sure I'd pay, weren't you? And what's the camera for?"
"In my experience, men don't say no to me. And I've had much practice with preparation! The video is for my protection and yours. We will position the camera so it does not show your face."
"Does your husband know what you are doing?'
"Yes. The credit card authorization goes through his business. We call it consulting services."
"Consulting. He wants you to prostitute yourself?"
"Well, yes, I suppose so. I do not do it very often, but I do it regularly. The money is very good. My husband likes to watch me on the video while he does me afterwards. I know your next questions—my clients always want to know how I got started. When my family came to the U.S., we had nothing. Since I matured at 14, I have always had this body. I was an undergraduate and though a series of odd circumstances I ended up stripping in a club in Sacramento. My husband actually met me in that club. It paid far better that any other job a student could hope to get. After I got comfortable, I would turn an occasional trick to get extra money for books or for a flight home to visit my mother. It was easy to find clients and I found I enjoyed both the control and the submission, especially as I developed some experience. Our intention is that I transition out of it completely; dentistry is one of the professions where I can match my earnings per hour. In any case, even at my height I did it only once or twice a week. Now it is perhaps five times per year. I'm fortunate to be expensive." She flicked the switch and turned on the water and air.
Startled, he asked, "What do you plan to do?"
"Just take care of you. I'm sure you will like it, though."
She placed the camera so it faced her and undid his belt. He lifted his hips and she slid his pants and boxers down off his feet. His cock was painfully hard, yearning for her touch. She took it in hand, giving a few gentle rubs and inspected it carefully.
'You have a nice cock," she said, "Clean. Perhaps condoms will not be necessary, at least for me, but you may use them if you wish to. I am clean of any diseases." She took the water spray and rinsed him off. She took just his tip into her mouth, then played the air spray up and down the most sensitive parts of him while massaging the tip of his cock with her tongue. He was lost, thrusting hopelessly into the air.
"Oh my. Cool down, boy. Settle back easy, Jim. We don't want to cum too soon, do we?" She put down the spray and squeezed the base of his cock until his quivering stopped. She knew just how far she could take him and took him there, working his cock with her mouth and hands, occasionally using the air or water, still dressed in her expensive underwear, her hair ticking his stomach, keeping him on the knife edge of pleasure until he was begging her to let him come. Finally she relented, taking him impossibly deeply, fixing her gaze on his eyes, inviting, urging him . . . he shot off a huge load into her mouth, spasm after spasm, dripping out her lips and pooling on his thigh. When he was spent she smiled at him, showing him and the camera the liquid on her tongue and lips, then lowered herself and carefully cleaned him off.
He was shattered. He had never been so freely loved for only his own pleasure. He could not move. He could not talk. He could only nod.
"Did you like that?" he nodded yes." Do you feel the Viagra yet?" He nodded no. "We'll see about that, she said." She washed him with the water and dried him with the air. "Watch me for a while," she said, "this should help you recover."
She slid the stool back, locking it so she could lean back against the wall. She slipped off her panties and bra, folding them carefully and placing them on the tray. She was magnificent. The camera's red light winked at her as she sat and touched herself, soft touches on her breasts and clitoris, hand exploring her own body.
"Does your wife do this for you, James? Does she like to get herself off? Does she let you watch her? Does she know how much you want to watch her fuck herself, to see her overcome by desire and passion? Does she touch herself when you are fucking her? Does she cum for you?" Her hands were sliding from her nipples to her clit to her cunt and back again, voice trailing off as she responded to her own touch. He could see her nipples stiffening, legs opening wider, her lower lips reddening as the blood flowed into them, glistening as her juices began to flow. Her breath began to quicken. She picked up the vibrator, turned it on, and began playing it over her most tender parts before inserting in deep inside, fucking herself with a quick rhythm.
"Does your wife ever show herself like this? Do you know where her vibrator is? Does she let you use it on her? Does she suck your cock while you fuck her with it? Do you know what she does in all those hours she spends at home? Do you think she really is alone, every time, every day? Do you see her when you see me fucking myself? Are you ready to fuck me, Doctor Callahan? Are you?"
He found his hand wrapped around his cock, which was coming back to life. In fact he was coming back to life. "Holy Mary, Mother of God," he thought, "I am actually fucking my fantasy woman. And I paid for her!" Roused, he crossed the room in two steps, put a hand on the back of her head and pulled her down to his now hard cock. "Suck me again. Make me hard. And keep fucking yourself with that thing."
She did both, and with full commitment. She moaned as she yielded to her violations. The sound set him off. He dropped to his knees, slid his arms under her thighs and put her legs on his shoulders, bending her in half, his cock sliding fully in as she balanced on the stool, pulling toward him from where she gripped is forearms. He hammered her, banging her against the wall repeatedly, her juices dripping down his legs.
"Oh fuck," he said. "You are so hot!"
She whispered in his ear, "I am very aroused, James. You are an excellent lover. You know, the best thing about being the kind of whore that I am is having the time to truly respond to my lover."
"Oh fuck," he said, "You are my lover, and I own you tonight. Unbelievable." He picked her up, his cock sliding out as her turned around and carried her across the tiny room, laying her face down on the chair. He pulled four gloves out of the box, quickly tying her forearms to the armrests. He spread her wide open on the chair, working the foot switches, raising her ass into the air. He tied her legs there with a roll of tubing from the closet.
