We were "T-boned" at a bust intersection. Some idiot had come sailing though the red light and buried his car into the passenger's door of our Cutlass. Fortunately there had been several witnesses to the accident.
I had been seated in the "suicide seat" and was taken to the hospital by ambulance. At the E.R. they discovered I had a fracture humerus in my right arm. The fracture did not require a cast, just a sling and I was sent home.
Ian Ryan, Q.C., is a prominent litigation attorney renowned for extracting satisfactory settlements from insurance companies. Ryan referred me to a physiotherapist to seek rehabilitation in the use of my injured arm. He advised me it was a must if I were to be successful in my claim.
Bert Rufenach worked out of the basement of his home. Over his desk he had a certificate from some physiotherapist institute I had never heard of.
He ushered me into his "treatment room" and told me to disrobe.
I protested saying it was only my arm that was a problem. He said it was necessary for me to take everything off, emphasizing everything.
He left the room while I stripped naked and sat on the cold wooded chair awaiting his return. Upstairs I could hear his wife going about her duties.
In a few minutes he returned carrying a clipboard. He smiled seeing me sitting there naked as he had ordered.
"Stand up, you needn't be shy." He said.
Submissively I stood allowing him to survey my total nudity.
At thirty-six I am no raving beauty but I still had a decent body. My 40DD breasts were the kind guys like with large pink nipples, my aureoles measuring 3" in diameter. In the cold basement I realized my nipples were erect. My pussy was natural, covered with a pelt of curly light brown pubic hair. No doubt I looked good to an older man like Rufenach.
The way Rufenach looked at me I suspected he wanted to fuck me. I am no whore but Ryan had emphasized how important it would be to get a good report from a physiotherapist. He said Rufenach's reports had helped him obtain healthy settlements in the past so I should be co-operative with him. For a few thousand dollars I would be a fool not to make Rufenach happy.
"You want to fuck me?" I bluntly asked the old pervert in the white coat.
Rufenach was flabbergasted.
"It's O.K., I will screw you." I agreed.
I felt as if a huge cloud of uncertainty had been lifted. I was going to fuck Rufenach in return for the report I wanted.
Rufenach was a man in his late forties, tall with a goatee. He appeared to be of a European heritage and spoke with a thick accent. He was not the type of man I would choose to go to bed with but I supposed I could tolerate one time.
"You want me on the table?" I asked.
