Can You Fix It?

Angel Wicky led the charge. She slipped two fingers into the patient's mouth and told her the clit was the problem, quiet like it was a diagnosis she made every day. The nurses stripped the gown away and spread her thighs open on the exam table. Angel went down first, tongue flicking the unresponsive bud until it twitched. Two more mouths joined her—one sucking a nipple, one biting soft inner thigh. Fingers followed tongues. Two inside, three outside, slick with spit and lube, working her in steady rhythm. They slid a thick glass dildo past her entrance, twisting it until her hips lifted off the table. Angel rode her thigh, grinding her own soaked cunt against warm skin while the other nurses fucked the patient with smaller toys, switching angles, never letting up. The patient’s breath broke into gasps. Her back arched. The orgasm rolled up and broke through her in long, shaking pulses. Angel smiled against her dripping thigh and kept licking through every spasm, making sure she came harder than she ever had before.