Doctor, Please Check My Boobs!

Dr. Leone runs her hands over Isis’s chest, clinical at first. Then the doctor lingers. Isis asked for an honest opinion on going under the knife, but Sunny’s answer arrives in a low voice and softer touch. "You don’t need a thing changed. Look at you—full, soft, lush. Perfect weight in each hand." Each slow squeeze turns praise into hunger. Fingers that should be checking tissue start circling nipples instead, and Isis feels the air thicken between them. Sunny’s mouth follows, warm and open, sucking until the doctor’s white coat brushes bare skin and the exam table creaks under new weight. Somewhere nearby, a drawer slides open; smooth silicone shapes catch the light—small, curved, already slick with lube. Isis parts her thighs without a word. The first toy presses in slow, stretching, coaxing wet sounds that echo off cold tile. Sunny works it deeper, then replaces it with her tongue, tasting every quiver. Isis grips the railings, hips lifting, chasing the next thrust, the next lick. Their breaths tangle, sharp and needy. Toys trade places between mouths and bodies, skin sliding, sheets dampening. When Sunny finally climbs up and sinks down on Isis’s thigh, both women move like the room exists only for this: heat, rhythm, release. The table rocks under them, every push and grind leaving no doubt what the doctor ordered.