Doctor of the Broken Hearts

Betty Stylle shows up at the clinic feeling empty and low. Dr. Parker takes one look and skips the sympathy. She binds Betty’s wrists above her head, then peels the silk blouse open with a slow pull that leaves buttons skittering across the floor. Betty’s nipples tighten in the cool air; a slow bite turns them dark and sore. Parker works two fingers into her without warning, curling hard until the girl’s knees buckle. She adds a third, wrist twisting, stretching Betty open so slick runs down her thighs in thin, shiny threads. A thick strap-on follows—short, brutal thrusts that shove the breath from Betty’s lungs. Each stroke smacks skin, leaves it flushed, forces another wet slap that echoes in the quiet exam room. Parker doesn’t ease up until Betty’s broken sounds turn into raw begging, and even then she only switches holes and starts again.