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When he stares down at you it’s with a quiet delight. His eyes simmer with a livelihood that is otherwise vacant before and after your… therapies. Your gaze hardly ever meets in the middle — it’s far too intense most of the time for you. But when you do glance back up at him, you find his stare unbroken. Is it too much to think that he enjoys watching you?
“Your performance has been slipping.” His tone is soft and smooth, betraying the bad news he’s giving entirely.
An anxious swallow is the only real reaction you can muster, digging your fingers into the sides of your thighs soundlessly. Is that true? Are you doing worse than usual? You keep a fastidious record of your trials and they’ve all been in the A range for months.
Too many imperfections under the generalized umbrella of perfect, then? Your lip trembles as you think harder about the ratio of grades you’ve received in descending order in the past thirty days alone. Your eyes refuse to settle on any one point in Easterman’s office, mind an anxious flurry. You’re disappointing him.
“When — um, when,” you stutter quietly and without confidence.
You’re still looking down even as you strain for an answer from his smooth, all-consuming voice. Seconds tick by in the quiet room, denoted by a small clock on the far side of your chair. You can hear your breath come and go inside your chest. Maybe the failure he sees in you can’t be corrected. Maybe you’re done for.
The not knowing is making you slightly lightheaded where you kneel before the doctor.
“Not in the trials.” He points out, murmuring to you in a way that feels almost gentle. “But with me, personally.”
With — with him? The therapy with Easterman had been posed to you initially as a debriefing of sorts after particularly challenging trials. You’d learned over time that what you two actually did was more like a cat and mouse game, and you were never really sure when you lost. But you knew you did, each and every time.
Your mouth hangs open for long seconds, pink tongue just barely concealed by even pinker lips. Easterman slides his fingers underneath your chin, gripping your jaw slowly. Firmly. His hand is pale and ice cold to the touch but you can’t get enough of the feeling of his skin on yours.
“Are you penitent? Only the worst sinner engages in unearned absolution. You like to pay for what you’ve done. As many times as it takes to learn daddy’s lesson. You believe you can be better for me, don’t you?” He holds your jaw in his hand at a mortifying angle, forcing your lips to crush together and split open like a fish.
It’s impossible to speak, so you try your best to nod in Easterman’s tight grip. You don’t so much as jerk a half inch out of place. He’s insistent on keeping your face trained on and level with his waist, breaths puffing out unevenly onto his clothed crotch.
“You live to obey me. You live to satisfy me. I’m the only person you think about, day and night. I pervade every single thought that runs through your brain.” He’s getting harder, dick creating a noticeable tent that’s an inch away from connecting with your lips.
With watering eyes and an insatiable need to give in to whatever he wants, you eye the growing outline with a pair of wide, uncomprehending eyes, mouth still very much agape and saliva running down your chin to track over your slender neck.
Easterman tsks and removes his hand. A moment later you feel the bite of cool metal as he gathers an o-ring gag into his hands and quickly fits it into place around your mouth. As soon as your teeth are rendered useless he’s sliding his zipper down and allowing his cock to spring free.
Is it bigger than you remember? It always seems that way, especially considering how the tip bobs in your face menacingly, leaking a steady line of precum onto the floor below. His arousal is palpable to you, all over your skin as you watch him palm over himself with practiced ease.
“When my dick isn’t in your mouth, you’re having a bad day.” He says matter of factly, one hand wrapping around the back of your head to get a good grip on your pony tail.
Your eyebrows draw in like you’re in pain and it makes him groan as he slowly slips his shaft across your tongue. He sinks inside your mouth a few inches and then stops there, simply resting his erection in one of your holes like it’s normal. You stare at his shadowed face, pleading quietly for his approval.
Using the firm handle he has on your soft, dark hair, the doctor shoves you forward, forcing you to swallow up inch after inch of dick. His dick in specific crowds your mind, making you lose track of who and where you are multiple times a day. All you think about is him. Inside you or using you; turning you into his perfect little how-high.
“You hardly ever choke anymore.” He notes as he holds you down, shoved completely onto his cock, unable to breathe or think or even look in his direction anymore.
Your lips and nose kiss at Easterman’s pelvis while his cocktip slithers down your throat, distending your beautiful and slim neck into a parody of its former self. Easterman’s balls, coarse and wiry with a notable bush, are rubbing snuggly against your chin. You can feel yourself getting a burn from the contact already.
“You’re learning.” His other hand makes it way around your throat, holding you in place like a collar.
The only way you know how to communicate anymore is to swallow around him. So you do, tight wet heat contracting all around his shaft causing Easterman to sigh appreciatively above you. He’s all but programmed these interactions into you. Like you’re his lap dog with a very special trick.
At the two minute mark he allows you to come up for air, though his dick never fully leaves your mouth. He keeps it shoved back to your tonsils to feel your ragged exhalations. Gives you precious seconds before grinding his prick in again, going from root to tip immediately because he knows you can take it.
“To correct your own issues with… libido… we’re going to start seeing each other more.” He draws out and pounds his cock down your throat, catching you so off guard you cough around him.
Easterman begins liberally fucking your face, both hands migrating to your head to move you like the obedient doll you are. You feel it each time his spongy cockhead pops through that tiny hole at the back of your mouth to fill your throat and it makes your eyes roll back in their sockets.
“Weekly.” He’s all the way in, nuts clinging to your chin and neck. “Daily.” Then he shoves back out so his dick is resting on your tongue which overflows with spit and runoff from Easterman’s enthusiasm.
You want to convey your understanding but Easterman takes that exact moment to walk with you fastened to his dick until your back hits a wall. He uses the leverage to rest his weight so he can focus entirely on pistoning his hips, humping your mouth brutally, continuously. He hits his stride and doesn’t even speak anymore. The only sounds erupting around the two of you are your harsh swallowing and gagging sounds.
Hurrrk, hrk hrk glrk glk glccchhh, hhhkkkk. They really are indecent, obscene, embarrassing noises. And you know he’s recording this interaction, just like he’s recorded all the others.
The doctor moans quietly as he draws filthy wet squelching sounds from your mouth pussy. He’s careless and fevered, focused totally on taking what he wants no matter the cost. Your vision blackens around the edges but still you slide your tongue up and around the underside, licking greedily at pulsing veins.
“Touch yourself.” He commands you.
This is the part he must be talking about. You freeze up as much as you can with a mouth crammed full of cock, hands suspended in mid air. You don’t understand what he means by that — touch yourself. Isn’t this about him? Don’t you need to show Easterman you’re worthy, deserving?
Then it would only stand to reason you don’t deserve to feel good, or to release — in any sense. Your fingers tremble inches away from your chest. Maybe he wants you to put on a show….
Shaking badly, you press your palms over your breasts, smoothing around the shape of them, running your thumbs blithely around your nipples. Easterman’s buried himself completely inside you again and watches you from above without noise. You keep going, teasing and groping your breasts for his amusement.
“Unbutton your shirt.” His tone has gone down an octave and it makes you thrill, body shocking all over with electric pulses as you move to do as he says.
The fabric slides off of you slowly; you’re sweating where your knees bend into the floor, and your chest feels cold exposed to the air, nipples hardening up automatically.
You haven’t spent more than a few seconds rubbing along your areolas when Easterman crushes your head to the wall and ejaculates deep inside, jizz running straight into your stomach.
“That — that’s exactly what I’m looking for. Show me you want it. That you need it — need me.”
He pulls out to rest his slimy dick, half-hard, over the right half of your face. Easterman’s dark gaze pierces you, causing you to shiver; you yourself are pleased by how well you can take his treatment by now.
Your hands never left your breasts, and as he catches his breath, the doctor eyes you with an expectant expression. He wants you to keep touching yourself. And you want to keep touching yourself, too.
You won’t be leaving his office any time soon.