International relations

The sterile white curtains of the extraction booth fluttered as Tammy-Lee gestured toward the hospital bed again but this one wasn’t having it.

He moved like a man who’d never been told no, his sun-leathered hands still dusted with drywall from whatever construction site they’d dragged him off. The scent of him sweat, salt, and the faint tang of tequila cut through the clinic’s antiseptic haze, making her nostrils flare.

Jesus. He smells like a real man.

Before she could react, his calloused fingers dug into the swell of her hips, yanking her against him. His mouth crashed onto hers, hot and demanding, teeth scraping her lower lip. For one dizzying second, Tammy-Lee melted. Her thighs clenched. It’d been years since Hank had kissed her like this hell, since anyone had.

A glint from the manager’s office window snapped her back.

Cameras.

She shoved against his chest. “No, big boy.” Her voice was huskier than she intended. “You’ll do as you’re told.”

The Mexican worker Raúl, his nametag said grinned, all white teeth and dark mischief, but obeyed, sprawling onto the bed. Tammy-Lee’s pulse hammered. How to explain what she needed without… saying it?

Decision made.

She unzipped his filthy jeans with a shhk, peeling the denim down just enough.

Holy. Mother. Of. God.

Raúl’s cock sprang free, thick and dusky, veins standing in relief along its length. It twitched under her stare. Somewhere in the back of her mind, Tammy-Lee registered that her fingers and thumb didn’t touch when she wrapped them around him.

Raúl chuckled, muttering in Spanish—“Te gusta, princesa?”—and she didn’t need Duolingo to translate.

Her manicured hand looked absurdly delicate gliding up his shaft, the skin hot as sun-baked leather. She bit her lip, her mouth watering.

Like gripping a fucking Louisville Slugger.

A rough palm slid up her thigh, under the scandalously short nurse’s skirt. Tammy-Lee jumped, her tits bouncing, and Raúl’s grin widened. His thumb found her clit through the soaked red satin of her panties (her one shameful indulgence) and rubbed.

“Oh!” The moan ripped out of her, high and girlish. Fuck. She hadn’t sounded like that since college.

Raúl’s fingers hooked into her panties, yanking the lace aside. His hands were rough, really rough, and the scrape of his skin against her dripping folds made her knees wobble.

His other hand reached up and pulled the material of her uniform causing both breasts to tumble free.

Then his mouth latched onto her left nipple, sucking hard enough to bruise.

“Sweet baby Jesus—!”

Another flash from the office window. Shit. Hank’s advisors were watching.

Too late.

Raúl roared, his cock jerking in her fist. Thick ropes of cum splattered her cheek, her collarbone, the swell of her exposed tits. Before she could react, he ripped her ruined panties clean off, tucking the damp red lace into his back pocket like a trophy.

“Hey!” she hissed.

Raúl just winked, adjusting his still-hard dick into his jeans as he swaggered out, leaving her dishevelled and glistening.

With no time to recover. The curtain rustled, and—

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

Dumpy. Pale. Cargo shorts. A Hulk Hogan t-shirt stretched over a soft gut.

Tammy-Ley squared her shoulders, her nipples still stiff in the clinic’s AC. “I hope you speak English.”

The man beamed. “Ma’am, I’m as American as apple pie and AR-15s!”

Her stomach dropped. He recognizes me.

“Bill Preston, ma’am!” He thrust out a sweaty palm. “Been a huuuuge fan since your husband’s campaign! This is a true honour!”

Tammy-Lee shook his hand on reflex—mistake—and Bill’s eyes bugged as her tits jiggled. He stared at the sticky mess on his fingers (Raúl’s leftovers), then back at her chest.

Christ. She **** a smile. “Listen, Bill—what happens here stays here. Understood?”

Bill giggled (actually giggled) and flopped onto the bed. “Scout’s honour, ma’am! But only if you keep the girls out for the procedure.” He unzipped his shorts.

Tammy-Lee peered down. Nestled in a thatch of ginger curls was… oh.

That’s it?

Her thumb and forefinger encircled him completely. Bill sighed like she’d handed him a Nobel Prize.

“How’d you even get here?” she muttered, giving a half-hearted tug.

“Home Depot, ma’am! Buying shelves for my Funko Pops when bam—men in black vans grabbed every guy in the parking lot!” Bill’s hips bucked. “Never thought I’d get you!”

Tammy-Lee’s skin crawled. She pictured her happy place, and—

Splurt.

A pathetic dribble into the cup.

Bill leapt up, seizing her in a clammy hug, his face plunging into her cleavage. “Always wanted to do this!”

She shoved him off, wiping her tits with a sanitizer wipe as he skipped out.

Only 47 more to go.

The curtain rustled again.

Tammy-Lee took a deep breath, hoisted her tits giving herself a little dignity, and turned—