Pussy Pain

Diane continued, "It's aching." She gestured vaguely at her lower half, her hand circling from hip-to-hip. Tyler's pulse spiked—this was better than he'd hoped. "Aching?" he repeated, fighting to keep his voice steady. Diane nodded, biting her lip. "Like... period cramps, but not? It’s been days." She shifted her weight, thighs rubbing together under the jersey. Tyler exhaled through his nose. Fuck. He could practically smell her warmth from here.

"Hmm." Tyler hummed, planning his mode of attack. "Before we continue, I think that it's best for me to record our interaction. This way, I'll be able to review your medical notes for any future sessions that we may have." Diane nodded eagerly. Tyler pulled his phone out and began recording audio. "Now tell me more, Diane."

Diane sat on the countertop, knees pressing together. "I’m not sure what to say," she admitted, swinging her legs like a schoolgirl. Tyler smirked—she was already falling into his game. "Start by describing the pain," he instructed. His thumb edged toward her inner thigh, stopping just shy of contact. "Dull? Throbbing?" She squirmed, breath hitching. "Kinda... sparkly?"

"And where is this pain?" Tyler asked, his eyes darting to her thighs, a hint of thong peeking from below the short jersey. Diane's fingers nervously traced circles on her knees. "It kinda... spreads," she muttered, cheeks flushing pink. "But it's strongest in my..." She trailed off, glancing down between her legs, then back up at Tyler with a nervous giggle.

"I think the medical term is pussy." Tyler lied matter-of-factedly. Diane gasped in awe of his medical knowledge, fingers tightening against the counter's edge. "Oh! That sounds so professional!" Tyler nodded solemnly, moving between her parted knees as she swung them wider—completely unaware of how her jersey rode up, the black lace thong now fully visible.

"Could you examine the problem?" Diane asked innocently.

Tyler's fingers twitched. The jersey's hem fluttered against her thighs as she shifted, the fabric clinging to every curve. He inhaled sharply—she smelled like vanilla body wash and something muskier underneath. "First," he said hoarsely, "I need full access to the affected area."

Tyler ordered her, "Lie back." Diane hesitated. "Here?" Tyler shrugged. "Unless you want Kyle walking in on us upstairs." That did it—her ass hit the countertop fast, legs dangling. Tyler smirked. Stupid. So fucking stupid.