The day of the ninth treatment arrived.
At seven in the evening, the streets of Kensington were shrouded in London's typical damp and chilly twilight. Streetlights cast hazy, yellowish halos through the misty air.
Shivani drove the conservatively styled black sedan smoothly into the deserted private parking lot of St. Mary's Hospital's exclusive medical wing.
In the passenger seat, Rohan gazed silently out the window at the passing streetscape, his eyes somewhat unfocused.
The stark white light from the parking lot filtered through the car window, and Rohan's gloomy expression inexplicably tightened Shivani's heart.
She expertly reversed into a parking space and turned off the engine.
The sudden cessation of the engine's hum instantly filled the car with an even more suffocating silence. Only the faint, distant sounds of the city remained, as if muffled by a thick pane of glass.
Shivani did not get out immediately.
She turned her head, her gaze lingering on her son's face for a full ten seconds.
He seemed even more detached than he had been a month ago.
That sense of withdrawal wasn't mere fatigue or resistance. It was as if a part of his soul had already departed, heading toward a realm she could not reach.
"Rohan." Her voice sounded in the enclosed space, lower than usual, trying to penetrate that invisible barrier.
Rohan turned his head a few beats later, his eyes focusing on her face, yet lacking warmth.
"Yes, Mother?"
"If..." Shivani hesitated, a rare occurrence. Her full lower lip was gently caught between her teeth, leaving a brief, faint mark. This small gesture, betraying her inner turmoil, created a tiny crack in her usually icy exterior.
"If you feel uncomfortable, or... if you find this treatment method too difficult to bear, we can stop. I mean, stop completely. I can look for other doctors, or try different treatment plans. Your health is the most important thing. If you wish, I can even continue to personally take on..."
"No."
Rohan interrupted her. His voice held a rare, almost urgent certainty when speaking to her, instantly shattering Shivani's attempt to reassert control.
"Dr. Carter's method is working. I feel better. I want to continue."
That flicker of anticipation in his eyes, like a fine needle, precisely pierced the softest and most fearful part of Shivani's heart.
She wanted to argue, to build walls with maternal authority and religious doctrine—effective does not mean right, comfort can lead to corruption, and she was the sole guardian and guide.
But all the words clogged deep in her throat, frozen into icy shards by the undeniable resolve in her son's eyes.
In the end, she only gave an almost imperceptible nod, her movements stiff as she pushed open the car door.
Rohan followed, his school jacket hanging loosely on his slender frame. He looked up at the hospital building, his gaze unerringly locking onto a single lit window on the top floor.
The light emanating from there, amidst the surrounding darkness, seemed like a silent summons.
The corridor was empty. The daytime bustle had long since faded, leaving only the lonely echo of their footsteps on the polished, mirror-like marble floor—click-clack, click-clack—a rhythm so regular it was unnerving.
As they reached the familiar door to the consultation room, Shivani raised her hand to knock, but her movement suddenly froze.
From beneath the door, warm light spilled out like flowing water.
Inside the door, faint sounds could be heard—not the clatter of medical instruments, nor the rustling of papers.
It was the rhythmic, leisurely tap-tap of heels lightly striking the floor.
It was... the sound of light, dancing footsteps, and... a faint hum?
A soft, lingering melody, indistinct yet strangely alluring.
This was certainly not the demeanor a doctor should have while preparing for a consultation.
Shivani's fingers hovered in mid-air, their tips growing slightly cold.
The scene behind the door involuntarily formed in her mind: Dr. Carter might be dimming the lights, adjusting the damn wrinkles in her stockings, or giving herself a final glance in the mirror to check her makeup and posture... Each imagined detail pointed to "unprofessionalism," to some kind of intimate, even suggestive preparation that went beyond the scope of medical practice.
Rohan stood quietly half a step behind her, his breathing soft and shallow.
He had heard it too.
Those sounds were like a key, instantly unlocking a hidden switch within his body.
Deep in his lower abdomen, a familiar, burning sensation—a mix of swelling pain and longing—began to stir, restless and eager.
In that space behind the door, he was not the freak who had his pants pulled down for photos, nor the pitiful creature curled up in the darkness of a storage locker.
He was the "patient" under attention, the object of Dr. Carter's "care" in a professional yet special way.
Shivani finally knocked on the door, the sound of her knuckles against the wood instantly cutting off the soft humming inside.
After a few unbearable seconds of silence, the door opened.
Dr. Carter stood at the entrance, clad in a spotless white coat. Behind her gold-rimmed glasses, her blue eyes reflected the cool, rational light of the hallway ceiling lamp—a perfect professional mask.
"Good evening, Ms. Sharma, Rohan."
Her voice was softer than ever before.
But Shivani's sharp gaze immediately caught the details: at the slightly unbuttoned cuff of the white coat, a glimpse of smoke-gray silk shirt was visible, its texture luxurious and its luster as subtle as water; beneath the hem of the coat were stockings of the same smoke-gray hue, so sheer they were almost invisible.
On her feet were a pair of silver stilettos, their heels astonishingly slender and tall, easily over eight centimeters.
When she shifted her weight slightly, the heels made a crisp tap against the floor, piercingly clear in the quiet space, like the prelude to some ritual.
"You may wait in the outer lounge."
Dr. Carter stepped aside to let Rohan in, her gaze meeting Shivani's directly. Her tone was gentle yet firm. "Based on previous experience, Rohan's treatment efficiency is highest in a private and relaxed environment. This is crucial for his recovery progress."
Shivani's eyes darted between her son's hunched, hurried figure disappearing into the consultation room and the impeccably made-up, elegantly poised yet inexplicably alluring female doctor at the door.
Rohan didn't even glance back at his mother.
And Dr. Carter... She stood there, her smile proper, flawless.
But Shivani sensed a hint of danger—from the doctor's alluringly clad calves, the sharp heels, the mature, curvaceous silhouette beneath the white coat, and those overly profound blue eyes. It felt less like a doctor and more like a hunter who had meticulously set the stage, waiting for her prey to step in.
Yet, she found it difficult to firmly stop her son now.
Moreover, those two forty-minute, hands-on "treatments" that had drained her physically and stripped her of her dignity were etched into her memory like nightmares.
The soreness in her arms, the sticky sensation of being drenched in vast amounts of semen, her son's pained and humiliated expression...
And afterward, the sight of her own body in the mirror—unfamiliar and wanton, flushed and aroused from intense stimulation.
All of it left her deeply unsettled, unable to muster the resolve—even in the car earlier, she had merely asked her son, unsure what answer she truly wanted. Would she be happy if he agreed to let her take over the treatments again?
She didn't know.
How to overcome the moral dilemma of this mother-son transgression, and how to overcome the even more humiliating, involuntary surges of desire in her own body.
Shivani Sharma felt lost, with no idea how to counter Dr. Carter or reclaim her rights as a mother.
"I'll wait outside."
Shivani finally said, her voice tightly controlled, suppressing a hint of tension and a deeper sense of helpless exclusion.
Dr. Carter responded with a smile so perfect it seemed almost artificial, gently closing the door.
Click.
The sound of the lock engaging was soft, yet it felt like a clear boundary, separating the world inside from the world outside.
The moment the door closed, Dr. Carter leaned back against the cool surface, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath.
The consultation room was filled with the faint, cool scent of perfume she had sprayed earlier, mingling with the smell of disinfectant.
She could hear her own heart beating heavily and rapidly in her chest—thump, thump, thump—a rhythm pulsing with immense anticipation, secret excitement, and a shiver of guilt, so intense it nearly made her dizzy.
A few seconds later, she turned around. The flawless professional mask she wore melted away like ice under sunlight, revealing the more genuine, complex emotions beneath.
She removed her gold-rimmed glasses and casually placed them on the nearby instrument table.
That simple motion loosened her meticulously styled golden bun, allowing a few thick strands to fall beside her cheeks, softening her naturally sharp and efficient features with a touch of languid charm.
"Smoke gray..."
She spoke, her voice lower and huskier than before, carrying a nasal, sensually moist quality, as if she had just savored something delightful.
"The color I mentioned last time. Between pure black and absolute white, symbolizing transition... transformation... and blurred boundaries."
Rohan still stood where he was, his backpack hanging heavily on his slender shoulders.
His gaze was firmly fixed on her legs—the smoke-gray stockings held a strange beauty under the clinic's cold white light, as if woven from crushed morning mist and evening glow, hazy, mysterious, and carrying the lingering warmth of something burned.
The stockings were as thin as cicada wings, allowing him to clearly see the well-defined lines of her calves beneath, the delicate folds gathered behind her knees, and the delicate bones of her ankles.
The silver high heels, a full eight centimeters high, arched her feet into a breathtaking curve, her insteps taut.
After last week's nightmarish humiliation in the storage locker, Dr. Carter's carefully displayed legs now stirred in him an all-too-familiar, visually triggered physiological restlessness.
If Max, Derek, and especially Sarah Mendes with her scrutinizing gaze could see Dr. Carter—a mature, elegant woman of high social standing—serving him with such focus, even a hint of ingratiation…
Would their expressions of mockery and disdain shatter into astonishment and envy?
Dr. Carter keenly caught the rapidly shifting emotions on his face—the mix of shame, longing, and a trace of hostility in his eyes—causing the dark flame within her to burn even brighter.
She walked to the window and unhurriedly drew the blinds, completely shutting out the last sliver of outside light and any possibility of prying eyes.
"Last week's incident," she said as she returned, settling into the swivel chair opposite the treatment couch and elegantly crossing her legs, allowing the full curve of her calf, sheathed in smoke-gray stockings, to be fully exposed under the light. "You handled it exceptionally well, Rowan. More bravely and rationally than I imagined."
Rowan looked up in surprise. He hadn't reported the follow-up to her yet.
"I took the initiative to contact your teacher, Masako Matsumoto, in my capacity as your attending physician."
Dr. Carter explained, her fingers unconsciously tapping lightly on the smooth armrest of the swivel chair.
"It's my duty to understand significant life events that may affect your mental health and physiological symptoms. She told me you've formally submitted a report, and the student council—especially President Alisa Matsumoto—intervened swiftly, effectively curbing the spread of those illicit images."
Rowan felt a slight discomfort, as if invisible threads were tightening around him.
His world—his mother, school, teachers, classmates—seemed to be woven together by this woman in a way he couldn't resist.
She knew his most private, abnormal physiological secrets, understood the humiliation he endured at school, and could even bypass him to communicate directly with his teacher.
This sense of omniscient control brought a strange, all-encompassing feeling of security, yet also stirred a subtle panic of having nowhere to hide.
"You shouldn't have…"
He tried to voice this sense of violated boundaries, his voice dry and strained.
"I should have."
Dr. Carter cut him off, her tone suddenly firm and unyielding.
She stood up and walked toward the sink, beginning the standard pre-treatment cleansing procedure.
Hand sanitizer was squeezed out with a soft squelch. She leaned forward slightly, meticulously scrubbing her hands.
This posture caused the hem of her white coat to naturally rise, revealing more of her stocking-clad thighs—the plump, soft flesh of her inner thighs pressed together slightly due to her stance, forming a seductive, voluptuous curve beneath the sheer, gossamer-thin stockings.
Water flowed with a gentle rush, her knuckles appearing especially pale under the transparent stream, the faint blue veins on the back of her hands winding like hidden streams.
When she dried her hands with a disposable paper towel and turned around, the "anomaly" that Shivani had vaguely sensed earlier became unmistakably clear—her meticulously pinned-up golden hair was now completely loose, cascading in thick, wavy locks over her shoulders, with a few strands clinging to her slender, pale neck.
The top two buttons of her white coat had been undone at some point, revealing the open collar of her silk blouse and a glimpse of snowy cleavage that invited imagination.
In a sudden flash of insight, Rowan understood: this was no accident.
Dr. Carter must have meticulously adjusted every detail in front of the mirror—the color and transparency of her stockings, the aggressively high heels, the tousled state of her hair, the number of buttons undone on her blouse, even the precise location and dosage of her perfume.
All this elaborate preparation had only one target: him.
A strange and intense shudder shot through his spine, mingling with flattered excitement, fear of the unknown, and the blazing fire ignited by such direct provocation of his primal male instincts.
The throbbing ache in his lower abdomen intensified abruptly. His penis swelled rapidly within his trousers, hardening and pressing insistently against the fabric, pulsing with a heavy, urgent fullness.
"Let's begin."
Dr. Carter spoke, retrieving a brand-new pair of latex gloves from the drawer and putting them on with deliberate slowness.
The faint snapping sound of the latex tightening was unnervingly clear in the silent clinic.
"Today," she said, her voice dropping even lower as she smoothed the edge of the second glove, carrying a hypnotic magnetism, "I want to guide you to try something... different. A more interactive approach."
Rohan's heart skipped a beat, almost leaping out of his chest.
Different?
More interactive?
He could already touch the inner side of her thigh, less than a centimeter away from the forbidden zone... How much more "interactive" could it be?
Could it be...
His mind went blank at a certain possibility. Blood roared toward his head and lower body, his eardrums buzzing.
Dr. Carter walked up to him. Unlike usual, she didn't first grant him the "exploration" privilege. Instead, she proactively reached out—her gloved fingers, cool to the touch, gently lifted his chin, forcing him to look up.
"Look at me."
Her command was low and filled with undeniable authority. Her deep blue eyes were stunningly beautiful up close, yet unsettlingly profound.
Her pupils dilated in the relatively dim light, the deep blue rim of her irises like a stormy sea on the verge of breaking.
"Only at me. Block out the school, those mocking faces, your mother's anxiety outside the door... silence all the noise. In this room, at this moment, there is only you and me, and the... release we are about to achieve together."
Rohan was forced to meet her gaze. In the depths of that blue vortex, he saw something turbulent beneath the calm surface, something almost ready to burst forth.
Dr. Carter's other hand descended, its movements still precise, carrying a professional calm.
But today's touch had a completely different rhythm: slower, more attuned to the cadence of pressure and release, more like a tease than mere stimulation.
When her fingers, still separated by fabric, returned to the hard, burning bulge of his erection, Rohan couldn't help but gasp, his Adam's apple bobbing.
"In your mind, summon those who have humiliated you," she whispered, her fingers beginning to slowly circle and press through the fabric, precisely stimulating the sensitive corona. "Max Taylor, Derek Chen, Sarah Mendes... imagine them standing right here, outside the clinic, watching everything happening inside through the glass."
Her voice was like melted, scalding honey, slowly pouring into his ear canal, seeping into his consciousness.
"But what they see is not the pitiful sight of you with your pants pulled down, huddled in a locker. What they see is now—you here, being treated so seriously, so attentively, by a woman like me, with social standing and mature allure. You are receiving a kind of... special attention they will never understand and never obtain. Here, you are respected, needed, even..."
She paused perfectly, the pressure of her fingers increasing ever so slightly.
"Treated as a real, powerful man."
Rohan closed his eyes, his eyelashes trembling violently.
The darkness amplified his senses and unleashed his imagination.
Max's face with its roguish grin, looking down on him; Derek holding up his phone, the flash blinding; Sarah crossing her arms, her gaze as contemptuous as if she were examining trash... These fragments stabbed sharply into his mind.
But strangely, these images began to intertwine and tangle with the waves of intense pleasure, mixed with a hint of pain, surging from his lower body.
A dark, almost aggressive excitement shot up from the base of his spine—yes, they mocked him, humiliated him, but they could never be treated like this by Dr. Carter, as he was now.
Dr. Carter clearly sensed the changes in his body. The size and hardness of that sinful thing in her hand were increasing at an astonishing rate, almost bursting through the fabric of his pants.
A faint, satisfied curve lifted the corner of her mouth.
At the same time, she made an even more deliberate move—she lowered her left leg from its crossed position, then, with extreme slowness and a certain demonstrative flair, slid her foot out of the silver high-heeled shoe.
As her stocking-clad foot freed itself from the shoe's restraint, the arch of her foot tensed into a sensual curve. The five toes, painted with dark green nail polish, curled and stretched slightly within the sheer fabric.
Then, she lifted this stocking-clad foot and gently pressed the smooth, cool top of it against Rohan's calf. Through the fabric of his school uniform pants, she began to slide it up and down, the pressure so light it was almost imperceptible, like the most teasing feather's touch.
Rohan's breathing shattered instantly, turning into short, sharp gasps.
The silky, teasing sensation on his calf, like an itch just out of reach, formed a strange duet with the intense stimulation of being directly kneaded and controlled in his crotch, wildly assaulting his fragile nerve defenses.
He bit down hard on his lower lip, preventing any shameful moans from escaping.
"Good..." Dr. Carter's voice also began to carry a subtle breathlessness. The rhythm of her hand's stroking quietly quickened, yet still maintained that agonizing, control-filled cadence.
"Feel this power, Rohan."
"I am nearly thirty years older than you, holding the advantage in social status and life experience... but right now, I am serving according to your reactions, your rhythm. Feel your control over this situation... just as you secretly desire control over other circumstances."
Her stocking-clad foot slowly moved up along his calf, past his knee, reaching his thigh. Finally, it stopped at the most sensitive, soft area on the inside of his thigh. Through the pants, she pressed down gently with the sole of her foot, even kneading it slightly with a hint of provocation.
Rohan trembled violently all over, almost leaping up from the chair.
"As a reward for your 'trust' and 'dedication' to me," Dr. Carter's voice dropped even lower, almost becoming a whisper, her warm breath brushing against his earlobe, "perhaps... you could try releasing something. That pent-up anger you can't share with anyone else."
Rohan opened his eyes in confusion, meeting her deep, fathomless blue gaze.
Dr. Carter held his gaze, her expression calm yet seemingly offering silent encouragement and temptation.
Then, she made a move that nearly froze Rohan's blood—
Slowly, deliberately, with excruciating slowness, she widened the angle between her legs, sheathed in smoke-gray stockings.
The motion inevitably caused her skirt to ride higher, revealing more of the pale, plump skin above her thighs—even fairer and fuller there, where the stockings stretched taut, digging deeply into the soft flesh, outlining a breathtaking curve of flesh. The lace border was clearly visible, while the absolute territory above vanished into the shadow of her skirt, inviting endless imagination.
"Hit me," she uttered two words, her voice as steady as if stating a treatment plan.
Rohan froze completely, his mind blank.
"With your hand." Dr. Carter guided his slightly trembling small hand, pressing his palm gently against the defenseless, stocking-covered soft skin on the inner side of her thigh.
Through the thin stockings, he could clearly feel the warmth, elasticity, and the uniquely feminine softness of the skin there.
"Hit here. It's fine if you use a bit more force. Like… striking back at those faces that hurt you, those vicious words, those cold stares…"
She maintained this posture—a long-sealed gateway now thrown wide open—filled with startling suggestiveness and a sense of sacrifice.
Deep within the shadows beneath her skirt lay forbidden temptation, while what was exposed beneath his palm now was a more straightforward, permissible territory for violation.
"Release your suppressed aggression," Dr. Carter continued to coax in that gentle yet dangerous tone, her azure eyes locked onto him. "Recall their stares, Derek's laughter, Sarah's words, 'know your place'… You don't have to forever play the role of the silent sufferer…"
"Rohan, here, you are safe. You can fight back, you can express your anger, you can… take control."
The moment Rohan's fingertips touched that warm, soft skin, they trembled violently.
It wasn't a tremor of fear, but an unprecedented, savage impulse surging and roaring through his veins, desperate for an outlet.
"Now, close your eyes," Dr. Carter commanded, still stroking the massive, monstrous shaft, breathing slightly heavily.
Rohan obediently closed his eyes.
The deprivation of sight heightened his hearing, touch, and imagination to their limits.
In the darkness, the faces of the bullies grew clearer and more grotesque: the cruel excitement in Max's eyes as he tugged at his belt, the smirk on Derek's lips as he pressed the shutter, the mix of perfume and disdain in Sarah's scent as she leaned in…
These images intertwined, collided, and fused wildly with the overwhelming waves of pleasure stirred skillfully below by Dr. Carter, and the warm temptation radiating from the feminine skin beneath his palm!
Why? Why did he have to endure this humiliation? Why did he have to hide?
A scorching, destructive rage, mingled with the twisted desire for conquest and sexual impulse ignited by Dr. Carter herself, crashed through the dam of reason.
He felt anger—toward himself, toward the bullies, toward this damned world!
And now, this submissive, exposed skin beneath his palm seemed to embody all his humiliation, a sacrificial offering that allowed him to tear apart that shell of cowardice!
————
Emily Carter (Caucasian)
Attending Physician, Private Medical Department / Partner, St. Mary's Hospital
Personality: Professional, rational, and composed; inwardly weary of worldly affairs, tempted by hidden desires and high remuneration, gradually sliding into self-justified indulgence.
Age: 43
Height: 168cm
Weight: 61kg
Body Fat: 26%
Appearance: 8.5. A golden-haired, blue-eyed British elite beauty. Voluminous golden waves, wears gold-rimmed glasses.
Skin Tone: Cool, fair complexion.
Body Type: Large frame, full bust and hips, slight abdominal softness.
Bra Cup: D
Body Hair: Moderate.
Nipples: Large areolas, flesh-toned, darkening to deep brown when aroused.
Vulva: Pubic hair neatly trimmed into a delicate, light golden inverted triangle. Labia majora soft and full, with a pale pinkish-brown hue.
Internal: Vagina tight and elastic, with smooth inner walls.
Responsiveness: A sexually repressed, long-deprived constitution after nearly a decade of abstinence—highly sensitive, copious lubrication, prone to weakening resistance to well-endowed partners/easily triggered to squirt.
Relationship History: One six-year relationship, one five-year marriage, divorced and single for eight years. Has experienced orgasms only a handful of times in past sexual encounters.
Sexual Partners: 2
Intercourse: 275 times (2,901 days ago)
Anal Sex: 0 times
Oral Sex: 0 times
Breast Sex: 0 times
Foot Sex: 0 times
Masturbation: 234 times (1 day ago)
Orgasms: 238 times (1 day ago)
Squirting: 0 times
Incontinence: 0 times
Desire: Deep-seated craving.
--------------------------------------
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