Private Practice

Allie Haze, sharp psychologist, sits through another pointless hour. Her patient drones on about his empty life and all she wants is the session to end. Time drags until the clock finally clicks past noon. Relieved, she is closing the file when someone knocks. Last-minute walk-in. Karla Kush steps in—blonde hair falling over her shoulders, tight crop top and cutoff shorts that hardly count as clothes. The girl stretches out on the leather couch, legs dangling, clearly here because her mother forced her. Allie eases her guard by speaking softly, giving a smile that says friend, not doctor. Karla relaxes. She starts talking. She was a freshman when she first fucked a senior in the locker room. By sophomore year she had sampled half the cheer squad and every willing cock on the football team. She likes girls better—soft mouths, quick tongues, girlfriends who let her lead. She rambles about sharing a strap-on with three roommates one night. The more she spills, the wetter Allie gets. Without thinking Allie reaches out and strokes Karla’s thigh, fingertips sliding under the frayed hem of those shorts. Karla doesn’t pull away; she opens her legs wider. Karla whispers that her biggest turn-on is older women who run the show. Heat flashes between them. Allie is ashamed, angry at herself, but she can’t stop. Clothes hit the floor. Allie drops to her knees and spreads the girl’s smooth lips with both thumbs, dragging her tongue along the slick crease, sucking each puffy fold before pushing two fingers deep inside the tight heat. Karla gasps, hips jerking, begging to taste her therapist back. Allie climbs onto the couch and props her heavy ass up. Karla slaps the curved cheeks, fingers prying the doctor open, pumping hard until Allie shakes. Then Karla swings a thigh over Allie’s face, lowering her soaked cunt onto waiting lips while she buries three fingers back into Allie’s hole. The room fills with wet sounds and broken moans. Karla cums first, thighs clamping Allie’s head as the scream rips out of her. Allie flips her onto her shoulders and keeps working—spanking the flushed outer lips, curling two digits against the spongy spot that makes Karla sob and clench. They grind together, Karla riding Allie’s thigh until the older woman’s cream coats her skin. Before Karla leaves they agree this stays between them. Karla already has the next appointment blocked on her phone. Same time next week. Both women know exactly what they will do when the door locks again.