Wells is different.
Where Richard was passionate, desperate, years of denied want pouring out – Wells is controlled. Methodical. Like he’s conducting an experiment and my body is the subject.
He doesn’t start by f*****g me.
He starts by examining me.
“Lie back,” he instructs. “Spread your legs. I want to assess the primary deposit.”
I lie back on the desk. Spread my legs. Let him look at my p***y – swollen, well-f****d, Richard’s c*m dripping from my hole.
Wells produces a small penlight from his pocket. Shines it between my legs.
“Good volume,” he murmurs. “Deep penetration. The cervix appears accessible.” He looks up at me. “Mr. Ashford did well for a first attempt.”
“Thank you,” Richard says dryly from somewhere behind him.
Wells sets down the penlight. Positions himself betwee
