Entrapped by Desire

"No... No, you can't..." The patient says his desire is a little too strong and wants me to use my body to help him for a medical checkup. He then makes me lose myself in the moment in just a few moves...

"How does that feel… is it good?" A male patient had me pinned against the bed, my legs spread wide. He told me he struggled with ejaculatory dysfunction, and after visiting several clinics with no success, he wanted me to help him more intimately.

My name was Yvonne Miller. I was a twenty-eight-year-old married woman who still retained my charming physique. My looks and my figure turned heads wherever I went, especially thanks to my voluptuous figure and my pair of lavish bequests.

What was unusual about me was that I ran a men's clinic. It wasn't a big place, but new patients were always showing up thanks to word on the street.

That morning, I hurried to the clinic during the morning rush like always.

The subway was packed so tight there was barely any space to stand. As soon as the doors closed, I was pressed into a corner by a man behind me. Every time the train jerked or slowed, he ended up bumping into my rear repeatedly.

After just a few stops, I could sense him getting excited. Instead of backing off after the first few times, his movements grew more bold as he pressed in closer.

At the next station, even more people squeezed onto the train, and soon, I was completely surrounded. His body was right up against mine, and the fabric of my skirt was the only thing between us as he rubbed against me…

"Ah…" I couldn't stop myself from letting out a soft gasp.

As the man behind rubbed against me, he sparked a fire inside me, heat spreading over my skin until I could hardly catch my breath. Maybe he heard my gasps, because he started moving in sync with me, his hand even drifting toward my waist, as if he was testing me.

My whole body turned to jelly. I leaned against the door, breathing hard.

I had never felt so alive.

After years of marriage, my husband, Ken, just wasn't interested in that anymore. No matter what I tried, nothing seemed to work.

They said that women become ravenous in their thirties and forties, and I was yet to hit that age range, but it had been ages since I had truly felt satisfied. On top of that, it was my ovulation period, and lately, my body seemed to be on fire with passion almost every day.

Pressed up against the man behind me, I let myself enjoy that fleeting rush. Instead of stopping him, I followed my instincts, lowering my waist and shifting my hips slightly to meet his rhythm.

The burning desire within me came alight, and the void under my skirt felt as though it had been filled up. The tension between my