Summary: An attractive media relations representative informs her speech therapist that she didn’t always talk like a ditz. Her lips weren’t always this soft and pillowy! She didn’t always become soaking wet when she felt a man’s hand on the back of her head as she surrendered to her slutty, shameful desires. Someone, like, literally did this to her and stuff!
Author’s Notes: Credit for this story goes to Jeff and the January 4, 2020 update thread he posted on the MC Forum. I mean, how could I not write this story? The Wayforward Machine wouldn’t lie, would it? No, no it would not. Comments are welcome at emc.badpenny@gmail.com.
Mouthpiece
All the chairs in Doctor Elder’s waiting room were sized for children. Which…was kinda weird, wasn’t it? Shouldn’t there be some normal chairs? Kids — like, little kids, ones small enough for the bright plastic chairs — didn’t magically appear in the waiting room. They needed parents or nannies or someone not kid-sized to bring them. So there should be some place for those people to sit, right? For that matter, shouldn’t there be a parent or nanny or someone else in the waiting room? Doctor Elder was, like, the best speech therapist in the county. Even the rich folks up in Seven Corners brought their kids to see him.
The beginnings of a headache pulsed behind her right eye. Too much thinking. Or something. Ember tugged at the hem of her adorable Hello Kitty miniskirt and gingerly settled down on one of the chairs — cherry red, the same shade as her lipstick and nailpolish. A girl had to coordinate, right?
No. Not right. The pounding behind her eye intensified. Well, it was kinda right. Her little clutch purse was the same cherry red, as were her most sexy heels, the six-inch ones that put her at five foot five. That that, shrimpy genes!
Damnit. She was getting distracted. She was here for a very serious reason, one worth the annoying headache, so it didn’t matter how bad the pounding behind her eye got. She might talk all lispy-cutsey like a little kid, might have the curse and benefit of a baby face, and might constantly be mistaken for an intern, but she was thirty-three years old and totally deserved to be treated like an adult!
Ember resisted the urge to reach out and run one of the wooden beads along the wire maze. Up until three months ago, she could talk like a fucking thirty-three year-old. She didn’t need to come to Doctor Elder for help correcting her cutesy lisp and breathy, sing-song tone. Yeah, she’d sometimes whipped them out when she wanted to appear harmless and sexy. But that was, like, for seductioney occasions. Not serious business meetings.
Like meetings with her new boss. Yeah, he was fucking hot, and yeah, she sometimes imagined going full-on giggly bimbo for him during her alone time. Well, mostly alone time. None of her toys were smart, but there was something to be said for an old, faithful dildo. There was a reason she’d named it Velveteen.
Just like there was a reason she kept the whole giggly bimbo thing to her alone time. Up until she hadn’t. Three months ago.
Realization strummed down her spine. Three months ago. The day after her birthday. There’d been a party. One of those blurry, business-personal ones. Then Lee Cokes walked in. Things should have flipped to full-on business then, because making a fool of yourself in front of your hot new boss was a Bad Career Move.
But things hadn’t flipped. They’d stayed blurry. Then gotten blurrier. And then —
And then flashes. Someone cupping her breast, tracing slow, thrilling circles around her hard nipple. Kneeling on the floor in front of a glorious, glorious cock. A firm, broad hand on the back of her head. The salty tang of precum blossoming on her tongue.
Ember squirmed in her chair. She was all for remembering enough to finally figure things out, all smartlike. But getting horny in Doctor Elder’s waiting room was…maybe not the best move? Though she did kinda like the warm tingle in her pussy. Problem was, her pussy wasn’t content to just stay tingly these days.
Maybe she could, like, quickly get off before her session. Dealing with the squishy aftereffects of full-on waterworks was probably better than inviting them while she was sitting across from Doctor Elder. He was kinda hot. Not like Lee Cokes or most of the other go-getters she worked with. More like a sketchy professor taking advantage of a cute little grad student.
Wait. Was that hot? Yeah, it was now, but three months ago? Before everything changed?
Maybe. Maybe not. It would be nice if she could remember. But those kind of memories weren’t sexy like the ghostly feel of that commanding hand cupping the back of her head, urging her closer, closer, closer to an amazing cock. Not that she needed urging, but not having a choice? Yum.
There were the waterworks. Ember slid her under the waist of her skirt, cupped her mound, and squeezed her thighs together. The pressure wasn’t quite right, but she didn’t need it to be perfect anymore. She squrimed and came, quick and hard, and just for that moment — when everything was all fuzzy and syrupy-soft and also perfectly clear and sharp — she saw everything. Then she stopped coming, and all that everything poofed right out of her mind.
Not fair! Also not fair, she was all toppled back, legs akimbo like a discarded doll. An echo of that everything made the comparison feel important as she stood up and tugged her skirt back down so it at least covered her ass. In all those flashes, she was kinda being treated like a doll. Pushed to her knees. Guided towards those cocks. The hands on her were firm enough that maybe…
Maybe she’d have been forced to suck all those cocks no matter what. She’d wanted to. Even before everything changed, she’d loved giving head. Now she had the cocksucker lips to go with her enthauasism.
Wait. She’d only seen Doctor Elder since the change. He was a speech therapist, not a plastic surgeon. Ember ran her fingers over her full lips. When? How?
No knowing flash of an answer. Just the resurgence of her headache. And really, did when and how matter? Ember sucked her juices off her fingers. No, they didn’t. Not until she knew why.
Doctor Elder opened the door to his office. “Ah, Ember, early as always.”
“Yeah.” She tugged at the hem of her skirt. “That’s, like, not a problem, is it?”
“My mother was fond of saying when you’re early, you’re on time, and when you’re on time, you’re late.”
“So…it’s fine?”
“It’s nothing you should worry that pretty little head of yours over.” He looked her over, slow and lecherous.
Were doctors supposed to look at their patients like that? Or talk to them like that? It didn’t seem right, but he was right. She did have a pretty little head. Plus, too much worrying caused wrinkles. Thirty-three was way too young for wrinkles. So, maybe she shouldn’t worry her pretty little head. She should still probably object, since she was here for a very serious reason. “I…figured something out, doctor.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. Something happened. At my party.” That hand on the back of her head. God, she was getting wet again just thinking about it. “It made me, you know, like this. I mean, yeah, I sometimes did talk like this before? And I was usually down for, you know, going down. But now I really have the lips for it, and you’re the only doctor I’ve seen. You don’t seem like the type to, you know, put me under and give me lip implants.”
He chuckled and stepped up to her. Loomed over her, because even in her six inch heels, he still had almost a foot on her. He ran a rough thumb over her lower lip. “And if I were?”
Ember couldn’t stop her helpless whimper. Or parting her lips. Such luscious, luscious lips, ones made to tease and suck, so how could she not draw Doctor Elder’s thumb in, delight in the slide of it along her tongue? How could she not moan? It wasn’t a cock, but she knew how to make a man want her to put her mouth where it belonged.
She drew back, let his thumb slip from her mouth with a pop. If he was that type?
He was. He totally was. Ember shivered.
“Did you know I once had a thriving adult psychiatry practice in Seven Corners? Under a different name. I’ll admit, I did make the mistake of having a sexual relationship with a client. A well-positioned client smart enough to hire a media relations firm to do damage control for her.”
Doctor Elder placed a hand on her shoulder. Instinct had her sinking to her knees under nothing more than the slightest pressure. She was reaching for his belt before she hit the carpet. Doctor Elder gave a pleased hum.
She glanced up at him as she unfastened his pants. “You’re not really a speech therapist.”
“Have we done much speech therapy, my dear little cocksucker?”
She shook her head as she slid his pants and boxers down. “I’ve never worked in Seven Corners.”
“Oh, I know. But I’ve seen enough of your work here. You’re the kind that needs to be put in place before you do real damage to a man’s reputation.”
The echo of that poofed everything quivered at the base of her skull. A kaleidoscope of fragmented conversations with Lee Cokes blossomed in her mind. Him asking how dedicated she was to her position at Masterfully Managed. What she’d be willing to do to repair a client’s public image. How much of a team player she was. What trajectory she saw her career taking. What parts of herself she hid at work. If, given her recent behavior, she was willing to see a doctor and keep a position in his organization, or if she’d rather part ways with the company.
“How do you know Lee Cokes?”
“If you figure it out during our session, I’ll let you keep the memory.” He reached down and jerked his cock hard. “Shall we get started?”
This was…this was going to be her last session. Something else was going to happen. Something even more final, and this was maybe her last chance to stop it.
If she, like, really wanted to. Ember leaned in and moaned as she took him deep.