Special Treatment for a Hopeless Addict

I'm a senior white-collar professional. But I don't know when exactly it is that I've gotten infected with that… shameful ailment.

It's so bad that I have to duck into the washroom during work hours just to alleviate my carnal urges.

Needless to say, that ailment has completely screwed me over. That's when my husband takes me to a famous private doctor named Caleb Walden, who apparently has a unique treatment method that only he himself possesses.

But during the treatment, I can feel Caleb's scorching manhood pressing against my slit…

"Honey, I... I can't take it anymore. I'm burning up."

We were stuck in traffic on the way to see the doctor, the red light ahead bringing everything to a standstill. I sat in the passenger seat, my legs crossing unconsciously. My face was flushed, my breathing ragged.

I looked at my husband, Derek Sutton, beside me with pleading eyes, my chest heaving.

I had no idea when this condition started, but whenever it hit, the need became unbearable. I'd even had to slip away to the restroom during work hours just to get some relief.

It got to the point where Derek dreaded seeing me like this.

"Christ, not again. I'm driving, for God's sake," Derek muttered, his eyes flashing with disgust when he glanced at me.

I felt a pang of hurt, but I knew he couldn't help me right now. I started rummaging desperately through the glove compartment. My fingers finally closed around a small vibrator.

I pulled it out like I'd found treasure, my eyes lighting up with relief. I brought it to my lips and moistened it with my tongue.

We'd decided to see the doctor on short notice that day, so I was still in my work attire. I was wearing a black pencil skirt, blazer, and black stockings.

I hiked up my skirt with trembling, eager hands. My fingers fumbled with the waistband of my stockings, shaking too much to pull them down properly. In desperation, I just tore a hole through the middle.

The vibrator hummed to life in my hand, and the immediate relief made my face flush even deeper.

"Honey... oh God... Derek..."

I reached for his hand instinctively, but he jerked away.

"I said I'm driving! Leave me alone!"

Rejected, I felt a sting of hurt, but waves of sensation washed over me, drowning out every other thought until they converged into a single desperate need. I needed more.

My hand moved urgently, the soft sounds making my heart race even faster. The sensation felt like floating on clouds.

"Jesus Christ, you can't even wait ten minutes," Derek snapped.

The scent filling the cramped car must have grown too strong, so he cracked the window. He was completely unconcerned that his wife was falling apart right beside him.

I kept going, unsatisfied, and fumbled with the buttons of my blouse. I tugged hard enough that the fabric strained, creating a perfect arch.

The sharp sensation made everything more intense. My head tipped back against the seat, and my unfocused gaze drifted toward the window.

Then I went completely still. In the car next to ours, I saw a pair of eyes behind glasses looking directly at me.

Our gazes locked. He saw me. Shock rippled through me like a lightning bolt, and I froze in place.

Those eyes were so calm, betraying no emotion whatsoever. He just watched me.

But somehow, my hand didn't stop. Instead, a strange thrill shot through me. It was a forbidden excitement at being watched by a stranger while Derek sat right there, oblivious.

It made everything more intense. The pleasure spiked. His gaze felt like invisible hands sliding from my face down to my collarbone, touching every part of me.

I couldn't look away from him.