The Bad Doctor, Part 3

Okay since I last updated you I’m sure you have some questions. Hell, I had many questions after that day. The first one being what the hell did I just do and the second one being how soon can I do it again. I know, I’m bad. But you really have to see this woman. Shit, you really have to feel this woman. So tight and wet and deep, oh man. Okay, okay. I’m getting sidetracked. I know what you were thinking. What happened when she woke up? How did she not feel sore and stretched out from my massive rod? Well, I guess I didn’t and don’t know about that second question. As for the first, well it went just as I thought it might.

I watched her until I saw her twitch slightly, signs she was awakening. I started out talking very low and gradually raised the volume of my voice to low-indoor conversation. Ask me what I was talking about and I couldn’t tell you. My heart was racing, I was so worried somehow she’d immediately know. Then when our session ended and she pretended to never even have fallen asleep, I realized I was golden. Getting away with it felt almost as good as doing it. Almost.

The Bad Doctor, Part 2

I know what you’re probably wondering. How can I call myself a pretty normal and smart guy after doing what I did that day. Well, I don’t know what to tell you. Sometimes things happen in life and you just can’t explain it. That particular day, I couldn’t rationalize or talk common sense to myself if my life depended on it. That woman did something to me—body and mind—that I still can’t explain. I think what scared me the most is not what I did but the fact that I planned on doing it again… and taking it further. I didn’t end up giving her a heavy dose of Xanax but I’d be lying if I said it didn’t occur to me. Really, I just didn’t have too much on hand. It’s not like the movies. Shrinks don’t just have drawers of calming, anti-anxiety pills. Not every patient is a crazy basket-case. But after that afternoon, I made sure to get some more pills for my drawer. Lots. Because I had plans.

The Bad Doctor, Part 2

I know what you’re probably wondering. How can I call myself a pretty normal and smart guy after doing what I did that day. Well, I don’t know what to tell you. Sometimes things happen in life and you just can’t explain it. That particular day, I couldn’t rationalize or talk common sense to myself if my life depended on it. That woman did something to me—body and mind—that I still can’t explain. I think what scared me the most is not what I did but the fact that I planned on doing it again… and taking it further. I didn’t end up giving her a heavy dose of Xanax but I’d be lying if I said it didn’t occur to me. Really, I just didn’t have too much on hand. It’s not like the movies. Shrinks don’t just have drawers of calming, anti-anxiety pills. Not every patient is a crazy basket-case. But after that afternoon, I made sure to get some more pills for my drawer. Lots. Because I had plans.

The Bad Doctor, Part 1

I don’t know what came over me. I’m an educated, smart, moral, and logical man. Before that day, I had never even asked myself if I knew the difference between right and wrong. If someone would have told me the things I would think about—much less do—I would never have believed them. I am a professional. I am a Doctor. I would never take advantage of any of my patients nor would I let a patient get the wrong idea about myself. But on this particular day, something was just… different. My body—no, my primal instincts—overpowered my always-in-control brain and I felt myself behaving differently. It was as if I was watching myself from a television screen, unable to stop or change my behavior in any way. And even though I knew I was risking it all, I really just didn’t care.

By the time I got into the office that day, a series of strange things had already happened.

The Bad Doctor, Part 1

I don’t know what came over me. I’m an educated, smart, moral, and logical man. Before that day, I had never even asked myself if I knew the difference between right and wrong. If someone would have told me the things I would think about—much less do—I would never have believed them. I am a professional. I am a Doctor. I would never take advantage of any of my patients nor would I let a patient get the wrong idea about myself. But on this particular day, something was just… different. My body—no, my primal instincts—overpowered my always-in-control brain and I felt myself behaving differently. It was as if I was watching myself from a television screen, unable to stop or change my behavior in any way. And even though I knew I was risking it all, I really just didn’t care.

By the time I got into the office that day, a series of strange things had already happened.

A story about whatever gets you there

Hello fellow erotica lovers :)

Over the last few months I’ve been working on multiple series of short stories, in parts or chapters. I’m at a creative stand still on most of them and am taking commissions on sex stories to get my creative (and other) juices flowing. Message me if you’re interested.

I will write you a 2,000-3,000 word short story about anyone or anything of any genre. $.01 per word.

Some of my most-read story parts are:

[the Waitress and the Cop part 4](https://www.reddit.com/r/sexstories/comments/9n1ovf/the_waitress_and_the_cop_part_4_mf/)

[The Professor part 5](https://www.reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/9mspvp/the_professor_part_5_fm/)

[the Housewife and the Poolboy part 3](https://www.reddit.com/r/sexstories/comments/8ltrsg/the_housewife_and_the_pool_boy_part_3_mmf_double/)

I have about 25 (maybe more) stories floating around Reddit currently. If you’re up for some reading and feel like a fap, check them out!

XOXO SmearedInk

The Professor, Part 6

She had managed to avoid the conversation of “what are we?” when she was at the Professors house by fucking his brains out all night before quietly slipping out in the morning. She left his house and went straight to her class—it was a three hour lecture in her major and important for her to be there, especially since it was her last semester. Her professor was an older gentleman, in his late 50s, lots of curly gray hair, always wore nice jeans, a collared dress shirt and a sweater vest over the top. He smelled nice, had a nice smile, and was clean shaven, with tortoise shell glasses either hanging on the neck line of his vest or just at the tip of his nose. He showed interest in what the college students did—an effort to stay young or perhaps he was just a genuinely curious guy. He wore a gold wedding band on his ring finger and often spoke of his children, whom were grown. She sat in her seat in the back, desperately trying not to nod off from her night of passion with her Professor-turned-lover, and just as she was dozing off her phone vibrated in her bag. She bent over and unlocked her phone. He messaged her. She opened it, notifying him that she’d read the message.

The Professor, Part 6

She had managed to avoid the conversation of “what are we?” when she was at the Professors house by fucking his brains out all night before quietly slipping out in the morning. She left his house and went straight to her class—it was a three hour lecture in her major and important for her to be there, especially since it was her last semester. Her professor was an older gentleman, in his late 50s, lots of curly gray hair, always wore nice jeans, a collared dress shirt and a sweater vest over the top. He smelled nice, had a nice smile, and was clean shaven, with tortoise shell glasses either hanging on the neck line of his vest or just at the tip of his nose. He showed interest in what the college students did—an effort to stay young or perhaps he was just a genuinely curious guy. He wore a gold wedding band on his ring finger and often spoke of his children, whom were grown. She sat in her seat in the back, desperately trying not to nod off from her night of passion with her Professor-turned-lover, and just as she was dozing off her phone vibrated in her bag. She bent over and unlocked her phone. He messaged her. She opened it, notifying him that she’d read the message.

The Waitress and the Cop, Part 6 [Mf] [oral]

After they had an amazing morning at the motel, Rachel and James agreed to have a night together at James’ house—the first one. They decided that they wanted to see each other more and have a real relationship, and they were so excited. He told her he was off duty for the night and that he’d make her dinner. He told her to come hungry, bring an overnight bag, and show up at 6pm. She got dressed that evening and began to wonder what James’ home was going to be like. She grew damp between her thighs at the idea of her toes outstretching in his sheets, brushing against his legs, waking in his arms in his home.

The Victorian Beauty [Halloween]

She walked into the party alone, most of her face covered by a lacy pink masquerade-style mask. The silk string of the mask was tied into a neat bow behind her head. Her hair was long—far past her full breasts—and fell in loose curls around her back, chest and shoulders. It was very light blonde but natural—not bleached, and her skin was porcelain and pale. Her perfect pouty lips were painted in a faint pink color, her cheeks made lightly rosy and her long, perfect nails were covered in pink nail polish. She wore a traditional corseted gown from the Victorian era. Her corset was white and visibly strict and tight on her fit frame. She had several petticoats on underneath her ruby-colored skirt, which was so full it came out around her nearly two feet on each side. It was adorned with pink velvet bows and trimmed with off-white lace, which matched her corset. The lace sleeves were small, wrapping just around her upper arms. She wore long strands of white pearls, which spilled over the top of her full bosom and bounced gently against her stomach as she walked through the crowded party. She looked like a goddess from a movie, she looked like a true Victorian beauty, and no one had ever seen her before.