Late Appointment for the Sex Addict

"Oh, fuck!" Lola groaned aloud.

She bit down violently on her lower lip to stifle the noise echoing through the empty apartment. Her right hand traveled slowly down the flat expanse of her stomach, dipping beneath the waistband of her panties to press directly against her dripping pussy. Simultaneously, her left hand moved up to cup her bare left breast. She squeezed the soft flesh, her thumb dragging harshly over the hardened, sensitive nipple. The intoxicating wave of pure physical pleasure instantly hijacked her brain, overriding the lingering exhaustion of the morning.

"Ahhh... Ahhh." A deep, throaty moan escaped her lips as her hips bucked upward against the mattress.

She squeezed her eyes shut the second her fingertips slid between the wet, swollen lips of her cunt. The excessive slickness coated her skin, a physical testament to the relentless biological curse plaguing her life. She didn't hesitate. She started rubbing her clitoris vigorously, needing the harsh, rapid friction to satisfy the agonizing ache burning between her thighs. The deep, heavy sensation completely engrossed her. She surrendered to the overwhelming need, her fingers moving rapidly, pumping and circling her highly sensitive nerves without mercy.

She arched her spine high off the messy bedsheets. She thrust her hips upward to meet her own hand, writhing in pure, unadulterated ecstasy. The pleasure built up in her lower belly, tightening like a coiled spring ready to snap.

"Ahhh... oh... yes... yes, fuck me... fuck me... fuck!"

Her voice pitched higher, breaking into loud, frantic cries that bounced off the thin bedroom walls. The climax hit her like a speeding freight train. Her hips jerked uncontrollably. A warm, heavy wave of white fluid gushed from her vaginal entrance, coating her rapidly moving fingers and staining the bedsheets beneath her thighs. Her leg muscles cramped violently as the powerful, earth-shattering orgasm ripped through her entire nervous system, leaving her completely drained.

She collapsed flat against the damp mattress. A moment later, she propped herself up on her elbows, her chest heaving as she desperately tried to catch the breath she had been holding for the past minute.

"Ugh." She let out a miserable, guttural groan.

Her eyes darted to the digital clock resting on her bedside table. Pure panic instantly replaced the fading waves of sexual pleasure. Her heart dropped into her stomach. She was going to be late. She had a strictly scheduled appointment with a specialist today, and she was currently lying naked in a puddle of her own fluids.

She threw the tangled bedsheets off her legs and scrambled out of bed. She possessed a flawless, twenty-six-year-old body that drew hungry stares everywhere she went. She had a naturally tanned complexion, a heavy pair of large breasts, a round, thick ass, and a cascade of long red hair that reached the small of her back. Men constantly lusted after her. Women constantly envied her. Most people who didn't know her mistook her for an eighteen-year-old because of her tender, remarkably youthful facial features and perfect body structure. But underneath that flawless exterior, her body was a ticking time bomb of pure misery.

She was a severe sex addict. Her nervous system was hyper-sensitive to the slightest touch from any man or woman. She found it biologically impossible to control the urges that possessed her daily. The addiction had just cost her the last shred of normalcy in her life. Her boyfriend had ruthlessly dumped her last week. He had caught her cheating on him numerous times with strangers. When she broke down in tears and tried to explain the agonizing physical need that drove her into those beds, he didn't care to listen. He packed his bags and walked out. She had no choice but to move into this cramped one-room apartment and let him go forever.

She would have spiraled into complete despair if not for her best friend, Raven. Raven had stepped in and introduced her to the name Victor Vance. According to Raven, Victor was the most popular and highly sought-after sex doctor in California, and perhaps the entire United States. Raven insisted he was the only professional who could actually help her, explaining in vivid detail how he had successfully treated countless women suffering from this exact, debilitating condition. Lola had initially rejected the offer, terrified of exposing her deepest, darkest shame to a stranger. But Raven relentlessly urged her, providing every logical reason why she needed to go. The logic eventually broke through Lola's stubbornness. She simply had no choice left. Raven had handed her an exclusive invitation card to meet the elusive doctor.

Today was the day. Her appointment with Victor Vance was set for ten o'clock sharp.

She sprinted into the tiny bathroom. She grabbed her toothbrush, scrubbing her teeth with frantic, aggressive strokes before spitting the paste into the sink. She turned on the shower, stepping directly under the freezing spray of the cold tub to shock her overheated nerves. She hastily washed the slick remnants of her orgasm away. She didn't have the luxury to linger under the water. She turned off the faucet, grabbed a thick towel, and roughly dried the moisture from her skin.

She raced out of the bathroom and flung her wardrobe doors open. In a blind rush, she snatched a fitted red gown and a fresh set of cotton underwear from the hangers. She dragged the fabric over her curves, smoothing the red dress down her thighs before rushing toward the vanity mirror. She was already twenty minutes behind schedule. Applying makeup to her face was entirely out of the question. She grabbed her hairbrush, yanked it harshly through her long red strands, and tied her hair up into a tight, high ponytail to keep it out of her face.

She snatched her pink purse and her cell phone from the counter. She shoved her feet into a pair of brown boots. She bolted out of her one-room apartment, locking the door behind her, and hurried down the stairs toward the roadway.

The crisp morning air hit her face as she reached the sidewalk. She stood on the edge of the busy street, anxiously scanning the heavy California traffic for an available taxi. A yellow cab pulled up a few seconds later.

She yanked the back door open and slid onto the worn leather seat. She pulled the door shut and immediately locked it.

"Holy Cross Hospital." Lola stated her destination the exact second she sat down.

The cab driver glanced at her through the rearview mirror.

"Please hurry up, I am terribly late." She leaned forward, gripping the back of the passenger seat.

The cabman nodded in response. He shifted gears, stepped heavily on the gas pedal, and zoomed off into the dense traffic.

Lola leaned back against the seat, bouncing her knee rapidly. Her heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird. The residual sensitivity between her legs pulsed uncomfortably with every bump in the road. She squeezed her thighs tightly together, trying to suppress the persistent, annoying throb of her clitoris against the seam of her panties. Her mind raced with a million terrifying thoughts. She kept picturing the exclusive invitation card tucked safely inside her pink bag. Victor Vance. The name sounded intimidating and clinical. She wondered what kind of brutal methods a man like that used to fix a broken, hyper-sexual woman.

A few agonizing minutes later, the cab screeched to a halt at the designated address.

Lola shoved a crumpled bill into the payment tray. She didn't wait for the change. She pushed the car door open and stepped out onto the pristine concrete pavement.

She froze completely in her tracks. Her jaw dropped open.

She stood on the sidewalk, openly gawking at the massive, towering skyscraper looming over the city block. The sheer scale of Holy Cross Hospital defied every single expectation she had. The sleek glass facade reflected the morning sun, giving the colossal building an imposing, sterile glare. She had never seen a medical facility this extravagant in her entire life. Sudden doubt crept into her frantic mind. She glanced around the pristine, manicured courtyard, genuinely wondering if she had given the driver the wrong address. This place looked like the headquarters of a global billionaire conglomerate.

Without thinking much longer, she shoved her doubts aside and ran inside. She waited impatiently for the heavy automatic glass doors to slide apart before she stepped into the expansive lobby.

The polished marble floors gleamed under the bright lights. She headed straight for the elevators.

"Madam, may I know why you are here?"

The crisp, highly professional voice of the lady at the receptionist desk made Lola stop dead in her tracks. She turned to face the massive curved counter.

"I don't have much time, ma'am. I have an appointment with Victor Vance." Lola spoke as politely as she could manage. She reached into her pink bag, pulled out the exclusive card Raven had given her, and held it up to her face so the receptionist could clearly see the embossed lettering.

The receptionist's eyes flicked to the card. Her professional demeanor shifted instantly into strict compliance.

"Okay, you can go. The tenth floor." The lady gestured toward a row of polished steel elevators.

Lola quickly turned and rushed into an open elevator car. She reached out and tapped the button for the tenth floor. The heavy steel doors slid shut, sealing her inside the silent, brightly lit box, and the car proceeded upward with a smooth hum.

She breathed out nervously. The enclosed space felt suffocating. She could feel her blood pumping rapidly, swelling and throbbing in her temples. The terrifying reality of the situation finally crashed down on her shoulders. She placed her palm flat against her chest, desperately trying to calm the frantic rhythm of her heartbeat. The elevator chimed sharply. The doors beeped open.

Lola stepped out of the car. She paused for a moment, genuinely admiring the striking beauty of the tenth-floor hallway. The lighting was dim and incredibly warm, a stark contrast to the sterile brightness of the lobby below. Rich, dark paneling lined the walls, and a thick, plush carpet muffled the sound of her brown boots. It felt dangerously private.

She ambled down the long, quiet corridor. She scanned the brass nameplates mounted on the heavy doors until she finally found it.

Victor Vance.

The name was pinned elegantly to the center of a solid oak door. Lola smiled nervously. She smoothed her hands down the front of her red dress, adjusting the fabric to ensure it clung perfectly to her waist and hips. She raised her knuckles and knocked twice against the thick wood, fully expecting a formal order to enter the office in return.

"Come in."

She got exactly what she expected, but the voice completely caught her off guard. It was cold, raspy, and incredibly deep. A sudden, involuntary shiver ran straight down Lola's spine. The sheer, raw masculinity echoing in those two words made her breath catch painfully in her throat. She wanted to turn around and leave almost immediately. A profound wave of nervousness washed over her the very moment that manly voice bled through the wood. Her clitoris gave a sharp, unbidden throb.

She inhaled deeply, filling her lungs with air. She assured herself that nothing would go wrong. Since she was already standing here, there was absolutely no going back.

She breathed out heavily, grasped the brass doorknob, opened the door, and stepped into the massive office.

Her eyes were instantly welcomed by the sight of a ridiculously broad shoulder backing her. The man was standing near his desk, facing entirely away from her. She couldn't see his face, but merely looking at his imposing body features sent a shockwave of heat straight to her groin. He was massive. His back was wide, tapering down into a narrow waist. He looked hot, built like an absolute god of lust. It suddenly made perfect sense why they called him a sex doctor. Just his physical presence alone was enough to make her wet.

"You can have your seat." He spoke again in that raspy, vibrating voice.

Lola forced her trembling legs to move. She gestured herself forward and sat down on the plush leather chair positioned directly next to his large desk. She kept her eyes glued to his broad back.

"Introduce yourself, sweetheart." Victor spoke in a smooth, soothing tone that completely contradicted the raw power of his frame.

The pet name sent a fresh wave of heat straight to Lola's core. She gulped nervously, her throat incredibly tight.

"I... I... I... I..." She stuttered pathetically, desperately trying to find the right words to say. The intimidating aura of the man severely scrambled her thoughts. She forced herself to speak clearly. "I'm Lola. I am twenty-six years old, and I am a sex addict."

She blurted the shameful confession out to his back. Silence stretched across the room for a long moment. The thick, manly quality of his voice had sparked an intense, burning curiosity inside her. She couldn't stop herself from pushing the boundaries.

"What about you, sir?" Lola was forced to ask, driven by pure curiosity because his voice sounded so thick and commanding.

She heard a low, dark chuckle rumble from his chest. She clearly heard him smirking.

He finally turned his swivel chair around to face her.

Lola's jaw dropped wide open the exact second her gaze met his gorgeous face. She sat frozen, openly drooling over him as she admired and observed his flawless features. He had a perfectly sculpted, masculine face. He possessed a strong, pointed nose and piercing, Italian blue eyes that seemed to strip her naked in a fraction of a second. His lips were full, puffy, and looked incredibly tempting to kiss. Dark, unruly curly hair tangled over his forehead, giving him a wild, untamed look.

Her eyes dragged helplessly downward. Goddammit, his chest. His bulky, heavily muscled chest was on full display through his dress shirt that had been left entirely open and unbuttoned. Thick muscles flexed under his tanned skin, radiating a raw, aggressive heat that made Lola's lower belly clench tight.

He stared directly into her eyes, his blue gaze gleaming with dark amusement.

"I am a fifty-year-old baby girl. Do you have a problem with that?" Victor spoke in a deep, bleak voice that sounded absolutely pleasant and melodic to her ears.

He leaned back slightly in his chair.

"Love what you see?" He asked, flashing a slow, incredibly proud smirk.