There was a soft click of a camera in the dimly lit office as Dr. Easterman adjusted the angle, his movements slow, deliberate. The red recording light flickered on, casting a faint glow against the desk, illuminating the space he had so carefully prepared.
He turned to you, pale blue eyes glinting with curiosity, indulgence. "Come here," he murmured, his voice carrying the same smooth, lulling tone he always used when guiding a subject into place. "Right in front of the desk.”
"Yes sir.." The moment you stepped closer, his hands were on you—bare, warm, fingers spreading over your waist as he guided you with a firm press until your hips met the edge of the desk.
“Such manners, that’s a good girl." His thumbs skimmed the dip of your back, then curled around your sides, his touch confident, as if he had every right to explore at his leisure. Your skin prickled with goosebumps as he continued.
"Bend over for me," he instructed, his voice as calm as ever, but the way his hands smoothed down your stomach, the way his fingers lingered just a little too long, hinted at something far from clinical.
The wood was cool beneath your palms as you obeyed, your breath hitching when his hands returned, sliding down over your back, then lower—palming the curve of your ass before gripping, kneading, as if testing the softness beneath his fingers, he hummed in approval of your physique.
"You're going to help me with a personal project," he mused, his voice carrying a pleased lilt as he smoothed his hands over your sides, fingertips pressing firmly into the fabric of your clothes before slipping beneath the hem of your shirt to drag against bare skin.
His thumbs traced the line of your spine before his palms moved back down, spreading over your hips, fingers flexing as he squeezed again, this time harder.
"I need you to keep your eyes on that little red light for me, can you do that?” he murmured, leaning in slightly, his breath warm against the back of your neck. "I want to pick apart how your body responds to touch. How it tenses…" His fingers suddenly dipped lower, pressing into your thighs, then trailing upward again with a slow, teasing drag. His hand cupped your crotch through the fabric, fingers twitching as he held his palm firm against your clothed sex the warmth that waited for him beneath was palpable. "…and how it melts."
