When we walked into my office I closed the door, deep in thought. So far my day had been going good, I hope this sexy vixen didn’t mess it up. I didn’t like drama, and I didn’t have any drama in my life.

And I wanted to keep it that way. Kept my blood pressure down that way.
She was shaking, avoiding my eyes.
“Thank you doctor...” She was shaking her head, looking me over.

I was hesitant. “Dr. Ken Fredericks.”
She shook my hand, and then I kissed it, cupping it.

“It’s my cat.” She fell silent.

My heart went out to her. Some people were close to their animals like family, I was close to my pit-bull Greg like that, and I would die and kill for
my dog. “What’s wrong with your cat? Did he die or something?”

She looked confused, a little withdrawn. “Well, no.”

“Is he sick? You know several pet food
companies are recalling pet food. Some ingredient is making animals across the country sick.”

She looked alarmed. “Oh, no!” She covered her mouth, stunned. “I didn’t hear about that.”

I didn’t mean to scare her. “Some have even died.” Well damn, Ken, now you did it.

“No, poor things...”

She stood in front of me, just as sexy as she wanted to be. It was hard not to try to flirt with her, since I was going through a divorce.

My wife and I have been separated for eight months. I had no problem with finding pussy, call me the Pussy Bandit, but I had no desire
to get new pussy when I was in love with Miss Old Booty, meaning my wife.

I looked her over while she stood there, trying to find the right words to
say. I hoped her cat wasn’t sick or dead.

The length of the heels on her designer stilettos was identical twins with my dick, nine inches.

I didn’t need to be thinking about my dick at the office, but there was a stirring in my loins. And I couldn’t
stop the pleasurable feeling that washed over me.

She looked at me, with Come Fuck Me Good in her eyes.

“Can I have a seat?” she asked. Before I could say, “Sure,” she pivoted and sat on the sofa by the door.

I leaned against my cluttered desk, a little angry that the cleaning lady from Rhonda’s Maids and Company didn’t show up this week and dust
my office down.

I had back allergies, bad sinus problems and I couldn’t work around all the dust.

Which was the main reason why I didn’t open the blinds, because once the sunlight shined through every continent of dust would be revealed to my naked eyes, sending me into a sneezing fit?

She looked at me, sizing me up, crossing her legs. She studied my framed certificates and degrees from school; just a coliseum of accomplishments was some of everywhere.

Half of the achievements mean nothing to me because they were fake, computer generated.

I used them as props for business, and it had been paying off for three years, since sharing this private practice with Leticia Marks.

“Ma’am, talk to me, because I have to get back to work.”

I opened my white medical coat and threw it on the desk, rolling up my sleeves, loosening my tie a bit, had it too damn tight, could barely breathe or swallow.

She was measuring her words.

“There’s a cat...in my pussy that needs saving.”

She eyed the look of shock on my face.