What the hell have I just done?

Caitlyn’s POV

“Ease up for me slut, your mouth is fucking small for my dick,” and with those words I submit opening my mouth wide that my jaws fucking hurt, my panties grow warm with my juices that drip more with those dirty words, which I surprisingly like and enjoy more by being treated like a dirty whore.

“I'm gonna cum down this goddamn throat. I want to stuff your throat with my cum,” He jerks a few powerful strokes and I feel his cock swell inside my mouth, and a salty taste explodes in my mouth, and I gulp it down my throat.

Once he is done emptying himself into me, he releases my hair and gathers the mixture of his cum and my saliva that was dripping from the side of my lips using his middle and ring finger before jamming it back into my mouth.

His fingers choke me, forcing me to swallow the very last drop of his cum, “I want you to swallow every drop of my cum.”

He pulls his fingers from my mouth and then uses them to tuck my hair behind my ear while his free hand runs its finger on my lips in a slow motion.

“You might want to fix your lipstick and hair, babochka.”

He then pulls away from me and moves to the edge of his metal bed that has a thin mattress on it and watches as I wipe the remainder of his cum from my tongue.

At first, he stares with a blank expression, but a low, sadistic chuckle comes from his mouth, and some light whiffs through his eyes-just for a second, one you wouldn’t catch if you looked away.

After riding from my mini-orgasm high, I suddenly come to my senses when the guard bangs the door, signaling that we should be winding down our session- if he only knew what had transpired between us!

I scramble to my feet, picking up what is left of my dignity and my bag before rushing to the wrought steel door, and as If the guard hears my footsteps, he swings it open.

My heart pound as I slip out of the dimly lit prison cell, the heavy door creaking as it settles back into place. I tag at my wrinkled dress, smoothing it down in a desperate attempt to look less obvious.

The last thing I need is to draw attention to myself, but there is no hiding the state I am in: smudged lipstick, hair in a mess, and the faint scent of orgasm and regret clinging to my skin.

I keep my head down, forcing my steps to be steady and controlled.

Act normal.

But the sharp gazes of the guards slice through my composure. The guy who opened for me leans against the wall, arms crossed, except for the flicker of amusement that dances through his eyes. Another one gives me a slow once-over, his mouth twitching like he wants to smirk but knows better.

I tighten my hold on my bag’s straps and walk faster, the click of my footsteps deafening against the cold concrete floor. Someone clears their throat behind me, a gesture that carries the weight of the words he can't dare speak to my face.

Heat crawls up my neck, but I am determined to finish my Cersei walk of shame to the restroom sign that gleams like a beacon of salvation, where I would get a chance to salvage the last shred of my dignity left.

I shove the door open and exhale sharply, gripping the sink for balance. The huge floor-length mirror confirms what I already know-I look precisely like someone sneaking out of a mistake-one that I already enjoyed.

With a groan, I splash cold water on my face, hoping it would wash away more than just the evidence.

A while later, my car’s engine hums softly as I sit there, fingers gripping the steering wheel a little too tight. The dim glow of the dashboard cast eerie shadows across my lap, but my mind is elsewhere—stuck in the tangled mess of not more than half an hour ago.

I reach for my phone, my hands slightly trembling as I type his name on the search bar. Vladislav Mikhailov. The name alone seem familiar, it sends a flicker of unease through me. Something feels… oddly familiar.

With a deep breath, I tap search.

And then the world shifts.

There he is—broad-shouldered, effortlessly commanding, standing beside another man. A younger version of him except for the warm ocean-blue eyes.

One I know too well.

My stomach twists violently as I stare at the screen.

“No. No, no, this can't be true!”

Vladislav Mikhailov isn't some mistake I would easily pretend to forget. He isn’t just my new patient.

He is my ex-boyfriend’s father!!!

A cold, nauseating wave crashes over me, my body locking in place. My brain scrambles to process the sheer weight of what I have done, but all I can hear is the blood pounding in my ears.

I groan, banging my forehead lightly against the steering wheel as I risk another glance at the man whose cock I had rolled my tongue over and begged him to fill my mouth. The man who had said obscene words to me and my pussy clamped wet was my ex-boyfriend’s father!!!

What the hell have I just done?

Caitlyn’s POV

“Ease up for me slut, your mouth is fucking small for my dick,” and with those words I submit opening my mouth wide that my jaws fucking hurt, my panties grow warm with my juices that drip more with those dirty words, which I surprisingly like and enjoy more by being treated like a dirty whore.

“I'm gonna cum down this goddamn throat. I want to stuff your throat with my cum,” He jerks a few powerful strokes and I feel his cock swell inside my mouth, and a salty taste explodes in my mouth, and I gulp it down my throat.

Once he is done emptying himself into me, he releases my hair and gathers the mixture of his cum and my saliva that was dripping from the side of my lips using his middle and ring finger before jamming it back into my mouth.

His fingers choke me, forcing me to swallow the very last drop of his cum, “I want you to swallow every drop of my cum.”

He pulls his fingers from my mouth and then uses them to tuck my hair behind my ear while his free hand runs its finger on my lips in a slow motion.

“You might want to fix your lipstick and hair, babochka.”

He then pulls away from me and moves to the edge of his metal bed that has a thin mattress on it and watches as I wipe the remainder of his cum from my tongue.

At first, he stares with a blank expression, but a low, sadistic chuckle comes from his mouth, and some light whiffs through his eyes-just for a second, one you wouldn’t catch if you looked away.

After riding from my mini-orgasm high, I suddenly come to my senses when the guard bangs the door, signaling that we should be winding down our session- if he only knew what had transpired between us!

I scramble to my feet, picking up what is left of my dignity and my bag before rushing to the wrought steel door, and as If the guard hears my footsteps, he swings it open.

My heart pound as I slip out of the dimly lit prison cell, the heavy door creaking as it settles back into place. I tag at my wrinkled dress, smoothing it down in a desperate attempt to look less obvious.

The last thing I need is to draw attention to myself, but there is no hiding the state I am in: smudged lipstick, hair in a mess, and the faint scent of orgasm and regret clinging to my skin.

I keep my head down, forcing my steps to be steady and controlled.

Act normal.

But the sharp gazes of the guards slice through my composure. The guy who opened for me leans against the wall, arms crossed, except for the flicker of amusement that dances through his eyes. Another one gives me a slow once-over, his mouth twitching like he wants to smirk but knows better.

I tighten my hold on my bag’s straps and walk faster, the click of my footsteps deafening against the cold concrete floor. Someone clears their throat behind me, a gesture that carries the weight of the words he can't dare speak to my face.

Heat crawls up my neck, but I am determined to finish my Cersei walk of shame to the restroom sign that gleams like a beacon of salvation, where I would get a chance to salvage the last shred of my dignity left.

I shove the door open and exhale sharply, gripping the sink for balance. The huge floor-length mirror confirms what I already know- I look precisely like someone sneaking out of a mistake-one that I already enjoyed.

“Jesus Christ, Caitlyn…” I whisper to myself, voice trembling.

What the hell is wrong with you?

What kind of therapist does that? What kind of woman lets herself be used like that?

With a groan, I splash cold water on my face, hoping it would wash away more than just the evidence.

A while later, my car’s engine hums softly as I sit there, fingers gripping the steering wheel a little too tightly. The dim glow of the dashboard cast eerie shadows across my lap, but my mind is elsewhere, stuck in the tangled mess of not more than half an hour ago.

But this man, he didn’t look at me like I was broken.

He looked at me like I was his to break.

And I let him.

“Who the hell is he?” I whisper to the silence.

I reach for my phone, my hands slightly trembling as I type his name on the search bar. Vladislav Mikhailov. The name alone seem familiar, it sends a flicker of unease through me. Something feels… oddly familiar.

With a deep breath, I tap search.

And then the world shifts.

There he is—broad-shouldered, effortlessly commanding, standing beside another man. A younger version of him except for the warm ocean-blue eyes.

One I know too well.

My stomach twists violently as I stare at the screen.

“No. No, no, this can't be true!”

Vladislav Mikhailov isn't some mistake I would easily pretend to forget. He isn’t just my new patient.

He is my ex-boyfriend’s father!!!

A cold, nauseating wave crashes over me, my body locking in place. My brain scrambles to process the sheer weight of what I have done, but all I can hear is the blood pounding in my ears.

I groan, banging my forehead lightly against the steering wheel as I risk another glance at the man whose cock I had rolled my tongue over and begged him to fill my mouth. The man who had said obscene words to me and my pussy clamped wet was my ex-boyfriend’s father!!!

What the hell have I just done?