Health Insurance
I'm sure many of you remember Heather, the cute rocker raccoon that featured back in one of my 2019 Kinktober entries (https://www.sofurry.com/view/1508033)
She's back again for a bite-sized story. This time, she's looking for some stress relief, presumably after all that tickling and all those forced orgasms. However, what she ends up getting isn't actually 'relief', if you know what I mean. >:)
Ugh. All a bunch of crackpots, thought Heather, swinging her legs over onto the black leather table. Oh, well, it can't be worse than last time.
Stress relief therapy was one of the newer services her health insurance company offered, and her first experience was abysmal; she certainly didn't think having her hands and feet held in stocks like a prisoner of some medieval dungeon and having her soles scrubbed with brushes was any form of "stress relief". The "doctor" said laughter was the best medicine, but Heather couldn't stop worrying if, in her involuntary and rather hysterical ticklish laughter, she'd wet her jeans--no stress relief there!
Now this second quack had her lie down on a padded table of some sort in just her panties--black in color except where it was adorned with the logo of one of her favorite bands--and equally black bra. "Relax," he said as he strapped the raccoon down to the table with (Heather counted) six crackling Velcro kkkkrrrriiissshhh's. Her ankles, wrists, and tail, immobile, made her look like a living gingerbread man.
"So, wh-what exactly does this involve?" she asked the bespectacled mouse as he leaned and plugged something into the wall.
"Genital stimulation," he said. "In particular, I'll focus on your clitoris." The vibrator, the kind used to massage the larger, hardest-working muscles, clicked on in the rodent's small paw, even though to her eyes the head wasn't moving at all. "Now, just relax."
Heather had all sorts of things she wanted to ask. Was this ethical? When can I go home? Are you an actual doctor? But before she could start machine-gunning from her mental laundry list, the massager found her clit, right where the pentagram on her panties was. Heather's head shivered in pleasure, and blood rushed to her nipples.
"Good girl," said the mouse, adjusting his pants so Heather wouldn't notice his nascent erection. "Just relax." With her eyes closed in bliss, the tip of her tail flicking and her toes curling to show for it, Heather was, however, in no position to reprimand him for his lack of self-control.
"Holy moly," she said. "That thing is strong. Ahhhh, yeah, right there, right there." Heather licked her lips and began to twerk her shapely hips as the massager pummeled her clit into oblivion. "Do you get a lot of clients?" Heather asked, craning her neck up to look at the mouse, eyes half-open.
As the raccoon's hips continued to sway, he smiled and expertly waved his wrist, like a wizard casting a spell, to keep the business end of the vibrator right on her sweet spot. "About half a dozen every day," he said. "This here's the most effective stress relief method of all time."
Heather's eyes rolled into the back of her head. "Ugh, yeah," she said with a giggle. "I can see why. That thing's getting me worked up. It feels so good."
"Vigorous clitoral stimulation is, of course, highly pleasurable. The perfect way to counter stress!" he said over the buzzing and Heather's gasps of lust.
Over the next couple of minutes, her underwear wicked away her pussy juices. Her panties, despite their already pitch-black shade, became noticeably darker. Her nipples pushed against her bra, engorging with blood--under the cotton, chocolate brown studs swelled to the size of bullets.
About three minutes into the start of the "therapy" session, Heather breathed in sharply as if something had startled her. Her nub tickled in agony, and her pussy lips quivered against the sopping wet cotton of her underwear. "Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck! I'm gonna cum!" she squealed. Her toes--all six of them--curled up like a bird of prey's talons seizing a tasty, living morsel. Heather's ass froze, and her back arched off the table as much as the Velcro bondage allowed to welcome the orgasm.
Right before that first wave of relief, the vibrator was yanked off her sex, prompting an ear-piercing squeal from Heather. "What! NO!" She tugged maniacally on her straps. "What the hell, man?!" she asked the rodent, who was now rubbing Heather's pussy juice off of the dead massager's head. "I was gonna cum!"
"Oh, I guess you didn't read the fine print," he said with an amused smirk--a smirk he could afford as he was disconnecting the vibrator, his back to the raccoon. "You signed up for the Lightpaw plan. You wanted the Midpaw plan; that one includes orgasms in the therapy sessions. Before our next session, I suggest you upgrade, because massages only relieve so much stress. It's the orgasm that really relaxes you."
Heather groaned. She let gravity take over; her head slammed back into the table. "I fucking hate this insurance company."
"It's just a matter of signing up for the new plan, Ms. Grabbypaws," he said, still refusing to face the girl. How could he, with such a large black splotch right where his dick was supposed to be under his pants?