What Dreams May Mean

This buxom woman named Penny Pax just marches into her therapist's office and plants herself on Logan's desk like she owns the place. Logan Pierce, her psychoanalyst, gives it a half-hearted try. Tells her this can't happen. Professional boundaries. She laughs and crawls across his lap before he can finish the sentence. Logan lasts about thirty seconds of token resistance, then his hands are already yanking her blouse open and grabbing those heavy tits. Penny arches into it, pushes them together for him, lets him bury his face right there. His mouth finds her nipples quick, sucks hard while she grinds down on his hard-on through his pants. She peels out of the rest of her clothes, naked on the couch, legs spread wide, and he's between them before she's even fully on her back. Logan fucks like a man who forgot the rules. He drives in deep, holds her thick thighs apart so he can watch himself split her open, her pussy gripping every inch. Penny moans loud, egging him on, and they flip, her on top bouncing her tits in his face. Sweat slick on skin. Logan grips her hips hard enough to leave marks. Her curvy body takes everything he gives her until he shoots deep inside. Afterwards both grinning, clothes scattered everywhere, Logan looking like he knows he just blew his career and couldn't care less.