The Consultation

Homeowner cracks the door, sees a mousy teen with oversized glasses and a crappy pencil skirt, and slams it in her face. Patricia’s trying to sell knives door-to-door, desperate for cash to finally get tits that’ll shut up every bully who ever called her Flatty Patty. Third house, a stern man in a suit asks if sharpening’s free. She sighs yes and steps inside. Phone rings in her car—Dr. Swell’s office, the plastic surgeon she’s been begging for months. Receptionist confirms she’s eighteen and alone; he’ll see her today, at his house. She squeals, floors it, and rolls up to a mansion that makes her jaw drop. Gardener points her to the gazebo. Patricia’s still gawking at the pool when the doctor appears behind her, all black suit and cold eyes. He leads her upstairs to a bedroom rigged like an exam room, sits, and fires questions. Virgin? Never seen a guy naked? Wants big tits for college? He nods like he’s bored, then orders the blouse off. He paws her bare chest, pinches her nipples, and says she’s normal—just small. She begs anyway. He tells her a hymen that old needs breaking before a tighter pussy will even take a dick. Patricia hesitates, strips, lies back. He gloves up, works three fingers inside, tastes her on his skin, then drops the act. Strip the rest, he says. He’ll pop her cherry right here; it saves money on the labiaplasty. Pants off, cock out, he climbs on the bed and shoves into the virgin cunt. She gasps, winces, grabs the sheets. He fucks her hard, pulls out, paints her flat belly with thick ropes. He wipes off, scribbles a new quote, and shows her the door. She limps down the driveway, bow-legged, still smiling. “Thank you, Doctor.” He watches her go, smirk cutting across his face. Eighteen and broke—easiest marks he’ll ever have.