Office stress relief hole

Olga worked as a senior manager in a large IT office in a business center on the outskirts of the city. She was twenty-five, and for the past six months, her back had been killing her: endless hours at the computer, poor posture, and stress. A friend recommended a private chiropractor's office on the ground floor of the same center. "There's a great chiropractor there; after seeing him, I felt like I was born again." Olga made an appointment. The first time, she entered a small but very clean office with soft lighting and the scent of essential oils. Instead of the woman she expected, she was greeted by a man of about thirty-seven—tall, broad-shouldered, wearing a white short-sleeved T-shirt and scrub pants. He had a short haircut, light stubble, and a confident gaze. He introduced himself as Alexander and calmly explained that he owned the office alone, and that his partner was on maternity leave. Olga felt a little tense, but decided to let it slide. He performed a routine posture check, a few light manipulations on her back and neck—nothing too much. She left satisfied and made an appointment for the following week. The second and third sessions went exactly the same way. Alexander worked professionally, spoke only to the point, corrected her posture, and relieved tension. Olga already felt much more at ease and no longer felt nervous about having a male massage therapist. During the fourth session, when he began kneading her lower back, she suddenly felt a strange warmth beneath his palms. It was as if the oil he was using was slowly warming up and penetrating deeper. Her body relaxed so much that she involuntarily moaned. Alexander seemed not to notice. He simply asked at the end: — Olga, how often do you feel tension in your lower abdomen after sitting at the computer for a long time? She blushed, said something vague about "sometimes," and quickly left. At home, she had to lock herself in the bathroom and touch herself for a long time to relieve the strange arousal. Fifth session. Alexander used the same oil again. The warmth became scorching, pleasant. When his fingers ran along the inside of her thighs (ostensibly to relieve pelvic constriction), Olga felt her panties instantly become wet. He ended the session with a question: — Have you tried relieving muscle tension through masturbation? It's normal for office workers. She answered "yes," burning with shame, and ran off to the toilet upstairs again to quickly finish with her fingers. After that, everything began to change. At the sixth appointment, Alexander suggested drinking a "relaxing vitamin cocktail" before the session—"so the muscles respond better." Olga drank it. Within five minutes, her body felt heavy and pliable. He laid her face down on the couch and pulled down her business skirt and panties "for better access to the lumbosacral region." When his warm palms began massaging her buttocks and perineum, Olga no longer resisted. Her hands moved downwards of their own accord. Alexander calmly said: "Don't be shy. It's part of the therapy—removing internal blocks." She came right there on his couch, biting her lips to keep from moaning too loudly. With each subsequent visit, the sessions grew longer, and the questions more revealing. He asked how many times a day she now touched herself, what fantasies arose during work, whether she liked it when a man took control. Olga couldn't stop. She came every evening after work, knowing in advance that she would emerge with wet thighs and an empty head. During the tenth session, Alexander placed her on all fours on a special table. Oil now coated her entire body from the waist down. While she vigorously fingered herself, he inserted a thick, smooth massage roller into her and began to slowly move it, simultaneously kneading her clitoris with his thumb. She came three times in a row. Then, for the first time, he pulled out his penis—thick, heavy, veiny—and ran it over her wet lips without entering. "That's part of the treatment, too," he said calmly. "Complete removal of the clamps." Olga pulled back and impaled herself on him. Alexander fucked her long and hard, changing positions, spanking her ass and calling her "a tense office bitch who just needs the right approach." She screamed with pleasure and came again and again. After two weeks, the sessions became nightly. Alexander started bringing along "colleagues"—two strong men who also worked as massage therapists at the business center. They called it "group posture correction." Olga was stripped completely naked, her hands were tied to special holders on the bukvoeb.run couch, a gag was inserted into her mouth, and they took turns using all her orifices. She no longer resisted. On the contrary, she begged to be fucked deeper, to have her come inside, to leave marks from the spanks. A month later, her body was covered with special "therapeutic" tattoo markers: the inscriptions "use as directed" on her thighs, "ejaculate here without limits" on her stomach, and "milk for real men" around her nipples. Every evening before her session, she undressed in the waiting room, wrote answers to Alexander's questions on her body with a black marker, and inserted large anal beads she had prepared in advance. Now she came in pregnant—five months into her pregnancy. Her belly had noticeably rounded out, her breasts had filled out and begun to produce milk. Alexander said this was "an excellent result of the therapy" and that pregnancy only increased blood flow to the pelvis, making the treatment more effective. She sat in a special chair, her legs spread wide and secured, a breast pump was attached to her breasts, and penises were simultaneously inserted into her mouth and both orifices. Olga moaned, milk squirted in thin streams, and she repeated like a machine: "My back, my pussy, and my ass are your workspace. Use me every day. I'm your office stress relief hole." Every night after the "session," she was left lying on the couch with her mouth open and sperm dripping down her thighs and stomach. She couldn't remember the last time she felt shame. All she had left was a single wish—for tomorrow evening to come as soon as possible.