You book a routine physio session for tight, aching thighs. You walk into the clinic expecting a straightforward assessment. What you get is a low-cut, tight outfit and a physio who leans in close enough that her cleavage takes up your entire view! She starts professional — oil on her hands, slow pressure working up your thighs — then her eyes drop to the obvious bulge straining your shorts. She smirks. “Oh dear. How am I supposed to focus on your legs when you’re this hard?” She doesn’t look away. She tells you to pull it out and stroke, slow, exactly the way she says, while she keeps massaging. Oil slides over your skin. Her tits press together every time she leans in, and she knows you’re watching. She talks you through it in that mix of soft and bossy — tighter, slower, don’t you dare rush — and warns you not to cum on her. You lose it anyway. A thick load stripes her cleavage. She gasps, shocked for a second, then looks down at the mess and gets excited! She has you keep stroking. She pulls her breasts out of the dress and your second load hits them almost immediately. A coworker walks in while her tits are still glazed. She shoves them back in, starts an embarrassed explanation, then stops. Too late, too obvious! She pulls them back out, shows the cum off, and owns it — bragging about how much you shot, how you’re not even halfway through the session, how this cock is hers. They can watch if they want. They don’t get a turn. Later she takes you home. Changed, sitting on the edge of the bed, she makes you stand in front of her and stroke again. She watches, edges you, reaches in when she feels like helping, and talks you through every stroke until she decides where the next load belongs.