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Bound and at the mercy of Dr. Tampa, Wyatt's rebel facade crumbles. She starts slow, running latex-gloved hands over his tan skin, tracing the lines of his tattoos. His breath hitches as she leans in, her short hair brushing against his chest. She whispers instructions, her voice muffled by her procedure mask. Wyatt's cock hardens, straining towards her as she teases him, making him yearn for the Hitachi Magic Wand she wields. His eyes flutter closed, lost in the sensation, as Dr. Tampa brings him to the edge of ecstasy, torturously close but never quite pushing him over.