Big Drip Topping from the Vet Clinic

Under the harsh fluorescent lights, Drip Coach, the self-proclaimed maestro of moist mayhem, orchestrated a symphony of squelching sounds and glistening flesh. A faceless patient, clad in a flimsy gown, was made to straddle the examination table, their backside presented like a wet, wanting canvas. Coach, in his latex-gloved hands, held a bottle of lube, its contents dribbling down onto eager, quivering cracks. With a surgeon's precision, he inserted slippery digits, stretching and filling the patient, their moans of pleasure intermingling with the symphony of wet, sliding flesh.

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