Expose - Episode 1 (Adult Erotic Romance and Sex)

C
larissa smiled
as Doctor Brett Levinson tapped his notepad with his pen, obviously deep in
thought. He lifted his eyes and studied Clarissa over his bifocals. “How long
has this behavior been manifesting itself, Miss Craig?”

Levinson was cute.
He had salt-and pepper dark hair, greying at the temples, steel-grey eyes and
strong hands. Oh shit, here we go again. Clarissa squirmed in her chair and
crossed her legs as she felt the all-too-familiar tingling sensation between
her legs.

She shrugged.
“Since I’ve had tits, I guess.”

Levinson frowned.
“Since puberty, then?”

Clarissa pursed
her lips and nodded, trying to ignore the sweet sensations Levinson was
stirring in her insides. “I guess.”

“Do you smoke?”
Levinson asked.

Clarissa shook
her head. “Never tried, never will.”

“Alcohol?”
Levinson asked, glancing up from his furious scribbling.

“I have an
occasional drink, but only a couple.”

Levinson put down
his pen, then sat up in his chair. He studied her for a while, then said, “I
need you to be brutally honest with me, Miss Craig.” He leaned forward,
emphasizing his point. “Do you use drugs? I could send you for blood tests to
confirm my suspicions.”

Clarissa snorted.
“Drugs? C’mon doc, I need treatment for my sexual addiction, not for drugs.”

Levinson nodded
slowly. “Interesting,” he said, and scribbled some more. He pressed the button
on an intercom on his table. “Jess, please hold all my appointments for the
next couple of hours.”

“But Mrs.
Rabinovich is already here, Doctor,” came the concerned reply.

“Hold them,
Jessica,” Levinson said firmly, then released the button.

Clarissa stared
at Levinson, a concerned frown on her forehead. “Is it that bad, Doctor?”

Levinson smiled.
“No, no. Not at all.” He slid open a drawer and dumped the notepad and pen
inside. “Usually, sexual addiction is tied to other pharmaceutical
dependencies, the person having an addictive personality.”

Levinson flipped
opened a file on his desk and scanned the contents, slowly turning the pages as
he spoke. “You exhibit no symptoms of the classical sexual addict such as
voyeurism, addiction to porn, excessive masturbation...,”

“I do masturbate,
Doctor,” Clarissa interrupted him.

Levinson sat back
and smirked. “Everyone masturbates, miss Craig.” He leaned back in his chair.
“The keyword is
excessive
.”

Levinson drummed
his fingers on the table, studying Clarissa with a feint smile. “Your grades
are excellent, you display normal social behavior,” he said with a shake of his
head. “You’re an interesting case.”

Clarissa sighed.
“So how do I get treated for this,...
problem
?”

Levinson grinned.
“There is no
problem
, Miss Craig. You’re a perfectly normal young woman
with a voracious sexual appetite.” He shrugged. “As long as your actions are
between two consenting adults, I see no problem.”

Clarissa raised
her eyebrow. “No problem?”

Levinson nodded
firmly. “Absolutely none.”

In that case, she
guessed she would have to show him why she was here. Clarissa stood up and
walked behind the desk, swiveling Levinson’s chair towards her. She hitched up
her skirt, then straddled Levinson in his chair. “You’re so damn hot,” she said
huskily.

“Miss Craig,
wait...,” Levinson protested.

Clarissa removed
his glasses, placed them on the table, then ran her hands through his hair.
“We’ve got some time, your other appointments have been placed on hold,
remember?”

Clarissa undid
his zip, and his manhood bounced out eagerly. She pulled her panties to the
side, then slipped his cock into her wetness, the chair creaking as she rode
him slowly, gyrating her hips forward and back.

Levinson gasped,
then raised himself from the chair, Clarissa clinging to him. He carried her to
a leather sofa, then dropped her on top. “So that’s how you want to play the
game?” he said with a grin. “Turn around, girl.”

She did as she was
ordered, and leaned forward balancing with her arms on the side of the chair.
Levinson lifted her dress, then tore her panties off with a quick jerk.
Clarissa swallowed, lifting her bottom in eager anticipation.

Levinson dropped
his pants, then pulled her toward him by her hips. She groaned as he slipped
his cock back inside her. She hadn’t been with someone for close to a week, and
she was wet and ready to explode. Clarissa moaned pleasurably as the Doctor
pounded her shaven slit. He flicked her clit with his thumb, then massaged it
as he pushed himself in deep. She came instantly, her entire body convulsing in
rapturous ecstasy.

She looked back
as he pulled his throbbing cock from her pussy. “On the ground like a dog,
bitch.”

She kneeled on
all fours, and Levinson guided his cock into her wet folds. He pushed hard and
she felt her pussy pull tight as he jammed his girth inside her. She rested her
head on her arms as Levinson rammed her from behind, and again she felt the
familiar heat in her abdomen as her insides clamped down onto his cock. She
came again, shivering as the pleasurable wave surged through her body.

Levinson pulled
his cock from her, holding his throbbing manhood in his hand. “Finish me off,
girl.”

She took his rod
in her mouth, sucking in her cheeks, she took all of him inside, then slowly
drew back, massaging his cock with her hand. Levinson grabbed the back of her
head and forced himself in deeper, ramming his cock in and out faster until he
groaned and the warm cum filled her mouth. He pulled his rod from her mouth as
it grew limp.

“Swallow,” he
ordered, pulling up his pants.

She did as she
was told. She thought she was falling in love. He nodded and picked up her
panties. “I’ll keep these as a momento,” he said and stuffed them inside his
pocket. He strode to his desk and flopped down into the chair, then pressed the
intercom buzzer. “Jess, tell Mrs. Rabinovich I’m ready for her.”

He glanced up at
Clarissa. “Thank you, Miss Craig, that will be all.”

Clarissa nodded,
pulling a hand through her disheveled black hair. “When is my next appointment,
Doctor?” she asked with a seductive smile.

Levinson leaned
back in his chair. “Oh, I don’t think you need any more, Miss Craig.” He
chuckled and closed her file. “I think you’re cured.”

“N
ext please,”
the pretty red-haired receptionist called with a smile.

The girls looked
up in unison. Clarissa stood up and straightened her short pencil skirt, then
stepped up to the glass door marked ‘Richard Davenport, Deputy Editor’ sandblasted
into the glass.

The receptionist
nodded encouragingly at Clarissa as the twenty-odd girls in the seats behind
her shifted up to fill her vacancy, one tiny step closer to fulfilling their
lifelong ambition of working for a major newspaper in a major city meeting
super-cool people and rubbing shoulders with the rich and famous.

Clarissa wasn’t
one of these. Sure, it would be cool to meet the rich and famous. But she
wanted to screw them. Screw their brains out.

The large glass
door sucked closed behind her as she strode through. A tail man with a crewcut
stood up from behind a large mahogany desk and waved her forward with a smile.
Clarissa walked purposefully, admiring the view over Central Park through the
large glass wall behind his desk.

She strode up to
the Deputy Editor of the New York Daily Tribune, and firmly shook his hand.
“Pleased to meet you, mister Davenport,” she said with a curt nod.

The man held onto
her hand for a moment, examining her face, then smiled. “The pleasure is all
mine, miss Craig.” He gestured towards a chair. “Please, have a seat.”

Clarissa sat down
and hitched her dress a couple of inches, then folded a perfectly formed leg
over the other, revealing a frilly garter strap.
Works every time.

She glanced
furtively around the large office. Classical music played softly in the
background, and large bookshelves lined two of the walls, stacked to the brim
with hundreds of books of all shapes. Some were pulled out and then haphazardly
placed back on top of the others. A large Henry Moore print of three men draped
in cloaks had been mounted against a wall, and a bronze bust of Mozart stood on
a white pedestal next to it. There were no photos on the walls or his desk. The
office felt bare.

She looked back
up at Davenport and found him sitting casually on his desk, scrutinizing her, a
hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth.

“Like what you
see?”

He had piercing
blue eyes and a day old stubble on his face. He wore a white, loose fitting
cotton shirt and jeans, the top of the shirt unbuttoned, revealing a smooth
chest.

“Definitely,” she
answered without hesitation.

Davenport
grinned, fine crow’s feet appearing next to his eyes as the smile spread across
his face. “Good answer.”

Clarissa pouted
her lips seductively, then handed a leather-bound folder to him. “My CV and
portfolio of work.”

Davenport held up
his hand and said, “Not necessary, you’re already hired.”

Clarissa’s head
jerked up from the folder to meet his amused gaze. “But what about all the
other girls?” she asked with a frown. This was new, she hadn’t flashed him a
panty yet.

He shrugged.
“They’re applying for a different position altogether.”

He slid off the
table and ambled behind it, then pulled open a drawer and fumbled through the
contents for a while. “Ah, here it is,” he said and pushed a sheet of paper
across the table towards her.

She picked it up
and skimmed the contents with a trained eye. Davenport had scribbled a
hand-written contract, scrawled in a barely legible cursive. She swallowed and
glanced up in shock, then back to the contract. Davenport was offering her a
post at the paper’s financial desk.
As the fucking editor.

She shook her
head, unable to comprehend the words on the piece of paper. “But how...,” she
stammered.

She had expected
to be interviewed for a junior reporting position, a mere greenhorn, poised to
fight her way up the corporate ladder. And now she was being offered a position
which would have taken her years of hard work to achieve. She sat back, casting
him a suspicious frown. “What’s the catch?”

Davenport leaned
back in his chair, clasping his hands behind his head, seemingly enjoying her
confused stare. “When I saw your CV on my table, I decided you were the right
person for the job.”

He leaned forward
and steepled his fingers in front of him, a determined look on his face. “Your
article exposing the scholarship fraud was brilliant.” He grinned. “So I
followed up on it and it made headline news.”

Clarissa looked
up in surprise. “I thought Dan Bishop, the editor, ran with the piece.”

Davenport pursed
his lips, then slowly shook his head. “That dickhead?” he said with a derisive
snort. “I made the story work.” He shrugged. “And then I received a promotion
from the financial desk to Deputy Editor.” His chair squeaked as he leaned
back, gripping the armrests as if feeling the plush leather for the first time.
“Do you want it, or not?”

Clarissa
swallowed and tucked her dark fringe behind her ear. “Yes, yes, definitely...,”
she stammered, trying to find the right words. “But I have no experience in any
of this...,”

Davenport bounced
up and extended his hand. “Then we have a deal. Don’t worry about the
experience thing, I’m here to show you the ropes,” he said, then winked.
“Besides, you have more talent in your left pinky than Bishop has in his entire
over-inflated ego.”

“But sir, how
will I...,” she said, taking his hand.

Davenport
squeezed gently, then placed his other hand on top of hers. “Clarissa, I’ve
seen your grades. You’re the best Princeton has to offer. You’re
perfect
for this job.” He leaned forward. “And you’ve got talent, I’ve read your stuff,
it’s brilliant.”

She knew she was
good, she refused to screw any professors for better grades. Well, not often.
Clarissa swallowed and blinked twice. She didn’t even have to screw the man.
“Okay, when do I start?” she asked hesitantly.

Davenport let go
of her hand and smiled. “Today,” he said and marched to the door, grabbing a
leather jacket from a coat stand on his way. “Follow me, I’ll give you a tour.”

Clarissa gulped,
then grabbed her leather folder and trotted behind Davenport to catch up.