Dark hair tumbling across the pillow, the middle-aged woman works her own pussy with slow, deliberate strokes. Each pull of her fingers draws a soft gasp, her back lifting off the sheets. The room smells like latex and sweat as she bites her lip, thighs trembling. A shadow of a beard passes the doorframe, but she doesn’t stop, not even when the stethoscope slips free and clatters to the floor.
