Ellis Harris Narrative

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Throughout the afternoon sessions, thankfully only two remained after Emily Harris, the image of Ellis Harris lingered. He could still vividly envisage her model features, the manner in which her perky young breasts strained the fabric of her shirt, her luscious blonde hair, smile, youth. and, oh god, that ass. The perfect, tight buttocks that flexed under the thin fabric of her uniform as stood, and which his gaze never left until the office door had closed behind her.

When it had, Dr McHugh not longer attempted to stop the physical reaction her presence had elicited, but embraced it. With Emily out of sight, where he could push aside the sounds anguish in her voice, and the memory of her tear-filled eyes, and the reason she'd been referred to him, The Doctor dropped a hand, and moaned softly when he gripped his erection through the fabric of his trousers, granting
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"You can leave now for the night now, we'll serve it ourselves."


"Leave." Ellis's voice turned stern, and the cheerful expression on the maid's face transformed into one of surprise, before she meekly nodded, and turned her back.

McHugh didn't get to witness the latter, and barely heard the door close, for as he approached Beth, his attention was locked on her. Somehow she looked younger than usual, more attractive, alluring. Like when they'd first met. "Hey baby." Ellis unknotted his tie as he dropped into the seat next to Beth, and threw an arm around her shoulder. "Tedious. A bunch of privileged, assholes suffering first world afflictions; a mother addicted to sleeping pills, and a paranoid schizophrenic hearing the voice of God instructing him to peep into the next door neighbours window. Sometimes I wonder why I bother." No mention of Emily
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