Under Fire

In the dim glow of his office, Doctor Janos Volt eyes his latest batch of recruits with the sharp precision of a man climbing the ranks. His career's just hitting its stride, but discipline demands a personal touch. The door swings open. Newcomer Andras Brandl steps in, all fresh-faced eagerness and taut uniform. Janos feels the pull, undeniable. He sheds his white coat first, then his shirt, buttons scattering like afterthoughts. Pants follow, pooling at his ankles. Naked now, his body a map of authority and want, he locks the door with a click that echoes promise. Andras freezes, eyes widening at the sight of his superior's arousal, thick and insistent. Janos closes the distance in two strides, his hand firm on the recruit's shoulder. 'Strip,' he commands, voice low and edged with hunger. Andras obeys, fumbling with his belt, shirt yanked over his head to reveal smooth, unscarred skin. Boots hit the floor. Pants slide down, freeing his own hardening length. Janos pushes him against the exam table, the metal cool against Andras's back. He grips the young man's thighs, spreading them wide. No gloves, no barriers—just raw intent. His mouth claims Andras's cock first, tongue swirling the tip before taking him deep, throat working with expert rhythm. Andras gasps, fingers twisting in Janos's hair. But the doctor craves more. He rises, positions himself, and thrusts in hard, burying to the hilt in one slick, unrelenting drive. Andras arches, a moan ripping free as Janos sets a punishing pace—deep strokes that grind against every sensitive spot. Sweat slicks their bodies. Janos's hands pin Andras's wrists above his head, dominating the rhythm. He leans in, breath hot against the recruit's ear. 'This is your medicine,' he growls, hips snapping forward. Pleasure builds like a storm, coiling tight. Andras comes first, spilling hot between them with a shattered cry. Janos follows, pulsing deep inside, marking his charge with a final, shuddering release. They slump together, breaths ragged in the quiet aftermath. Janos pulls out slow, a satisfied smirk curling his lips. Duty calls, but so does desire—and he's just getting started.