“You are fifty,” the consultant said as he examined the scan of my knee. “Not twenty.”

Tell me about it. I'm sitting in a wheelchair, in his consultation room, my leg sticking straight out in front of me, the knee joint swollen to the size of a football. I had decided to hop over a five-bar gate rather than go to all the trouble of opening and closing it. The knee hadn't quite exploded on the landing side but had come close, the consultant said as he pointed out various things on the image.

“We will wait a day or two for the swelling to go down and then give you a new knee.”

That was five weeks ago, and I’m on the road to recovery. My physio is from Ghana, her skin a dark brown that glows with life.

“Right, Nick, this is your last but one session. Next week should see you free of my torture chamber,” Kele said as she sat opposite me.

Kele has a lovely smile, eyes that sparkle and breasts that are always fighting the restraint of her white smock top. I’ve enjoyed my time with her, mostly because she’s easy on the eye and has a great body.

“I wouldn’t call it torture,” I said. “You’ve worked wonders for me.”

She smiled. “You said you had an office job, but I never asked what you actually do?”

“I’m a writer.”

“Really?” She looked interested. “What sort of writing?”

“Fantasy and horror mostly, with a sideline in something else thrown in. I have pen names to keep them all separate so readers don’t get confused as to what genre they are reading.”

“And you make a living from it?”

“Enough to keep a roof over my head.”

“Fascinating. I’ve never met an author before. Will I have heard of you?”

I told her my author names, and Kele shook her head.

“Sorry, fantasy and horror aren’t my thing. What about that sideline you mentioned?”

“Oh, that’s something else.”

“Like what?” Kele asked with a glance at the wall-mounted clock. We still have a few minutes left of my appointment.

I sighed. “It’s awkward, forget I mentioned it.”

“Ooh.” Kele leaned forward. “I’m interested now.”

“Not everyone would approve,” I said.

“Why?”

“It’s erotic fiction.”

Kele threw her head back and laughed. “What, like Fifty Shades of Grey?”

“Not really.” I thought about how to explain. “Fifty Shades of Grey was trad published.”

Kele frowned. “What does that mean?”

“It means a publisher like Doubleday or Random House paid for all the printing and distribution, but because it was out in bookshops, it was kind of tame when compared to erotic fiction that’s published on the web.”

“I liked it,” Kele said.

“That’s good. There was nothing wrong with it. It was just very mild on the spicy scale.”

Kele looked thoughtful. “I’m intrigued. What’s your pen name for those stories?”

“Oh, I don’t think you would like them much. I mean, there’s nothing illegal, all the characters are old enough and give consent, it’s more subject matter.”

“What subject matter?” She’s leaning forward, and I’m fighting the urge to look at her fat breasts where they’re straining her top.

“It’s not for everyone,” I said, knowing I was fighting a losing battle. “You might find it shocking.”

“I grew up in Ghana,” Kele said. “I saw my mother give birth to three of my siblings in our front room. Nothing can shock me after seeing that.”

She handed me a pad and a pen. “Write down your pen name and the website where I can find your stories.”

Very reluctantly, I did as asked. “Don’t blame me if it’s not your cup of tea.”

Kele’s smile dazzled me. “I won’t.”

###

A week later, I’m back in reception, and for once, the place is as quiet as a grave. The receptionist is in her early twenties, slim, with red hair spilling in curls down her back. Her name tag tells me to call her Alison.

“Why’s the place so quiet?” I ask her as she checks my name off her list.

“All the other physios are on house calls today. Kele is the only one in.”

“Less work for you.” I take a seat. “Most of the folk I see here could do with hearing aids as well as new knees and hips.”

“Tell me about it." Alison laughs. “I say the same thing half a dozen times to some of them, and it still doesn’t get through.”

A recorded voice sounds out from hidden speakers, cutting off my reply, and I’m told to go to room 8.

“Room 8?” I get to my feet. “Kele’s the only physio in, and she’s in the room furthest away?”

Alison shrugs, “She must think you need the exercise.”

I trek down to room 8 and enter. Kele has two chairs arranged and points at me to sit in front of her, close enough that our knees are almost touching.

“You,” Kele says, “are a very naughty boy.”

Which is when I remember giving her my pen name and a couple of websites. “Oh.”

"Yes." Her face is stern as she raises a hand and starts to tick off her fingers. “Vaginal sex, anal sex, oral sex. Hand jobs, boob jobs, foot jobs. Couples, throuples, orgies. Dads with daughters, mothers with sons, girls with strap-ons, and spanking. Need I go on?”

“I did try to warn you.”

Kele puts a hand on one of my knees. “I can’t lie, I enjoyed them.”

“You did?”

Her hand slips up my thigh as she leans forward to whisper. “I had to buy a vibrator, thank god for next-day delivery.”

“Kele…” I’m looking at how high her hand has reached. My cock is getting hard, and she’ll find out how hard out soon enough.

“Tell me.” She is close enough that I can feel the warmth of her breath on my face. “Are any of your stories based on real life?”

“Only the one I haven’t written yet.” Kele frowns, not understanding until I reach out, cup one of her magnificent breasts, and squeeze it. “The one where I fuck my physiotherapist in her treatment room.”

Kele’s eyes widen in shock and excitement as her hand makes that last move and discovers the solid length of my shaft. “Oh, my.”

I’m wearing tracksuit bottoms; they’re best when working on the treadmill or having my joints manipulated. What’s getting manipulated right now is my cock. Kele’s hand is working up and down, feeling every centimetre of me from base to crown. Pre-cum is already leaking into my briefs. Kele’s white uniform smock buttons down the front, and I’m popping the fastenings open. My eyes are feasting on the rich, dark flesh of her cleavage as it’s revealed. Her bra is front-fastening and underwired to support those fat, round breasts.

“Show me,” she says, already breathless and tugging at the waistband of my bottoms.

I push them and my briefs down. Her fingers wrap around my cock.

“Oh, just like I imagined,” Kele says.

I unhook her bra. “Oh, fuck, you’re beautiful.”

Her breasts spill out, nipples fat stalks that make my mouth go dry. Kele strips off her smock and bra, cups her boobs, and drops to her knees.

“Ready?”

I lean back in my chair and watch my cock disappear into her cleavage. Firm flesh grasps me, works me. Kele is watching my face, smiling at my reaction as she massages her tits against my cock. Dear god but I can already feel cum filling my shaft.

I stop her movement, give a nipple a pinch, and then kiss her.

“I want to taste you.” I put a hand down between her legs and squeeze her mound.

Kele needs no second invitation. She stands and strips off her slacks. Her panties follow. I can see a slim slit of pink flesh as she puts a foot up on my chair. Her sex is steaming, ready for my tongue as I lean forward and kiss her outer lips. Kele spreads for me, leaking juice onto my face, her hands at the back of my head, urging me closer. My tongue works her slit, laps onto her clit, and she yelps in delight and almost falls.

“Fuck, damn it.” Kele wobbles again, and I just about keep her upright. “I need to lie down.”

The treatment table is metal with a thin mattress on top. Kele jumps onto it with a clatter, lifting her knees to expose herself. The contrast between dark outer skin and the soft pink of her inner flesh makes my cock jump as I grab her hips and drag her close.

I think I growl as I bury my face into her sex. I know Kele howls, and the way her body dances on the table makes metal rattle and bang against the wall. I’ve got a clit between my lips and three fingers buried in her, fucking her soaking pussy hard. She’s coming, and not quietly. A little part of me hopes the room is soundproofed as she floods my hand with her cum.

“Now, please, now…” Kele is clawing at me, pulling me up onto the treatment table. She grabs my cock, and pumps it before guiding me in.

The relief is instant. The need to fuck her is irresistible. Kele’s arms and legs are wrapped around me, her breasts bouncing up into my face as I thrust hard—the table slips, wobbles, and rattles. Kele lets go, slapping my back, begging for more. I give it to her, my cock hot and hard, hands filling themselves with the fat flesh of her breasts. I need a nipple in my mouth and take one,  stretch it with my teeth, and Kele hits another high. My cock can no longer hold my load, and I’m cumming, spurting deep into her as she lifts her hips to take it.

“Oh, fuck, yes, fuck, yes, I needed that.” Kele is almost laughing beneath me. “A vibrator is all well and good, but nothing beats a real cock.”

I push her boobs together and bury my face in her cleavage. We’re like that for a few minutes, coming down from our mutual high until Kele says,

“I have to clean up so I can be ready for my next appointment.”

Which is the signal for me to climb off and help her down from the table; I can see some of my cum on her inner thigh where it’s leaked out of her. My knee isn’t hurting, and that’s a good thing, as I get dressed. By the time I’m done, Kele is ready as well.

“So, Nick, I’m afraid that’s your last appointment.” Kele is all businesslike. “If you could let Alison know she doesn’t need to book you in next time.”

“Right.” I want to say more, but Kele seems happy enough to leave it at that.

“And if you do write this as one of your stories, you can use my name. It will give me that extra thrill when I read it.”

“No problem.” I try to make it sound like this is an everyday occurrence for an erotic fiction writer. “And thank you for the inspiration.”

I head back down to reception, rearranging my face so it doesn’t look like I just fucked my physio. It’s when I get there that I realise the treatment rooms have no soundproofing. An elderly man is next up; he’s staring at me with a deep frown, shaking his head slowly in disgust. Alison is blushing bright pink to the roots of her hair. She doesn’t meet my eyes as I say,

“Kele said that’s my last appointment. No need to book me in again.”

“Right.” Still no eye contact.

I’m about to leave when she slaps a card down on the counter. I pick it up and see a phone number written on it. Now Alison glances up and mouths “call me”, before her attention returns swiftly to her monitor. I look at the card with a grin. Maybe the lack of soundproofing would turn out to be a good thing after all.