Testicle spanking Stories

The guidance wing was a sterile corridor of vinyl tile and fluorescent hum, smelling faintly of industrial floor wax and the stale, recycled air of a windowless office block. As Sloan stepped into the inner sanctum of the counselor's office, the atmosphere shifted, thick with the cloying, chemical-heavy scent of a cheap department-store cologne Mr. Aris wore in excess—a pungent mask that failed to hide the underlying scen...