Tit Clinic Protocol: ThePrincessLuxy turns her latex-gloved hands and pillowy chest into medical-grade tools, encouraging a whimpering patient into obsessive tit worship before a precision CBT session that leaves him broken and drooling.

Description: You didn’t walk in here — you crawled. head down, hands trembling, already diagnosing yourself with the worst case of cock i’ve seen all week. i didn’t speak. just slipped on those tight, glossy blue gloves, snapped them once at your eye level, and watched you flinch.then i lean in slow — not to tease, but to announce — revealing the soft, heavy curves you’re not allowed to touch unless i say. and i didn’t say. i commanded you to worship. to press your face between them, to breathe in the vanilla and latex, to let my breasts your pathetic gasps while i measured your pulse with one finger on your throat — too fast, like a scared rabbit. good. then came the inspection: legs open, cock out, balls exposed like you were submitting to a gynecologist from hell. a sharp twist here. a slow crush there. another nut tap one after another, just for good measure. each squeeze timed with a bratty laugh, each whimper logged as clinical data. and through it all, your face stayed buried where it belongs — nuzzling, licking, devouring every inch of cleavage like it’s the only thing keeping you alive. which it is. not because you’re in pain — no, you’d cum from this if i let you — but because you’re owned. fully. medically. legally. my latex-covered fingers, my soft tits, my cold voice — all part of the treatment plan. no penetration. no release. just protocol. and your diagnosis? chronic unworthiness. more worship. more pain. more me.