Injured Girl Mistakenly Enters Underworld Clinic

She limped through the rain, clutching her bleeding arm. The neon cross of the ‘black clinic’ flickered like a cheap whore’s promise. Inside, the air stank of antiseptic and sweat. A gaunt man in a bloodstained lab coat grinned, his yellowed teeth a warning she was too desperate to heed. He locked the door. ‘Don’t worry,’ he hissed, ‘I’ll fix you up real good.’ His fingers traced the wound, then slid lower, groping her thigh. She whimpered, but he only pressed harder, forcing her onto the cold steel table. The exam was a violation—his cold stethoscope, his probing fingers, his cock swelling against her hip as he ‘checked for fractures.’ She was trapped, a broken doll in a pervert’s playroom.