Bad Medicine Chronicles Ch. 01

"I never explained the possibility because it never presented itself before. Please, stop fidgeting and listen to me. Mrs. Baker, what I'm about to ask of you is extremely important. I require that you pull his penis to the side, reach under his scrotum and lift it up into the light so I can assess his condition."

"What? I'll do no such thing. That's disgusting!"

"This is a critical medical situation and your refusing to render aid? I'm appalled that your squeamish over touching your son's genitals. Honestly, I can't help him without your assistance. You have no choice. Do it!"

The mother was taken aback by the inflexible directive. It was difficult to counter the woman's request with an opposing argument. She was hesitant to follow through. There had to be an alternative.

A solution came to her. She said, "I'll call for an ambulance and get him to the hospital."

"Mrs. Baker, you still don't understand. There's two reasons why outside parties can't be involved in this medical crisis. First, there's no time. Second, the drug's experimental. Information about it is controlled. That's why you're required to sign a non-disclosure agreement. Your son's participation in this program necessitates complete secrecy. How would you explain his condition to emergency staff? If this were made public, your family would be financially ruined. There's severe legal consequences from the action you've suggested. You've no alternative. Either do as I ask or your son may die."

Those words caused the mother to frantically exclaim, "Die? Oh my god, how? I don't understand. Okay, I'll do it. I'll help!"

The therapist's right, she thought, this is a serious medical situation and I've no reason to feel embarrassed for touching him. It's not sexual, it's medically necessary to diagnose the seriousness of his condition.

The mother moved to stand beside her son, but found it difficult to act. The calming effect of the tea wasn't helping her nervousness over the situation. She needed guidance.

"What was it you needed me to do? I seem to be in a tizzy over this. Please explain?"

The therapist instructed her to squat beside him while facing the camera.

She averted her eyes when they became level with his crotch.

The therapist then directed her to reach with both hands and grasp his flaccid penis with one hand and the engorged scrotum with the other.

The awkwardness of the task made her dreadfully uncomfortable. She redirected her thoughts towards the wall clock and awaited the diagnosis.

So concerned with her son, was she, that she paid little heed to the fact that diverting her hands to grasp his genitals would cause her to release her clasp on the enveloping bath towel.

She yelped with a start when it unraveled from her body. In her squatted position, the posture of her knees caused the towel to part at the cleavage and it plunge to the floor behind her.

Her body shivered. She couldn't help but imagine the sight of herself squatting naked beside her son while holding his enlarged jewels towards the camera. It was a disturbing vision that caused her heart to race. She rationalized that at this particular time, modesty wasn't important when your son's condition required immediate attention.

The apprehensive mother said, "Andy's balls feel so abnormally large and heavy. Argh, I feel his testicles moving and it's making me nauseous. Please, hurry."

With her gaze fixed on the clock, her face contorted in revulsion.

The therapist expressed verbal cues that signified her analyzing the ailment. "Ahah—Ahah, yes, that's it. Lift them a bit higher. Hold."

She followed the therapist's commands, which had her shifting her stance while maneuvering his scrotum for visual inspection.

After a period of time, that analytical twaddle had faded to silence.

The ending instruction had repositioned her stance into an obscene squatted pose. She hadn't yet realized the depravity of that perverse display. Presently, it simply made her uncomfortable and caused her to shuffle her toes. Her heated complexion marked a rising annoyance with the mission in hand.

The continued silence drove her to anxiously watch the needle on the clock as it repetitively rounded the number twelve.

This evaluation is taking far longer than reasonably expected, she thought.

In aggravation, she casually glanced down at herself and noted the sexually explicit posture that left her knees splayed and her sex fully displayed with a defined gape.

To find herself in such a pose was beyond demoralizing. The very idea that she had held that stance for over four minutes while holding her son's cock and balls was the apex of humiliation.

Her patience ended.

She stood and glared heatedly at the manipulative box.

In an outburst, she exclaimed, "What the hell is going on? You should've diagnose his condition by now. How could leave me in such an undignified posture? I'm so fucking humiliated. How could you? Damn-it, I'm not fucking happy with any of this. Either explain yourself or were done with this farce. Fucking answer me or—"

The sudden burst of irradiated sound blasted from the speakers and caused the mother to flinch.

Immediately after, the therapist said with humility, "Oh dear, I'm truly sorry. I do apologize. I rushed to the bathroom and simply forgot to tell you. Oh yes, I certainly saw the truth of your statement. I most definitely agree. If I observed myself naked and squatting obscenely in such a manner while holding a young man's dick and balls, it would make me feel unpleasantly filthy and sinful. The shame from such a tasteless act would weigh heavily upon me. I can't imagine why you remained in that demeaning pose. I'd assumed you'd have known that I completed my diagnosis. As for my assessment of his condition, I ask that you look for yourself and tell me what color his nuts are."

"How was I to know. . . What? Color? I held his genitals up so you could determine his condition. Couldn't you see the color?"

The voice from the tiny speakers said, "Mrs. Baker, listen to me, look at his balls and tell me what color they are."

"Argh, okay." Reluctantly, she cast her eyes downward.

What she saw was disturbing. It wasn't their abnormal state nor the dramatic flush of the skin that unsettled her. It was the very idea that she held them in her hands and had given no thought to their tint. Recollection of their color prior to being asked to identify it seemed out of reach. Why hadn't she notice it before? A vivid hue such as this would have stood out and been easily noticeable.

She nervously said, "Dark blue."

"I asked you to look because it was important that you observe the seriousness of his condition. Having blue balls is life-threatening. I fear it's much worse than expected. Certainly, the enlargement of his testicles is awful, but the fact that they're the color of a grape places him in a precarious position that necessitates immediate care."

With concern, the mother exclaimed, "What do you mean? What's wrong with my son?"

"The medication's influenced a hormonal shift in his biology. His testicles are producing an overabundance of sperm at an alarming rate. That fact alone doesn't concern me. It's what'll happen if all that compressed and creamy seed continues to amass. The end result will be catastrophic. His scrotum will explode from the pressure and he'll bleed to death from the rupture."

The mother cried out, "Oh my god!"

The therapist continued, "Yes, it would be best to pray. However, I have a solution. My prognosis to save him is aberrant and the method I suggest is unorthodox. Frankly, his nuts need to be emptied of all that accumulating sperm. There's no alternative to what I'm suggesting as the reasonable course of action. I certainly know how dreadful that sounds, but it's your duty as a mother to save your son."

The therapist's words were shocking. If what the woman said was true, then her son's condition was unnaturally induced and the method diagnosed to resolve it was unconventional with a slant towards absurdity.

The tone of the mother's words implied hysteria. She screeched, "What are you saying? Save him? How can I possibly help him? He needs to go to a hospital immediately!"

"No time, I'm afraid. They can't help him. They'll overreact and surgically remove both testis because they won't understand the nature of his condition. Do you truly wish your son to wake up and find his precious stones had been detached and discarded? You'll be the one he'll blame. He'll despise you. Can you live knowing that you devastated his future? All of this will occur because you made an impulsive and improper decision. Only you have the biology to be effective. Didn't you state that you'll do anything possible to help your son with his treatment?"

"Oh Lord, Oh Lord. Yes, I said I'd do anything, but you've taken it out of context from my meaning and twisted it to meet your intended solution. Do you not see how immoral it is? I feel pressured. I don't know. Oh god, what am I to do?"

"I've provided you with the answer that will save him. You've no choice. If you love him, you'll save him. The only solution is to empty his balls of all that compressed cream. That process requires that he shoot his load. He can't ejaculate without an erection. His current state makes it impossible to do himself. For him to get an erection, it'll require sexual stimulation. Unfortunately, you're the only person in the room."

"Oh god, I don't know. I'm his mother, it feels so sinful to do such a thing. Is there no other way?"

"Listen, I understand the moral sensitivities that impedes your ability to accept this. However, you need to understand that what your being asked to do isn't sexual. Your action is simply a medical necessity that requires an unusual approach to save his life. Trust me, he won't remember what you've done when he wakes. For your own wellbeing, it's essential that you accept the deed as being crucial to resolving a crisis. I hope that's easier to swallow, so to speak."

"Oh god, I don't want to do this, but I can't let him die. I'll do what I can. What am I to do?"

"You're a woman, I'm sure you'll figure it out, but first, I suggest jerking him off. The proper form would be for you to sit on the edge of the bed between his legs. It'll be more comfortable for you to manipulate his penis. Since you're naked already, it'll provide a visual incentive for arousal. However, he'll definitely need physical stimulus for this to work. Don't be alarmed, I'm changing my speech to reflect less clinical terminology. It's my belief that talking sexually will encourage an appropriate response. It would also be advantageous for you to adopt a similar form of speech."

"This isn't any form of rational therapy I've ever heard of. This whole idea is crazy and it doesn't feel right. I'm seriously uncomfortable doing this. There has to be another way."

"This isn't a normal ailment that follows any clinical guidelines. The urgency of the situation provides no formal alternative. The only logical course of action is to get his cock hard by applying direct physical stimulation. Remember, your goal is to make him ejaculate. Otherwise, his scrotum will burst from the intense pressure. What I'm about to say is gruesome, but I need you to imagine a young child placing a live hamster in a microwave. Oh, never mind, your expression implies that you know the outcome. If you want grandchildren, I suggest that you work harder."

"Oh my lord, this is so filthy. He's not reacting to me. His dick is still flaccid. I don't know what I'm doing wrong."

"Give it time. A cock requires persistent attention to give rise to the expected outcome. Keep working your hand up-and-down his limp prick. You're doing fine from what I can tell. Try touching his balls with your other hand."

The mother's mouth scrunched up and her eyes shifted about the room to avoid staring at her working hands. She began to imagine how she looked from the side as she jerked him off. That visual imagery was unsettling.

How much longer? she thought. I can't do this forever. Am I having any effect on him?

There had to be some clue as to whether her hand job was working. She tilted her head to look at his face.

Her actions froze.

Andy was staring down at her nudity. Specifically, her breasts and the dark mound between her legs.

"Oh my god, this is so fucking humiliating. Andy's ogling my pussy! This isn't right, it's wrong to allow this. Do you hear me? My son's staring at me!"

She closed her thighs tight and placed both arms across her breasts to hide her nipples.

A loud chirp emitted from the box.

Shortly after, the therapist's voice blared angrily from the multifunctional device. "Mrs. Baker, what's wrong with you? Don't hide your nudity from him and especially don't close your legs. For Christ sake, let him see his mother's twat. It's visual enticement, remember. Young men need to see a woman's boobs and pussy. It turns them on. Have you forgotten your objective? I told you, he won't remember seeing your impropriety. It's essential that you open your legs wide to display your hairy gash."

The mother was disturbed by that insistent woman's words. The whole discourse was bizarre and twisted. It was clear to her that exhibiting herself in such a manner was outrageous. How did she allow herself to be backed against a wall? Why was she given only one solution? Why was it difficult to create one of her own?

In many ways, she understood the intent of the deed and what it was meant to achieve. She agreed that it made sense if morbidly interpreted as such. However, what she was being asked to accept was too extreme. The act was too vulgar and it produced doubt.

In her agitated state, she worked up the nerve to express her concern. "You've got to be joking me? Your trying to justify the sin as therapeutic necessity to relieve his condition. Do you not see how wrong this is? Displaying myself in such a deviant manner is unacceptable. Allowing him to stare at my pussy is sick. God-damn-it, I'm his mother."

The voice that replied was smug and patronizing. "You've brought it up so often that I feel it's an attempt to convince yourself that you're his mother. Personally, I see it as a stone that weighs down your hand and inhibits your ability to act. Now more than ever, the young man needs you. You refuse because showing your coochie to him violates your sensitivities and makes you feel naughty. Bah, I see your concerns misplaced and irrational. You've placed your morality above what's required to save his life. Your refusal to act is damming. If Andy dies from your inaction, how do you explain to your husband that his gonads exploded because you failed to fulfill your promise? A mother would do what's necessary. I've told you, there's no alternative. It's not a sin to display your nudity to your son if it saves his life. Are we not born into this world naked and on display? It's a backward society and a frigid culture that determines what's moral and those codes of decency change like the flip of a coin. It's essential that you get him hard. It's a known fact that the longer you do it, the easier it becomes to accept. We're wasting crucial time discussing your aversions to the unseemly task. Do it!"

The therapist's unyielding persuasion to justify the perversion caused her to relent. Regardless of the woman's attempt to validate the sin, she felt horrible over the wicked act she now performed. What was wrong with her? Why was it becoming increasingly difficult to take any other decisive action that was contrary to the course laid before her by the therapist? Again, why did she so easily accept the idea that there was no other alternative?

With one hand manipulating his penis and the other massaging his balls, she scooted forward to exhibit her motherly charms.

***

Unwelcome Changes

Other than her difficulty at making decisions, Karen was keenly aware that something disturbing was happening to her. The pleasant tingle in her loins was a sign of that. This was motivation enough to make her work harder at the task.

As earlier, her thoughts drifted to visual imagery of herself sitting naked with her hands wrapped around her son's dick. She felt herself begin to moisten. That betrayal caused her skin to flush red.

She made the attempt to change the scenario playing in her head to something distasteful that would distract her thoughts. When she altered the fantasy, she imagined herself reaching down between her open legs to spread her nether lips.

She screamed, "No, I can't keep doing this! This needs to stop, before I—Damn-it. I don't know what to do. He's not getting hard. I don't know why it's not working. He's in crisis and needs help, but I've failed to give him an erection. I don't see any other choice. He needs to go to a hospital. This needs to end!"

The therapist decided it was best to shift the mother's thoughts from rationalizing her situation by fueling the urgency. "I promise that his dreadful condition will end if you follow my guidance. You need to listen to me, his circumstances have worsened. It's an unwelcome change in his condition and there's no time. Even if he made it to a hospital, do you truly believe a doctor would jerk your son off? That's foolish, a physician would never do such a thing. It's simply ludicrous. Perhaps a nurse would, but do you really want to take that chance. How many times do we need to discuss this?"

"I can't go on. Please, don't make me do this."

"Your continued reluctance to do what's necessary is discouraging. A mother would save her son. Now listen to me, I feared that your balmy hand on his dick wouldn't be enough. I'm convinced that a different approach must be taken. Most assuredly, something warm and wet around his cock will produce the proper result. I see no alternative."

"Are you insane? I don't understand. I don't know—so confused. What are you suggesting? You're not implying that I put him in my mouth? My god, that's even more perverse than jerking him off."

"Yes, that's exactly what's required. Even though he's in a sleep like state, he still sees everything clearly. Most assuredly, watching his mother wrap her moist lips around the shaft of his dick will make him hard."

"No, this is madness. You can't be serious. I can't suck his dick. A mother giving her son a blowjob is wrong. Just the thought—Oh god, it's fucking sick. Just jerking him off made me get we—fuck. I don't know what I'm saying. Forget it, I'm blabbering."

The therapist's calmly said, "Hon, relax. You're just agitated. Listen, we once had a President state that receiving and giving blowjobs wasn't sex. He depicted the act as a simple handshake. Do you understand? Sucking dick isn't a big deal. It's like giving your son a pleasant greeting. If you view it from that perspective, it may be easier to accept. I'm sure you've given your husband plenty of blowjobs. Just think of it as another man's cock in your mouth. I'm sure you've had several over your lifetime. If it helps, close your eyes and think of him as your husband. Answer honestly, does sucking your husband's cock arouse you?"

"Why did you ask me such a question? What does that have to do with Andy's situation? Damn-it, yes, I do. I become aroused when I give oral sex. I can't help it. The act turns me on. That's why I can't do this. The simple fact that it's my son you're asking me to pleasure orally makes this difficult to accept. I couldn't live with the knowledge that I became—argh, you know exactly what I'm trying to say. You can't ask this of me. I won't do it. I simply can't do as you ask."

The therapist's voice was meant as accusation, but it's tone was spoken as if to tease. "Admit it, you like being nasty and the very idea of having your son's cock in your mouth makes you cream, doesn't it?"