My Kinky Doctor

When the nurse finished taking my vital signs she said, "Dr. Rosen will be in in a minute," and left the room. I was perched on the examining table in one of those awful gowns that open at the back, which I always thought are specifically designed to humiliate you. I had to wait quite a while, with nothing to do except swing my legs forward and back.

Finally there was a brief knock and the door opened and she came into the room, wearing a white coat and a skirt. "Hello," she said. "I'm Dr. Rosen. It's nice to meet you. What can I do for you today?" She was around thirty-five, about five feet five inches tall, brunette hair down to her shoulders, olive skin, large, brown, very attractive eyes, and a slim, athletic figure. Her lips were full, coated with a rather shiny lipstick. She spoke and moved in a professional manner. She didn't smile, but nonetheless had a pleasant expression. I felt comfortable with her. She sat on a rolling stool in front of the computer and looked at it closely. Her legs were very shapely.

"Just an annual check-up," I said. "I saw another doctor for several years but he stopped taking my insurance."

She nodded knowingly while gazing at the computer screen where, presumably, my medical records were displayed. "I hear that every day," she said. "So, no serious health problems?"

"No, nothing serious."

"Have you had any fatigue, loss of appetite, poor sleep?"

"No."

"Joint pain? Night sweats? Headaches?"

"No, no, and no."

"Good. How's your sexual function?"

"Fine. Mostly."

She looked up with a interested expression. "Some sexual problems?" she asked quite kindly.

"Well, yes. I don't have any trouble getting an erection, but sometimes I'm unable to ejaculate."

"So when you have sex you get aroused, but it doesn't lead to orgasm?"

"Right."

"Does it make any difference whether you're with a partner or masturbating?"

She certainly didn't dance around the subject. She just assumed that I masturbate. Which, okay, I do.

"No, same thing happens. It's pretty frustrating."

"I imagine it is. Well, we can take a look at that and there might be some things we can do that will help you."

She stood up, put on a pair of latex gloves, picked up one of those gadgets with the light on it, and began the examination, shining the light in my eyes, my ears, and my mouth, then pulling out a stethoscope and listening to my heart and my breathing. She felt around my neck with her hands, looking for swollen lymph nodes, I presume, of which thankfully she found none.

"Lie on your back for me, please," she said, and I did so. "I just need to pull this down," she said, grasping the edges of the gown at my shoulders and gently easing it off my arms, turning it down to expose my chest and abdomen. She palpated my abdomen, telling me to let her know if anything hurt, then thumped it a few times. I never understood why they thump you.

"I'm just going to do a quick breast exam," she said, moving her hands toward my chest.

"Breast exam? I'm a guy, remember?"

She smiled. "Yes, but believe it or not, men get breast tumors too. It's rare, but it can happen."

With her fingers she explored the pectoral muscles, systematically circling them, then felt the nipples, gathering them in her fingers and palpating them, then brushing them lightly with the tips of her fingers. "I'm just checking your nipple arousal," she said, "because that's part of normal sexual response. Yes, they're getting a little larger and harder, just like they should." It felt nice, and although I didn't get an erection I could feel my cock stirring, rousing itself as if to look up and say, "What's up, hoss?"

She released my nipples and said, "Stand up for me now, please."

I got up off the table, gathering the gown around my waist. "Let's check your sensitivity," she said. "This may hurt a little." She took my nipples between the thumbs and forefingers of her two hands and squeezed hard, twisting them.

"Ow!"

"Sorry, but I had to check for numbness or poor response. Seems fine. Now let's check your erectile function. Just drop the gown on the table."

I did so and stood before her stark naked. When my hand involuntarily drifted over to modestly cover my cock, now twice its flaccid size and hanging firmly, she said, "It's okay, no need to feel embarrassed. Let's just see how you respond." She reached down and gently cradled my balls, pressing them lightly in turn, then ran her fingers along the underside of the shaft, back and forth, and within seconds I was sporting a tall thick hard-on. "Good," she said, then did something I didn't expect: she gathered my cock and balls together in her hand and held them briefly, in a sort of friendly manner, like you'd hold a kitten.

"Now turn around," she said, "bend over and rest your arms on the examining table so I can check your prostate."

She opened a cabinet and got out a bottle of lubricant and a glass slide, spread some lubricant on her gloved finger and more on my anus, then inserted the finger. "Just relax," she said, and I did my best not to clench my sphincter, but it was the first time a woman had ever put her finger up there and I was a little tense. Her finger poked and probed inside me like a curious little animal, pressing up and down, and now my cock began to throb. Thank god all I could see was the examining table, because it would have been humiliating to have to look at her while she did this.

With her other hand she took the glass side and held it at the tip of my cock, then flexed the finger inside my anus, squeezing my prostate hard.

"It looks to me like you have an inactive prostate," she said as she exited my cavity. "Normally during that test a few drops of fluid should emerge from the penis, but I'm not seeing anything."

"What's an inactive prostate?" I asked, rising from my bent-over posture, still sporting a festive erection.

"The prostate produces seminal fluid and mixes it with the sperm, which forms the ejaculate when you have an orgasm," she said matter-of-factly. "Sometimes the prostate either stops producing fluid, or stops releasing it into the urethra. Your prostate feels firm and a little congested, which means it's full of fluid, but it's just not releasing it.."

"So what can we do about it?"

"Well, it's easy to treat, but it can be a bit painful." She was back in the cabinet, pulling out various implements. "I'll try to be as gentle as I can, but it sometimes takes a little strong handling." She laid the implements on the table, some long thin lengths of metal, a couple of clips, a rubbery sort of thing, and box with wires coming out of it. The wires were attached to leads, like you'd see on an ECG machine. "First, bend over again and we'll see if we can get you loosened up."

I resumed my position leaning over with my arms resting on the table, my hard-on hanging, and she stood a little to my side, one hand resting in the small of my back.

"We'll start with a little spanking to get the blood flowing," she said. "Are you okay with that?"

"Uh, whatever's necessary."

She began smacking my butt with hard, rhythmic strokes, not on my butt cheeks but directly over my anus. She was surprisingly strong. It hurt plenty, and I could feel my skin reddening and getting sore, and my erection was getting even firmer and more prominent. My anus was tingling and my balls jiggled with every smack.

She paused and inserted a finger into my anus. "Good, you're getting looser already," she said. "Just a few more," and true to her word she gave me eight or ten more good hard smacks. When she finished she took her other hand off my back and ran it briefly along the length of my cock, tapping it a little at the tip. "That wasn't too bad, was it?" she asked. "Stay bent over. Spread your legs."

I did so, and she spanked my balls three times. I lurched forward involuntarily from the pain and surprise.

"Now let's see if we can't work directly on that prostate," she said, and I felt something pressing against my anus, widening it, then entering. I supposed it was the rubber thingy I'd seen her pull out of the cabinet. It must have been pretty thick because she had a little trouble getting it inside me, but eventually I was able to let go and suddenly it was in. "Brace yourself," she said, and I gripped the table while she held the end of the rubber probe and worked it back and forth, in and out of me. "This is a prostate massager," she said. "It will help get the fluid flowing again." I was concentrating so much on trying to relax that I couldn't reply. I'm afraid I made little grunting noises as she worked that thing in and out of my ass. It was the first time I'd had anything like that up there.

Finally she stopped, but before she removed it she said, "We need to keep your penis erect throughout this, if we can," and she gave my balls a little stroke. I'm not sure what the purpose was because I had what was probably the biggest, hardest erection of my life.

She withdrew the rubber thing, gently this time. I was glad I was facing away from it because I didn't want to think what might have come out of me onto it. She told me to get up on the table and lie back and I did so, my hard-on flying.

"Remember I said this was going to hurt a little?" she asked. "Unfortunately there's a little more pain. The pain actually helps because it stimulates the nervous system and improves the circulation." With that she took the two clips she'd removed from the cabinet and attached them to my nipples.

I gave an involuntary "Unh!" as she attached them. They hurt plenty, a sharp, pinching sensation that made me close my eyes and arch my back.

"Try to endure it," she said. "But if it gets too bad, let me know."

"Okay," I gasped. All my attention was directed to my nipples, as if that was all that was left of my body.

"Just relax as best you can. I'm going to provide some stimulation for the prostate from the other direction."

I sensed her turn to the table behind her and heard the light clink of metal. I felt her grasp my cock with one hand and something touch the tip. I craned my neck and saw that she held one of the long metal rods at the tip of my cock. It was thin but slightly widened at the tip.

"Just relax," she said again, and began to insert the rod into my urethra. I could feel the wide tip pressing against the membrane, forcing its way inside. It wasn't terribly painful, especially compared with the agony my nipples were enduring, only slightly irritating.

"These rods are called sounds," she said. "This is the thinnest one we use. We'll work our way up gradually." In it went, right to the root of my cock. After several seconds she withdrew it slowly and I felt the irritation traveling upwards along the length of my shaft. That sound was promptly replaced with another, and I could tell immediately from the pain that it was thicker, with an even wider tip. In it went, sending spasms through me, but for some reason keeping me hard rather than deflating my erection, as I would have expected. After a while she removed it carefully and set it aside.

"That might be enough stimulation on your nipples," she said, and moved to the head of the table. "I'm going to take the clips off. This might hurt a bit."

My nipples actually had grown somewhat numb so I wasn't prepared for what happened when she took the clips off. A white bolt of pain shot through me, probably the worst pain I'd endured since my brother kicked me in the balls when I was ten. I let out an involuntary shout of agony. I can't imagine what people out in the hall thought was going on, although I certainly wasn't concerned with that at the time. Fortunately, the pain subsided fairly quickly and I lay back on the table, grateful and relieved.

I asked her why they hurt more coming off than going on and she gave me a long explanation involving nerves and blood vessels, none of which I understood.

She returned to the side of the table and another sound went into my cock, then another. By now they were so thick that they were making me squirm and moan.

"Try not to move too much," she said a couple of times, but I was undergoing such agony that I couldn't help it. All I could do was try to hold my pelvis still while my shoulders and legs writhed involuntarily.

"Okay, last one," she said, and in went the thickest one yet. I arched my back and threw my head back and groaned in agony as it traveled the length of my urethra, pressing against the delicate tissues inside. When she'd gotten it in as far as she wanted she let go of it and, still holding my cock upright with one hand, began to play with my balls with the other. She cradled them in her hand, then rolled them gently between her fingers, stroking and caressing.

I think my brain couldn't make sense of the agonizing pain in my cock and the pleasant sensations in my balls and my mind sort of went blank. I'm not sure, but I might have passed out for a moment. When I came back to myself the probe was out of my cock and she was talking to me.

"Now I'm going to use electrotherapy to try to stimulate the flow of semen," she said. She rubbed some sort of gel onto the two leads and attached one at the base of my cock and the other right in between my balls and my anus. The perineum, I think that area is called. They felt like flat bits of plastic held on with adhesive. "I'll start low and increase the voltage gradually," she said.

At first I felt just a light tickling sensation under the leads, near the surface of my skin, in a pulsing rhythm—starting low and growing stronger for a few seconds, then diminishing, stronger, then weaker, for a minute or so. It was not unpleasant.

"I'm going to turn it up now," she said. I couldn't see what she was doing, but instantly the tickling became more of a throbbing. That continued awhile, then she said, "A little more," and at that point it became a definite electrical sensation. If you've ever been shocked by a faulty appliance, you'll know the feeling I mean. The voltage wasn't nearly as high as household current, of course, but it was that same vibrating feeling, just less intense. It spread from the leads all through my pelvic area. As she turned the voltage higher and higher, I could feel it all through that part of my body, especially inside, up at what I imagined to be the root of my cock.

I've always felt that different pains have different color. Like burning yourself, that's red. Getting an abrasion, like a scraped knee, that's a green pain. This pain, this electric pulsing, was blue, a dark blue bolt driving into me as if it were going to scramble my insides.

Higher and higher the voltage went until with each pulse I tossed on the table, uttering little groans. She told me not to move my legs but I couldn't help it, each pulse made me writhe as it hit. The pauses in between the pulses were hardly any relief because instead of relaxing I was anticipating the next pulse. Time slowed and I forgot everything in the world except the electricity pulsing through my body.

I'd wanted to do well for her. She was attractive, and she was kind, and she was there to help me, and I'd wanted to cooperate with her treatment, to be a good patient, to win her approval. I'd made myself vulnerable to her, standing naked in front of her and enduring the pain and humiliation and the experience left me deeply attached to her. I didn't imagine there was anything romantic between us, I knew that was out of the question, but I wanted so badly to serve her and to please her. But I had reached the limit of what I could endure and despite every wish to let it go on I begged her to stop.

To my amazement, she didn't. "I know it's hard," she said sympathetically. "But you need a little more." And she turned up the voltage.

My moans were louder now, coming from deep inside my chest, and I was almost afraid for my life. I thought it might electrocute me or give me a heart attack. With each pulse the wave of vibration penetrated my cock, my testicles, my rectum, and left me in anguish, only to be followed immediately by another. My breath came in gasps and I shut my eyes tight, arching my back, flailing with my arms.

Seconds before I was going to beg for mercy, it stopped.

I lay back on the examining table, grateful for the relief, spent from the trauma of what she had done. And secretly proud. Although I had begged her to stop, I had endured and come through it. I hoped she was pleased with me.

As I lay there exhausted she removed the leads, then grasped my penis and testicles in her fingers and palpated them gently. "Are you okay here?" she asked. "Any lingering pain?" She pressed my cock up against my abdomen, I guess to examine the underside, cradling my balls in her hand. "You look fine," she said. "You did well."

And a wave of happiness washed over me.

"Let's test it now and see if that treatment did the trick." She helped me to my feet and told me to stand facing the examining table, bent slightly over it. She put a little glass dish on the table in front of me and told me to aim my cock toward it, then circled my cock with her thumb and forefinger and gave it four firm jerks. That's all it took to induce the most intense orgasm of my life. My hips thrust of their own accord, I moaned from deep within, the world fell away, and from the tip of my cock poured thick, creamy ejaculate, shooting out in little pulses into the dish. She kept jerking me until she was sure my orgasm was finished and then let go.

"Good," she said. "It's extra-thick because it's been held inside you so long, but that's normal. You okay?"

I was leaning against the table, breathing hard, but I nodded that Yes, I was okay. I was utterly drained. I've never felt such relief.

She handed me a tissue to wipe up with. "You can relax a minute, then get dressed when you're ready," she said, and went to the computer and began typing in her notes.

I began pulling my clothes on, moving slowly and carefully like a drunk, dazed from what I'd been through. My nipples were sore and hurt when my shirt brushed against them. My cock felt sore inside, too, and I could guess that I was in for some painful urination for the next few days.

When I found my voice I asked, "So what causes an inactive prostate?"

She looked up with a puzzled expression. "What do you mean?" she asked.

"You said I had an inactive prostate, I was wondering what would cause it."

She laughed. "Oh, Hrolf," she said, "there's no such thing. I made that up."

"You what?!"

She laughed again. "I felt like having some fun, and that was my excuse. Don't worry about your prostate, your prostate is fine."

I was sputtering in disbelief. "So that wasn't a medical treatment?"

"Of course not," she said. "But you will need a follow-up appointment. How's Thursday for you?"