Up For Review:
Untitled (MM)
She never looked up the entire time I spoke, but it was all right because her hair was ten different colors, changing like fish scales in different angles of light, the result of years of weekly hair appointments. Answering her questions, I hovered about the circumsphere of her scalp more fascinated than any spy satellite.
"Please have a seat, the doctor will call you shortly," she said.
So captivated was I that I'd forgotten why I was there in the first place. "Uh, I would like the special service as well."
"Casting?"
"Yeah. I guess."
"That will be thirty-five dollars," she recited and pulled out an invoice form, "charge, cash or personal check with driver's license, made out to Lakeview Leutesklinique."
I pulled two twenties from my wallet and she gave me change from the top drawer without comment, having already dismissed me. So, I took a seat and was three-quarters through an old Sports Illustrated article assuring a swift demise for the tired old Bulls against Indiana's and Utah's crisp play when my virago with the do like the background of a Hostess Steve Garvey 3-D baseball card called me to the front and led me to an examination room.
She handed me a folded bundle, thinner than Saturday's newspaper, and said, "Dr. Raime will join you shortly. In the meanwhile, you'll want to put this on." Alone in that cold little room, I unfolded the turquoise napkin with attached tiestrings and muttered, "No I don't."
I sat my chilly fanny on the little ricepaper covering the vinyl examination table, swinging my feet, staring at my nipples pointing through the paper, eyeing the tongue depressors, contemplating filing one into a knife, when the door opened and I sat upright. I knew a Ramey in school, a fat blond kid who no doubt prejudiced my expectations of my new doctor, and I did a double take as he strode into the room. This Raime was a tall lean Mediterranean, perhaps Lebanese, with beautiful olive skin, dark manicured beard and hair, with a smile of fine lips and bright teeth and eyes, and a touch of silver at his temples.
"Hello. Lorenz Raime." We shook hands and he began writing on his clipboard, adding, "My, you have a nice, big smile."
I did not answer, watching him scribble his notes and thinking how I'd love to rip that ridiculous napkin off my body for him.
"You are here for a checkup," he said, "please stand."
I was a couple inches taller than him, and he seemed impressed. He smelled of ___, the cream used by my father - when I was very young I would lock myself in the bathroom and pretend to shave with it, it smelled so masculine; and later, used it to shave my genitals and underarms of their budding hairs. His cool strong fingers pressed my throat, shoulders and wrists, then reached
beneath my robe to my stomach and hips. I wanted him to slide even further south, to reach under and heft my sack in his palms and stroke my flagpole between his thumbs. I even leaned forward so that my chest rested momentarily against his square shoulder.
He sat me on the examination table while his stethoscope wandered over my back, then sat on a rolling stool and tested my reflexes and fondled my feet. He smiled across the length of my legs; I wanted to inch up my robe and make him smile wider.
"Very good," he pronounced, "Up, please. Please raise your gown." I think I might have accomplished this with no hands, but I used them anyway to show myself. I looked down while he rolled my balls in his fingers. My cock was semi-hard and arced downward like an elephant's trunk in search of saliva. I performed my coughs, and then hoped against hope that a wild notion might seize him to bring those shapely lips home where they belonged, to continue his examination with his tongue.
Instead, he turned slightly to write on his clipboard, my forlorn hips jutted forward in search of his touch. He didn't direct me to lower my robe, so I just stood there dangling freely, trying to will myself rock-hard so that my cockhead would nestle in his hair.
"You are in excellent condition," he said while writing.
I'm fast approaching, sweetie, I thought.
He got up and left the room. When he returned a minute later I was still holding myself exposed. He placed a cylindrical plastic tub on the countertop and motioned me over.
Inside the tub was a pasty white mixture which he stirred with a spatula. My cock extended with my realization. By the time Dr. Ream-Me had prepared the plaster, I stood ripe red and climbing toward the light like a tomato, and when he turned and saw it he could not conceal his grin. "So eager. Very, very good," he said with a touch of admiration that made my prick jerk in excitement as he lowered himself onto the stool so that my hard-on was at face level.
I bobbed in anticipation. He produced a tongue depressor and, holding it expertly between thumb and forefinger, brought the tip of the stick to the base of my cockflesh and very lightly ran the edge along the length of my shaft, tracing the outline of my mushroom head with a flourish. Again and again he brought the stick down and rubbed me to the end, using all the surfaces of the instrument, making me even harder, dragging the tip lightly on my underside all the way to the jumpy skin around my cumhole and then to the base again with the artistry of a maestro's hand on the baton. I ground my teeth and stared at the ceiling until the gown slipped from my shoulders and I threw it aside, standing naked and stoked while this sexy man's expert hands manipulated me as if I were a puppy.
And then, just as the tension mounted and I was only seconds from exploding cum against his lips, the touch of his snakecharmer's fingers disappeared and I felt a tugging on my cock just above my balls. I groaned and looked - I was in a cockring.
The doctor turned to me with the tub of plaster in hand and said, "This will be pleasantly warm," as he slid it over my erection, holding the base and my pubic hair down beneath the flat of one hand while the other jiggled the tub squarely nestled over my prod. The snug pressure around my throbbing muscle made me want to fuck, just a few bold thrusts to loose my load.
He removed his hand from my cock and placed it on the small of my back, ostensibly as a reminder to remain still, hips forward.
He sensed my tension: "Only a couple minutes." I sighed deeply and almost involuntarily. Sympathetically, he patted my back a few times very lightly.
When I could take it no more, smelling his body so close over my shoulder, I reached and placed my hand over his where it held the bottom of the tub against my prick. We remained like that for several seconds. I waited for him to make his move, waited, waited. Finally, his breath on my ear, whispering, "Just a little while longer. Will you need assistance?"
In answer, I leaned back against his chest, and he in turn pressed against me. His fingers on my back crawled lower, past the ticklish spot at the top of my crack and followed the line of my cheeks to my hole. A pair of fingertips flicked on my button, alternating with slow circular massages. After each exquisite rubbing, the fingers became more insistent, prodding at my portal, and then returning again to a delicious caress. I needed him inside me - if not his cock, then his entire arm. My ass pushed to meet him, to welcome him inside. Nevertheless, he held the plaster firmly against my groin, with my help, of course.
When he started fingerfucking me, I almost lost my mind, a firm and continuous rhythm, neither fast nor slow, just two fingers sliding within. I needed him to do me harder, I needed to explode, but he maintained that deliberate pace, those two all-knowing probes touching all the right places in all the right ways, controlling me like one of those plastic bead toys held together by elastic string, collapsing and reassembling according to the whims of whomever manipulates the bottom button. I no longer cared why I was there, I just wanted to be fucked, for him to remove the damned weight from my front so I could repay the favor by decorating his office.
Then suddenly, it was over. Those masterful fingers departed, leaving me crouched in need. I opened my eyes as he slid away the tub. He returned my stare with an awkward grin.
"I shall step out to prepare the specimen," he said, closing the door behind him. I shook my head, staring at my deflating penis.
I should have dressed, but my meat still looked fat and delicious and so ready to fire. I stepped to the stainless steel sink and started stroking my needy knob, so jazzed by my touch, so ripe ready to explode, fucking my fist and reaching back to where the evil doctor had visited, stroking my needy puckerhole.
Dr. Raime when he walked in seemed hardly surprised, just undid his trousers beneath his white coat and let them fall to the ground, stepping forward and taking my hips in his hands. I had really gotten to him. He nibbled lustily on the back of my neck as his drooling tip dipped in my asshole. I needed hard fucking, not foreplay, and pushed against his prod, squirming to work him inside. Raime slid that beautiful shaft deep home, and I felt his big bulb in my furnace and knew he could rub my nasty itch away.
I bent low over the sink to work my pecker and he took advantage of the straight shot and pistoned against me like a desperate animal. He really pushed it on me, putting the heat of friction all along my chute. As my balls churned I waited to feel his bubbling into my stomach.
"Oh fuck," I begged, "fuck me!" The metal basin rang hollowly with the first shots of my eruption, ropes of sperm spraying against the basin.
"Oh ... oh my!"
I turned: it was my girlfriend, the receptionist with the hair like reflective lettering on a "Keep On Truckin'" bumper sticker. I stood, still hurtling white dollops of juice in the sink and three sunken fingers high in my hole. She froze for a second, then scurried from the room. I shrugged and milked my last sweet dribbles, leaning against the counter to avoid collapsing.
Curiously, she averted my eyes when I paid the remainder of my bill and told me my custom-made prosthesis would be available by the end of the week. Luiz was going to love a dildo of Daddy's dick.
When I stepped out of the clinic the winter-spring air smelled light and clear and made me feel quick and mighty. My cock felt alive in my pants. I needed to find Luiz and plow his sweet little bottom.