Chapter 3: Second Appointment
Note the following is a work of fiction and has no basis in actual medical fact.
The same handsome hunk sits behind the counter. A sliding glass window separates him from the rest of us in the waiting room. The window stands open at the moment, or at least half of it does, but could easily be slid closed at the slightest disturbance. I suppose he shuts it to silence the petty conversations and complaints from waiting patients. It could also be so he and the doctor can have private conversations about a particular patient. Whatever the reason, it continues to stand half-open. He makes no move to close it.
The handsome young man smiled at me when I first walked up. He even remembered my name and acted pleased at my return. It gave me a thrill, this hot guy remembered little ol’ me, but then I recalled the fact I did have an appointment. My name was probably displayed right in front of him on his computer screen. No wonder he knew; but still, I liked to hear him say it. Just talking to the guy gave me a thrill.
I notice he continues to glance at me every few seconds from behind the counter. Not stare, but he glances over as if checking me out. Two other people sit in the waiting room along with me, but they are men. He doesn’t give them any notice. Just me, which I like! I also like the fact the doctor has a male receptionist. I think this curious, intriguing, and wonder if it has any significance.
I don’t wear anything provocative to give him notice: A white blouse and mid-length skirt. It’s a spring outfit, short sleeves, light fabric, and with a low neckline – but not low enough to show cleavage. The only aspect of the outfit that anyone might consider provocative is the outline of the small black bra I wear beneath. I wonder if this is what the man behind the counter sees, the outline of the bra and the knowledge of its small size. Perhaps he pictures me without the blouse when he looks up. Or maybe he tries to imagine me in even less, like topless, wearing nothing at all to cover my large chest.
“Katie!”
My lustful thoughts are interrupted by the sound of my own name. I jump in reaction, expecting to see my husband but then realize it comes from the receptionist.
“Yes,” I automatically get up and go to him.
“About your husband,” He starts to say and then stops in mid-sentence, as if distracted. “What I mean to say is that it’s 3:15 PM. Are you sure he had the right time?”
“He has the right time,” I assure him.
“Because your appointment was at 3:00 PM,” He says what I already know.
I suddenly realize the reason for his distraction. I am leaning over the counter as if wanting to speak to him about some private information. In the process of doing so, he has a clear view into my open blouse, at my plunging breasts.
“I just called him before coming over myself,” I tell him, not bothering to rise, pretending not to realize it, and allowing him to look. “Maybe he’s stuck in traffic. Sometimes he has a last minute detail to finish up at work.”
“Of course,” He accepts graciously. “I just wanted to let you know if you wanted to maybe call to remind him, but if you already did so…”
I smile back with the realization of where he looks. It makes me feel naughty, even sexy, just like the way I felt at work when the male customers looked into my cleavage. His eyes seem unable to pull away. It provides me a sense of power at what I do to him.
“Or maybe he’s just a little shy about coming back for a second appointment,” I add in an attempt to lengthen the conversation and extend the feeling. Normally I would rise with embarrassment at the realization of a man staring down my blouse, but this handsome young receptionist proves too tempting.
“A lot of the husbands are,” He leans forward in his chair and speaks in a private whisper just to me. “What I mean is, many husbands are naturally reluctant at what the doctor has planned for their wives.”
I recoil back up to a standing position. He knows! Of course he knows! He knows why I am here. He probably has my medical record displayed on the computer monitor before him. He might even know more about the procedure than me, but still it embarrasses me.
“Take those two men,” His eyes move past me, finally looking up out of my cleavage. He points to the only other people in the waiting room, two men who sit on either end of the gaudy-looking chase lounge. “Their wives are getting treatments right now, in back.”
“Really?” I find this interesting. “Treatments?” I ask stupidly, but of course I know exactly what he means. One of the men reads a magazine. The other must be more experienced because he came prepared with a book. They sit with casual assurance, acting as if everything is normal. I wonder what they are thinking while their wives are being fucked by other men.
I can’t help but think of their wives, and then I can’t help but think about what it will be like for me to go through the same “treatment.” Not only fucked, but fucked by a young, vibrant, handsome stud with a big cock. Again I think of Jason. I wonder if Jason will be the one to fuck me. And then I think of my husband waiting in the waiting room while Jason has his way with me.
* * * * *
Dr. Palin interrupts my pleasant thoughts when she squeezes into his small office and hands the receptionist a chart. I find myself leaning over the counter once more, not even realizing I am doing it, and then quick stand back up, embarrassed at another woman seeing me in such a provocative position. I make to sit back down. They have business to conduct, I figure, and don’t want to interrupt.
“Katie?” The doctor says my name before I get back to my chair. “I am ready for you now, if you would like.”
“But my husband,” I turn to her. “He hasn’t arrived yet. I think he’s stuck in traffic or something.”
Dr. Palin pauses to consider this for a moment, but then invites me to start without him. “That’s all right,” She disappears for a moment, and then reappears at the side door and at the entrance to the exam room. “He doesn’t need to be here for the first part of the exam.” Standing to the side, she beckons me to enter. “We can start with your test results, and then there’s a few items I prefer to talk over with you alone. He can always join us later.”
I hesitate. “An exam?” I catch one particular word. “But we haven’t…”
“Don’t worry,” She senses my nervousness. “I know you haven’t yet decided,” She finishes my sentence for me. “And it’s a simple exam. Nothing evasive; you might even like it.”
Her positive attitude both attracts and worries me. I’ve had doctors say the same thing to me before, a long time ago, when I was just a little girl. They would act happy right until the point where they jabbed me with a needle. I doubt if Dr. Palin would do the same, but I still worry.
Putting my trust in the doctor, I go where she beckons. The prospect of going in to see the doctor all alone makes me nervous. I’d prefer to have my husband present to act as a shield, a type of barrier to protect me. Despite his often domineering attitude, he does have the ability to calm me. I’m naturally a tense person. He has the ability to direct the tension away. Before going in, I take a final glance out into the waiting room to check if he arrived at the last minute.
“You’ll be glad to know all your test results came back negative,” The doctor seems to sense my anxiety and attempts to first relax me with some good news. “The results show no evidence of any sexually transmitted diseases or conditions.”
I’m glad to hear it, but then I expected to hear it. I have a difficult time imagining myself contracting anything in the long list of diseases she mentioned on my first visit. Still, there’s always the possibility. I could have caught something by accident, like while giving blood; or I suppose there is always the possibility my husband might be fooling around behind my back with some prostitute, so I’m glad to hear my fears are unfounded. Her news relaxes me.
“So you appear to be the perfect candidate for the procedure,” She concludes as we walk side-by-side down the hall. “You have nothing to worry about. I just have a few follow-up questions. It would be best if your husband was also present, but perhaps we can take advantage of the situation to give you a little advanced look at what you’ll be in for.”
Her last words leave me curious. She says them in a hushed tone, so I’m not entirely sure if I even heard her correctly. I more clearly heard her saying I have nothing to worry about, so I don’t.
“Sorry about my husband,” I also hear her mention my husband. “I wish I knew what is taking him so long.”
“Don’t worry about him,” She waves my concern aside.
“It’s just that he’s a busy man,” I attempt to apologize for him. “Sometimes he gets bogged down at work. There must have been a meeting, or maybe he simply lost track of time.”
I offer several excuses, none of which I believe myself. I’m sure he didn’t forget. My message on his phone would have reminded him. I also know he’s not all that busy at work.
We walk slowly down the hallway as the doctor examines closed doors on both sides. Some have papers sitting in baskets along side, to which she turns, takes a quick look, and goes on. All the doors look the same to me. She appears lost as to which one to enter. I can’t help but wonder which room contains the wives of the men waiting in the reception area.
At the next door, she hesitates and then swings it open.
I first hear them: the voice of a woman. It pants with desire. “You bitch!” She says just as the door closes again. The deeper voice of a male too, moaning. I also see them, but only for an instant.
“Sorry about that,” The doctor apologizes. “You weren’t supposed to see that,” She lets out a slight laugh. “The doors of all these treatment rooms begin to look the same after awhile.”
It takes a few seconds for the image to register on my mind. I saw them, or at least I thought I saw them. I’m really not sure what I saw. The wife was on top. She was positioned on her knees on top of an exam table. Below, he lay. I didn’t see much of him, only his torso, but I definitely saw a body below her. She appeared to be riding the guy, humping him up and down. I had heard about such a position before, where the woman went on top, but never tried it myself. My husband always stayed on top because that was how it was supposed to work.
“Ah, this one will serve us better,” Dr. Palin more carefully checks behind the next door and then enters only when she confirms the room empty.
Meanwhile, I wake up out of my stupor, realizing I have been standing in place. For how long, I am not sure. The sound and sight of what I saw put me in a state of shock. Coming back to reality, I look down the hallway to see the doctor waiting for me two doors down.
“Don’t worry,” She assures me. “This treatment room isn’t being used.” She opens the door the rest of the way as if to demonstrate.
I quickly step through, embarrassed at my reaction, still not completely sure what I just witnessed. I enter what appears to be a normal exam room in a normal doctor’s office. A chair sits in the corner, a low-hanging table along the wall. Along one side is a countertop, sink, and cabinets above. The paper crunches beneath me when I sit down upon it.
“First, you need to change into this,” The doctor opens one of the drawers of the cabinet, gives me a look as though to judge my size, and then pulls out a neatly folded square of wrapped white fabric. “I have one more patient to finish up on, and then I’ll come right back to talk to you.”
I don’t bother to look at what she hands me, not at first anyway. I assume it to be a hospital gown, one of those embarrassing hospital gowns that opens down the back. My mind remains too occupied with what I briefly saw through the open door to coherently think of much anything else.
“I’ll check for your husband in the reception room before I return,” The doctor gives a pleasant smile at the door. “He might be out there already. Even if he’s not, you have nothing to worry about. You’ll be fine.”
I think to ask why I need to change clothes. I suddenly realize I shouldn’t need to change clothes, not to only answer a few questions, not if what she tells me is true. I think to ask, but then she leaves before I get the chance. Thoughts of needles come back to me. I hope my husband arrives soon, ideally before the doctor returns.
I take my first close look at the package only after she leaves the room. To my surprise, it isn’t a gown at all. Instead, it appears to be underwear. A panty falls onto the floor. The string holding the package together is connected to the cups of a bra. Small cups too, I notice, and no hooks to fasten the strings together. These need to be tied, like those of a string bikini. In fact, the outfit looks a lot more like a two-piece bikini than underwear.
I pick the panty up off the floor not sure what to do with it. The outfit is very generic, very antiseptic, all white and looking exactly the way hospital clothing is expected to look, just a lot less than what I expected.
What to do with it should be obvious. The doctor told me. She asked me to put it on. I don’t know why, but then figure the doctor must have her reasons. She is a doctor, after all. I am clearly in a doctor’s office. I sit on an exam table. Perhaps the outfit serves the same purpose as a more common hospital gown, intended to allow her to examine me more easily, just different than any hospital gown I’ve ever seen.
I hesitate but eventually take off my own clothes to put on what she gave me. I don’t want to appear afraid. I don’t want to be in my own clothes when she returns. The doctor has a busy practice with a busy schedule. She doesn’t have time to worry about my little concerns. Plus, she is a doctor, after all. I need to trust her.
First the bottom and then the top, I take off all my clothes and put on the strange new hospital gown. Fearful of someone walking in and seeing me, I change behind the table. I make sure to face away from the door, recalling what I mistakenly witnessed down the hall. The image comes back to me. Again I think about it. Both were naked, both the woman above and the man lying below him. I didn’t see much of him, just the side of his bare thigh as she bounced up and down. I didn’t see anything of importance, which makes me wish I had, especially after what the doctor told me about the men who do the impregnations. The woman riding on top lay a lot more exposed. I recall the way her breasts heaved up and down while she bounced. Her breasts weren’t very big, not nearly as big as my own, which I now examine in the bra.
The outfit turns out to be even smaller than it looked. The bottom fits about right. The panty resembles any ordinary panty, very generic, nothing fancy, plain white and covering everything of importance. It looks like it might be designed for a hospital, except for the way I have to tie it around my waist.
The bra is another matter. I am surprised at the size, at how little it covers. I adjust it, attempt to stretch it, pull it one way and then the other. Still, it leaves the majority of my boobs exposed: On both sides, and then on top too. Generic and white, like the panty, but with such tiny cups. I attempt to retie the strings up around to the back of my neck to give myself more support, but the smallness of the cups severely limits how much support it can give. Briefly, I consider the possibility of searching through the drawers in the office for a larger size too. The doctor must have estimated wrong, I figure, or maybe a too-small top was packaged with a normal bottom. Yet I don’t dare. I fear looking through her office, afraid what else I might all find. She probably has lots of dangerous medications lying around, not to mention all those needles. I don’t want to get in trouble.
Sitting back down on the exam table, I wait for Dr. Palin to return. It feels uncomfortable wearing the suit. I feel almost naked. Anyone walking into the room would be able to see me. It would take little imagination for someone to picture me wearing no clothes at all.
While I sit and wait for the doctor, I think more about the room two doors down and what I saw. She was on top, I realize, having intercourse with a man from above. I never tried it from the top. It seems so unnatural, yet also fills me with an erotic sense of power. She also said “bitch,” I recall, treating the guy she was riding like her male bitch. One of the men out in the waiting room almost certainly had to have been her husband. I wonder what he would think if he saw what I did.
Before I have a chance to think about it too much, Dr. Palin returns.
I initially jump at the sight of the open door. The door opens quickly. I stand up from the table at the sight, fearful of who it might be.
“I see you are ready,” Dr. Palin expresses little emotion when she enters. “Relax,” She must notice my tension, so gives a pleasant smile. “Please, stay seated. I just have a few items to discuss with you.”
I automatically sit back down on the table at the command of her authoritative voice. The paper crunches below me. The door closes behind her. No one else enters, most notably not my husband.
“Any word?” I think first to ask about him. “I mean my husband?” As soon as I say it, I wonder what he might say if he saw me in my present state of dress.
“I just checked,” Dr. Palin disappoints. “I’m afraid there’s been no sign of him so far, which is part of what I would like to talk to you about: Your husband.”
I look at her confused.
“I just have a few questions about him,” She diverts the subject. “But first, let me ask if you have any questions for me?”
I am taken aback. Usually the doctor asks the first questions. That is what I’m used to. She has better bedside manners than most. It is considerate of her to first ask of me.
“Just this suit,” I think the first subject to come to mind. “I was just wondering…” I start to say.
“I see it fits perfect on you,” She interrupts. “You fill it out well.”
“Perfect?” I look down upon myself. It fits far from perfect, but she is correct in saying I fill it out. I fill it more than I dare. “It’s a little small.”
“Nonsense,” She dismisses my concern. “The suit is fine. The problem is with your breasts.”
She finally says something that makes sense. Indeed they are a problem. They are too big. I have always been big on top. I would never wear such a small bikini in public.
“I must say, Katie, you certainly have some very large breasts,” She tells much to my embarrassment. “Can I assume they are real?”
“Real?” I am confused for an instant.
“Or are they artificially enhanced?” She clarifies. “It sometimes can be difficult to tell. The quality of breast implants has improved so much over the years?”
“They’re real,” I almost laugh at the thought of getting my breasts enhanced. I have no need. I would never do such a thing, and my husband would never let me.
“Then they are unusually large,” She tells me what I already know. “Especially for a woman of your size. It is unusual, given your short stature, to have breasts of such large size.”
I glance down upon myself once again. It feels strange to hear a woman compliment me on my breasts, but then she is a doctor. I realize she is only giving a clinical opinion. It’s her area of expertise.
“Yes, they are pretty big,” I have to agree. “I sometimes wish they weren’t so big.”
They look even bigger in the small bikini. The swimsuit does an excellent job at covering just enough to show off their size.
“What about your husband?” The doctor asks next. “Does he sometimes wish they were smaller too?”
“Oh no!” I have to laugh. “He likes them big. I think most men do.”
“Indeed they do,” She laughs along with me. “Men are so predictable! Give them a big set of tits, and they go crazy.”
I have to agree with this too. Our little exchange makes me relaxed. I’m glad for the little woman-on-woman discussion we are having.
“But seriously,” She eventually stops laughing and goes on with my examination. “Statistically speaking, women with large breasts should have an easier time in getting pregnant,” She informs me. “Such women are quite literally built for having babies, having more milk to provide nourishment. A statistically larger percentage of large breasted women also have an increased tendency to have twins or even triplets.”
“Really?” I never heard this before.
“Of course it is!” Dr. Palin talks as if this should be obvious. “It’s perfectly logical when you stop to think about it. In your case, for instance, you could probably keep the bellies of a set of quadruplets full of milk without much of a problem.”
I take this as a compliment. I have no reason to doubt her. She is a doctor, after all, and what she says contains a lot of logic. Indeed my large boobs will someday contain an ample supply of milk – provided, that is, if I ever manage to get pregnant.
“A large pair of breasts also tends to attract more eligible males,” She goes on. “I have a personal theory about this. Perhaps that is why big breasted women have an easier time getting pregnant. They attract larger males; males able to insert themselves deeper into the female sex, and therefore able to impregnate them more easily.”
I recall my previous visit. I remember what the doctor said about Jason and the rest of her males. Mostly I remember what she said about their sizes.
“Which brings us back to your husband,” She doesn’t give me much of a chance to think about it. “He is rather small, isn’t he?”
She goes direct to the point. I hesitate, feeling sorry for my husband, but then eventually nod my head to agree. What choice do I have?
“I also sense he is the macho type,” She goes on. “He’s proud of his masculinity. He probably behaves very possessive of you.”
I’m not sure why she asks me these questions, but her description proves surprisingly accurate. “He’s a good man,” I defend his nature.
“I’m sure he is,” She appears to mean no harm. “I’m sure the two of you love each other very much.”
“We do!” I assure her.
“That’s why I say this not to insult or put him down in any way,” She first warns me before she says it. She warns like a friend about to give me bad news. “It’s just that I sense he may not be willing to allow you to undergo a treatment. In fact, I suspect that may even be why he isn’t here right now.”
I stop to think about it. In fact, I have already thought about it. She may be right. The thought did occur to me, secretly, although I would never admit it.
“And that is why I would like to give you some encouragement to help you talk your husband into letting you receive the treatment,” She doesn’t wait for my reply. “I feel the two of you deserve to have children. I think you would make terrific parents. Therefore I would very much like to help you get pregnant, but you need the help of your husband too.”
I appreciate her concern. The doctor seems to genuinely care about me and my ability to have children. I know she tries to help, but I also worry about what she tries to tell me. For reasons unknown, I grow tense with what I fear she might say.
“The bottom line is this,” She doesn’t give me much time to think about it. “I’m afraid your husband’s dick is simply too small to allow you to have children.”
“Too small!” I never had a doctor speak so bluntly to me before.
“You need a real cock,” She goes on before I even have a chance to think about it. “Sorry for being so direct, but what you really need, Katie, is an oversized cock to get you pregnant. You need to be fucked by a male appendage with more thickness and length than what your husband is able to provide. What you need, Katie, is a real cock to shoot a full load of hot spunk deep inside you.”
I sit up with a start. None of the other doctor’s ever said this to me before, nor did they use such vulgar language. Usually the doctors spoke using more therapeutic terms, the medical names whenever they talked. Her language gives me a start, but then I recall her speaking much the same way a week ago.
“I apologize for being so direct,” She tells me again. “But I believe in getting to the point and telling it like it is. I also believe in using terminology my patients are sure to understand. It makes no sense for me to use complex medical jargon to confuse you.”
She certainly does get to the point, and she certainly uses terminology I understand. In fact, she leaves no doubt. I know exactly what she is telling me.
“And if you expect your husband to agree to allow another man to fuck you,” She pauses for a moment to let her words sink in and then goes right back to her direct approach. “Then I must say, Katie, you are going to have to do some work to convince him. That is why I invited you back here today. That is why I asked you to put on this particularly small outfit,” She points to me.
I am confused. She finally admits the outfit is as small as I think it is. But why? Why would she have me get dressed in a small bikini swimsuit?
“I want to show you something to help convince you on the necessity of the procedure,” She goes on before I can offer any questions. “In fact, I would like to bring in someone to help convince you.”
A moment later, as if on cue, the male receptionist from the front desk walks in. No knock. He doesn’t say anything at all. He simply walks in as if invited. I never noticed any indication from the doctor to summon him, which means he must have been waiting just outside the door. I wonder if he was listening. I wonder how much he overheard.
At the same time, I am taken aback. I recall my near nudity. Automatically, my hands come up. I cross them across my chest, squeezing my boobs, covering what the top fails to cover.
“Don’t worry about that,” Dr. Palin gives me a laugh. “No need to be shy. This is Richard, one of the men who administers the treatments. Believe me, he’s seen it all! He is exceptionally experienced. You aren’t covering anything he hasn’t seen a hundred times before.”
He reaches out his hand to shake mine. “Nice to meet you again,” He greets.
“I didn’t know!” I keep myself covered out of shock. I fail to return the handshake, afraid to pull my hands away from my chest. I leave him standing, looking awkward, with his hand extended out to me.
“I believe the two of you already talked out front,” The doctor remembers. “I almost forgot, but Richard was helping out with front desk duty today.”
His hand remains in place, stretched out to me, tempting me. I don’t want to leave him looking silly, yet at the same time fear exposing myself. The temptation of his hand wins out.
“Nice to meet you again too,” I momentarily expose myself. Only one hand provides cover. His eyes seem to glance down at my single, exposed, bra-covered boob – or perhaps it is only my over-active imagination. In any case, he takes a strong grasp of my hand and gives a pleasant shake.
First one hand, and then I lower the other. I realize the doctor is right. If this man truly does administer “treatments,” then he surely has seen it all before. The knowledge that Richard gives treatments comes as a shock, but a pleasant kind of shock. I can’t help but think about him treating me.
He acts friendly, like we are old friends. A smile shows on his lips. I recall the pleasant conversation we had over the counter, and then at the way I provocatively leaned forward to give him an unencumbered view down my open blouse. He has already seen my cleavage, I recall, and now gets to see a lot more.
I also recall the excited feelings I had towards him, the attraction. The memory makes me braver, less shy. In a strange sort of way, I don’t mind him seeing me. I might even want him to see me in the little outfit. Soon, I find myself seated on the table with my hands at my side.
That’s much better,” Dr. Palin encourages my bravery. She takes a seat down on the only chair in the room.
Richard remains the only person standing. He looks different than the front desk, more masculine, now standing before me without a shirt. He also wears sweatpants, I notice, the same gray-colored sweatpants that I saw on Jason on my last visit. Wide shoulders, muscular biceps, he looks a lot like Jason as well. He could almost be a gladiator. Standing before me is one of the most handsome, stud males I have ever seen.
“Sorry to surprise you,” Richard first apologizes. “Perhaps I should have said something at the front desk.”
“That’s all right,” I choke on my own words, hardly able to talk. Not just Jason, but Richard too? I can’t believe my luck. Jason was handsome enough, but then I take a look at Richard and can’t believe him either.
“I actually noticed the two of you at the front desk,” Dr. Palin already seems to know. “Correct me if wrong, but I noticed a certain attraction between the two of you when you were talking.”
“Indeed!” Richard agrees, much to my delight. He speaks only a single word, but it is enough to turn me red with embarrassment. I momentarily turn shy, wanting to bring my hands back up, but then fight the temptation.
“And the attraction seems to remain,” The doctor goes on. She takes turns looking back and forth between the two of us. “I see it in both of you. The procedure always works better if there is an attraction from the start.”
She is correct about the attraction. I feel it too, but I also feel embarrassed about it. No words are necessary. She can see it in my expression, as can Richard.
“What do you say, Richard?” The doctor thankfully turns her attention away from me, but then shocks me with what she says next. “Would you be interested in fucking Katie?”
I first think I must be hearing things.
“Very much interested,” Richard answers and leaves no doubt.
I am left in shock and dismay. I can’t believe it! First one and then the other, I can’t believe how casual she asks him and then how casual he answers back. They act as if they talk like this all the time, like I am far from the first. I wonder how many other patients he “treated.”
“Of course you are,” The doctor accepts as if it should be obvious. “Just look at her. Cute face, thin frame, short stature, I must say she is an overall well proportioned young woman.”
I feel like a side of beef in a supermarket.
“And then there are her heavy breasts,” The doctor adds. “I know what you really like about her! Every man is turned on by a set of oversized female breasts.” She gives a laugh.
Once again I am tempted to bring my hands up to cover myself. He looks right at them, I notice, directly at my boobs. Mostly I turn and look away, finding it difficult to return his gaze, but still I feel his eyes upon me. I also recall the design of the bra and the way it offers so little support. My looking away gives him a side-profile, an even better view. He needs little imagination to picture me without any top at all.
I fight the temptation and keep my hands at my side. I try to remember I am only one amongst thousands he has seen before. Richard is vastly more experienced than me. Plus, seeing me in a swimsuit is just the beginning. If he gets to give me the “treatment,” then he will be seeing me in a lot less: Not only on top, but on the bottom too. He will naturally need to see me exposed down there too, so I need not feel embarrassed about showing myself in a suit.
“And what about you?” Dr. Palin turns her attention to me before I have much of a chance to think about it. “What do you think, Katie? Would you being interested in getting fucked by this handsome stud male?”
“Please!” I can’t answer. I try to tell her to stop. I can’t believe she uses the word, and she uses it right in front of him! She acts as if he isn’t even in the room.
“No need to be shy,” She ignores my concern. “Tell me Katie, are you attracted to Richard? How do you feel about him taking his turn at fucking you?”
Again her crude language! I can’t believe it, although she doesn’t seem bothered by it. Neither does Richard. They both act as if her language is perfectly normal.
“Or do you prefer the male you met on your previous visit?” She goes on to ask when I don’t answer. “I believe it was Jason, if I recall correctly. I could tell you were also attracted to him. You have your choice. I have about two-dozen males to choose from. Richard is much more gentle than Jason, or perhaps you like them rough?”
“I don’t know,” I say finally. “Both of them, I mean, I don’t know,” I answer shyly, feeling strange about being asked about my attraction to a guy while he stands right in front of me.
“Or perhaps you are one of those women who would prefer both of them at once,” The doctor offers next. “Some women prefer two at a time, to take turns with them. It actually could assist in the procedure. Additional sperm to get you pregnant more quickly.”
I can’t believe what she suggests. Two men, both Jason and Richard, both at once? I can hardly believe it. I also can’t help but consider what it would be like to sleep with both at once, both in the same bed, although I certainly wouldn’t be getting much sleep. I imagine one of them fucking me while I play my hands upon the other.
A moment later I shake my head in an attempt to get rid of the thought. “Oh no!” I say louder than I need to. “I’m not into anything like that!”
“Very well,” The doctor throws up her hands like she doesn’t care. “But perhaps you will have a change of opinion part-way through the treatments. I’ve always found it shocking what some of my patients are willing to try after just a few treatments.”
I don’t doubt it. It already gives me a thrill, the thought of having two men at once. I recall a provocative picture a girlfriend once sent me in my e-mail. It showed a woman being taken by two men at once. She had a man at each end, one between her legs and the other in her mouth. It was one of the most provocative pictures I ever saw, and now I can’t help but imagine myself in the same position: Jason at my waist while I suck Richard in front.
“In any case, I am getting ahead of myself,” The doctor erases the image from my mind by reminding me of my husband. “Before I will allow you to do anything, you need to get your husband to agree. I only allow the treatments to begin if the husband is in full agreement.”
“My husband?” I had almost forgotten about him. “Oh yes, of course. Maybe he’s outside. Perhaps I should check.” I suddenly feel guilty over what I am wearing. I feel even more guilty about the thoughts I am having.
“Don’t worry about your husband right now,” She makes no attempt to check for me. “That is why I wanted to introduce you to another of my inseminators: to give you a further incentive to convince your husband. I thought once you had a look at Richard in addition to Jason, you would be more aggressive about convincing him.”
“But how?” I want to be more aggressive. All my life I have been passive. My mother was the same way. I was taught early on that the husband was the master of the household, and the wife more a servant.
“I’m sure you will think of something,” The doctor offers no specific recommendation. “You just need the right incentive.”
She says it in a suggestive tone. I fail to understand her intent, at least at first. She points, I notice, like she plays some sort of game. She acts like a teacher trying to give me a hint on a test, and only then do I notice where she points.
It appears part-way down in front, his sweatpants, part way down from his waist. It appears obvious, impossible to miss. I don’t know how I could have missed it before, but I certainly see it now.
“Oh my!” I can’t help but speak out loud. I feel embarrassed about seeing it. I should turn away, I know. A proper young woman would. She would close her eyes and look away out of embarrassment. At the very least, he should cover himself. Richard should bring his hands forward or turn away from his own embarrassment, yet he doesn’t.
Neither one of us does anything. He stays standing and faces forward. I at the same time continue to look. The bulge remains, and then I notice how far down the front of the sweatpants it appears. Not at his waist, but a substantial distance below. It extends seemingly a quarter of the way down to his knees. Not straight down because it can’t extend straight. It extends below his crotch and to the side, part way down his right leg.
I am first amazed by his size, but then figure it must be some kind of trick. He must have something else in his sweatpants, I figure, perhaps one of those magic markers sticking out of his pants pocket. Yet the sweatpants don’t have pockets, and the bulge is far too big to be a pen. It looks more like the size of a sausage. I can’t believe any man could possibly be so long.
“And it appears you are somewhat attracted to him as well,” Dr. Palin concludes. “Or at least you are attracted to a certain part of him?”
She asks in the form of a question. I know what she means, but I can’t answer.
“The answer appears to be yes, then?” She doesn’t need to wait for an answer. “Or do you want to ask more questions before you can answer?”
I don’t know what to say. I am left dumbfounded. It is all happening so fast. She is right, of course, but no way can I come right out and admit my obvious attraction to him, not with him standing so close and able to hear me. I’m not that kind of girl.
“I don’t know,” I answer instead. “I don’t even know him.”
“What else do you need to know?” The doctor asks back. “Just look at him. What else matters? Can’t you already see all you need to know about this male stud?”
The doctor treats the young man as if he is a sex object, as a stud male to be used however she wants. At the same time, he remains standing unaffected. I get the impression Richard isn’t a person, but more like an object for us women to enjoy.
“Or perhaps you would like to see more of him,” Dr. Palin offers. “Perhaps this isn’t enough and you want to see more of what this stud has to offer.”
She gets up from her chair and steps behind him. She positions her hands on either side of his waist. Then, fitting her fingers inside the elastic waist strap of the sweatpants, she jerks them clean down.
I have no time to react. It happens fast. So fast I don’t realize it until it happens. One second he stands before me wearing the sweatpants, and a second later he wears nothing at all.
“Oh my gosh!” I cry out at the sight of his full frontal nudity. I feel like getting up and running out of the room. At the very least, I expect him to run out. He should at least use his hands to cover his modesty.
Instead, he does nothing. Neither do I. I just sit there open mouthed and wide eyed and look. He has a lot to look at. I can’t help but notice. It pokes straight out, and it pokes out so far. The thing looks to be nearly a foot long, ten inches at least. Richard looks great without clothing! Most men do, but Richard looks exceptional. I immediately see why she calls him a stud. I also see why he is so talented at the job he does.
“Well?” Dr. Palin looks to me and asks. “What do you think of him? Do you like him better this way?”
I can’t answer. I can’t say anything at all. My mouth refuses to work. I sit in shock and simply look at him. He looks three times the size of my husband. It looks even bigger than I have seen in pictures. My hand would be able to hold only half his length. It would take two hands, in fact, to hold him, one on top of the other like a baseball bat, and still I would not be able to encompass all of him.
And not only long, but I see he is massively thick in girth as well. No way would my fingers be able to encompass him all the way around. Even if I squeezed to get them to fit, the tips of my fingers would come far from touching.
And to top it off, I see his top. The head of his cock forms into a giant mushroom top. It looks far too thick to enter me. No way could I be opened so far down there. It looks too thick to even enter my mouth, and then I think of taking him in my mouth and sucking him.
I suddenly realize what my own meager clothing has done to him. He obviously finds me attractive. I can tell he likes what he sees, my own near-nudity. I appreciate the compliment.
“Or perhaps I should ask you more precisely,” The doctor interrupts my thoughts with another direct question. “What do you think of his cock? I told you he was attracted to you. What do you think of his size?”
I hardly hear the question. Yes, indeed he is attracted to me, and he seems to be getting more attractive by the second. Not just poking straight out, but growing ever larger. It is actually rising. I can see it for myself.
“I thought so,” The doctor reads my mind. She has no need to wait for me to give her a verbal response. She can see it in my eyes, the way I keep them pointed at the rising phallus before me. I watch it rise. I watch him rise. And he keeps rising.
“Try to imagine what it would feel like to have him inside you,” The doctor tempts as I look. “His entire length, drilled down deep inside. I assure you size really does make a difference. A cock of that size will give you an orgasm you’ll never forget.”
I do think of it. He would feel terrific inside me, all the way inside. I picture him on top, fucking me, drilling in deeper than my husband can possibly go. Twice per day, every day, I think what a thrill it would be to get fucked by such a large man.
“Or imagine him mounting you from behind,” The doctor goes on. “Imagine yourself bent over this table and with Richard pounding you from behind. Did you know a male can enter you deeper when he mounts you?”
My imagination switches to a new scene. I think what it would be liked to be mounted like an animal, taken from behind by this big man. My imagination goes into overdrive. The thoughts going through my head are putting me in heat.
“Or perhaps you are one of those women who likes to ride her stud from above,” The doctor doesn’t let up. “Maybe you would like to have him lie down while you squat over him from above. Some women prefer it that way. It gives them more control. Are you the type who likes control?”
I can hardly withstand her words. They sound so dirty, and they make me feel so aroused. The sight of his rising cock serves to arouse me more. I imagine Richard taking me in all three positions, even taking him from above. It would be the same as what I saw in the exam room down the hall. I’ve hardly ever sat up on a man before. My husband didn’t like it. It would be fun to turn the tables and ride a big cock from above.
“Whatever position you prefer,” The doctor interrupts my pleasant thoughts. “You’ll get to try all of them. All my males are well practiced in multiple sexual positions. They probably even know some positions you never considered yourself. They will carry out their job using whatever position you prefer the most.”
She eventually concludes. So does Richard. He stands with a full erection. His cock stands upright, pointed towards the sky. It extends up from his waist, past his stomach. And not only long, but so thick and massive too. I have never before seen a cock of such large proportions, not even in pictures. I have a hard time accepting the sight before me. It is like going to a male strip joint where the male gives an erection to his audience.
“Well, how do you like him now?” The doctor asks me a minute later.
She first waits in silence to give me plenty of time to look. I surprise myself at how much I look. I would normally be embarrassed at the sight of a naked male in the same room. I should look away, I know, and act shy. I am not the type of girl who would look, but then Richard is so much more than a normal male.
“He’s big,” I eventually conclude after looking a minute more. I say the only thing I can say. She doesn’t need to ask the question. My attraction is obvious.
“Of course he’s big,” The doctor looks at him too. “He’s got it where it counts. He is well endowed, as you can perfectly well see for yourself, as are all my boys, but I didn’t ask about his endowment. I asked you if you liked him? I hope you like them big.”
I nod my head in agreement. Indeed I do like him. I like them big. All women do. I would also like to experience him, feel him inside me, but then wonder if I would even be capable of experiencing such a big man. He looks almost too big. I have a hard time seeing how he would fit. So much raw cock might end up hurting me, and it would be no fun if he hurt me.
“In any case,” The doctor eventually rises up out of her chair. I automatically stand too, thinking the meeting over.
“Please,” She motions me to stay in place. “I want to go out front and check if your husband has arrived. In the meantime, why don’t the two of you get to know each other. You may also want to ask him some personal questions, I suspect, so I’m going to leave you alone for a while just to talk.”
I am taken aback. Mention of my husband fills me with guilt, and then her leaving makes me worried.
“You have nothing to worry about,” Dr. Palin seems to read my thoughts. “Just go ahead and ask him anything you want. You don’t need to talk at all, not if you don’t want to.” She steps towards the door. “But I suggest you do. I recommend you ask him whatever you would like to know. Most of my patients feel more comfortable if they first get to know the male who will be administering the treatments. It’s natural for a woman to first get to know the male who will impregnate her.”
I briefly consider the possibility of following her. Richard makes me nervous. He could hurt me. Given his strength, he could even force himself upon me, but then he wouldn’t have to.
“And who knows,” The doctor adds just before she closes the door behind her. “Richard might even have some ideas on how to convince your husband on the treatment.”
And with that, she leaves us. Before I fully realize what has happen, I find myself alone in a room with a naked man. But not just any naked man, but with Richard. I can’t quite believe the situation I find myself in.
I don’t know what to say. I feel embarrassed. My voice freezes. Her suggestion makes sense, but I also want her to stay. Never before have I been in a room with a naked man, not like this. My husband, yes, but not a man like Richard. What is a woman supposed to say to a naked man? Talking about the weather seems out of place.
He continues to stand right in front of me. He continues to stand naked. Not only naked, but with a full and powerful erection. I take occasional glances at it. His cock is hard not to notice. Sitting back down on the exam table brings it closer to my eyes.
“This is a little uncomfortable,” I start by telling him.
“That’s perfectly understandable,” He says at last. The sound of his voice actually calms me. I start to turn more relaxed.
“For both of us,” I add, suddenly thinking about how much more uncomfortable it must be for him. At least I’m wearing clothes. Still not much, but at least I am wearing something.
“Tell me,” I try to strike up a conversation. “How long…”
Before I have a chance to finish my sentence, he answers: “Eleven inches.”
I jump in surprise. Immediately I know what he refers to, and he could actually be correct. His cock looks just about that long.
“Actually,” I correct myself. “I was going to ask how long you’ve been doing this job,” I complete my sentence, feeling embarrassed.
“Oh!” He smiles with embarrassment as well. “I just assumed you wanted to know my length. That’s the first question most women ask of me.”
“Well, yes,” I have to admit. “There’s that too.”
Eleven inches! I pause to consider his answer. It is confirmed. He is over twice the length of my husband. I wonder if he might even be too long for me. Might he hurt me? Might he only be able to go in half-way?
“Three years,” He eventually answers the question I intended. “I was working as a dancer at the time, at a male strip club when the doctor discovered me.”
“Male strip club?” I automatically ask back. “They really exist?”
“Of course,” He answers like it should be obvious. “Not as common as your female strip joints, but every large city has a place for the women too.”
I heard about such places but had never been to one. The sight of the massive male standing in front of me makes me want to go to the nearest club. I wonder if all the male strippers are as big as he is. I figure not, but then start to wonder. Logically, they might just be larger than normal. Female strippers tend to have large breasts, so why not the same with male strippers? I imagine Richard modeling his large tool in front of a room full of screaming women, and then get the erotic idea of him modeling it in an erect state as well.
“So that’s how the doctor found out about you,” I shake the thought out of my mind. “I mean, that’s how she found out about your size?”
“She witnessed me on stage,” He confirms. “I got a call the next day from the doctor. She said I met her minimum qualification.”
I smile, seeing his most important qualification. I wonder what the doctor considers a minimum. Ten inches? Or maybe all the way down to nine? I figure all the men in her clinic are about the same size.
“That was three years ago,” He goes on. “I’ve been working for her ever since.”
“So no more stripping?” I assume, thinking of the tremendous loss it would be for all those screaming women.
“Actually, I still strip some on weekends,” He admits to my surprise. “Some extra income, you know.”
I am tempted to ask where. I would like to go and watch him, to witness him on stage, strutting around and modeling naked. Maybe I could even talk one of my friends into going along. It would be fun to point him out on stage. I could brag to my girlfriend that I once saw him with an erection.
Speaking of his erection, it remains. It keeps pointing straight up into the air, firm and so hard. Throughout our conversation, it remains. I am impressed by his stamina, and then wonder how much my small bikini has to do with it. He obviously finds me attractive, I can see.
He catches me staring at it.
“Would you like to take a feel?” He asks while I stare.
“Feel?” I don’t think I heard him correctly.
“You look like you want to grab it,” He tells me in no uncertain terms.
“Oh no!” I jump with a start. “I couldn’t!”
“Because you can if you want,” He offers. “That’s what most of the doctor’s other patients ask of me next.”
“I don’t know if I could,” I reject him.
“They ask to feel me up,” He goes on like he doesn’t hear me. “They want to check my hardness, see how firm it is, examine my length. They want to check if it’s real, see if all of it is really me.”
“Oh, it’s hard,” I say without thinking. “I mean, I can see how hard it is,” I attempt to rephrase my answer and only embarrass myself more.
At the same time, I am tempted to take him up on his offer. It would be exhilarating to feel him up, to touch him. I am more accustomed to guys wanting to feel me. They used to, back when I was younger, like in High School. They were anxious to feel my large breasts, some even on the first date and before we got to know each other. It would so much turn me off. I suppose that was part of the reason why I elected to get married so young. I was tired of so many men lusting after me. I wanted to be seen as more than a sex object.
Now I know what tempted them. Looking at Richard, I am tempted to feel him up in the same way, to know what his monstrosity might actually feel like. I wonder if that’s the way all my old boyfriends felt about me.
“Are you sure?” He tempts further. “It really would be all right. I’ve had thousands of women feel me up. Every night they used to feel me when I worked in the club.”
I am surprised to hear about anyone feeling him up at the club. I thought touching was forbidden, or perhaps that was only at female strip clubs. I wonder if the laws might not yet have caught up with males doing the stripping.
“Well,” I start to give in.
“Go ahead,” He steps closer, giving me easier access.
“I suppose I could,” I can hardly believe my own words. Already my hand reaches for it. It reaches almost of its own accord, not needing to think about it. I hardly think at all as my hand reaches out to him.
I sit while he stands, and he stands only about a foot in front of me. He stands within easy reaching distance. My hand has but a short gap to travel. A moment later I find my fingers upon him.
“Oh my!” I automatically say in response.
He shows no reaction. No flinch, no jump, he doesn’t even take a step back when I touch. Neither does he say anything. If anyone flinches, it is I. Richard appears perfectly accustomed to the hand of a woman upon his generous male appendage.
I touch it on the side. I touch with just my fingers, pull back a brief moment, and then touch it again.
“Oh my!” I voice out loud and grow more comfortable with the second touch, comfortable enough to run my fingers up and down along the side, feeling it.
“Oh my gosh!” I can’t believe it. “It’s so big!”
I look as I touch, looking down at myself, watching my own fingers as they feel him. Still he doesn’t flinch. I can hardly believe the scene before me. My fingers appear so small compared to his size. He looks so much bigger than my husband, not only twice as long but twice in girth as well.
At the same time I look, it looks back up at me; that is, his cock. The bulbous head of his enormous cock points directly back up at me, looking at me, seeming almost to stare. Its single big eye points up at my face; no, lower, more to my extended breasts. I no longer feel so naked. At least I am more clothed than he.
I continue to feel. I am memorized by how hard it feels, like a bone, like a real “boner,” a name it so much deserves. I am particularly enthralled when my fingers travel further up his length and slip against the lip of the mushroom tip surrounding the head. My own husband is circumcised. I am surprised by how smooth the top of his cock feels. Hard also, but at the same time so smooth. It gives the impression of being designed to smoothly penetrate a woman.
“Wow!” I tell him. “That really is impressive.”
“I’m glad you like it,” He answers back.
The sound of his voice gives me a start. It was as though I forgot he was alive. All that existed was his cock. It still exists. I continue to feel it.
“It’s so much bigger,” I start to tell him and then stammer. “I mean, compared to my husband.”
“Of course it is,” He knows what I am trying to say. “That’s what all of Doctor Palin’s patients say.”
“It might be too big!” I say with worry, judging the size, thinking mostly of the bulbous head.
“Certainly not!” He assures me, much to my relief. “You will be surprised.”
I allow my fingers to travel over the head of his cock. So smooth and yet so hard, I can’t help but imagine it parting me open and diving deep inside. It will be sure to feel incredible going inside me. I must make a renewed effort to talk my husband into going along with the treatment. I think of talking to him as soon as I get home, maybe scolding him for not coming along. As I handle the cock, I find myself wanting to do whatever I can to get my husband to agree.
“You can handle it harder if you want!” The sound of his words bring me back to reality. “Most women like to be rough with it.”
“Rough?” His choice of words shock me.
“With my cock,” He clarifies.
I consider being rough. I briefly think about being a lot rougher. I think about moving it around, squeezing it, maybe even making it spring up and down. The thoughts running through my mind make my heart start to race, but then I realize it has already been racing. It races with excitement and lust.
“Try not to think of my cock as belonging to me,” He suggests next, his words again exciting me. “Imagine it instead as your own personal plaything.”
“Plaything?” I like this idea too. “Do you mean like a toy?”
“Very much like a toy,” He tells me. “A toy for a big girl to play with.”
I like the sound of this, of his cock as my personal plaything. I would like his cock to play with. I already am playing with it. First the long shaft, and now I play with the swollen mushroom head. I haven’t played with many cocks. Certainly I never played with a cock of such large proportions. I find myself wanting to play with his cock a lot more, like every night for three weeks straight.
He says nothing in response, so I instead decide to take him up on his offer. I reach my fingers around to grasp him in the palm of my hand.
“Damn!” I can’t help but compliment. My fingers don’t even reach all the way around. “I’m not used to this,” I warn him.
“You’re doing fine,” He reassures with calm. “You’ll get used to it.”
Actually, I hope I never get used to it. I don’t ever want the thrill, the exhilaration of such a big cock to wear off. I squeeze it in my hand to try to touch my fingers on the far side, but it’s not even close. His cock is too damn hard to squeeze. My fingers refuse to sink in.
I squeeze harder when he doesn’t object, and then even harder still when he still doesn’t say anything. I figure he would tell me to stop if I tried squeezing too hard. He did give the offer for me to be rough with it, after all. I’m only taking him up on his offer.
He refuses to complain even when I squeeze down with all my strength. Still, my fingers won’t touch on the far side. He requires two hands, which gives me an idea. And then I figure, why not?
I release the grip with one hand so to move it further down and place the other hand on top of it. Only when I hold him with two hands do I fully appreciate his long length. Indeed he does take two hands. I hold one at the base of his cock, the next just above it. Still, the mushroom head of the thing sticks above. It feels like I am back in grade school, playing baseball, putting alternative hands up around the bat in a bid for who gets to hit first.
Still he says nothing to indicate he objects, so now I use both hands to squeeze both at the same time. Only then do I notice it.
“Oh my!” I momentarily relieve my grip at the sight. It occurs at the very tip of his cock, at the eye. I notice the clear fluid leak out.
“What is it?” He asks.
“Nothing!” I quickly respond, not wanting him to know, but then of course he must know. I wonder if he feels it. I also wonder what will happen if I squeeze him again, and then feel a tremendous desire to find out.
With both hands, I work his cock. A larger drop oozes out on my second attempt. It spills up and out of the eye, and then it slowly drools down the side. I can’t believe I am actually making him pre-cum.
“Should I stop?” I worry he might want me to.
“Not if you don’t want to,” He offers me to keep going.
I squeeze on his cock some more, and then give it a quick little jerk to prod it along. The strategy works, and he pre-cums more prodigious amounts.
“I’m thinking I should stop,” I offer again after I feel it. The pre-cum becomes too much for his cock to contain. It flows down the side and touches my fingers. It feels oily. It feels nice. I desire to feel more, but stop anyway.
“I should definitely stop,” I let go and pull my hands away to look at it. His cock seems harder than before, even bigger, sticking up further. His size astounds me. Even better, the mushroom tip glistens with moisture, his moisture and what I have done to him. Even after I let go, I notice it continue to flow out and down the length. The sight makes me want to grab hold again. I have made him slick and slippery. I have prepared his cock for me. All I can think of is my dildo and the same slick look right before I push it in and turn it on.
“You stopped?” He says in the form of a question, as if surprised I did so. “Why did you stop playing?”
Again his choice of words: “playing.” Indeed I had been playing with it. A big girl playing with her big toy.
“I figured I should,” I feel embarrassed to tell him. “I mean, you know…” I let my words trail off.
“You don’t need to stop,” He offers. “You can play with it all you want.”
Again his choice of words: “play with it.” I consider what I am doing, and then I realize what I am doing. Indeed, I am playing with his cock. I’ve never before played with a cock, not such a large cock.
“If you really don’t mind?” I give him a way out.
“I don’t mind,” He assures. “I am yours to play with all you want. Dr. Palin wants you to get to know me.”
I feel both reluctant and have so much desire. I can’t believe what has happened to me. Here is a naked man, a man with the biggest cock I have ever seen, and he invites me to play my fingers upon it. I so much want to play, yet at the same time feel it wrong. The desire eventually wins out. I reach for him again, and this time grasp my hand around the base of the oiled shaft.
“Oh my!” I move my hand through it. Only one hand, I move it up the length of his impressive member and then back down again. I’ve done this before, of course, with my husband and a few select boyfriends back in High School; but never before with someone so large. Richard is as big as two of my old boyfriends put together, perhaps three of my husband’s. He feels like so much more. He feels more and more oiled with each stroke of my hand.
Suddenly, I have a thought. A dirty, nasty thought dances upon my mind. More than a thought; more like an image. I imagine what it would look like if I made Richard cum. The thought fills me with desire. I imagine him rearing back, extend out his waist, and then cum with in a long stream of thick, white cream. I imagine him doing it several times, shooting three or maybe four times. It would be great to see such a large man doing it. I’ve always enjoyed the sight of a man reaching climax, but Richard would be astounding.
“You can play harder if you want,” One nasty thought is interrupted by another.
It takes me a moment to realize he speaks to me. The man who’s cock I hold in my hand is actually capable of speaking.
“Harder?” I ask back, confused. He seems about as hard as he can get.
“I mean faster,” He clarifies, and then adds as if worried he might have insulted me. “But then it’s totally up to you. You can play with me however you want.”
I realize how gentle I am behaving. I stroke slow, twist my hand around his cock even slower. He is probably not accustomed to a girl playing so gentle, almost cautious with him. Most probably go wild with desire and lust.
Eventually, I do stroke faster. I attempt to push it to the side. Next, I try to pull it down so it points straight out. I soon find myself dragging over the chair from the corner of the room and positioning it right in front of him so I can play. The chair also gives me a better view, placing my eyes level with his waist, only inches from his huge cock. I take a close-up look at it while I masturbate it.
