The Doctor's Visit
Chapter 1 ? Initial Evaluation
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The clinic didn?t look special from the outside?just another nondescript medical building with frosted glass and a quiet waiting room. You?d been sent for a ?routine evaluation.? That was the story. You told yourself it was just nerves making your pulse thrum as the nurse called your name and led you down a narrow hallway that smelled faintly of antiseptic and something sharper underneath.
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The examination room was colder than it should have been. Bright overhead lights. A padded table with thick leather straps dangling from the sides and ends. A metal tray of instruments already laid out under a sterile cloth. The door clicked shut behind you.
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Dr. Harlan was tall, silver-haired, and wore the kind of white coat that somehow made him look more severe rather than reassuring. His eyes were flat and assessing as he gestured to the center of the room.
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?Clothes off. All of them. Fold them neatly on the chair. Then stand on the mark.?
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You hesitated only a second. Something in his tone made hesitation feel unwise. Shirt, pants, underwear?everything came off until you stood naked on the painted circle on the floor, cock soft between your legs, skin prickling in the chill.
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He circled you slowly, clipboard in hand. A gloved finger trailed down your spine, then under one ass cheek, lifting it slightly to look. He stopped in front of you and took both nipples between thumb and forefinger, rolling them experimentally.
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?Sensitive?? he asked, pinching harder. When you didn?t answer immediately he twisted, sharp and deliberate, until the buds stiffened and darkened under the pressure. He kept the torsion going, lifting the flesh of your chest slightly by the nipples alone, watching your face. ?They?re already getting hard. Faggots usually have reactive nipples.? He released them only to flick each one sharply with a fingernail, then pinched again, harder, rolling and tugging until they ached. Small alligator clamps appeared from the tray; he fastened one to each nipple, tightening the screws until the metal bit deep and the chain between them hung heavy against your sternum. Every breath made the chain sway and pull.
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?Stand still while I finish the external inspection.?
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He cupped your balls next, rolling them thoroughly, squeezing one and then the other until the pressure edged into pain. He stretched the scrotum downward, examining the skin, then took your soft cock and pulled the foreskin back completely, inspecting the head from every angle, pressing under the corona, checking the slit with a dry fingertip. A few indifferent strokes followed. Your cock began to thicken against your will, filling under the cool latex. Heat crawled up your neck.
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Dr. Harlan?s mouth curved in something that wasn?t a smile. ?There it is. Getting hard while your nipples are clamped and a man handles your cock. Classic faggot response.?
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The word landed like a slap. Your cock jumped in his hand, traitorously stiffer. The nipple clamps throbbed in time with your pulse.
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?On the table. On your back. Arms at your sides. Legs wide.?
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The leather straps came next?wrists, ankles, a broad belt across your hips, another across your chest just below the clamped nipples so the chain was trapped and every small movement tugged them. You were spread and locked down, cock standing rigid against your stomach, balls pulled slightly by the angle.
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He lubricated two gloved fingers generously and pressed them straight to your hole. No warning, no gentle circling?just firm pressure until both digits sank in to the knuckle. He scissored them immediately, stretching the rim, twisting, pushing deeper. A third finger joined without pause. The burn of the stretch made your thighs twitch against the restraints. He worked all three in steady, clinical thrusts, curling against your prostate, then spreading them wide inside you, holding the stretch for long seconds while he watched your cock leak.
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?Tight, but it opens. Faggots always do eventually.? He added a fourth finger, folding his hand and pushing until the widest part of his knuckles forced your ring open further. The stretch was intense, continuous; he rotated his wrist, pulling outward in every direction, training the muscle to yield. Only when your hole gaped slightly around his withdrawing hand did he reach for the next instrument?a stainless steel rectal dilator, thicker than his fist at its widest. He worked it in slowly, each graduated ridge forcing you wider, until the largest section sat locked inside you and your rim was stretched taut and shiny around the metal.
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?Still hard,? he noted, flicking the head of your cock with a fingernail while the dilator kept you open. ?Nipples clamped, ass stretched, and the cock won?t go down. Diagnosis is already obvious.?
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Small steel clamps with rubber grips came next for your balls. He pinched one onto the loose skin of your scrotum, then another, then a third, until your balls were decorated with them and already beginning to ache. A thin chain connected them; he hung a small weight from the center so that every shift of the table made the chain tug. The rectal dilator stayed seated the entire time.
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A sound came next?thin, polished metal, well-lubricated. He held your cock upright and pressed the tip to your slit. The metal sank in slowly, stretching the urethra, a deep invasive fullness that made your thighs twitch. He worked it deeper in careful increments until only the flared end remained outside, then gave it a little twist that dragged a helpless sound from your throat. The combination of the thick dilator in your ass and the sound in your cock left you feeling obscenely filled from both ends.
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He unscrewed a small jar of Icy Hot and scooped a generous amount onto two fingers. Without warning he smeared it over the head of your cock, working it under the foreskin, coating the shaft, then rubbing a thick layer onto your clamped balls and around the stretched rim of your hole where the dilator held you open. The cool tingle turned to heat almost immediately, then to a deep, spreading burn that made your hips try to buck. The sound inside you amplified every pulse of sensation; the nipple clamps throbbed in time with it.
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?Look at that. Cock?s still straining. You like being inspected and opened like a piece of meat, don?t you??
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He didn?t wait for an answer. A broad leather paddle appeared in his hand. He brought it down across the inside of one thigh, then the other, then carefully across the clamped, burning balls. The impact wasn?t brutal?yet?but it was precise, and every strike jostled the weights, shifted the dilator inside you, and sent fresh sparks of pain through the Icy Hot. Your cock leaked a thin string of precome onto your stomach.
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?Harder now,? he observed. ?Of course you are. Faggots get hard when their nipples are tortured, their holes are stretched, and their cocks are punished. It?s how we know what you are.?
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He left the sound in place, the clamps dangling, and the dilator seated while he unbuckled his own pants. His cock was thick, already half-hard, and he stroked it once while looking down at your restrained body. He removed the dilator w
