To Say I Love You (19 page)

He poked me hard in the ribs. “You’re always complaining we don’t do enough character-based scenes anymore. This is a chance to play in a totally different environment. I might have ordered something special for the occasion too.”

No matter how hard I begged, he refused to tell me exactly what that was, preferring to say it was in my yellow zone, he’d push me hard, and it was kinky as fuck. He definitely knew how to treat me.

I was still reeling from the incident at the grocery store and feeling more than a little vulnerable about being out and proud in public. It had been a long time since I’d felt like I needed to watch myself when we were out together, and I didn’t like it.

Without telling Will, I sent an e-mail to the club’s owners to say we’d been to the gays-only night, and asking if it was okay if we came along to a regular Saturday night. They seemed enthusiastic in their response, saying they were always trying to get more of a crossover between the LGBT groups that hired out the club and the more frequent users.

Placated by the response, I decided not to tell Will, and instead started to mentally prepare for what promised to be an interesting evening.

S
INCE
BOTH
my dad and Jennifer needed their trucks for the weekend, I rented a car to drive up to Atlanta. It was a big, chunky, family SUV I didn’t like at all. I was used to driving my sporty Audi.

As I approached the city limits, I got a text from Will.

Caught in meeting. Can you come to office? Midtown: corner of Peachtree & 11th.

I texted him back to say yes and took the next exit to get to Midtown. At his office in Seattle, I was a fairly regular visitor; sometimes I took him to lunch, and we sat together and gossiped for an hour. I’d never been to this office, though.

Luckily, it was a big, obnoxious, hard-to-miss building with plenty of street parking around it. Expensive street parking, but I’d started to expect that.

“I’m here to see Will Anderson,” I said to the person behind the desk. “Jesse Ross.”

“Go on up, Mr. Ross.”

“Thanks.”

He was on the eighteenth floor, but I had no idea where, so I called him when I got out of the elevator, then let him give me directions to his office.

I whistled through my teeth as I walked in, ending the call.

“Pretty fancy,” I said.

“Yeah,” he said with a laugh. “I lucked out. The only office they had free when I started was this one, so I got it by default.”

It was a large corner office with views of the city. He had a big desk and a couch on one side, a few potted plants, and a nice painting on the wall. Sitting behind the desk, he looked important, intimidating. Still mine.

I crossed to him and leaned over the desk, attaching my lips to his without preamble. His responding kiss was hard and hot.

“Mm. I missed you. Sorry to drag you over here.”

“It’s fine. I’ve got a book with me.”

“I should have known. Okay. I won’t be more than an hour, if you want to hang out?”

“We’re going to be rushed to get to the club on time,” I warned him, bouncing on his couch a few times to test how comfortable it was. Good enough.

“So we’ll be fashionably late.”

“That works for me,” I said with a grin.

“W
ILL
AND
Jesse have kindly said that anyone can watch their session,” Crystal said. “I shouldn’t have to state the obvious, but it is a scene with two men, and if that’s not your bag, there are plenty of other places to be.”

We had arrived about an hour after the club opened and were immediately accosted by Crystal, the warm, inviting, very enthusiastic organizer for the evening. She had a T-shirt on that said “Spank Me” on the back, and I got the impression that it was an open invitation.

“I, however,” she continued, “will be finding a front row seat.”

A few people laughed, and I tried to hide my blush.

“Give me a few minutes?” Will murmured, leaning close into me so I could hear him.

“Sure.”

He shut the door to the room, and I shuffled from one foot to the other, not nervous, just excited.

“Do you know what he’s got planned?” Crystal asked.

“No,” I admitted. “I don’t ask that often anymore. All I know is he’s going to do something in the med-fetish area.”

She gave me a reassuring smile. “You’ll be fine.”

The door opened, and Will gave me a stern look. He was wearing his glasses, a light blue shirt, and a white lab coat over smart pants. A very realistic stethoscope hung around his neck.

“Mr. Clarke?” he said, and I realized he meant me.

I nodded, and he offered his hand for me to shake. “Yes.”

“You can come in now.”

The room looked the same as it had before, but he’d turned the air-conditioning up so it was chilly.

“I’ve invited a few students to join us today,” he said, gesturing me up onto the bed. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“No, that’s fine,” I said, easily falling into character. He was so good at this.

“Okay. We’re just going to go through a few things, then we’ll get started.”

He had a clipboard with a questionnaire printed out on it and wheeled a desk chair over so he could sit in front of me. For the first few minutes, he went through some standard questions—height and weight, age, pertinent medical history.

“Any history of sexually transmitted diseases?” he asked.

“No.”

“And I understand you’re gay, is that right?”

“Yes. I’ve been in a relationship with my partner for about seven years.”

He nodded and made a final check on his paper. “Excellent. Thank you for that. There’s a gown over the back the bed. Could you just slip out of your clothes and into that for me, please?”

I didn’t bother trying to hide anything. Our spectators would see everything I had soon enough. The cold air was enough to stop me from getting an instant erection, although I was slightly worried that Will’s increasingly convincing performance would make even routine trips to the doctor very uncomfortable in the future.

Once I was naked, apart from my jockstrap and the gown, I sat down on the edge of the bed and he proceeded to take my blood pressure, check my reflexes, and listen to my breathing. Just when I thought some of the people watching would start to get bored, he had me lie back on the bed and hook my feet into the stirrups. It was like a gynecological chair, with plenty of custom adjustments, including straps for the wrists and ankles.

I settled back, getting comfortable, surprised when he didn’t immediately strap me in.

“Okay,” he said, snapping on a pair of latex gloves as he scooted round on his wheelie chair to sit between my legs. “Let’s get started.”

He lifted the gown up quite modestly, folding it back over my chest to gently feel my abdomen, along my ribs and sides. Then he moved it back again and ran a fingertip over each nipple in turn.

“I notice you have your nipples pierced, Jesse.”

“Yes, Doctor.”

“How long ago were these done?”

“About six years.”

“Any problems?”

“No, Sir,” I said, trying not to grit my teeth or squirm when he rocked the metal back and forth through my flesh.

“Excellent. I’m assuming these were done professionally. They’re very clean piercings.”

“Yes, sir.”

He gave each ring a sharp tug, which did elicit a reaction, and made another note on his clipboard.

“Good. Let’s move on.”

The gown was folded back down over my abdomen, and he leaned back in his chair.

“We’re just going to take this off,” he said, pulling at the jockstrap. “Although it must be said, I applaud your choice in underwear. Plenty of support for the testicles.”

I let him maneuver my underwear off. He set them on top of the pile of my clothes. My cock was definitely half-hard and paying attention. I could only wonder what the fuck would happen next.

“I notice you have removed all your pubic hair.”

“Yes,” I said pointlessly. Apparently a constant stream of stating-the-obvious was part of this game.

“Not so unusual these days. Plenty of men do,” he said, running his gloved hand over my groin. “It has no personal hygiene benefits but I do quite like the aesthetics.”

There was an odd sort of tugging on my skin where the latex caught, and I made my first mistake of the session so far and lifted my hips up into the sensation.

“Oops,” he said in a cheery voice. “Can’t have that. Let’s just strap you down for safety.”

“If you think that’s best, Doctor,” I said earnestly.

He stood and came round, carefully securing my wrists into the soft leather straps at the sides of the bed. They were very comfortable, and I quickly settled into being bound. It was one of my favorite things, after all.

“I’m going to do your ankles too,” he continued. “The last thing I want is a whack on the head.”

He tied the ankle straps a little tighter so I could feel the leather biting into my skin.

“Right, let’s take a closer look at your genitals.”

That made me want to blush.

“I’m just going to check your testicles first of all.”

By now, the straps had sent me off floating into an easy subspace, and it didn’t even occur to me to protest. He rolled each of my balls between his fingertips, “checking for lumps,” then tugged on each one until I squirmed.

“How long is it since you last ejaculated, Jesse?”

It was hard to think with his hands still squeezing and pulling.

“Jesse?” he prompted when I was still trying to think.

“Shit. Shit! Um, three days.”

“Hmm. I thought so. Your testicles are quite heavy. We’ll collect a sperm sample later.”

If I needed anything to push me into a full-blown, raging erection, this was it.

He ran his fingers up and down the length of my shaft, telling me he was looking for any lumps or damage to the skin.

“You have a fairly prominent ridge on the underside of your penis,” he said musingly, making a note of that too. “And a nice, neat circumcision scar. The medical community seems to be moving away from circumcising young boys these days but of course, it would make sense for someone of your age to have had it done. Do you know if there were any problems with the operation?”

“No, sir,” I said, finding it hard to talk while he gently but persistently massaged the tiny scar. I tried to stay still and failed, especially when he began to rub his fingertip all over the head of my cock.

“Lovely,” he said, pulling of the gloves and replacing them with new ones. “I’m going to do a nice, thorough prostate check now, Jesse. Do you have receptive anal intercourse?”

“Yes, sir,” I choked out.

“Good, good. I shouldn’t have to worry too much about your anal sphincter, then.”

I watched with rapt attention as he pulled a white towel off a tray of medical supplies and selected a tube of lube. After making a show of lubing up two fingers, he rubbed them decisively over my hole.

“Breathe deeply,” he suggested. “It’ll help.”

He pushed both fingers in together, rather than one at a time, which was interesting but not overly painful. I took his advice and breathed deeply until the aching stretch blended into something nicer and he expertly found my prostate.

“Here we go,” he said cheerfully.

By this point, my eyes were firmly closed, and I was only aware of his fingers inside me and his warm palm on my thigh, bracing himself so he could twist his fingers expertly. I was dimly aware of the spectators in the room, and even then only when they moved or coughed or changed places.

He massaged my prostate like it had never been massaged before. From the way he was pressing down on it, I was seriously concerned I might pee, that was if any could get through my now painfully hard erection.

“Nearly there, Jesse,” he said, having adopted a much more serious tone. “Do you normally release this amount of pre-ejaculate?”

I opened my eyes and looked down. He was right, I was leaking like a broken damn faucet.

“No, sir. Not quite that much.”

“Hmm. It could be a reaction to the pressure on your prostate.”

He took hold of my cock with his free hand, running his thumb back and forth over the head to gather up all the precome. “It looks fine to me, a normal consistency. I don’t think we have anything to worry about here.”

When he removed his hands from my body, I whimpered, wanting more, desperate to give him that sperm sample he’d mentioned.

“I’m just going to move your arms,” he said before removing the gloves again, unbuckling the cuffs, lifting my wrists over my head, and resecuring them. “This is more comfortable for what we’re going to do next.”

“What are you going to do, sir?” I asked, wondering what the fuck he had in mind.

He gave me an enigmatic smile and passed a strap around my middle, effectively buckling me in from that direction too. I’d noticed the small black case when I walked in but until that point, hadn’t realized it was part of the scene. It was about the size of a pencil case, flat, zippered shut.

When it was opened, I could just about see a row of long metal rods of varying degrees of thickness. I had a good idea what they were, and my heart started to hammer in my chest.

“Sounds are used to check for urethral blockage,” he said calmly. “We’ll start with the smallest one here, although a larger one might be required if we find you too loose.”

He gave me a little wink.

The sounds looked incredibly new. I guessed they were made of surgical steel; the light bounced off the shiny silver and around the small room.

“I’m just going to make sure you’re nice and secure for this,” he said, and ran an extra strap around my middle. “I need to make sure you can’t move and inadvertently hurt yourself.”

My eyes widened at that, and he was quick to calm me. “Don’t worry, Jesse. It won’t hurt at all. In fact, some men enjoy this process. They even do it recreationally!”

There were some snickers from the assembled group at the back of the room. I took a deep breath, relaxing under his competent hands. He murmured “good boy” under his breath, and I found myself settling further.