by Declan Ward
STRAIGHT SEDUCTION
DOCTOR’S ORDERS
By Declan Ward
D. Ward Books.
Copyright © 2016 by Declan Ward
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and situations are fiction; resemblance to any actual persons, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
MORE STORIES BY DECLAN WARD
Straight Seduction Stories
The Roommate
Other Stories
Mind Stripped
Story Collections
Boys in Trance
Boys in Trance 2
Porn: check. Jerking off: check. Sex: well, there’s been a problem.
I haven’t been able to get off with a girl in almost a month. Sex isn’t working out. I have no idea why, but my dick just can’t stay hard. No matter how hot the girl is. Meanwhile, if my hand is riding my cock up and down, stroking endlessly, lubricating with my own precum, stroking faster and faster… Let’s just say I’m getting hard thinking about it.
But at this point, I can’t deal with masturbation being my only way to cumming. I need sex. So that’s why I’m about to have the strangest doctor’s appointment of my life.
“Dr. Alvarez is ready to see you,” the nurse says, motioning for me to head down the hall.
I gulp, completely unexcited to tell my doctor that my dick’s already failing me, and I’m only in my mid-twenties. This is not the age for erectile dysfunction.
As I walk down the hallway, I stare down at my sneakers, trying to look past the lack of bulge in my jeans. Mentally, my libido’s been off the charts. Not much to show for it though. I’ve seen Dr. Alvarez so many times that my feet instinctively stop when I reach his office. The door’s open, but I quickly shut it behind me as I enter.
“Afternoon, Keaton,” he says, his deep, masculine voice making me even more aware of the problems with my… ahem, own masculinity.
“Hey, Dr. Alvarez.”
“Take a seat.”
I move over to the examination table, sit down, and stare at Dr. Alvarez, my words caught in my throat. He’s got a thick, dark beard that lines his face and emphasizes his jawline. The darkness of his beard and the straightedge of his thick brows make the brightness of his brown eyes pop even more, piercing when they stare back at me.
“What can I do for you?”
He stands from his desk and walks toward me, his broad shoulders and the muscles visible even through his white doctor’s coat. His masculine build is nearly intimidating me now that he’s only a few inches away.
“I, um… Well, I have an issue.”
A deep chuckle rises in him, and a smile flashes his perfectly white teeth. “I figured as much, Keaton. Come on, you’re comfortable here. Doctor-to-patient confidentiality is a big deal.” He leans forward and puts his hand on my shoulder, gripping it tightly but not painfully. “I’m here to help.”
Whether or not he is here to help, and whether or not he has to keep it confidential, it’s still embarrassing. I run through all of my recent attempts at sex in my mind just to remind myself that it’s a real problem. Unfortunately, I need some help getting hard.
I sigh, and say, “Well, I’ve been having trouble having sex.”
“Oh. So you can’t get erect?” he asks.
Now I think about masturbating, and the thought of tight stroking along my shaft makes my dick stir.
“Not exactly,” I say. “I can get hard if I masturbate. But otherwise—”
“Otherwise you can’t,” he says. “So it could be a performance issue.”
“That’s not it. I’ve never had trouble before. It just started a month ago.”
“Anything happen that could’ve triggered the issue? Someone rejecting you, perhaps?”
I shake my head. There was nothing that could’ve caused this so suddenly. With a libido like mine, getting hard should never be an issue.
“Hmm. It’s clearly not a lack of testosterone with that body of yours.”
He’s right. That’s not the issue. I’ve been working out twice as much and eating double the protein over the last few weeks in hopes that it’d solve the problem. It didn’t.
Dr. Alvarez turns around and walks back and forth a bit, pacing in thought. I know he has to have a solution on his mind. The fact that he’s not coming right out with it is making me nervous.
“So I have run into patients with this issue before, and I have a solution that’s always worked. But I’m not sure you’ll be completely comfortable with it, Keaton.”
My first thought: I’ll do anything at this point. And so that’s what I tell him.
“I can help you personally,” he says. “If you’re comfortable masturbating, then it’s likely a handjob is the best transition to you becoming comfortable having sex with another person again.”
A heat appears in my cheeks, them reddening with an embarrassment that I’m not familiar with.
“Wait, are you saying…?”
“I’m your doctor. I’ve seen your penis before, Keaton,” he says. There’s a confidence and a frankness in his voice that confuses me more.
Yes, he’s a doctor. But this is something I never would’ve considered normal.
“You’re welcome to decline, but I don’t have other options to help you.”
I look down at my crotch, as if it’ll help me make the decision. At the idea of a hand—my hand—stroking it, it perks up as usual. But how would that change if it was the doctor’s hand—another man’s hand—sliding up and down? It couldn’t hurt, could it?
Worst case scenario: it didn’t work, and I’d probably have to change doctors to get over it. Best case scenario: it works, and I can go back to having as much sex as I want. And I might have to change doctors anyway.
“So, Keaton?”
“Uh, let’s try it,” I say, still surprised as the words slip out of my mouth.
“Good. Strip, please,” he says.
Again, that frankness. He really must have done this before.
Hesitantly, I remove my belt and unbutton my jeans. At first, I don’t mean to take my shirt off, but I know I’ll be more comfortable without it on. So as I reach to take it off, the doctor takes over removing my jeans. As he unzips them, I feel the faintest pressure of his hand on my cock, and my nervousness starts to build.
I kick off my shoes, and he pulls down my jeans, leaving me in just my boxer briefs. They’re tight enough that the outline of my cock is visible. It’s not hard yet, but I find myself hoping it will be soon.
Dr. Alvarez turns and walks to the cabinets, while I slip off my boxers. He comes back, rubbing some sort of lubricant in his latex gloves. I didn’t imagine this would happen with the gloves on, and I can tell he realizes that by the look on his face. It’s a mix off amusement—a grin—and concern—raised eyebrows.
“I can take these off if that helps,” he says, a soft chuckle on his breath.
“No, no. It’s fine,” I say quickly.
Maybe the fact that his skin won’t be on my skin makes it less gay. Maybe. I’m worried the latex will feel odd, but nothing can make this situation weirder than it already is. I can’t believe I’m going through with this.
Part of me is about to tell him I’ve changed my mind, but then there’s a warmth on my cock, wet from the lubricant, and it alre
ady feels good. It’s smoother and more slippery than it is when I masturbate, but Dr. Alvarez keeps his grip firm enough that his hands never slip off. The latex rubs against my skin, up and down, and I can’t stop myself from staring down at his hand as it fucks my cock.
And that’s when I realize that I’m already starting to get hard. My dick is more than half erect, and the continued stroking is just building and building the pleasure.
A soft moan escapes my mouth. I look up at Dr. Alvarez immediately, my face reddening with embarrassment again. But he just grins, his masculine features curling into satisfaction. As if he’s enjoying this too.
“Seems like it’s working so far, eh, Keaton?” he says, that grin still plastered on his face as his latex-covered hands ride my cock.
“Yeah, doctor,” I say, breathlessly suppressing another moan.
As my gaze moves back down to my cock, I see him licking his lips. Maybe he’s gay. Maybe he’s enjoying it too. But that doesn’t make me gay. There’s just a hand on my dick. Nothing else. But it feels so good.
He strokes tight. Fast. Hard. As he slips up and down my shaft, he twists his hand around, stimulating me even more. When he reaches the top of the shaft, his thumb reaches and rubs the head of my dick, spreading the precum that’s starting to leak out of my almost fully hard cock. His other hand starts to move around my balls, squeezing them and playing with them, and the latex feels so hot and smooth against them.
And I just sit and watch the hands roam my cock and balls, having a harder and harder time holding back the moans as he makes my cock harder and harder.
“Good, good. You’re so hard, Keaton,” he says, his voice almost seductive.
“Yeah,” I say.
And suddenly his hand gets so much faster. So much faster than I thought it could go. And my wet cock feels so good, pleasure tingling all over it as his hand slips up and down, up and down, stroking so fast that it feels like my entire dick is being stimulated all at once. Every inch of skin is burning with a fire of lust, and the wetness is no longer just from the lubricant. My precum is all over, mixing with the lubricant, making his latex gloves and my hard cock wetter and hotter and harder. His stroking gets even faster, and my breathing gets faster. I bite my lip to stop the moaning, but sound escapes my mouth anyway.
Dr. Alvarez grins at me, and I know he loves seeing me likes this. But I can’t help it. It’s so strange, and I swear I’m not gay, but I’m loving it so much. I don’t know if it’s the latex or him or just the fact that it’s a handjob. It has to be the handjob. It can’t be him. It can’t be him. That’d be gay. Stop thinking it might be him.
But oh. I moan so deeply. I’m so close already. My cock is fully erect, wet and hot and ready to burst. I can feel myself starting to need to cum. I start to thrust my dick ever so slightly, fucking his hand subtly, barely able to stop myself from thrusting harder and faster as he strokes me harder and faster.
“I’m gonna—”
He stops.
The pleasure overrides me even without his stroking, but without the stimulation, I feel the orgasm slipping away. I don’t want it to slip away.
Instinctively, my hands both move toward my cock, ready to masturbate and finish myself off. But before my hands can reach it, his wet, hot, latex hands grab each of my wrists, tightly pushing my hands against the exam table.
“Nope. You’re not allowed to do that,” he says.
I fight against his grip, but even as strong as I am, he’s stronger.
“I’m not allowed to masturbate?” I question, shocked and starting to get pissed.
“The entire point of this exercise is to make sure you can get hard and orgasm from the stimulation of someone else, something besides your hands. Your masturbating is the problem right now, not the solution,” he explains.
“So why the hell did you stop?”
My dick is throbbing, begging for stimulation. I need more. Fuck it if he’s a guy. He’s the only one here to give me what I need.
“You want me to continue?” he asks.
I don’t even hesitate: “Of course, Dr. Alvarez. I was about to cum.”
His grin returns before he can stop it. Then he speaks: “This is part of the treatment. Your penis is still hard, isn’t it? That’s a good sign.”
“So are we just gonna sit here and wait for it to go down?” I ask, and he laughs at my question.
My dick is starting to get softer. It looks fully erect still, and it’s still pulsing with hot pleasure, but it’s definitely starting to go down because of the lack of stimulation.
“Not at all. Have you ever heard of edging, Keaton?”
Of course, I’ve heard of edging. When I have extra time to masturbate, edging is always my go-to. It feels so much better to get to the brink, and slow, and get to the brink again. Over and over until the release feels so much fucking better. But no one else has ever edged me. I’ve always had control.
“You’re gonna edge me?”
“That’s certainly part of it.”
I still want to stroke, to stimulate myself, and it’s hard to stop fighting his grip. But he’s still stronger, and his grip isn’t lessening. But my erection is lessening. It’s still hard, but apparently it’s soft enough to continue, because the pleasure suddenly starts all over, and my hands stop fighting to escape his grip. Because his hot, wet grip is no longer keeping my hands still. His grip is stroking my cock into further ecstasy. Up and down. Hard and tight. Smooth and wet.
This time, I don’t fight the moans. I let them out, soft and loud, whatever I feel. I let him play with my cock, let him take control of the pleasure. Because it feels so damn good. The gloves are still wet, but as he strokes me with his left hand, he spits into his right, coating the latex. He switches hands, his spit blending with the lubricant and my precum. And I don’t even care that a man’s spit is helping get me off. It feels so good. So wet, so sticky with the blend of precum and spit. So hot with the friction. And he strokes faster again. Getting as fast as before, even faster. And my cock is fully hard. Hot, flowing with cum, and begging to burst.
The stimulation is so good, the pleasure is overwhelming. His hand grips my cock so tight, twisting and stroking and playing. I resist the urge to thrust. I stop myself from saying that I’m going to cum. I even suppress my endless moans. Maybe if he doesn’t realize I’m so close, he’ll let me cum.
And he keeps going. The stroking gets harder, and the orgasm gets closer. I lick my lips in anticipation of cumming. I let out a deep moan.
And he stops.
“Fuck!” I say.
I immediately rush my hands over to my dick, but he’s faster. His wet, latex hands already gripping my wrists tightly, pushing them against the exam table again.
“Seriously, doc?” I say, irritated.
“You have to let me proceed with the treatment. We have to be thorough with this, Keaton. Otherwise, it’s not going to work.”
“I think it’s already working,” I say.
“In this room maybe. With me,” he says. He pauses, gauging my reaction. I don’t know what he sees, but his hungry look makes me feel smaller. Yet it doesn’t make my dick any less hard. “But outside of here, who knows if you’ll still get hard?”
I sigh. I don’t know if I trust him at this point, but I want to cum so bad that I’m willing to go along with it. I stop fighting his grip on my wrists, and his hands relax. They stay there, still ready to pin me down, but there’s less pressure.
My dick still tingles with erotic pleasure, still hard, essentially vibrating from the ecstasy. Ready for another go.
This time, the doctor slides the latex glove off of his right hand. He spits in his now-bare hand. And then he continues.
The friction is so much more intense from his hand than from the latex. The new sensation feels incredible. If it didn’t feel so good to have his rough, spit-soaked, callused hands rubbing up and down my cock, I would stop him. Without the gloves, he’s really touching me. A man is g
iving me a handjob. But it feels wonderful.
And then he switches hands, and the soft, slippery latex slides up and down, fast and hot and wet. And my dick is already fully erect again, already ready to burst.
He rubs the tip of my cock with his bare hand as he strokes me with the latex. The mix of the sensations makes my precum flow out even faster. This time, I feel like even when he stops, I’ll still be able to cum. Just the afterglow of the pleasure, of his hard and fast strokes and teasing of the tip. It’ll be enough to make me burst. And I’m so fucking hard—
He stops again.
This time I don’t reach to finish myself off, I accept his command, obeying the procedure. But my cock doesn’t cum on its own like I hoped it would. The enduring pleasure isn’t enough to bring the climax. I need the stimulation.
He goes again, stroking and stroking, alternating from his bare hand to his latex hand. Hot friction and then wet strokes. And then he stops. And we edge again and again, until I feel like the slightest movement would make my cock burst. But then he stops again, and this time he steps back.
“Now we’re going to switch things up,” Dr. Alvarez says.
“Wait, what?”
Again, he grins. Again, he laughs.
“We know that a handjob from someone else can get you hard. But we need to test if you can stay hard with… other kinds of stimulation,” he explains.
“Like what?”
I can’t think of anything else that wouldn’t feel so much more gay. This is getting to be too much. But I know that I want to cum so badly that I’ll go along with it. I don’t want this pleasure to ever stop.
“Generally at this point, I let my patients pick from two options. I can give you a blowjob”—is it gay if it’s just another mouth on my cock?—“or you can fuck”—no fucking way I’m fucking a guy’s ass—“my hand.”
“Fuck… your hand?” I ask, holding my breath.
“Well, I’m assuming you wouldn’t be comfortable with the alternative. This is all up to you, Keaton,” he says.