Date: Tue, 13 Jun 2017 22:32:21 +0200 (CEST)
From: jade.indigo@tutanota.com
Subject: Saturdays with Doctor Sox

Saturdays with Doctor Sox
by Jade Indigo ( jade.indigo@tutanota.com )

STORY CODES: M/b, oral, anal, mast, feet

DISCLAIMER: This is fantasy; never happened.  Don't get your knickers in a
twist about it.

If it's illegal for you to read this kind of story, please don't put
yourself at risk.

PLEASE: Donate to Nifty at http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html Seriously,
it's the right thing to do.

ON WITH THE STORY:

When I was nine years old (and only when I was nine) Dr. Sox would take me
out every other Saturday to spend the day and the night with him.  After
the first few Saturdays, I learned all about what he wanted to do, and it
was mostly pretty much the same each time.  So really, it was one Saturday
with Dr. Sox that I did about twenty-five times.

He was my mom's boss' boss, or maybe her boss' boss' boss.  I was never
exactly sure.  I only know that the first Saturday he came to get me, the
weekend after my 9th birthday, my mom told me to be polite and respectful
to him.  She told me to do anything he told me to do and to never _ever_
tell anyone else about the special stuff he did with me.

His real name wasn't Dr. Sox, that's just a name I made up for this story.
And it's also good because of the special stuff he liked to do with me.
Nobody ever told me his real name.  I called him Dr. Smith when I talked to
my mom about him, but my mom and me both knew that even I knew that wasn't
his real name either.

When we were out at restaurants or parks or places where there were other
people, I called him "Dad" or "Sir."  He told me to call him "Dad" and to
tell other people he was my dad if they asked.  He really liked it when I
started to call him "Sir" without him telling me.  When we were at his
special apartment, where he took me on Saturday afternoons, I always called
him "Doctor" or "Sir."  He liked that.  He said I was a good boy.

Dr. Sox would come and pick me up really early on Saturday mornings.  He
would pull up his car in front of our house and honk the horn.  I would
just be getting out of bed, because him honking his horn was the thing that
was supposed to wake me up.  I would run into the bathroom to pee with my
mom telling me to hurry up and then she would hand me the overnight bag she
packed for me and give me a kiss and a hug and tell me to be a good boy.
Then I would run out my front door barefoot and wearing just my pajamas
with my hair all messy from sleeping on it wet from my bath the night
before when my mom made me shampoo my hair.  I didn't usually sleep in
pajamas, but Dr. Sox wanted me to run out to his car wearing pajamas.

I would get in the back seat of his car and my mom would wave goodbye with
a kind of sad, strange look on her face and then he would pull away.  His
car smelled like pipe smoke.  I liked the smell, but he never smoked in the
car when I rode with him.  He drove to a city that was about half an hour
away from my house, and that gave me plenty of time to change clothes in
the back seat, the way he liked.

I didn't wear anything under my pajamas, and I was supposed to take them
off before I even started to look in the bag my mom packed for me.  He
liked it when I couldn't find my underwear for a while, so I would be naked
in the back seat of his car where he could see me in the mirror.  When I
finally got dressed, but still barefoot, I would wriggle my way up front,
between the seats, and sit down in the passenger seat and fasten my
seatbelt.  He told me I was a good boy.

When we got to the city, he would take me to a restaurant for breakfast.
He would open the passenger door for me, and I would turn sideways in the
seat for him, so he could put my shoes and socks on.  He always had a brand
new package of three pairs of boys socks: plain white, all cotton, the
low-rise style that only barely came up to my ankles.  He would put a pair
of socks on my feet there in the parking lot, and he seemed to really like
that part.  He had a kind of eager look on his face when he did it, and he
smoothed them into place a bunch of times before he would finally put my
shoes on.

We would go inside the restaurant, and he would order for us, and I would
call him "Dad" so the waiter would think I was his son.  It was always the
kind of restaurant that smelled like bacon and coffee and pancakes in the
morning.  While we were waiting for our food to come, he would take me into
the bathroom and comb my hair down so I didn't have bed head anymore, but
he would tell me I needed a haircut.

When the food came, we would talk while we ate and he was always really
interested about what I was doing at school or whatever, like a real dad
would.  He asked lots of questions and gave friendly advice and made me
feel good to tell him about my life, even safe to tell him about when I
messed up or did something bad at school or at home.  He was nice.

After breakfast, we would go to get my hair cut.  He would find a
barbershop that was open (only barbers, never hairstylists) and warn the
barber that I was really sensitive about the little hairs from a haircut
getting under my shirt, so I would have to take my shirt off before the
barber put the sheet thing over me.  Dr. Sox would sit and watch me get my
haircut while he held my shirt in his lap.  He would tell the barber the
kind of haircut to give me, and it was always the same.  I think it was the
kind of haircut Dr. Sox had when he was a boy.

Then we would go to a mall and walk around together, shopping and looking
at things.  I figured out that if I asked to get something for my mom, he
would always buy it, and then he would insist that I pick out a toy or a
game for myself.  He always bought me a book too, one that he would pick
out, and it was usually a story that was fun enough that I would actually
read it.  He was a good book picker.

He always bought clothes for me also.  I would go into the fitting room and
strip down to just my briefs and socks, the way he liked, and he would open
the door and hand me a pair of pants or a shirt to try on while he stood in
the door watching.  He made me try on a lot more clothes than he actually
bought for me, but he bought me enough clothes that I never had to go
clothes shopping with my mom, so that was good.

After all the shopping, we would go to the food court for lunch.  We could
see all the other boys out with their dads on Saturday, and I wondered
sometimes how many of them were with their real dad and how many were like
me, with a really nice man who wasn't actually their dad but who was acting
like it for everyone to see.

After lunch, he would take me some place where I could play outside, like a
park or something, and he liked to play catch with me and it was fun to run
around and be loud and laugh and get all sweaty and out of breath.  I did a
lot more running than he did, but he really did play with me, like a real
dad, and when I could show how good I was at catching or throwing or
jumping or climbing, he told me he was proud of me.  I liked that.

He always let me play a good, long time at the park, running and laughing
and sweating.  But I could tell even without him looking at his watch when
we were about to leave.  It was always when the sunshine started to change
color, when it would get all yellow-red and dreamy.  He would tell me to
come sit by him and cool down a little before we got back in his car.  He
would put his arm around me, sitting on a park bench or at a picnic table,
and he would lean over and kiss me on the top of my head and take a long
deep breath.  It felt so good to sit with him like that, like he was really
my dad, and I would hug him back and we would just sit together for a
little while, watching the other kids and people in the golden, dreamy
light.

Then we would get back in his car and drive to his apartment, where we did
the special things.  The Saturday nights with Dr. Sox things.  I don't
think he lived at that apartment, I think it was just where he did his
special things with me.

When we went inside the apartment, he would tell me it was time for me to
"get comfortable."  That meant we would go to the bedroom, there was only
one bedroom, and he would help me take off all of my clothes except for my
socks.  He told me he knew I was old enough that I didn't really need help
to get undressed, but that it made him feel good to help me.

When I was bare naked, except for the socks that I had been wearing all
day, he would ruffle my hair and tell me I was a good boy.  It felt kind of
silly to me to wear only socks and nothing else, but his eyes were always
kind of shiny and excited when he got me "comfortable" and I could tell he
really liked to see me that way.  Then he would tell me to go turn on the
TV and the game console while he got comfortable.  He closed the door
behind me when I left the bedroom, before he changed into his comfortable
clothes.

In only a few minutes, he would come out of the bedroom, wearing a long
bathrobe that came down past his knees, and slippers on his feet.  I would
be sitting in front of the TV, criss-cross-applesauce, ready to start the
game, and he would come sit on the ottoman beside me and light up a pipe
and we would play some video games for a while and I would mostly win and
it would be for real, not because he let me win, because I think he only
ever played those games with me but I played whenever I could and boys are
just better at video games anyway.

Then there would be a knock on the door, and I would go back to the bedroom
and close the door and be quiet.  After a few minutes, Dr. Sox would come
back to the bedroom and get me, and there would be pizza!  It was always
pizza, but not always the same kind, but I always loved it.  Dr. Sox made
me sit at the counter to eat the first slice, while the pizza was still
super hot and foldy and dangerous.  Because he didn't want me to spill it
in my lap while it was like that and my lap had my wiener in the middle of
it with no clothes covering it.

But after the first slice, and some orange soda (and he laughed when I
burped from the bubbles) we would go sit on the sofa and watch something on
TV while we kept eating.  Well, mostly I kept eating, he only ever had a
couple of slices.  After two slices, he would go have a shot of bourbon and
bring a bottle of beer back with him to the couch while we watched TV.  It
was fun to eat in the living room, watching TV.  My mom never let me do
that.

When I was done eating, he would tell me to go wash my face and hands and
to use the toilet, if I possibly could.  The using the toilet part was
important.  He wasn't mad if I took a while.  He wanted me to get the
toilet stuff done, because of the special stuff that would come later.  But
that was later.  When I came back from washing my face was when the
rough-housing would start.

Dr. Sox must have had real sons, or maybe I was not his first pretend son,
because he knew just how to play-wrestle with a boy.  He let me "win" some
of the time, but he always made me work hard so hard for it.  And sometimes
he just overpowered me, because he could, easily, but he was never mean
when he did.  Only a couple seconds after I would quit fighting, because he
won, he would let me go and we could start again.

And the tickling!  Dr. Sox was the best tickler ever!  It was like he could
read my mind.  He knew exactly when me screaming "Stop, stop!"  really
meant "Don't you dare stop!"  He knew all the best tickle places: under my
arms, on my sides under my ribs, and on the insides of my thighs so close
to my wiener that his knuckles brushed against my squirrel pouch, where I
kept my nuts.  And when the tickles on bare skin got too strong, and "Stop,
stop!" really meant "Please, I need a break!" he went to my feet.

Because I was wearing socks, I could stand the tickles on my feet better,
but they still tickled so much.  I would try extra special hard to be
strong, to resist, while Dr. Sox attacked my soles and my toes, through the
socks I had been wearing all day long.  He would pull my feet up close to
his face and take a deep sniff while he wiggled his fingers against my
instep and I squirmed and giggled, trying so hard not to laugh out loud, to
be a brave, strong boy.

After a while, when I was worn out, when tickles weren't fun anymore (and
he knew, like magic) Dr. Sox would go and get another shot of bourbon, and
bring another beer back to the sofa.  Then we would just sit together, all
quiet like, me a little breathless.

I would sit in his lap, facing him, straddling his legs.  Dr. Sox would
open his bathrobe and I could see his strong muscles and hairy chest.  And
I could smell his cologne and the tobacco and the little bit of sweat from
him running and playing with me.  And I could see his big old pecker,
standing up straight like a flagpole sticking out from his body, with a
little drop of something shiny and clear oozing out of the end.  And I
would reach out and put my arms on his shoulders while he ran his hands
over my body.  It was like he was worshipping my body.  He had a dreamy
look in his eyes and he would just feel of my shoulders, and my sides, and
my hips while I sat there in his lap, watching him touching me.

And he would pull me up close to his face and kiss me under my ears, and on
my neck.  His chin was scratchy because he hadn't shaved since that
morning, but it seemed right to me, it was how a grownup man's face should
feel, and I got all shivery feeling from the way he kissed me and breathed
his hot, beer smelling breath on my neck.

And his hands would drift lower on my hips, come around in front and start
playing with my wiener and my squirrel pouch.  He stopped kissing me then,
and I would just sit back and watch while he played with my private boy
parts.  I would get all quiet then, the fluttery feeling in my tummy was so
strong.  Dr. Sox would breathe hard as he wiggled and stroked me until my
wiener got all stiff and tingly.  When I was all squirmy, because of the
tingles, and when he started breathing really hard, he would say something
like "You get to go first, Buddy."

He would get up then, and pick me right up, under the arms and stand me on
the ottoman, putting my feet on the edges so my legs were as wide as could
be, with my toes grabbing the corners of the ottoman, through my socks.  He
would get on his knees, on the floor in front of me, and bend my wiener
down, because it stood up so straight when it was all stiff and tingly, it
almost touched my tummy.  And he bent it down, just a little bit, so he
could put it in his mouth.

He took me all the way in, so my whole squirrel pouch was in his mouth.  He
reached his arms between my legs, behind my back, tucking his elbows in, to
pull my hips up close to his face.  My wiener was all the way in his mouth,
where it felt all hot and wet and tight, because he sucked in his cheeks so
hard.

After a few moments, he would pull back, and my stiffy would pop out and
slap me in the belly.  I could look down at it, looking back up at me with
its one eye, all shiny and wet from his spit.  Mr Sox would look up at me
from beside it and wink and ask "Are you ready?"

I would nod, and he would use his fingers to push my skin back.  He was so
gentle, treating me like some kind of treasure.  He rolled my skin back
until the little helmet of my wiener popped out, all purple and shiny, and
then he took my stiffy back into his mouth, but this time not all the way
down to my squirrel pouch, just the stiff, sticking-out part.  And he put
his arms back through, between my legs so he was almost holding me up, and
that was good because of what would happen next.

And he sucked me, and pumped up and down with his lips and tongue on my
little, stiff wiener, until I had my sparkles.

Sparkles was the name he taught me for that special feeling, that explodey
feeling.  It was like finally getting to pee after holding it way too long.
It was like having that itch in the middle of your back and someone finally
helps you and scratches it.  It was like getting into a hot bath after
playing a long time outside in the cold.  Only it was better than any of
those things, than all of those things put together.

And he would hold me tight against him, when I had my sparkles, because the
feeling was so strong my knees almost buckled, but he was a big grownup man
and his arms were between my legs and I was light so he could hold me.  And
almost before I stopped shivering and gasping from the sparkles, when the
flashes were still in my brain, he would take his mouth off me because now
it was his turn and he was eager, in a hurry.

So Dr. Sox would lay me down, on my back, on the ottoman.  It wasn't quite
long enough for my body, it only went from my shoulders to my hips, so I
would do like he told me and reach behind my head with my arms to hold my
head up.  He left his bathrobe on, but it was wide open, so I could see his
great big pecker, sticking out in front of him from the hairy place between
his legs.

And he would grab my feet in his hands and pull them up to his pecker,
holding one in each hand and using the socks on my feet to rub his pecker,
with the soles of my feet going up and down on it.  I tried to help, but I
was kind of clumsy with my feet to do that, so I mostly let him rub himself
using my feet, I just tensed up my tummy some to hold my hips up to keep my
feet at the right height for him.

And then, after only a minute or so, he would let go of one of my feet and
pull the sock partway off the other, just so my heel showed.  Then he did
his special Dr. Sox thing.  He stretched out the elastic on the ankle of
the sock and pushed his pecker inside with my foot, so I could feel it all
hot and stiff on the sole of my foot.  He would grab my foot with both
hands and rub and pump himself and then he sort of groaned and made all the
hot spurting stuff inside my sock, up between my toes.

He would stop moving then for a minute, his eyes closed, but some more of
the sticky stuff kept pumping out of his pecker, making the sole of my foot
all slippery and wet.  Finally, he would open his eyes and look down at me
and smile, but it almost looked like a sad smile when he did that.

He would take the sock off my other foot then, and turn it inside out.
Then he pulled his pecker out of the sock with my foot and made sure to
pull that sock back up on my ankle, so all the hot gooey stuff stayed in
the sock.  He used my other sock to wipe the extra sticky stuff off his
pecker, making sure it was nice and clean before he put that sock back on
my bare foot, right side out, so his gooey stuff would be against my foot.

I would sit up on the ottoman then, while he finished off his second beer,
and refilled his pipe and lit it.  Then he would sit down on the couch and
hold his arms open for me.  We would cuddle on the couch again, and I would
sit in his lap only facing away from him this time, leaning back against
his chest, feeling the rough hairs against my back,

And he would lean in close behind my ear, smelling my hair and my sweat,
and telling me over and over what a good, smart, strong, brave boy I was.
And I could tell he was maybe a little drunk, but so was I on the power of
his praise and the leftover glow from the sparkles.

He would tell me to pull my feet up close, to put the soles of my feet
together and let my knees splay out like a frog, while he kissed and
nuzzled my neck and my ears, so he could see my feet in their socks, pulled
up so close to my boy parts where he could reach them.  And he would
massage my feet then, rubbing them with his strong hands, through the
socks.  And it felt really good, even with his goo in my socks.

Then he would kiss my neck even more, and smell me so much, and run his
hands over my chest and belly, rubbing my nipples and probing my belly
button and stroking me like I was special and wonderful.  And his hands
would finally drift down to my wiener again, and he would roll my nuts
around in my squirrel pouch, and pull my skin up and down over the head of
my wiener, and I would start to squirm some more because it started to feel
like building up to sparkles again.

Then we would get up so I could lay down on my back on the sofa, with my
head and shoulders propped up on the arm of the sofa, and a pillow under my
back so it was comfortable.  And he would lift my leg so it was draped on
the back of the sofa and spread my other leg so it was dangling off the
front of the sofa.  Then he would put a towel under my butt because the
next part got kind of drippy.

Dr. Sox would sit on the ottoman, beside me, and he would open a drawer in
the end table and take out some special stuff.  It was a tube of slippery
jelly and a box of rubber gloves.  He would pull a rubber glove on just his
right hand and squeeze out a big blob of the slippery jelly onto his middle
finger, then he would reach down between my legs and sort of paint my butt
hole with the stuff.  It was kind of cold and it made me giggle, but I was
also kind of nervous because I knew what came next.

Dr. Sox would put a bunch more of the slippery jelly on his middle finger,
making sure he got it all the way down to his knuckle.  Then, he would
reach up and stroke my hair with his other hand and tell me to look at him
in his eyes, so I did.  And then he put his slippery, gloved finger against
my butt hole and pushed it all the way inside of me.

That always made me gasp, and I'm sure my face looked kind of shocked, but
Dr. Sox kept looking right in my eyes and stroking my hair and telling me I
was a big, good, brave boy.  And he just held his finger still, inside me,
until I caught my breath again and kind of nodded a little to tell him I
was ready for the next part.

Then Dr. Sox would move his finger around inside me a little bit.  Not a
lot, he was just looking for a special place inside me, he told me boys had
a "magic button" on the inside that could make them feel just as good as
when they rubbed their wieners from the outside.  And he would find my
magic button, and boy, was he ever right about how good it felt!  He just
had to sort of wiggle the tip of his finger a little bit and I could tell
he was going to make me have my sparkles again.

But he wanted to do me "inside and out" when I was on the couch like that,
so I helped him by putting some of the slippery jelly on his other hand,
the one that didn't have a glove on it, and then he reached down and played
with my wiener on the outside, making a circle with his thumb and finger
and rubbing it up and down on my wiener like he was trying to pump it.  He
squeezed pretty tight, but his fingers were all slippery from the jelly
stuff, so it felt really good.

With Dr. Sox rubbing me inside and out, I got my sparkles really fast, and
they lasted really, really long.  Like, lots of minutes.  He could keep me
going like that for a long time, with my brain just exploding from the good
feelings and my legs shaking and my chest heaving.  After a good long time,
he would finally slow down and stop, just holding his finger still inside
of me, and letting go of my wiener on the outside.  I could look down and
see it twitching, all shiny from the jelly, my skin pulled back from the
end and the head all red and laying there in a little puddle of the
slippery jelly.  After a little while more, he would slowly pull his finger
out of my butt hole and pull the glove off, turning it inside out as he
did. Then he got up and went to the trash can in the kitchen and threw it
away and washed his hands while I laid on the couch and tried to remember
which direction was up.

When he came back from the kitchen, Dr. Sox would clean me up, by licking.
All of the places that had the slippery jelly on them, he licked clean,
even my butt hole.  He didn't try to make me have my sparkles again, but
boy, did that feel good!  And after that, it was time to use another pair
of socks.

He would get a fresh pair, that hadn't even been on my feet, and have me
sort of roll one of them down the length of his pecker.  My socks weren't
really big enough to cover all him, and he told me not to pull it down too
tight on the head of his pecker, but to leave some room for it to move
inside.

And I laid down on my back on the ottoman again, and this time Dr. Socks
just held my feet up to his face, sniffing them through the socks and
nuzzling them.  He crowded and loomed over me and bent his legs a little
bit so I ended up looking up the whole length of his body with his sock
covered pecker right there where I could reach it with my hands.  And that
is what I was supposed to do.  Dr. Socks just stood over me while I tugged
and tugged on his pecker, gripping it through the sock.  My hands never
went up where the head was, I just gripped his shaft.  He wanted me to do
more pulling than pushing, so I sort of jerked my hands away from his body
fast, squeezing hard, then went a little slower moving them back closer to
his balls with my grip relaxed a little bit, to get ready for the next tug.
I learned how to do it the way he liked pretty soon, after only a few
weekends practicing.  After that, I could make Dr. Sox squirt his goo into
the sock before my hands started to cramp from the gripping and squeezing
and tugging.

Dr. Sox would wipe his pecker off with the other fresh sock, the one that
wasn't on his pecker, and then it was time for us to take a shower.  We
walked together into the bathroom and Dr. Socks would finally take the
socks off my feet, the ones that had his goo in them.  He would drop both
pairs of socks, the ones that had been on my feet all day, and the ones
that had only been wrapped around his pecker while I tugged on him, into a
brown paper bag, like a lunch sack, that had the date written on it.  He
would fold the top down twice, making really tight creases, and then put a
clothespin on the top, like he meant to keep that bag for a long time.

We took a shower together, which was kind of crowded, but it was fun to be
all close to Dr. Sox with the hot water spraying on us and bumping into
each other every time one of us turned around.  Dr. Sox used deodorant soap
and dandruff shampoo and all the stuff grownups use because they get
stinky.  But he said too much soap was bad for a boy's skin, so my shower
was just with water.  He said he wanted to be able to smell my boy smell in
bed.

When we got out of the shower and dried off and brushed our teeth, we would
go into Dr. Sox' bedroom and he would put on some pajamas, tops and
bottoms, while I sat, still naked, on the edge of his bed.  Then he would
get a fresh hand towel and dry my feet again, getting between all my toes.
After that, he put the last pair of the three pack of socks on my feet.

And I would lay down with him in his bed, big-spoon-little-spoon, me
wearing socks and nothing else, and fall asleep in his arms.  And that
would be the end of another Saturday with Doctor Sox.