5
The room was small and fluorescent-lit. Containing a
desk, examination table and various apparatus, it looked no different to any
other doctor's Sam had visited, and nor did the man sat writing. Sam did not
notice the large, square mirror on the wall. When the man spoke it was curt and
firm, not at all reassuring as you might hope from a doctor. "Please, sit
down," sounded more like an instruction than an invitation and he did not look
up as he spoke.
"This will be a short, routine medical, required by law in support of your
induction, do you understand?"
"Er, yes," said Sam.
"Yes Sir" the man corrected, sharply.
"Yes Sir," Sam repeated, a little confused by calling a Doctor `Sir'.
"Good. You are Sam Pearson, yes?"
"Yes Sir."
"Good. You are twenty today, correct?"
"Yes Sir," said Sam again, already tiring of these stupid questions. There were
no more, though, and the medical began in earnest. His height and weight were
recorded, blood samples and mouth swabs were taken and his eyes, ears and teeth
were thoroughly examined. As the doctor took his seat, Sam thought it signaled the conclusion of the medical but as he wrote, the
Doctor spoke again.
"For the next stage, please undress and stand with your arms out to the side
and your feet shoulder-width apart."
Sam was startled. What!? He began
looking around for a screen behind which to undress, but there was nothing. "Now,
Mr. Pearson, please," the doctor commanded, sternly, looking up and peering at
him over his glasses. "You do not possess anything I have not seen before and I
have other people to see so do not dawdle."
Slowly Sam rose and began to unbutton his shirt, taken aback as much by the
man's tone and directness as the instruction itself. By the time he slid down
his boxers and added them to the pile of clothes on the chair, he was trembling
slightly and desperate to cover his modesty with his hands. As he shuffled to
the centre of the room, though, the man looked over his glasses again and Sam
thought better of it, despite being unable to think of any consequence this man
could possibly deliver. He stood in the position as directed and the Doctor set
about him with a tape measuring what felt like every piece of him. The
circumference of his head and neck, the span of his arms, the size of his feet,
length of his fingers, his waist, his hips, his chest, his shoulders, his thigh,
his in-seam and lastly, delicately, the length of his flaccid penis, sat snug
beneath his coarse, dark pubis, disliking both the attention and the cold of
the room. He flushed a little when the Doctor read out "4 centimetres" and
wrote it down.
Embarrassment soon gave way to explicit humiliation, however, as he was guided
to one of the apparatus and stood with his chest flush against a leather-padded
board and his nipples resting atop it. From one side the Doctor produced a
solid rubber bar attached to a wire and placed it in Sam's mouth. The Doctor
typed away from behind then suddenly the machine whirred into life. The thing
that had pressed into his upper chest began to move slowly downwards. A firm
hand pressed between his shoulder blades. Gradually the machine clamped down on
his nipples and he groaned. It did not relent and the pain grew and grew as it
tightened and he struggled and cried out in agony.
Then it was gone. The machine freed him, the hand left his back and he stepped
backwards, weak with pain, letting the bar fall from his mouth. "Lie on the bed
please, Mr. Pearson," the doctor said, quite unfazed. Too sore and confused to
argue, Sam did so, as leather cuffs on chains were produced from the beneath
the bed and buckled around his wrists and ankles. A thick strap was also drawn
across his stomach and fastened firmly. His mind raced as he struggled to think
of a reason why this was necessary and he squirmed in protest. The chains were
taught and the buckles sturdy, though, and he made no difference to his
bindings.
"What the fuck... What's this for?" he said, exasperated.
"Safety, Mr. Pearson. Safety," the doctor replied, "now please stay still," he
added, as he pulled on rubber gloves and gently drew back Sam's foreskin. It
tingled as he swabbed beneath the soft, mushroomed head and stung much worse
when he slid the opposite end of the swab down the hole. Sam tensed in the
chains and grimaced.
"All done, Mr. Pearson. Just a routine STD test," the doctor said. "You're
almost finished."
Sam wondered what could possibly still be to come -- he was already naked,
embarrassed, humiliated, patronised. Still confused as to what it was all for.
He felt a sudden pang of fear.
"You have refrained from masturbation for 24 hours as instructed, yes?" the
doctor said, looking over at the naked boy. Sam nodded. "Yes Sir."
"Good."
"Why?"
The doctor did not answer, instead rolling across the room on his chair and again
taking Sam's penis in his hand. The hand was slick this time, though, and it
squeezed and rolled and tugged and grasped at his four centimetre softness
until it, too, was slick, and shiny and, soon, standing rigid from his body,
throbbing, thick and flushed. Sam, though moaning at the sensation, was
mortified. He started to apologise but as the doctor pulled a tape measure from
his pocket, it dawned on him that it was all intentional. Satisfied with his
measurement, the doctor reached under the bed again and produced a clear
plastic tube, open and padded at one end and attached to wires and tubes at the
other. He slid it over Sam's erection and flicked a switch somewhere under the
bed. Immediately the lining of the tube gripped the hard cock and the tube
began to rise and fall to a steady rhythm of clicks and gasps from a machine
somewhere. Sam could only lie helpless as the contraption worked on his crotch,
speeding and slowing, edging him closer and closer to further humiliation. He
pushed his head back; arched his back against the strap holding him; gasped and
panted, as the merciless tube rocked violently on his cock. Sweat glistened on
his brow and chest. Sensations like he'd never known flooded through him as the
milking machine drew him to the threshold of climax and held him there; in
torment; in ecstasy; in mindblowing, excruciating
agony. And then it came. He tipped over the cliff-edge and bucked wildly,
thrashing the chains, as he shot time after time into the rubber sheath. As it
slowed to a halt he slumped in his shackles, breathless and spent, glistening
and burning with shame. The doctor, though, was unfazed and removed the tube,
unbuckled the cuffs and passed Sam a tissue to clean himself with. He did so,
trembling, and stood to reach for his clothes.
"No, Mr. Pearson, you are not to dress," the doctor said, curtly, "this will be
all you require for now," he added, tossing a garment at him. Sam unfolded it
and sighed. It was a backless hospital gown, made of a soft, cold plastic
rather than cloth. He reluctantly shrugged it on and fumbled to tie it behind
his waist. `Now what?' he thought.