Date: Tue, 31 Jan 2017 20:43:14 +0000 (UTC)
From: - - <mike.99999@yahoo.com>
Subject: Back with Dad Part 4: Finale

I have a patient who does landscaping, him and his son. The son had just
moved back in recently and started working with his father doing this very
physical job and threw his back out, so I did my usual treatment for that
in the office, and I could've recommended a few more sessions or had him go
see a therapist, but I had the father try.

It's so much better if you're not trying to treat yourself; that just takes
forever. You need somebody else to smooth out the knots, and these guys
were more on the bashful side. Some guys have no shame or shyness, but
that's actually pretty rare. Most guys are like blushing brides, even just
for a regular physical, so I'm always pretty frank about that stuff to
balance it out.

Of course they're going to be slow to get undressed and asking just how
undressed they have to get, and of course they'll look around the room if
you're examining them and freeze up if you touch them, and of course
there's bound to be some activity happening below the belt, very common. I
just get right to it; it'd take all day if you're not candid.

Well, I gave them a whole regimen of stretching and massage after a
demonstration in the office, and I gave them this warming gel to use. I
told them that it could stain clothes, and I suppose it could. There's
always a chance of something like that. It's a possibility.

I just couldn't resist giving them some reason to loosen up. And I also
showed them this training video that some of us guys made in med school as
a joke, but I didn't show them the full thing. By the end of the video,
it's pretty obvious that it's not your average physical therapy. I could
tell they were enjoying it as much as I was, if you know what I mean, and I
sent them off to continue the treatment as prescribed.

Well, so then they're scheduled to come work at my house, mow the lawn,
trim the hedges, put in a couple saplings I wanted out back by the pool. I
was thinking maybe I'd suggest that they take a dip after they're done. I
had offered that to the father once before, but he declined.

They show up in the morning, matching T-shirts with the logo, the dad in
jeans and the son in shorts, and I ask how the son's back is and if he's
okay to work.

"I wouldn't want to be responsible for making your back worse."The son
says, "No, it's much better, better than normal really. It feels stronger
from all this work and then from the massages."

I ask, "oh, you've been continuing that treatment that we reviewed? That's
good. Great, why don't you tell me about how you've been doing that."The
son says, "well, just like you showed us, you know... rubbing the back."
I'm thinking about taking a feel or asking about sensitivity in some
particular area.

The father says, "he has me using a lot of pressure, says to do it harder."
"Harder? That's good. Yeah, that's fine to push as hard as he asks for," I
say. "And... uh, you're using that gel? The warming gel I gave you?"

They nod. I nod back. The father says, "not too much of it, like you said,
so there's still plenty left.""Okay, good. You can just let me know if you
need any more. I have plenty of free samples. Uh... any problem with
staining, nothing coming out of the wash with marks from that?"

They look at each other for a second and slowly shake their heads no."No, I
haven't noticed any problem with that," the father says.

The son says, "it'd only get on the sheets, really, or on a towel.""Uh huh,
right," I answer, "and, uh, so you're just stripped off anyway so you don't
have to worry about that? That's good. Probably more comfortable
too. Good."

I'm picturing their treatment sessions, and I'm getting pretty hard, but I
was wearing tight briefs and loose khakis, so I wasn't worried about it
showing, but I knew I'd have to redirect the snake soon. But I just had to
keep talking about it.

I asked the father, "and you're good with that treatment? It's not making
you sore from doing it, is it? You'll want to stretch your arms before and
after.""Well, no, not really," he says. "I'm more using ...my weight, and
pushing down from above, instead of reaching over from the side. So I think
that makes a difference."

"Right, right, good," I say. "You're on top and ...rubbing that gel in,
that's sure to help. And you just strip off too? That's good." He's nodding
like we're ticking down a checklist. "Well, I am going to head in and take
care of some things, let you guys go to it."

I head into the house and upstairs to the office, do some work on the
computer, pay a couple bills, and every once in a while I catch a smell of
the cut grass through the window or take a look outside and down to watch
them do their work and circle around the house.  Of course they both wiped
the sweat from their faces with the bottom of their shirts, exposing their
stomachs, and of course I had seen much more from each before, but there's
something about a more public view.

I heard the doorbell, and walked downstairs. The father was at the front
door, sweaty. He said they were just about done and weren't sure where to
put those trees. We walked around back to where the son was standing by two
little trees, each in a big terracotta pot. I showed them how I wanted them
arranged and started walking alongside the pool to go up the back deck and
into the kitchen when I heard a loud grunt and moan.

The son is hunched over and holding his back, kneeling, with his father
standing over him. They're yelling about how he's thrown out his back again
and how he wasn't lifting right. I go over and my hand is pressed against
the son's lower back, pushing in, rolling the heel of my palm around the
small of his back, the muscular curve on each side of the spinal valley.

I'm telling them it's okay, I'm asking where it hurts, I'm feeling around
and letting him curl over in my back lawn. I say that maybe we spoke too
soon about being all better.

After considering splaying him flat on the pool deck, we head inside
instead, one arm around my neck and the other around his father's. We each
cradle a behind a knee, which seems to help. Quickly, we carry him up
across the deck and through the patio doors and through the living room to
the back bedroom, my bedroom. I have a big, wide bed, not too high up,
perfect.

"Oh, I'm sorry Doc, I'm all sweaty and dirty," the son says between
groans. His shoes have a coating of green. I say, "Don't worry about it,
just lie down flat here."

I take his wrists and pull his arms up and away from his shoulders, also
pulling him across the bed. The trip in has his shorts sagged more than a
little in the back, revealing white briefs underneath. The father is
pulling off the son's grassy shoes and also stepping out of his own. He
takes the shoes out to the porch.

When he comes back in, I'm pulling off the young man's sweaty T-shirt to
revel his muscular arms and V-shaped back, asking if that's better, that
shirt was tight around his neck.

"Mmmm, yeah, that's better," he says. The father asks if I can do anything
to help him, saying it seems pretty bad this time. I kick off my sneakers,
pull up the loose legs of my pants a bit, and climb up on the bed. I deftly
position myself across his knees, straddling him and picturing how his
father had been doing the same.

I explore his back with my fingers. I know that the muscles will
relax. With two fingers, I push down around his tailbone through the
underwear. I ask if that hurts. He says it's not that bad there. I roll my
left thumb around on it while my right hand reaches under him, gliding by
the prominent hip bone and under to the appendix area. I push into it,
knowing it's right where the vas defrens is sensitive in this position. I
knead into it like I'm getting dough ready to rise, asking if it hurts. He
says no.

I push up against his rib cage, releasing the muscles from gravity's
strain, and he groans with little breath. The father tells the son it will
be okay soon and to try to relax.

I say, "well, his body's been under a lot of tension with all this. Now,
take some time and just relax, let it all stretch out.""Does it still hurt,
son?" the father asks.

The son moans, groans, curves his back to one side and then the other like
a slow boa, curling his neck around but unable to prop himself up on his
forearms. He says, "it only really, really hurt when I was lifting. It's
just kind of ...tight now."

"When was the last time you did the home treatment on his back?" I
ask. "Not last night but the night before," the father asks. "Do you think
that'd help?"

I think for a second, pondering and picturing, "well, it could. I'm just
wondering if maybe something triggered this.""Well, you could watch and see
if I'm doing anything bad," the father offers.

I say that it couldn't hurt. The father climbs up on the bed and starts
pushing down on his son's back then slower and trying to rub around. I ask
the son if it feels any better. He says it feels okay, pretty much like
usual.

"How about that tight underwear?" I ask. "Does that feel like it's, uh,
getting in the way there?" The son says that usually he's not wearing it
for the treatment. I ask if he wants us to strip his clothes off. He says,
"yeah, uh yeah, I guess."

The father pulls his son's loose, swishy shorts down and off. Then I go to
help him, and we gingerly peel the tight, white briefs open and down and
off the round butt and long legs, unwrapping and revealing the son's body,
which has clearly been doing a good amount of labor lately.

I watch as his dad then jumps back on the bed and gets in the saddle and
starts pushing and rubbing and rolling his hands around. He does this
quickly, and his son flinches at the touch.

"Your hands are cold, dad!" he shouts. Then he rests his chest and head
back down with a whimper. The dad says, "oh, we've always used that gel
that gets warm."

I say, "You know, I think I might have something upstairs. Let me check." I
knew I had some in the nightstand two feet away as well, but I wanted to
breathe for a bit and do some adjusting. I went upstairs, splashed a little
water on my face, grabbed a can of the stuff I'd given them, put my dick in
a more comfortable contortion and let it calm down for a bit by stepping
away, and walked back down.

When I came into my bedroom, the dad stood naked, completely naked, toned
and tanned and hairy in just the right places. I'd been seeing him every
blue moon for years, just like this, in his full glory, same as his son,
but there was something entirely different about it here and now and in my
house and in my bedroom and on my fucking bed.

I just look at him for a second or two. He says, "you found some?" I say
yes and hand it to him. He takes it, opens it, rubs some gel on his
fingers, and delicately puts the open jar on my nightstand. He rubs it
along his fingers, holding a dollop, while lifting one knee and then the
other up onto my bed and on each side of his son.

I watch the skin of their legs touch, and I watch the father's balls hang
from behind, through his legs, under his asscrack, which stretches open as
he leans over.

"I've been doing it like this. Is this right?" the father asks. I walk
around to the side and watch as he smears the goo on his son's back and
pushes his weight down, his own thighs rubbing against the shiny skin.

Then he stops and inquires about the gel and my bed, asking about it
causing stains. I tell him not to worry about it, pause, and then add that
it's okay just so long as it doesn't get on anybody's clothes. I watch as
he continues, each push making his dick flop forward and back like a
pendulum.

I remember that I also brought a small towel, which I have draped over my
shoulder. I say, "oh, let's remember all the steps we reviewed from that
video. Son, if you have an erection, and that is very likely to happen in a
situation like this, you can feel free to adjust it, and I'm going to set
this towel under you."

With that, the son rolled to the side, displaying his hard cock wedged
under him. He set it down nicely, and I placed the rolled up towel next to
it as he rested back on top of them.

I asked the father to show me more how he straddled his son, both naked,
and rubbed his sticky palms all across the carved back muscles. "A little
lower," I said. He moved his thumbs an inch down. "Lower..." I said, as he
slid along the skin and rolled the tailbone. "Lower, down here, on each
side," I instructed.

Each thumb pushed into the highest point of the son's gluteus muscles, and
I pictured the hidden skin of the son's butt getting tapped and tapped and
tapped slowly by the father's low-hanging balls, all the tiny curly hairs
tickling each other, the sensitive skin only barely making connection under
their bodies and out of view.

When the son moaned with a breath, I said, "you know, I'm a little
concerned that he might've pulled his groin." The word 'groin' stops any
guy who has ever played sports, watched sports, or heard of sports, and
makes him take a concerned breath in.

As the dad stopped and waited, I asked him to kneel at one side and for the
son to open his legs a little wider. I rested a hand on his thigh with my
fingers curled in and under his crotch. I said I was going to feel his
groin. I asked him to spread his legs just a little wider, and his balls
came into view for his father and me. I pressed against one side, then
against the other, and then I pressed against the base of his hardon,
engorged under the skin and behind his balls and between his legs.

He shuddered and and sighed. I rolled my hand around, feeling the
thickness, resisting the urge to trail my hand up between his soft cheeks
to tickle him and to feel his most sensitive area with the tips of my
fingernails.

"Do you think it could be a groin pull, doc?" the father asked. I thought
for a second and said, "It might just be a sprain, but I think the groin is
definitely activated here." I said that the warming gel should help to
relax it if we can get the back muscles to stop from seizing up as well.

The father said, "What should we do?" and I noticed that he was now full
erect. I had seen him get a little stiffy in my office, maybe once or twice
get what you'd call hard, but this was everything he had on him and all the
way done up for the prom. It was something for a textbook, and it looked
great against a body like his.

"I think I have to take over here, but I'm going to need your help with
it," I said. "Now, son, how long has it been since you ejaculated?"The son
looked back at us. "Umm, not for a couple days."

I said, "Well, I think your groin and your back are tensed up and
tightened, and if we get them to release that tension, then you'll probably
ejaculate. I want you to know that it's alright, like we've talked about."

I crossed my arms and continued, "It's very common, and as we discuss
things like that of course your father is also going to have an erection,
as you can see, and of course I'm going to as well. I like that you're both
very comfortable with that, knowing it's just going to happen."

The father was nodding. The son looked back and said, "yeah, it usually
happens."

I said, "Okay, great, that's covered. Now, I'm going to strip off as well,
and we're going to use a lot of that gel to get you warmed up and let your
body let go of that tightness."

I pulled my shirt off. They both watched. I ran my fingertips through my
chest hair. I undid my pants, and they fell to my ankles. They both
watched, and I could see them both observing my hard cock wrapped tight and
up and around to the side in my white briefs. The tip of my dick was very
moist, wetting the waistband with a splotch and letting the head slip out
of the elastic.

I pulled them down as my dick wobbled back and forth, plumped up and
pointing. I wasn't really trying to flex it or show off, but it lifted up
and rested down a couple times while they looked over at me.

I crawled up onto the bed, took a big handful of the gel, let a line of it
accidentally trail out and down onto my firm dick, not letting the dad know
that I watched him watch it, and smeared it between the son's legs. I got
the back of his balls and under each leg, to the left and right of his
sack.

In the past, when I've felt between his legs for hernia, I had wished I
could just feel all around. Now I was rubbing my fingers and massaging,
gently feeling his skin through the slick of a warm ooze, feeling his body
warming up underneath from the furnace of his prostate.

I pictured the three of us in my exam room, with each of them nude and hard
and hands on their heads with me sitting in front of them on my little,
wheeled, cushioned stool. I pictured myself wearing my white lab coat and a
stethoscope with nothing on underneath, which I've done before but never
during a real exam. It's weird how, even in the middle of a fantasy come to
life, your mind can pull in another fantasy.

"Okay, why don't you get back on top and continue applying pressure?" I
instructed to the dad. He mounted, and I saw his ass sit on his son's ass
for a second before he got back up into a kneel.

I straddled the young man, kneeling behind his father and pointing my dick
towards them for a couple seconds before letting go of my grip on it. As
the father leaned over his son's back and pressed down, I listened to the
son moan with each compression, and I set my hands slowly on the father's
shoulder and elbow.

"Good, yeah, lean over and let your weight do the work," I said lowly to
the father. My dick grazed his back and maybe some of my longer chest
hairs. "And if I ejaculate onto your back, then we'll just clean that up
after we're done, alright, good."

I couldn't help giving my dick a little squeeze after actually saying that
out loud to him, watching a drip of precum bloom out of the slit. I let it
sit there on my tip and waited for the dad's back to bump against it and
connect a trail of ooze, which happened in about four seconds.

"You know, I think some of the tension is right here in the groin for him,"
I whispered as I reached under and between the dad's sturdy legs,
indicating the taught ligament you can feel curving in on either side of
your scrotum when your legs are spread wide. "I'm going to keep massaging
that while you work his back."

They each grunted and snorted from the pressure. I yelled down to the son,
"any pain when I press here?" I kneaded between his legs, really pushing
his own musculature in so it pressed against his prostate. I slid his body
forward and back, forward and back, pressing his hard cock underneath us
all into my bed.

He grunted and tried to respond, "no.... mmhh, it's alright? I, uh... I
feel like I might.... uh..."

"That's okay, just relax and let your body do whatever it's going to do,
son," I shouted. I patted the back of his leg. Then I patted his dad's
shoulder and let my hand rest there, moving up and down like a rider with
his motion.

Only the son's dick was getting any real action, pressed under us all. I
would've loved to start stroking my dick and reach around to pump up and
down on the dad, but we were all acting like this was just physical
therapy.

But it's really so much hotter when you can get yourself so turned on that
your dick just shoots on its own without you having to do anything to it.

I hear the son moan and shout. His grunts have changed to the kind you
stifle under your breath when you tug one out. I don't know if he's been
that obvious during these sessions at home or if his father didn't really
notice, but I can tell for sure it's happening. The moans turn to whimpers,
and his body quivers under us.

I squeeze the father's shoulder to tell him to stop pushing, that his job
is done, and he backs up slightly, making me poke into his back. That sets
me off, and I look down as tubes of white shoot out my tip and splash
against his back. I can tell he feels the hot jizz spurt onto him and run
down the crack of his ass to the crack of his son's ass.

I moan, mouth shut, and let myself fall against him, my chest hair against
his sweaty back, and I can see over his shoulder that he's got a hand
wrapped tight around his hardon. I wonder if he had been fucking his fist
while pressing. I still like to picture whether he was gliding his grip up
and down or if his hand was steady against his son's back with his dick
sliding in and out of his fingers.

I watched a load jet out and up and into the son's hair, then two more
lines pop up and onto that muscled back, right between the shoulder
blades. The last bit oozed out like a water fountain, down the father's
knuckles.

We heaved our breaths for a minute, otherwise silent. I think I heard some
backbones popping from at least two of us, tension released. I rolled my
neck around, as if we had just wrapped up a racketball game.

I hopped off the bed, energized. Still stiffened out and sweaty, with
greased up hands, I stood alongside them and asked the son if he felt the
tension undo itself, gingerly getting the rolled up towel from under him,
wiping his globs, folding the towel over and wiping his back, then seeing
if there was anything to clean up off the father's back. It had all slid
down and slathered its way.

The father climbed down off the bed and stood next to me, two mature
specimens with droopy, reddened members. The son rolled over to the side,
looked at us, and slowly started to straighten up, sat on the bed with his
legs dangling down and his young rod still standing a bit.

All three flush in the face and with stretched knobs hanging between us, we
stood on the fluffy carpet of my bedroom.

I said, "Let's go hop in that pool, right now."


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