Rejuvenation
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Size Queen Wife, Chapter 5: Vaginal Rejuvenation free porn video
A lot depends on where you measure it from, he thought. Measured from the side, it was five and a half inches. Measured from the bottom, it was about six. Measured from the top, it was only five inches.
Craig Naylor sighed and laid the ruler on the sink next to the toilet. The last time he had measured himself was in college when, after a fight with his girlfriend, she had called him, “underhung.” Coming up with the same numbers at that time, he had concluded he was average-sized at best. But then a few years later he slept with an older woman at the office where he worked, and she called it large—well, “thick” to be exact, and that boosted his confidence.
That was the thing about what women said about your dick. You never knew if they were trying to hurt you or flatter you.
So what was going on with his wife? Why was she suddenly so judgmental about his cum volume, to the point where she thought it was a medical condition? Her constant criticism was emasculating.
Later, after dropping off the kids at daycare, his ego got a much-needed boost when one of the teacher assistants chatted him up in an overtly flirtatious way. Alexandria Kinkler couldn’t have been more than twenty-two. Brunette, petite, hot. Too young for him, but knowing he could still appeal to a younger woman was nice. It occurred to him she might make good a babysitter. He decided to discuss the possibility with Karen later that day.
Normally after drop off, he would have gone back to his home office and begun his workday (or if hungover, gone back to sleep). But on this day he had an early appointment. He wondered for the hundredth time if he should skip it. But deep down he knew he had to go. This needed to be confronted.
He drove to an adjacent town and parked in front of a nondescript office complex. Inside, the waiting area and the receptionist's desk were empty. At the end of a hallway, he found Dr. Ruth Mahler in a tastefully decorated office. She greeted him politely but professionally and invited him to sit. She looked to be in her mid-fifties, trim, with dark, slightly graying hair. Her features were aquiline and attractive; her brown eyes shown with intelligence.
Putting on reading glasses, she peered into a file. "You were referred to me by your primary care doctor. You had gone to a specialist, a urologist, with concerns that you had, um, is it Peyronie's disease? Is that correct?” She had a slight European accent. French or Belgian.
"Yes. Actually my wife was concerned."
"This is a condition in which scar tissue causes curvature or shortening of the penis, sometimes associated with a decrease in ejaculate volume. But after examination, it was found, in fact, that you did not have this condition. Correct?"
"Correct. She thought my, ah, as you put it my ‘ejaculate volume,’ was somehow… compromised. But my urologist said it was normal… for my age."
"Okay." She closed the file. "So why do you think you need marriage counseling?"
"Well, I don't believe so, necessarily. Actually it was the urologist who suggested—"
"When was the last time you and your wife had sex?" she interrupted.
"Um. I, ah," Craig stammered, slightly taken aback. "Last week, I think."
"When last week?"
"Thursday. Thursday night."
"And on that occasion did your wife achieve orgasm?"
"Um, well… is this part of the therapy?"
"It is. You see, Craig, traditional couples therapy has only been around for about fifty years or so and it's rapidly evolving. In the past, sexual matters were often sidelined in favor of underlying relationship issues like wrongly assigning 'blame' or lack of 'communication.' But in the last ten years or so—as the definition of ‘coupledom’ itself has been redefined—there is an emerging body of thought emphasizing the importance of good sex in relationships. Fixing sexual issues is now very often our starting point. Your wife's dissatisfaction with your ejaculate volume could signal deeper, more fundamental sexual issues."
"That's kind of what my urologist said. He's actually a friend of mine. We went to college together. Anyway, he thought maybe this was a case of her projecting her body—I think he used to word ‘dysmorphia’—body dysmorphia onto me. You see, doctor, ever since we had kids my wife's uh, well, her vagina… it's uh, not quite as resilient as when we first got married.
"It's looser, you mean. Not as snug." She made a fist and inserted her index finger. Craig noticed her wedding band.
"Yes. Correct. And I think it's really bothering her and she's projecting those feeling outward toward me. So my urologist told me about these new surgeries they have now—vaginal rejuvenation—that might be just the thing for her. He thought it might help her regain confidence in herself. But, as you might guess, it's not the kind of subject a husband can bring up with his wife. So I thought if a third party, like yourself, introduced it, it might not be as hurtful."
"I see. And how do you feel about her vagina?"
"Well, I don't mind it much. But the lack of friction does make it more difficult for me to uh, reach, uh, you know, to finish."
"To have an orgasm. Okay." Dr. Mahler picked up a notebook and wrote something in it. "Craig, you didn't answer my question before about whether your wife climaxed during your last sexual encounter."
"Oh, sorry. Yes, yes, she did achieve an orgasm the last time we did it. Had sexual intercourse, that is."
"How?"
"How? You mean how did she… achieve orgasm?
"Yes. Did she climax via penetration, oral stimulation, or some other way?"
Craig, uncomfortable with how quickly this was becoming intimate, continued, "No, it wasn't from penetration. We had sex for a while, and then we stopped. Then I sort of, I guess you could say, fondled her, ah, nipples, while she, uh… stimulated herself?"
"With a sex toy?" Dr. Mahler asked, with a noticeable rise in interest.
"No, with her fingers."
"Ah, I see. Is that what usually happens during your sexual encounters?"
"Very often, yes."
"Has your wife ever climaxed through penetration alone? Even before children?"
Craig felt his face flush with embarrassment. "No. Never." Then added quickly, his voice rising an octave "But a lot of women don't, right?"
"It's true; many do not," she said, writing in her notebook, not looking up.
Craig was silent.
Dr. Mahler shut the notebook with a snap. "Craig, I'm going to take your case. I see what you're describing in a lot in couples in their forties. Psychologically, women are hardwired differently than men. A woman has a dual sex drive. A man only has one. When she is young, the primary female sex drive is centered on finding a life-mate who will help her support her offspring. This is why, at that point in her life, love and commitment plays such an important part in women's sexual desire."
She rose from the chair and Craig noticed for the first time how attractive her legs and ass were. She was really built. "The secondary sex drive tends to emerge when she is older, usually after bearing children. At this stage, women have a need to feel beautiful, wanted, and desired. As time progresses these feelings often grow stronger, and her husband is not always in a position to validate those feelings." She was behind her desk, writing an appointment date on a card.
Confused, Craig stood and accepted the card. "So you're going to recommend she get the rejuvenation surgery?"
"Let’s put that on the backburner for now. But I would like your wife to join us for the next session.”
*
Karen found Brandee on the sidelines of the football field. The sexy nurse was watching the second-string players run drills.
"Brandee, where have you been? I've been looking for you all week."
"Oh, hi, Karen. Here mostly. Working on the study. You did tell me to make it a priority."
"I need to speak with you. It's about that gift card you gave me. That masseur was totally inappropriate!"
"Ah, that must be Justin. I was hoping he'd be working. Mr. Big Hands. Isn't he just a doll?"
"He's disgusting is what he is! How could you send me to a place like that?"
"I thought I was doing you a favor. You've been so stressed lately. You deserve a break. Anyway, what happened to upset you?" She smiled knowingly.
"He rubbed his… oh, it doesn't matter what he did. Just trust me, it was very unprofessional."
"Well, he's really popular, and he comes highly recommended. I don't see what the big deal is."
"The 'deal' is I'm a married woman, and I can't run around hooking up with men half my age. Who work at a massage parlor."
"Well, that's not really his full-time job, but…" She seemed about to say something but changed her mind. "Anyway, why not? Husbands have been doing it for centuries. Fooling with hotties half their age, I mean."
"Brandee! That's gross!"
"Gross? Gross, you say?" Brandee looked at her sympathetically, then took her hand. "Walk with me. I want to show you something."
Brandee led her across the running track toward the bleachers, saying, "Coach has been kind enough to let us use the physical therapy gym as an exam station."
She handed Karen a cell phone whose screen displayed rows of neatly organized data. "Look. The implant works great. Don't ask me how, but the wireless technology in that little edible pill transmits all the players' vitals—heart rate, body temp, respiratory rate, even blood sugar, directly to any mobile device." She looked back at Karen. "This has the potential to revolutionize fitness tracking, not to mention the research applications, which are practically limitless."
When they came to a green metal door built into the side of the stadium bleachers, Brandee said: "If these outcomes keep holding up, Braun is sure to award the university that grant. And our department will get the credit."
She opened the door. "You'll be a hero, Dr. Naylor."
Designed for injured athletes, the physical therapy room contained exercise equipment, aqua therapy baths, medical exam tables, scales, assorted physical therapy equipment, plus lockers and showers. About a dozen players were milling about the room in various stages of undress, a few completely naked.
Stunned, Karen stopped in her tracks, while behind her, Brandee locked the door from the inside. "Coach was kind enough to grant us total privacy," she said, jangling the key ring. But Karen appeared not to hear.
Nobody took much notice of their entrance, as if the presence of two fully-dressed, middle-aged white women was a commonplace thing in the players' world.
Brandee breezed over to the lockers, where one boy was dressing after showering. Viewing him from behind, they watched his broad tattooed shoulders ripple as he hung up his towel. Brandee looked at Karen and exaggeratingly pointed at him, silently miming the words, "So fucking hot!"
Karen followed numbly as the nurse sidled up to the young man and gently caressed his flaring lateral back muscles, trailing her fingers down to his slim waist. "E.J. has got a great 'V'—doesn't he, Karen? That just drives us women crazy. Did you know that, E.J.?"
"Thanks, Nurse Coleman. Yeah, some girls tell me that."
She reached over and slowly tweaked one of his nipples. "Turn around and show my friend that great big cock of yours, E.J."
The guy turned, and the black cock that swung into view took Karen's breath away. Soft and hanging, it was still much longer than her husband's was on its stiffest day ever. Transfixed, Karen stared at the massive appendage while Brandee stood by, smugly relishing her stunned reaction.
"Tell me what you find gross about this marvelous younger man, Dr. Naylor."
Karen didn't answer but couldn't tear her gaze away from the boy's awe-inspiring cock.
"Let's get you hard for the doctor, baby," Brandee cooed, gripping the cock at its thick base and wagging it up and down. While doing so, she bent her head and tenderly kissed his dark nipple, still wet from the shower.
Karen couldn't believe what was happening. She knew she should flee immediately but couldn't. Like at the spa last week, she was in the grip of an eroticism so intense it overpowered her sense of ethics. Part of her brain knew she was a medical doctor and a high-ranking university official. Everything about this was wrong, ethically, and morally as well. But another, more primal part of her brain commanded her to stay.
Brandee was now openly tongue kissing E.J. while continuing to jerk him off, presenting the guy's manhood for her friend's inspection, while Karen fought the urge to kneel down and pay homage to the mighty phallus.
Brandee started using both hands to stroke the cock, but there was still several inches of shaft and head left uncovered. "Look at that, Karen. Bet you can't use two hands on Craig."
Karen shook her head, astonished that somehow the cock was actually growing larger, and tried to remember who exactly this Craig was.
Brandee gazed intensely into the boy's face. "You love it when white women worship that big cock of yours, don't you? Don’t you?
E.J. just moaned.
"You love it, right?" She demanded, picking up the pace.
"Yesss," he hissed. "Love you horny bitches."
An opaque white pearl of semen had formed on the tip of his penis, which Brandee scooped up with her index finger and popped into her mouth. "Mm. Yummy."
Suddenly, she released him, her gaze lingering lovingly on E.J.'s turgid member. Brandee took Karen's hand again, leading her friend away, whispering: "I like to tease them and leave them hanging," adding, "Having access to these hotties has become a real power trip for me."
They drifted over to a player soaking in an aqua bath, his muscular torso visible above the water. Brandee said, "Fletcher here wasn't feeling well this afternoon so we thought a hot bath might help. Better now, sweetie?"
"Much better, thank you, Mrs. Coleman," said Fletcher grinning broadly. He was clearly enjoying the newcomer's stunned reaction to the sexualized atmosphere and wanted to play his part. "But maybe you should, uh, I don't know, take a sperm sample just in case?"
"What a wonderful idea, Fletcher! Let's evaluate some of that young healthy sperm! Sit up here on the edge of the tub. Karen, would you be so kind as to fetch me a specimen cup from the cabinet over there?"
Numbly, Karen complied, handing Brandee the plastic receptacle as the nurse fondled another huge black cock to life in full view of the Associate Dean of Clinical Research, plus several other leering, half-dressed athletes.
Brandee spoke in a mock professorial tone, "Now, Fletcher, when you see and feel my little white hands stroking your big manly cock, what happens is your brain sends a chemical message to blood vessels in your penis. The arteries relax and open up and let the blood flow into spongy erectile tissues called the corpora cavernosa, which are these two oblong chambers right here, and here." She ran a manicured fingernail along the undersides of his bloated shaft.
"But at the same time, these veins close up." To illustrate she gripped the base tightly. "Trapping all that hot young blood in the erectile tissue, which creates the rock-hard dongs us gals love so much.
"Now that's just the first stage," she continued, milking the shaft while she spoke. "The second stage is of course when your huge package prepares to drop its big creamy cum load."
"Is that a technical term, Nurse Coleman?" gasped the player.
"Why yes, it is, Fletcher. But I must ask you to please not speak during my lesson, unless I call upon you to do so. I'm trying to provide some ‘continuing medical education’ to Dr. Naylor here. This is my tutorial on Big Black Cocks."
"Sorry, Nurse Coleman."
"Anyway, as I was saying, the millions of sperm that swim in the big creamy cum load, are manufactured here," She hefted his nut sack, "in the testes, which you can see are beginning to retract. Just before ejaculation, the sperm travel through a tube called the vas deferens and into the prostate gland, which manufacturers the milky white part of the big creamy cum load."
She kept jerking the guy, as the cock grew harder and fatter. The head now looked dangerously inflated, like a balloon about to burst.
"Then all that delicious creams shoots through the urethra when a cock ejaculates," said Brandee. "Are you ready to cum for us now, Fletcher?"
"Arrrrggg," the guy cried, his powerful abdominal and pectoral muscles contracting. "Yeah, I’m gonna nut!"
"Karen, what's Fletcher's heart rate?"
Realizing she was still holding Karen's phone, Karen scrolled to his name and scanned his stats. "It says one hundred and sixty beats per minute," she replied in a shaky voice.
"Ooooh. Yeah, he's getting close. To make a man cum, I often find it helpful to stimulate this area right here called the frenulum." Brandee vigorously rubbed her thumb under the area at the base of his flaring mushroom head.
She dropped the professorial tone. "Watch, Karen. This kid shoots a massive load!"
"Oh shit," Fletcher cried. "Here it comes!"
"Karen, the sample cup!"
The first ropey white blast erupted from the dilated pee slit at incredible speed, sailing over the cup, clearing the edge of the tub, and landed on the floor with an audible splat. Adjusting to the load's forceful trajectory, Karen managed to catch the second blast in the plastic cup. Bringing it closer to the spewing cock head, she caught the next several heavy spurts.
She gazed in disbelief at how much jism the boy produced, shot after shot nearly filled the cup. And Brandee kept right on jerking him the whole time, cooing encouragement. The rest of the room, which by now had gathered around to watch, all cheered as Brandee milked out the last drops. Toward the end, a big dollop landed Karen's left hand, partially concealing the diamond on her wedding ring.
The sight of her cum smeared wedding ring snapped her back to reality. "Brandee, I have to go now. I can't be a part of this…whatever you're doing here. And neither can you. We need to talk later."
"Come on, Karen. Stick around. You need to help me take more samples. E.J. here is ready to go," she gestured to the naked boy, who had stood behind Karen fisting his huge, angry phallus while watching Brandee milk his teammate.
"I'm sorry, Brandee. This is... you’re not..." Speechless, she gave Brandee her phone back, and snatched the keys out of her coat pocket.
E.J. stepped in front of Karen, blocking her path to the door, his giant prong nearly touching her midsection. "Are you sure, Dr. Naylor?"
Ignoring his nakedness, she looked him directly in his eyes, said, "I don't like tattoos," and walked around him.
As she hurried from the room, Karen avoided eye contact, and also tried, unsuccessfully, to ignore the cooling gob of cum on her wedding-ring finger.
*
Back in her office, Karen paced the floor nervously, trying to decide her next move. Brandee had clearly gone off the deep end, treating the football team as her personal boy-toy, reverse sex harem.
Her first instinct was to fire her. But that was impossible. Karen could never hire someone with Brandee’s research skills on such short notice. And even if she could, it would put the Braun study in jeopardy. No, she had to figure out a way to get Brandee under control…
And get yourself under control, she thought. This wasn’t just a Brandee problem. It was a Karen problem too. Basically, she had just willingly taken part in the public jerking off of a university student—certainly a fireable offense.
And then there was last week at the spa. Was that infidelity? No! It was temporary insanity. That masseur placed her hand on his dick. And all she had done was masturbate. No law against that.
She sat at her desk and tried to calm down. Sitting, she realized her pussy juice had soaked all the way through her panties.
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