Doctors Orders (The Horny Chiropractor) free porn video

DOCTORS ORDERS (The Horny Chiropractor) By Katharine Sexkitten Growing up, I was only good at two things. Well, three, actually. Smoking weed, finding porn on the computer, and jerking off. I barely made it through high school, man. I was baked every single day I was there. I sat in the back of every class and participated in virtually nothing. I wrote the tests when I had to. I graduated. Barely. Maybe they just pushed me out, to get rid of me. My parents begged me to do something with my life. I promised I would, you know, 'cause more or less they were okay and I didn't want to totally disappoint them, and then I spent every day and night smoking doob while online. I was always looking at porn vids, or reading porn stories, or chatting on porn-related sites, finding a world full of others like me. People who enjoyed porn. All kinds of porn. Straight porn is great. Lesbian porn is beautiful. Group scenes are wild. Fetish stuff can blow my mind. Some of it is waaaay out there. From as early as I could remember, I loved jerking off. Touching myself, my cock, my balls, my taint, even my bung hole. In the right mood, and with the right mixture of marijuana and reality, over the years I experimented with things. You read enough stories about anal stimulation and after a while you try things out, you know? I was no stranger to sliding my fingers, or later on actual things, into my ass. And I would literally twang the wire for hours on end. I read years ago it was called 'edging'. I became an expert at it. No shit. I once 'edged' for nineteen hours straight. I'm not making this up. By the time I allowed myself to cum, first off I'd built up my load to the point where I more or less covered my entire upper body in sticky white liquid, and second off I came so hard that I blacked out. Oh, and third off, my dick was rubbed so red and raw that I could barely touch it for hours afterwards, even just to pee. My foreskin was all swelled up, on one side, and had left marks on my dickhead, red rub marks. Too much masturbation? No fuckin way! About a month after leaving high school, I managed to get a job. Mostly I realized that I'd need to pay for my weed somehow, and my parents weren't going to give me an allowance anymore. So, through a friend of a friend of a friend, I got an interview. There is a gigantic facility just outside of town that was hiring. A distribution center, they called it. Basically it's a mother-huge warehouse, where consumer product comes in by the skid load and product goes out by the skid load. I was hired to work on the floor. I was trained on how to use a stand-up forklift, a cherry-picker the boys called it. I'd spend eight hours a day, less breaks and lunch of course, pulling material off of racks for shipments going out. There were dozens and dozens of loading docks around the building, and trucks of every shape and size would come in to unload or load, by the hundreds, from the biggest of rigs to the smallest of courier vehicles. The job pays great. And best of all, it's a union gig. After my three month probation, I was presented with my union card and benefits book. I was covered. Not only was I making way more money than I'd thought possible, but I had full medical and dental and all sorts of other things taken care of. Eyewear, hearing aids, prosthetic devices...hell, there was even a chart in the benefits book about how much I'd make if I lost fingers or toes or limbs. One hand and one leg was worth almost eighty thousand bucks! I was also covered for things like mental health counselling, massage therapy, and stress leave. Cool! Much to my mom's chagrin, I moved out of the house. I could easily afford a nice apartment, but my natural mistrust of anything good actually lasting made me settle for something a whole lot less nice. It was close to work. That was important. I bought a car, used, but it still got me from point a to point b. I was working lots, so I was jerking off less, but when I wasn't at the plant I was online with my new huge monitor and DSL connection, which made all my porn richer and deeper and faster. Life was good. Part of our job was to occasionally pull product off the shelves that had gone out-dated, or just plain forgotten or ignored by the original shipper. The facility had huge dumpsters all over the property, and sometimes I'd spend a shift just taking stuff outside, separating the product from the corrugated and putting them in the correct bins. For disposal. And yes, it's corrugated, folks, not cardboard. Cardboard is literally the thickness of a business card. Hence the name. Anything else is corrugated. One day, my second winter, I was outside. No one wanted to join me, it was so cold. The product I was dumping was clothes. Women's clothes. There was carton after carton of blouses and skirts and dresses and pants and everything, all in a wide variety of shapes and colours and sizes. Sometimes the boxes split open and product would get taken on the wind and fly all over the parking lot. It was part of my job to chase them down. On this particular day, I was moving box after box of stuff, and a skid was loaded badly and tipped over and hit the concrete and clothes were all over the frickin place. I was running around, between cars, picking up stuff. Panties, mostly. It was a windy blustery day. Shit was going everywhere. I was running around like a chicken with its head cut off, capturing panties on the ground, floating in the air, billowing around helped by the gusts. I was stuffing them in my pockets, in my coat, wherever I could. I ended up sweating like a bastard for hours on end. Some of the inside guys were watching me. Most of them were laughing at my plight. Bastards. When I got home after that shift, I was cold and tired. I immediately shucked layer after layer of clothes, in my warmish apartment, and headed for the shower. When I was finally warm, I started cooking dinner. While I waited for the timer on the oven to go ding, I cleaned up a little. Which is when I discovered that I had brought home some of the product, in two different pockets. Panties. Five different panties. I grabbed them all in one hand, and went to toss them in my garbage can. My hand wouldn't let them go. I mean, they're soft, and silky, and cool to the touch, and they felt so amazing in my hand, instantly, like a jolt almost, and I stood there over top of the garbage can and told my fingers to straighten out and let them drop but my fingers wouldn't obey. Panties. I decided to throw them on the couch instead, where I could look at them. I mean, they're sexy, right? They're womany, if that's a word. They're feminine, I guess is a better word. Women look sexy in panties. Most of them, anyway. The ones I've seen a million times online are frickin gorgeous in panties. The lacier and feminine the better! A freshly-cooked pot pie later, preceded by a doob thicker than my middle finger, and I was at my computer, naked as always, my little cock hard as nails, my right hand wrapped around it, the first few drops of pre-cum already coating the head, my foreskin spreading it around every time I stroked up and down. I was reading some erotic stories, at one of my favorite story sites. It had a full mix of subjects, from straight to gay to tranny/cd to bdsm to incest to freaky shit. I was hard at work, enjoying a story about a young kid who discovers his attraction to older men by dressing up in the wife's lingerie and getting caught, when a thought occurred to me. I stopped reading. I turned my head away from my state-of-the-art monitor. I looked at the couch, behind me. Panties. I was heavily stoned, no question. And it was as if I was on auto-pilot as well. I stopped jerking off. I had to. I was about to cum, instantly and without warning. Like, nothing nothing nothing them boom! And the first thing I thought was why? I'm an edger, man, I can keep it going for hours. Why would I almost explode that suddenly? Panties. I pushed my chair away and stood up and took two steps to the couch. On top of the pile was a silky shiny black pair, with one strip of cloth from front to back, kind of hourglass shaped, and two strings to tie. I presumed around the hips. Lucid brainwaves were gone, I swear. I was hypnotized. I mean it. I slipped the fabric up my legs, instantly shocked and surprised by the feeling of the material on my skin. Soft, and supple and sleek panties, against my slightly-hairy flesh. When my balls were nestled in the sling of cloth, I tied the strings. Tight. I almost had to sit down, because, well, because I was swooning. Yes, swooning. That's the only word to describe it. The feelings pulsing through me were insanely strong, and unlike anything I'd ever felt before. It was like my whole body was quivering, almost to the point of making me giggle. Then I thought, what the? I mean, sure I can get stoned to the point where things make me giggle a little bit, but this was about a million billion times stronger than that. I felt like giggling out loud, louder than any stereo system or television turned up. Louder than the fake moans of most of the porn I watched, women making completely ridiculous sounds as if we the watchers thought that it was sexy. I never found those movie noises sexy. But suddenly, I was making hums and little moans and tiny giggles that I'd NEVER made before, in all my years. Sweet, soft, lilting noises. Feminine noises. From that moment forward, my entire existence changed. Panties. I started slipping into them whenever I got home. I couldn't get enough of them. They were like my weed, man. I had to have them, every second of every day. I started ordering them online, with my newly-acquired credit card. Panties led to slips, and camisoles, and bras. And stockings. Oh my fucking god, stockings are sexy as hell. Slide a pair of thigh-highs up your legs and see what I mean. And, even better, shave your legs first. After all the porn I'd read and watched, I knew what many of them had said. So one day, after smoking a big bomber, I decided to risk it. Who would know? My top half wasn't hairy at all, but from my groin down I had some hair. The male in me, of course. So one day, I bought a battery-powered men's grooming shaver at the drug store, went home and did my body. The pile of hair on the floor looked downy and soft. My skin felt even softer, without hair. So sliding silky stockings up my legs was enough to almost make me cum. And then, oh my god, my jerking off sessions became other-worldly. As much fun as it had been most of my life to masturbate for hours on end, doing it now, wearing women's clothes and lingerie, was like night and day. I liked my new life. Over the course of months on end, I'd managed to accumulate a small collection of feminine apparel. I began wearing panties every day. I mean, at work we were all dressed in coveralls and work boots and hard hats and safety vests and there was just no way I'd ever get caught, so it was a natural for me. Alarm goes off, get out of bed. Shed the panties I've been wearing all night. Have a shower. Shave my body again. Slip a new pair of panties on, and some days a pair of thigh-highs up my legs as well. Life is good. My masturbating evolved to new levels, of commitment and joy. I lived to get home, get naked, get girly, and get jerking. And yes, of course, on occasion, when I was particularly out-doing myself masturbating-wise, I would eat some, or all, of my cum. I'd started doing that years before, when I was still in middle school, one day accidentally shooting my load right into my open, moaning mouth. It took me by surprise then, and I ended up swallowing cum while sputtering the rest out. I discovered that it has a very unique taste, and consistency. It was like nothing I'd ever had before. For the first few seconds, I thought I might puke. I mean, jesus, I'd just swallowed some cum! Only women do that, when they're giving blow jobs. Guys don't do it, that's what I'd been taught by society. The weird thing was, as I was thinking that I might puke, I realized the taste wasn't horrible. A few seconds later and I calmed down, and then I searched my mouth with my tongue for more, just to prove to myself that it wasn't nearly as bad as everybody said it was. That was a great discovery. I discovered that it's naughty and out-there for a supposedly normal guy to eat his own cum. I discovered that the taste lingers on my taste buds for hours afterwards, and that part by itself can make me hard as nails again, my little five inches of meat surging and straining in my underwear. Now, years later, I had also discovered the insane joy of being outside, in real life, around real people, all while wearing lingerie underneath my clothes. Grocery shopping with panties on. Going to the mall wearing stockings. Being around normal people wearing women's clothing with the taste of my own semen fresh on my breath. My masturbating became even more pronounced, and special to me. I learned different ways to stroke, to caress, to gin up new levels of pleasure. I became a championship masturbator. My curiosity months later led me to order a butt plug, for my ass. The day it arrived I practically set a new lifetime bar for myself. I masturbated for hours, my body shaved silky-smooth, the finest silk stockings held upon my legs with the sexiest garter belt and panty set I could find on the Victoria's Secret website. All with a five-inch long bulging-in-the- middle neon lime green toy inside me. I WAS IN HEAVEN! I felt like I could compete for my country if there was an Olympics that revolved around self-amusement. I considered myself a gold-medalist. I'd been working at the plant for almost three years when I had my first accident. A simple twist of my body the wrong way, and there was an enormous knot of muscle suddenly there in my upper back. It hurt like hell. The medical staff on-site gave me some aspirin and told me to take a couple of days off and it would all go away. But, they said, if it didn't go away, then I should go see my family doctor. I didn't have one of those. But, in between my apartment building and the big Safeway where I bought food, there was a chiropractors' office. I'd seen the sign outside, a bazillion times. Dr. Frederick Chao. A couple of days later, my back wasn't any better. I decided to go see Dr. Chao. The cost would be paid back to me, since chiropractors were covered under my union benefits. Plus, I was still getting paid, even though I wasn't working. So I hobbled into his office, and asked to see the doctor. The walls of his reception area were covered in his degrees and certificates from universities and boards connected with health. It was impressive. The tiny fragile-looking Asian woman behind the counter told me in accented English that Dr. Chao was booked until right near the end of the day, but one of his last customers had just cancelled, so I agreed to come back later. At the correct time, I was back in the building, and she daintily led me to a small room. There was a chair, in the corner of the room, and a portable cart with machines and wires on it. Other than that, the room was taken up by the big exam table. Paper was rolled down its length, covering the faux-leather. There were movable parts, for the limbs I guessed, and hole in the table where the head would go. The table had a huge mechanical base on it, and looked like it came in three parts, each of which could be adjusted separately. I waited a few minutes, and then he came in. He knocked on the door first, which I thought odd. Dr. Chao. He was probably in his mid- forties, perhaps later than that, and he was of Asian heritage. Black hair, neatly cut. Smooth shaven. He looked like he worked out some. He had no tummy bulge, and his arms and upper chest looked a little pumped. His golf shirt was tight against his body, and impressive in a way. His chino pants were reasonably tight too, and showed strong legs and a muscular behind. He wore glasses, but not thick. He had a genuine and warm smile. He said hello, and his accented English was much like his receptionist. He asked me what was wrong. I told him about the accident, all the ins and outs. He nodded a lot, and wrote a couple of things down as I was describing how the incident happened and where I hurt and how that hurt had evolved over the last couple of days. Then he asked me to take my shirt off. I complied, of course. I mean, he's the doctor. But it always embarrasses me to take my shirt off in front of other people. I'm not a big guy, not physically. I'm not buff or toned or ripped or impressive in any way. My skin is quite pale, because I've never spent time in the sun trying to get brown. I was always too busy getting stoned and jerking off. And enjoying porn. He manipulated me, in a variety of ways. Some while I was standing. Some while I was sitting on the table. And some while I was lying on the table, my face in the hole. He did entire cracks of my back, using his whole body weight. I thought a couple of times that he was going to break me. After all that, he put me on the zapper machine. Fifteen minutes, he said. The lube, or gel, or whatever it was that he uses to stick the electrodes on was cold, and then the zapping was an intermittent cycle of cycles. A quarter of an hour later, he came back in and unhooked me from everything. He wiped the lube off the four spots on my back. He promised me it would feel better later that evening. He recommended I take a day to rest and come back to see him in two days. Then he said I could put my shirt back on. Then he stepped to the door, to go to his next patient in another room. Then he stopped, and looked back at me. I was just rising from laying face-down. I looked at him. Our eyes met. He looked like he wanted to say something. Then he looked like he was waffling about whether he should. Then he shook his head slightly, and finally said he'd see me in a couple of days. It was weird. Two days later, I showed up for my next visit. This time he manipulated me a lot more, sometimes almost wrapping his arms around my entire body as he twisted and moved me. There were moments when it almost felt like he was hugging me, like he was trying to increase the touching of our bodies. He was a couple of inches taller than me, and probably out- weighed me by twenty pounds or so, and plus he really knew his stuff, and he popped things and stretched things and pressed on things that made me wince and/or moan and/or gasp and/or shudder. And everything he did was accompanied by his voice, calm and soft and deep, sometimes right into my ear, reassuring me that I was doing great, reassuring me that I was on the road to recovery. Reassuring me in his talents and abilities. And I was definitely feeling better. Soon, he had me face-down again, on the table, my head in the hole. My shirt off. He took a little more time putting the electrodes on me, as if he was caressing and gently massaging me at the same time. Fifteen minutes. I got used to the evolving pattern of the zapping. I began to fall asleep, to be honest. Sure, I was stoned, of course. On non-work days, or injury days like today, I always did a wake-and-bake. So yeah, I was pretty buzzed, and the real buzzing sound from the zapper machine was like a lullaby to me. I was happily floating in that world between reality and passing out. Fifteen minutes later, he knocked softly and came in to the room. He turned the zapper off. He disconnected the electrodes from my back. He wiped the lube off, slowly. He touched my skin, softly. His hand trailed down my back a little, towards my pants. He asked me again if any of the discomfort or pain had shifted at all, from the injury site in my upper back. He was worried that there could be migration. He asked if I'd ever had any problem with Sciatica. I didn't know what that was, and he explained about the nerve that ran down from the lower back into and through the buttocks. As he was explaining about it, his hand softly slid down my back, towards my ass. I felt like his touch was electric, like he was zapping me, like the machine, except I knew the machine had been turned off. I was, like, stunned by it. My breathing started going faster, I knew it. And then wham, I felt it. My cock was so hard, and I was laying on it, with all my weight. I was having the most serious head rush, and I had to stop myself from moaning out loud. I managed to get a grip enough to tell him the pain hadn't migrated, but I realized it might be interesting if it had, because then he would have to do massage or manipulation on my lower areas, which titillated me. Finally, he advised me that he would see me again the day after tomorrow, and I could put my shirt on again. Then he went to leave, and stopped at the door, just like before. This time, his eyes looked at me seriously. He went to leave, and then stopped, and then closed the door almost all the way again. And he just looked at me. I was looking up at him, half-naked, my pale upper body face down on the table. He wanted to say something, that much I knew. What it was, I had no idea. I wondered if he had some medical news to tell me. Something bad? Had he seen something, or felt something, that he was worried about letting me know? My concern started to ramp up. Was something wrong with me? My eyes beseeched his. I was like silently begging him. Tell me! Please! Finally, he looked like he'd come to a decision. His eyes focussed more, and his face became more serious. Then a small smile appeared at the corners of his lips, and he said something that changed my life forever, just before he slipped out of the door to his next patient. In a soft voice, masculine and strong, but caring, he uttered the words that would forever alter me. "I like your panties. Very much." Then he was gone. I went red, I tell you. From the top of my head all the way down. And my head snapped around, as far as it could, and I looked down my back. Sure enough, the curve of my lower back and into the tops of my buttocks created a gap from the top of my jeans, and I could easily see the scalloped lace edge strap of my G-string panties. My panties. My chiropractor had seen my panties. My chiropractor had seen my panties! JESUS FUCKING CHRIST! ANOTHER HUMAN BEING HAD SEEN ME WEARING PANTIES! I felt ill, like a whole body ill that doesn't just mean puking but also has the sweats and panic and heart palpitations and passing out and dying of shame. I shuddered, my whole body almost-violently racking back and forth. I had to get out, to avoid him again. To avoid the look in his eyes. To avoid the shame of another man gazing at me like that, half-naked. And wearing panties. I bolted off the table, and threw my shirt back on, and with my heart beating about a million times a second at the prospect of seeing him in the hallway, I made a bee-line for the reception area, to pay and leave. There was a little old lady in one of the chairs in the waiting room. She looked up at me suddenly, as if I'd scared her. Her eyes went from the ground to my head. They stopped very noticeably half-way up. They got bigger, rounder, and her head moved like she was instantly paying attention. I didn't need to look down. I could feel it. I had the biggest hard-on I'd ever had. In my whole life. I knew that there was a lump in the front of my jeans. My panties, underneath, were soaked with my own pre-cum. I could sense it on my hairless skin, liquidy and cool. His touch, and the sexual shock of his words, had made me gush it out. It was seeping down into cracks and crevices, wherever gravity could take it. It felt divine. It felt wicked. It felt forbidden, and dangerous, and the most exciting thing I'd ever felt. It felt sexy. I flashed my union benefit card at the tiny receptionist, and she smiled and thanked me in her clipped English and gave me a reminder card for my next appointment. I flew out the door, and down the street. I had to get home, so no one could see my bulging front. Naturally, several people on the sidewalk did get to see me, as I scooted by them. Minutes later, I had an anxiety attack. I think. I mean, I've never had one before, as far as I know. But there was a wooshing sound reverberating through my head, and my lungs felt like they were taking in more air with each breathe than all the others of my life combined, and I could literally feel my heart beating, and my insides were all quivering again, and my hairless cock and balls were wet and shiny and delicious-looking, and I lay on the couch with my panties pulled to the side and I edged myself for hours. With my butt plug in, of course. At times I would use my left hand to reach under my ass and stroke the green monster in and out of me, like I was getting fucked. I didn't need porn for this jerk-off session. I had all the images and all the words I needed. This man, masculine and fit, presumably successful in life with a thriving business, a professional in his field, with degrees and citations up the wazoo. This man. He'd touched me. Physically, yes. But he'd touched me emotionally too. I replayed the visit over and over again, in my head, with my eyes closed. Whenever I began to get close to cumming, I would let go of my wet cock. I'd just focus on that look, on his face. No jokes, I'm not trying to be racist, but his demeanour changed, from the formal stoic face often associated with Asians to something warmer, and gentler, and with a little bit of naughty thrown in for good measure. I could hear his voice, when I finally let myself explode, my own cum shooting up and then raining down on my body, his words completely overwhelming me, "I like your panties. Very much," as I screamed out at the last minute, "Fuck me!!!!" Afterwards, I had some serious anxiety attacks. A grown man had seen me in panties, and now I was fantasizing about him sticking his cock in me. That's just not supposed to happen, right? Not to all the guys I went to high school with, or knew down at the plant. Sure, a few of them would do the line from Seinfeld, the "not that there's anything wrong with that" line, and maybe a few of them actually meant it, but it's a straight man's world out there, right? And there was no fucking way I was ever going back there. I mean, what the hell would that accomplish? He's just going to laugh at me, or berate me, or threaten me with the police if I ever darkened his door again. He must have been jerking my chain with what he'd said. Right? Surely. I mean, I had brazenly gone to a professionals' office and shamed myself, shown a grown mature adult man of impeccable reputation my disgusting little fetish. There's not a chance in hell he'd accept me as a patient again. Surely. But then, I thought, there was that look on his face. I mean, I don't think I was imagining it. Was I? I bounced back and forth between abject shame and embarrassment to wondering, from utter anger at myself for being so stoned that I forgot I was wearing panties to hearing his words again, over and over in my head. "I like your panties. Very much." In the day and a half that followed, I edged for hours on end. My little cock was hard for hours, pulsing out a small river of precum, as I watched and read porn. All of it gay porn. Most of it CD porn. Sissy porn. I kept telling myself I wasn't going to the appointment. Ten minutes before I should have left, my phone rang. It was his receptionist, the tiny little frail woman, who said that something had come up and they had to change my scheduled time from mid-day to the last one of the day, at five-thirty. My brain went wild, man, like it never has before. I figured he wanted me last thing in his day so he could yell at me, or have me arrested for public indecency, or tell me off about how he never wanted me to be his patient again, since he was a fine upstanding taxpaying business person and I was a degenerate little cross-dressing sicko. At the correct moment, I closed my apartment door and headed out. My heart was almost hurting me, it was beating so hard. And since I was still off work, I had spent my day like I always did. I'd jerked off for hours, not letting myself cum, wearing panties and thigh-high stockings. And the whole time I walked there this gigantic voice in my head kept screaming, "there's NO way I'm going to his office again, there's NO way I'll set myself up for shaming and criticism," all while I moved quickly and purposefully the few blocks and straight into his door. The frail little receptionist, who wore a name tag that said 'Winnie', smiled at me, and her cheeks became rosier. She ushered me in, and led me down the hall to an examination room. I sat in the lone chair and looked at the posters on the wall, showing the spine and muscle structure and the nervous system. I didn't understand any of it. I couldn't even read the names of all the parts. My vision was blurry. My heart was trying to do a hundred-yard dash inside my chest. I felt like I'd run a marathon, or was still running it, and I was desperately trying to calm myself before he came in the room. To shame me. When I heard his little knock, my eyes watered. Here it comes. Dr. Chao smiled at me. It wasn't evil, or menacing. His smile seemed real, and genuine, and friendly. "How are you feeling today?" he asked, like always. My voice was creaky, and soft, owing to my nervousness. I'd never in my life been more on edge, more anxious, more intimidated, or more scared. I couldn't even look him in the eyes. I told him my back was better. He asked a couple of pertinent questions. I answered them. Then he instructed me to take my shirt off. I pulled it off, knowing that my pale skin was probably a reddish hue, since I could feel my face was flush with embarrassment, and the rest of me probably was as well. Plus, I knew one other thing, which was that my nipples were unbelievably hard. Erect. Turgid. I stole a quick momentary look down, and they were bigger than I'd ever seen before. I saw Dr. Chao look at them as well. He came around me, to my back, and began his usual ministrations. He had me lift an arm, and his fingers would push and poke where needed. It felt good, like it always did. His touches began to move lower. He was feeling and assessing all of my back, not just the upper part where the injury had been. His hands were warm, and tender. His voice was again soft and soothing, almost in my ear, from behind, as he asked more questions. Any tenderness here? Any difficulty in bending this way, or that? Any migration of pain? Which, naturally, reminded me of his previous questions about Sciatica. And the truth was, I hadn't felt anything that would fall under his umbrella description of what I might feel if I had it. None. Nothing. My pain was localized in my upper back the whole time, and hadn't moved one inch, and I told him so. Then he went quiet for a moment. His hands were rubbing and touching my lower back. Then his whispered voice, which I could feel on the naked skin of my shoulder, said that it would be prudent to check, just in case. He asked me to lie down on the table, on my front. So I started to get up on the table, to lie down on it, as he walked over to lock the door of the room. He turned to smile at me. "For privacy, so Winnie doesn't accidentally barge in." His voice was low in volume. "Your receptionist?" I asked, my voice breathy and nervous. He nodded, and smiled some more. "And also my wife." So, he was married. That's good, I thought. A straight man, married to the little woman out front. Hetero. Completely normal. Check. My anxiousness eased a little bit. So far he hadn't yelled at me, or mocked me, or called the cops. And now he'd eased my mind even more with the wife comment. I could feel my heart calm down. My stoned paranoia about being shamed and publicly outed as a sick little fucker began to ease. I was halfway up onto the table when he stopped me. I looked at him, in the eyes, the first time since he'd entered the room. His voice became quiet again. "It would be best if you would take off your pants for this part of the examination," he said, a flicker of a smile on his lips. SHEE-IT! I don't know how many micro-seconds it took, but the realization came slamming down on me like a ton of bricks. I was wearing panties again. And thigh-highs. All of a sudden, my whole body started shaking, little tremors of skin- quakes, boiling and roiling up from the inside. It was like someone had turned a machine on in my guts, like a blender, and it was slowly ramping up in intensity. "What?" I asked. His eyes bored into mine. "I will be able to get a better medical view of your condition if I can do a Sciatica examination, and that will be easier if you take your pants off." He paused, and just looked at me, in the eyes. "There is no need to be embarrassed. I am a Doctor." I felt the single sexy strap of cloth running in between my bum cheeks, nestled deep down, from the front pouch holding my little cock and balls to where it met the top strap. My G-string was purple, and had little glittery silver stars on the front. In a rather nonchalant way, I considered what it would look like to him, seeing his male patient's pants sliding down, and then seeing the panties, and the stars. And the bum cheeks, more or less completely exposed. Oh, right, my brain said, and the black thigh-high stockings with the four-inch lace elastic tops. Perfectly normal, right? It was like time just stood still. I stood there, half-naked, with my white hairless skin and my throbbing erect rosy-red nipples, looking this man in the eyes, as he patiently waited for me to accede to his medical wishes, and take my pants off. For a few seconds, I don't know how many, we just looked at each other. My face must have been a cornucopia of emotions. His was stoic. Friendly, and assured, and confident. The look in his eyes told me that he fully expected me to do what he asked, and he was showing extraordinary patience waiting for me to get it done. Finally, he whispered again. "Please, pants off." It was do-or-die time. Then he nodded at me. It was like he was giving me his final instruction, his final confidence, his final demand. My hands reached down, and I undid the button on my jeans, and then slowly moved the zipper down, and then with both hands pushed them down off my hips, letting gravity take over, and they fell to the floor, my wallet in my back pocket and my keys in my front pocket adding weight to them, and creating a thudding noise as they landed. I stood there, my eyes focussed over his shoulder, past him, not being brave enough to see his reaction. But I could sense what he was doing. His scan moved slowly down, past my rock-hard nipples, past my white tummy, to my hips, and then lower. I could sense him staring at my panties, at my little cock and balls, encased in purple silk, my G- string out in the open, displaying my obsession with panties for the first time ever. I felt his gaze move lower, to my white hairless legs, now covered in black lace stockings, all the way to my toes. I'm pretty sure I wasn't breathing at all. At one point I told myself that I had to, though, or I'd die. Every exposed inch of my skin, every pore, was puckering and quivering, the cool air of his HVAC system sending my entire epidermal structure into over-drive. I was so completely focussed on not passing out, on not running away screaming, at not crying my eyes out at my exposure. Finally, I dared to look into his eyes. He was just returning to my face, his vision travelling up my body. His pupils were dark, and glowing. For several moments he just stared at me, deeply, into my eyes, hell, into my soul. I felt drawn to him, like he was pulling me in, like his personality had a gravity to it, and was powerful enough to suck my whole soul towards him. "Turn around, please," he whispered. I complied, kicking my jeans away on the floor as I did. Immediately, I felt his hands, softly touching my shoulders. They began moving, touching, pushing and prodding, feeling and healing me. He used a pointed fingertip to push deeply into the area where my injury was, trying to pop out or release any little bubbles of air that might still be trapped in the folds of the fibres of the muscle. Slowly his hands moved down my back, each lowering accompanied by manipulation, his fingertips searching for places to make feel better. His breath was on my right shoulder. I realized he was standing almost directly behind me. During this 'examination', he hadn't made a sound. But the cool air of his exhaling was tickling me, and I closed my eyes to savour the feelings. While his right hand continued the slow massaging of my entire lower back, his left hand slowly slid around my front, the minute pressure of his touch sending my skin into more puckers and quivers. Every nerve ending I had in my tummy was blasting, letting me know that I was being touched, in the softest and yet most significant way I'd ever encountered. I found myself wishing I could have this kind of attention every day. If this is therapy, then I want to be injured and needing this forever! He was so un-rushed. His right hand continued to slowly get lower and lower, while his left hand moved at the same snails' pace in an upward direction. Minutes of the most amazing joy I'd ever felt later, his right hand was on the beginning of the outward bulge of my right buttock, and his left hand was cupping my left pectoral muscle. And he was gently kneading it, and caressing it. And it hit me. He was touching it like it was a breast. A woman's breast. He was feeling me up. My chiropractor was doing to me what I had only done a few times in my life, standing behind a smaller more feminine person and going for boob. And then, after minutes on end of my brain fairly screaming at him to do something else, he finally did. At the very same moment his left hand moved upwards, his finger and thumb wrapping around my mountainous nipple and squeezed gently, his right hand moved lower, his fingers stretching as far as they could, his entire extended reach clamping down and squeezing on my buttock. He was grabbing my ass, and twisting my nipple. Exactly what I would have done, if I was the masculine one and I had a woman in front of me. Or in this case, a feminine man. I just lost it then. All the breath came out of me, and I moaned out loud, the word "YES!" stretched out and elongated, as I moved backwards towards him, almost slumping into his arms, my head lolling to the left a little bit, his breath now sharp and distinct and faster falling like a cool breeze on my right shoulder and neck. Which is when four things happened, all at once, in an order that makes perfect sense and yet shocked me to my core. First thing was that I felt his right hand leave my ass cheek, and circle round to the front of me, pulling at me. Second thing was I felt his left hand pulling me backwards as well, although his forefinger and thumb were not letting go of my distended nipple, now as big as a Hershey's kiss, swollen with blood and excitement. Third thing was I felt his lips attach themselves to the side of my neck, lightly kissing me. The fourth thing was the killer. Pulling me back stopped, when I ran into his body. I felt his cock. His hardness. His erection. Through his pants. Dead center, between my ass cheeks, and up onto the tops of my buttocks. As his kiss began, at my neck, he rubbed his cock into me. He pushed it into me, confidently, letting me know how he was feeling. He was rock hard, and much bigger than me. His kiss stopped for a second, and with his mouth so close to my ear, he began whispering. "You are so sexy," he said. "So sexy, so pretty," he said. "Dr. Chao make love to you now," he said, "like you desire." My breathing was insane. In and out and in and out like I had just broken the world record for the fastest mile ever ran. My eyes were closed, lights and flickers of joy filling my inner vision. But I did retain enough sense to ask an important question. "What about your wife?" I breathed out. He giggled somewhat. "Winnie is traditional Chinese woman, and she know that I am faithful to her. But she also know that I have needs that she cannot fulfill. She know I have desires she is not able to help with. She know what is happening here and she will wait in reception area until we are finished," he stated, "and she won't mind at all." His right hand, which was on my lower tummy when he began gently pulling me back towards him, moved down. He cupped my cock and balls in his hand, through the panties. And I came. I just began blasting cum out of me, in great leaps and spurts. It was completely uncontrollable, and resolutely the most fulfilling orgasm of my entire life. His hand kept rubbing me, a finger or two moving up and down the outside of my little cock, as my panties got wetter and wetter, my cum voluminous, and finding every little place it could to go. Within a moment or two, tops, his fingers and hand were coated in my cum. Perhaps it was his medical training, I don't know, but he just seemed to know exactly what he was doing. He made me pop, by just touching me, as he ground the considerable lump in his pants into me from behind, and he kept up touching me and rubbing me and cupping my balls in the right order to make my cum last longer than any other previous. Such was the intensity of my orgasm that I found my body lurching and stuttering and racking with jolts and starts and spasms, all while safe in his arms, his grip on my nipple stronger than ever. I kept moaning "oh, oh, oh," under my breath, never having experienced a physical reaction like that, and wondering what would happen next to me. My heart felt like it would pop right out of my chest, and for one brief second I imagined the police having to explain to my parents that I'd died from cumming too hard. In the arms of a man. While wearing panties and thigh-high stockings. And while the man was dry-humping me from behind, pinching on my left nipple and rubbing my cock and balls. Finally, after the longest time, my little cock stopped oozing cum. My panties were soaked, through and through, and I just somehow knew that his hand was covered in my cum as well. And I also realized, to my shock, that I was rubbing my ass against his big cock, in his pants. I was actually wriggling and twerking my hips without any thought at all, giving him the amazing pleasure of a slutty lap dance, while we stood there in his examination room, next to his examination table. My breathing returned to almost normalcy, and I felt his right hand leave my groin. Then, with my eyes still closed the acrid odor of my cum got stronger in the room, and he pulled his lips away from the skin of my neck and whispered to me. "Clean my hand." I opened my eyes, and his fingers were right in front of me. I could see the drippy sloopy cum, on all his fingers, and his palm. The ramping up of the odor intensity matched my own fever for it, I suppose. I locked my mouth over two of his fingers, immediately, and started savouring my taste. It wasn't new, of course. I loved cum, and had been eating my own for many years. But this, this was hotter. This was sexier. This was much more satisfying, and electric. I sucked my cum off his fingers, which inspired him to push himself into me from behind even harder, rocking in and out and in and out, giving me a taste of what was to come. Which instantly made me erect again. His finger and thumb never let up in their squeezing of my left nipple, and his right hand soon became completely clean of my cum. I had it all in mouth, including a big long drippy droopy splurge that had begun running down towards his wrist that I'd eagerly moaned over while I hoovered it in. I'd never felt so alive in my entire short life. I'd never felt so free in my entire short life. I wondered what the boys in the plant would say now, if they could see me. Practically naked, wearing lingerie, having just cum in my panties from the touch of another man, and having just sucked down all my own cum in glurps of joy. But those questions would have to wait. Dr. Chao moved us both two steps closer to the table, and his now-clean right hand began pushing at my upper back. He was prodding me to bend over, my upper half away from his upper half. My lower half still moving and shucking and jiving, rubbing his cock through his pants in the most lewd and lascivious way I knew how. WOW! DID THIS FEEL GOOD! Then the contact ended, and I could hear sounds that were definitive. He was taking off his shirt, and then undoing his belt, and his button, and his zipper, and then I heard the sounds of his pants hitting the floor, and his feet shuffling, no doubt kicking his pants to the side, and then the whispery sort of noises of underwear coming off. His left hand pushed at my back, making my top half horizontal, lying on the table. His right hand disappeared for a moment, and then I felt a finger hooking onto the strap of my G-string panties, and pulling them to one side. Then a moment or two of nothing, and then his left arm moved down and began pushing my bum cheeks apart. Spreading me. Then a coolness, almost iciness on my skin. The skin around my hole. He'd gathered some of his zapper machine lube, and began swirling it around my opening. And I was opening, and closing, like a fish's mouth after it's hooked into the boat, in the most primeval way. My body was aching for it. Ready for it. My pussy was itching for it. GIVE ME WHAT I WANT!!!! Finally, his cool lubed finger landed smack dab in the middle of my pussy opening, and I blossomed like a sinkhole. I practically sucked his finger into me, which made me moan out loud, and the lube allowed him to push and then push again, and his entire finger shot up into me. YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES!!!! I'd never felt anything like this, never reacted like this before. It was as if I was a drowning man, gasping in the last moments of life, suddenly holding a rope, pulling myself up and onto safety. All of my life, I never would have imagined feeling this way, and yet the years and years of porn came tumbling back through my mind in a heartbeat, flashes of literally hundreds of thousands of moments in my past ripping past in a nanosecond. My entire life, my entire focus, now permanently fixed on one point of light, one kernel of truth, one atom of the universe. I WANTED THIS! I turned my head, to my right side, and looked back at him. At his face. At his eyes. He was radiating energy, almost glowing. His eyes were alive, and like dark laser beams aimed straight at me. His mouth was open, his lips in a smile, his tongue sliding and slithering behind his teeth. He looked feral, like an animal. He looked like truth. His gaze was open, and completely without reservation. His joy was rippling across his pores. A man, at his most basic, realizing his divine opportunity and his heavenly reward. A horny man. His finger pulled out and he had to have scooped up more lube because a few seconds later two slick fingers came up into me, at full speed and taking no prisoners. All out penetration, his fingers spreading slightly apart after entering me, opening me inside. Preparing me. He left both fingers in me and leaned forward, moving his head next to mine. I could feel his heated breathe on my cheeks. His voice was quiet, and piercing. "You are Baobei Nuehi. You know what that mean?" he asked. I shook my head no, while his two spread fingers rotated and moved back and forth, eliciting a moan from me. "It mean 'precious girl', in Mandarin." Precious girl. Me. His fingers left me, suddenly, and then with both hands he twisted my body, moving me from my front to my back, never letting his face get more than an inch or two from mine. And I amazed myself with my litheness, and agility. Twisting and turning like that would have been difficult, in my boy life. But it seemed like now I was changing, into a girl life. Somehow. His hands manipulating me, was the biggest key. He knew the human body. He knew the best ways to make certain movements, and the wrong ways. He was playing me like the finest violin, and when I was firmly on my back, with my bum right at the end of the table, his hands moved to a point between my hips and my waist, and his fingers wrapped around behind me, and his thumbs touched a certain spot on either side of me, and with one firm and commanding movement, he made me open up my hips from the inside, and pivot my middle in a decidedly un-masculine way. He was showing me, teaching me, how to bend like a woman would. He was shifting my pelvis. He was guiding me to learn how to present myself. To present my pussy to a man. For the best angle for penetration. At the best angle for instant gratification, for both of us. He was readying me for his cock. His right hand moved away, and I heard a gloppy liquidy kind of sound, and this time three of his fingers found my hole and went straight in. They slid in with almost no resistance from me. I'd had a butt plug in for the better part of two days, so I was more than ready physically and emotionally for the stretching he was doing. But three fingers was much wider than my butt plug, and the energy they created as they opened me made me gasp out loud, my eyes shooting open, my mouth betraying the path I was taking, right on the razors edge between massive pain and even massiver pleasure. At the end of one stroke, he pushed against my hole, like he was trying to fit even more inside me. By doing that, he'd pushed his fingers in as far and as wide as he could. I started to scream. A millisecond later, he'd leaned over me and dropped his mouth onto mine. He was covering my lips entirely with his. And all my sound went straight into his mouth, muffling it. And then a second later he stuck his tongue into me, in one slow and distinct shove, and then kept it there, touching almost to the back of my mouth. He didn't move it at all. He waited, his immobile tongue inside my mouth, his lips completely covering mine. And two seconds later, he got what he'd wanted. My mouth, by nature, stopped my lungs from making any more noise, by slowing closing, around the shape of his tongue. By nature, like a child to a nipple I suppose, I conformed to its shape, and then began sucking on it. Like it was the most natural thing to do. To suck on a man's tongue. While wearing panties and stockings, and pulsing myself around three of his fingers, which were slickly buried inside my ass as far as they could reach. I sucked on that tongue like it was the gift of life. He moaned his approval, and began to work his lips on mine. His movements were slow, and languorous, and gentle, and made me realize that I had a motor inside me and he had it revving way up in third gear. Vroom! I closed my eyes, and wrapped my arms around his shoulders, and lost myself in kissing. I never knew it could be so much fun. So soft, at times, and so passionate at others. So intimate, and so in the moment, and so awe- inspiring. So lost to my soaring feelings was I that I barely registered that he had slowly slipped his fingers out of me, and I was opening and closing my ring, as if searching for something to be back inside me. And then his lower half moved slowly, and in a hands-free motion he moved until his cockhead was literally pressing up against my anus, my pussy hole, the roundness of him conforming to the curves of my hole and crack and cheeks. He began moving his tongue in my mouth, lightly tapping the upper roof of my mouth. I'd French kissed before, of course, and I'd never done that. Or had it done to me. I'd never seen it either, in the millions of hours of porn vids I've watched. Then he penetrated me. One slow but insistent stroke. I screamed again, into his mouth. My hands moved to push at his shoulders, to push him away. Fear raced through me, more than I'd ever had before. NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO! He was trying to push what felt like a basketball into what felt like a drinking straw. His tongue kept tapping at the roof of my mouth, harder, and with more fervor. Little thuds rained on my upper palette, and all of a sudden I felt a complete ripple of something run through my body, like a jolt of liquid electricity. WHOOOSH! The tension in my leg muscles disappeared. The same things happened in my arms, and I stopped pushing at him. My scream stopped. And then, with purpose and desire, he slipped his lubed up cock all the way inside me. INSIDE ME. His tongue kept tapping at me, staccato little thuds. I started trying to swallow his tongue, take it into my throat, while I was swallowing and swallowing the cascades of my own saliva I was suddenly generating. My mouth was like a lake! Then he bottomed out for real, a last final thrust in me. His body, his full weight on me, from groin to face. His hands were on either side of my head, gently holding me. His belly, flat and toned for a man his age, or any age, was pressing down into me, wrapping my little cock in a cocoon of flesh and pooled cum, the natural little movements and ripples of his skin firing into the nerve endings in my cock, making me rock hard again, making my insides quiver again like the blender going off. He was kissing me, and kissing me, and kissing me. He was kissing me. He was kissing all my fears, all my latent worries away. He was kissing the years of society's rules, about proper behavior and right and wrong all away. He was kissing the new me into existence, bringing me out. Dr. Chao was the best kisser in the entire fucking universe. And then he began to pull his cock out of me, and I murmured "NO!" into his mouth, but he grunted his smile back at me, and then he pulled out until just the tip of his bulbous head was still inside me and used that moment to plunge back into me, to the hilt. Balls deep. I screamed again, muffled inside his mouth. And then he began making love to me. Slow excruciating delicious out- strokes were followed by impassioned meaningful in-strokes. Each cycle took a good five or six seconds, and each new time he bottomed out in me I marveled at the feeling of the hair of his balls on my silky-smooth bum cheeks, and how completely full I felt inside. I was full of cock! We made love like that for a few minutes. Long and delicious minutes. Then his pattern started to change. I think he was starting to rev up himself, his own motor shifting gears. He began shorter, harder leaps inside me. He was building up his tempo. He was building up his pace. He was enjoying this. I could tell in his kisses, which hadn't stopped. We were both snorting out our breaths through our noses, because our mouths were joined and inseparable. A few minutes later, he started out-and-out rutting. He began fucking me. I was way too stoned on weed and high on sexual excitement to notice, but he kept up his new faster harder pace for what seemed like an hour or two. He just kept pounding me, the squelchy sounds of lube on him and in me contributing to the noises in the room. He was unrelenting, a perpetual motion machine of cock plunging into pussy and back out again, over and over and over and over again. I had never realized what levels there were to joy. I'd experienced in my life lots of joyous good times. But none of them compared to being made love to this way. Finally, after his pace and tempo revved up again, his mouth lost its lock on mine, and his head moved back, so he could breathe heavily and stare me into oblivious delight. His gaze was fierce. He was a man. All the glitter and glamor and traces and glimpses of modern life were gone. Nothing mattered. Not family, not work. Not obligations or expectations. Just man, at his most fiercest. He was at his core, at his most basic. He was feral. He was fucking me. He was pounding me. He was using me as the receptacle for his energy, his passion, his strength, his brute essence. The steel base and mechanism of the professional-grade examination table were making noises of their own, loud and insistent mechanical thuds and creaks and cracks. As loud as a symphony orchestra. And in the most insanely fast rhythm. Like a drummer, hitting a snare military beat that just kept going faster and faster and fiercer and fiercer. He was all-out fucking me. I wilted under this glare, but couldn't nor wouldn't look away. I needed to see him at the moment he released into me. And I needed him to see me release myself to him. It didn't take long. For either of us. His grin became electric, and his eyes flared open, and his breath came down at me in faster and faster snorts, and finally he started moaning, low in volume at first, but building. And it wasn't words, as far as I knew. Just pure unadulterated lustful sounds. Our hammering became frenetic. I was moving my hips as best I could to meet him with every thrust, and he was just all out pummelling me. His face and upper body were now covered in a sheen of perspiration, and I was bouncing under him like the horniest rag doll there ever was. WHAMWHAMWHAMWHAMWHAMWHAMWHAMWHAMWHAMWHAMWHAMWHAMWHAMWHAMWHAMWHAMWHAMWHAM WHAMWHAMWHAMWHAMWHAMWHAM Right at the end, his motion changed slightly. He seemed to be pushing down with his lower tummy every time he slammed his cock into my pussy, and the added rubbing and pressure of his skin on my bouncing cock and balls finally launched me into space. I screamed out a gigantic "YES!," and then my entire vision became white-hot streaks of blazing lights, and then I started just exploding from the inside out, my guts and innards bubbling over like a kettle, and then my head started thrashing side to side, and as Dr. Chao pistoned into me and screamed on his own, I lost all connection with consciousness. I passed out. When I was rousing awake, sometime later, I was being cleaned. I couldn't focus, or even open my eyes at first, but someone with a warm cloth was washing me, soaking up the cum that covered my torso and genitals and the cum that was oozing out of my anus. My pussy. My well-fucked pussy. As I awoke more fully, I looked down and saw Winnie. She was diligently wiping me, with care but also with a certain power, getting my skin clean. I watched her work, and studied her face. For the longest time she didn't, or wouldn't, look me in the eyes, but after a few minutes of cleaning my lower parts she moved up to my chest, and my nipples, which were still rock-hard, and then my shoulders and neck. Her eyes glanced quickly at mine, and then looked away even quicker. A few seconds later, she looked at me again. This time was longer. Then she finished her task, and made me as clean as I could be short of an actual bath or shower. Then I saw her take another warm wet cloth and blot up as much of the cum as she could from my panties, which were on the floor. She then took a dry towel and pressed it and rolled it, trying to make it as comfortable for me as she could. Finally, she gathered her cloths and moved to the door. For a second she froze. Then she turned her head, to look at me. Then she smiled. "Doctor make you feel good?" she asked, in her soft clipped English. I nodded, without even thinking about it. "Yes," I smiled, and, being honest with myself, "he really did." She nodded. "You make Doctor feel good. I know. I see. I hear." Then she left and closed the door. I managed a few moments later to slip my panties back on, noticing a huge run in my right stocking as I did. I thought, what a bummer! Then I got my jeans back on, and my shirt, and my shoes. The Doctor was nowhere to be seen, and I walked back out to the reception area. Winnie thanked me for visiting and handed me another appointment reminder card. "Doctor see you again in two days," she said, "and I call union tomorrow morning to let them know you need many more treatment." I looked at the card. The hand-written time was the same as today's. Five-thirty. I looked up at Winnie. "Doctor like it when you are last patient of the day," she said, matter- of-factly. I grinned from ear to ear. Then she smiled, and winked. "I like it too." I laughed out loud, finding energy I didn't know still existed, operating as I was on the principle that the man had fucked the living life out of me. "I like it three." We both laughed. THE END.