My Hot Doctor Fucked Me 03: Prostate Pounding (Patreon)

OnlyLit Link ;)

Everyone is 18+ and fully consenting.

Chapter 3: Prostate Pounding

"So, why don't we do a... full workup."

His hand slid off my hip to the small of my back, he pulled my butt right to the edge of the table, and his mouth came back down on mine.

We didn't kiss the first time I was here. He had fucked me bent over this same table, he had jerked my load out onto his own fist, but our mouths hadn't touched until right now, in the middle of a weekday afternoon, me naked under a paper gown in his exam room. I grabbed a fistful of his coat at the shoulder just to hold onto something.

His fingers tightened on my hip and held me still on the table as he started thrusting his body toward me, showing me what he wanted to do to me. I sat there and got kissed, breathing fast out of my nose, while he steered my whole head with his mouth. 

That was the thing I had wanted all week and hadn't been able to explain to myself in my bed, lying awake at two in the morning with my hand on my dick. I wanted somebody else to run things. I wanted a grown man to do the thinking for me. That was the fantasy. And that's where I found myself.

He took the coat off.

He hadn't done that last week. Last week he fucked me in it, and I turned around after and he was fully dressed in it with his hair looking normal, and I had thought about that image constantly since. He shrugged out of it one shoulder at a time and hung it on the hook by the door, and I watched his back come out from under it, the shirt pulling across his muscley shoulders. He rolled up one sleeve, then the other, over his forearms.

He took me by the shoulders and turned me again, until I was square to the table, and the paper tore somewhere under my hip as I lay back.

He grabbed the gown in both fists at my chest and tore it straight down the middle, one hard rip, and it came apart around me. He was breathing roughly through his nose while he did it, and he yanked the shreds out from under me and threw them on the floor. I lay naked on the table on my back, looking up at him as he got a hand under each of my knees and dragged me down the table, all at once, hard, my back squeaking on the paper, until my hips were at the edge and my ass was half off it. He pushed my ankles up and back toward my chest and stepped in between my knees, and we looked at each other.

This felt different. Last week I faced the wall. Now my ass was pointed at a man I could see.

"This is better," I said. My voice came out about eleven years old.

"Better how."

"I can see you."

He got the jar of vaseline off the counter without taking his eyes off me, and the sound of it coating his fingers alone made my dick flex flat against my stomach.

His finger pressed against me, slick and warm this time, no glove, and he worked it in with the same patience he had the first time, one slow push all the way to the knuckle. I braced and watched. It was easier than last time already. 

My head tipped back and he said "hey," and I brought it up again.

He watched my face the entire time.

He wasn't looking down at what his hand was doing. It was hot that he didn't need to. He kept his eyes on my eyes while his finger curled up into that spot and dragged across it, because he knew what he was doing. And every time he touched the hotspot my mouth fell open and my eyebrows scrunched up. I felt stupid, and he saw all of it happen, live, but then he would do it again, to see it again.

"Okay?" he said.

"Yeah."

"Say it."

"I'm okay. Keep going."

His second finger felt like a burn, a good one. And I just kept thinking about the next bigger thing that was coming. My hands had a mind of their own, and I grabbed his forearm, the one attached to the hand inside me, and I held onto it tightly. He didn't shake me off. The muscles in his arm kept shifting under my fingers as he worked me in and out, stretching me, and that almost finished me right there, a new, weird kind of intimacy.

He pulled his fingers out. He undid his belt one-handed, and his slacks, and I watched all of it from below, which was a completely different view than the one I got over my own shoulder at the prior visit. His manhood sprang out hard. It was so thick and manly, veiny and with a full bush above it. It stood straight out of him, a tan-pink, less peachy than my own. The head was big and bulbous, frightening from that angle. And I was leaking a puddle into my own belly button, my dick lying up my stomach and jumping every time he touched me.

He greased up his shaft, took hold of the back of one of my thighs, and pressed the head of it against me. I gasped a little when it made contact, out of my control.

"There's a good boy," he said as he leaned forward, applying the pressure I recognized. "Just be quiet."

He pushed in.

I kept my eyes open as he stretched me from the new angle, which took some effort. Part of me wanted to squeeze them shut and ride it out. But I needed to see it. 

I watched his jaw set as the head went in another inch. His nostrils widened, and a little concentration line formed between his eyebrows while he sank into me. His hair was still perfect, every dark strand pushed back where he'd combed it, and I thought about what it would look like ruined, messy from fucking me like a sweaty animal.

The stretch was worse this way, deeper, the angle driving it straight into a new place, and a groan came climbing up out of my chest and almost got out before I slapped my own forearm over my mouth. He watched me do it, and kept pushing until his hips met the backs of my thighs, and he held me there.

"Look at me," he said.

I dropped my arm.

"Yeah," I said, breathing through it. "Yeah. Go."

A few strokes in, a moan squeaked out of me. It felt boyish, and I jammed the heel of my hand over my mouth again. He was moving in short strokes, my ankles up by his shoulders, one of his hands flat on my chest holding me down on the table, and the paper under my back was already shredded into strips.

I gasped when he pulled my hand off my mouth by the wrist, pinning it to the paper. He leaned his whole weight forward, folding me in half, adding pressure to the pleasurable sensations building in my body, my knees pressing into my chest. 

And he kissed me, keeping me quiet. 

His teeth caught my bottom lip and his stubble scraped my chin raw, and the next moan out of me went straight into his mouth instead of into the air. He kept fucking me through the kiss, rougher now, and folded up like that he reached even deeper, his muscular body pressing into me with increasing passion. I felt the whole hard thickness of him pushing deep and stretching me from the inside, rocking my world with every push, and every strange new sensation traced back to the hot, hung, muscular older guy taking my body over, making me feel like the world's sexiest fucktoy.

He came up off my mouth so I could breathe, and I looked up past my own knees at his abs tensing as he thrust into me rapidly, the shirt sticking to his chest now, his hair finally coming apart over his forehead, and I thought about the fact that this was the same man who had said ice and time, you'll survive to me last week with a tablet in his hand.

"You do this with all the guys who come in here?" I said. It came out ragged, choppy, timed to his hips. "That's how you get around your wife, right?"

I was looking at his hand while I said it. The one on my chest. The gold ring was right there, warm against my sternum.

He didn't slow down, and he didn't get defensive.

"You're the first," he said breathlessly.

I looked at him for a second.

"You're the first," he said again, a little urgency in the adrenaline of his voice. "You're a special boy."

I didn't really care if that was true, but I felt special anyway. My hole clamped down around him hard enough that he grunted in acknowledgement of it, and my dick jumped against my stomach and spat a little clear fluid onto me without anybody touching it.

"Yeah," he said. "You like that."

And he answered the question properly then, not with words. He straightened up, took an ankle in each hand, and started fucking me with even more strength, at a new angle now, hard enough that the table legs skidded on the tile with every stroke, and I got both hands over my own mouth. My dick bounced against my stomach, untouched, leaving wet spots where it hit, and the pressure built from the inside this time, from the spot he kept driving into.

"Jerk me off," I got out between strained groans. "Please." 

He reached down quickly and held it, one tight squeeze, rough pressure from his big fist without even stroking it, and that was enough. I squirted hard, ropes shooting up my chest, the first one reaching all the way to my face, warm on my cheek. My hole clamped down around him so hard he cussed under his breath. I watched his face the whole time it happened to me, and he watched mine. He didn't slow down for any of it. He sped up, fingers digging into my ankles. He brought one of my feet to his mouth and licked my toes, kissing and sucking on it. He grunted, and his rhythm fell apart. 

He buried himself flush to my body and held there, pulsing, his load pumping into me in slow throbs, his jaw set tightly, his eyes open and on me for every one of them.

He stayed planted in me while he caught his breath, his chest heaving under the damp shirt, his hands still hooked behind my knees like he wasn't ready to give up his grip on me. I could feel the last soft pulses of him in me while he came down from it, and I lay there folded up and held every one. 

When our breaths were caught, he pulled out slowly, and the drag of the head coming free shook a long groan out of me. I clenched down on nothing, my hole trying to squeeze shut, and his load started leaking out of me, warm, spreading onto what was left of the shredded paper under my ass.

I pushed up onto my elbows and reached toward the paper towel dispenser.

"Don't," he said. He tucked himself back into his slacks and zipped up. "You're walking out with it."

I smiled at him, and he smiled back.

"Thanks," I said. "For the followup."

"For leaving my load in your ass," he said with the softest chuckle.

He washed his hands at the sink while I slid off the table and got my legs back under me. I pulled my underwear up and felt the wet warmth press into the cotton and stay there. He lifted the coat off the hook and shrugged back into it, one shoulder at a time, and rolled his sleeves down, and by the time I was stepping into my shorts he was a doctor again, and I was a patient with cum in my underwear.

"You eat dinner?"

"What?"

"Friday. There's a place on Weller, past the bridge." He hooked the tablet off the counter. "Seven."

"Like…"

"Like dinner."

"Yes," I said, fast, with his load still in me and one shoe untied.

He turned the thumb lock back over and was out the door before I got the second shoe on.

"Hit me up on instagram," he said. 

He gave me another wink and he was gone. 

When I was dressed and walking out the hallway, I heard him in the office, talking about medical stuff with someone, back to his job.

Maria had the schedule up before I got both elbows on the counter.

"It says he wants a recheck, hon. Couple weeks out. Afternoon again?"

"I'll call back if it's needed," I said, leaving her as I turned to walk out the door, dropping my board as soon as I got outside.