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The Doctor Knows Best

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by Hector In 1945, our family doctor died. World War II had just ended. I was seventeen. Our parents sent us all to a new family doctor for physicals. Our new doctor was thirty-two, tall, and well built, especially his ass. I noticed that, because by that time I was a latent bi-sexual. The physical exam went as usual until he locked the door. He followed that by asking me to drop my pants and bend over the examining table. He explained he had to check my prostate. The doctor knows best, I thought, so I dropped my pants and bent over the examining table. You won’t understand the next part without knowing something about me at this point in my sex life. At ten, I had discovered that when I stuck something up my ass while jacking off, the ultimate pleasure was at least tripled. At thirteen, I had trained myself to edge. That was long before there was a name for it. By seventeen, I took that doctor’s finger up my ass as a treat. When the tip of the doctor’s finger touched my prostate, I began to quiver. My skin grew suddenly warm and moist. “Here,” he said, as he took out his finger and rolled me over. “This will be better.” He laid me on the table on my back with my knees bent and my feet set in the stirrups, like a woman having her cunt probed. “Now relax,” he said almost in a whisper, “and we’ll see what we have here.” I relaxed, closed my eyes, and waited for his finger. My hard on had begun growing. He started his penetration very slowly. When the tip of his finger touched my prostate, my cock leaped and slapped down on my belly. He began to circle the outer edge of my prostate with the tip of his finger. I was by now as hot as I’d ever been. This next part turned me on so much, the doctor had to put a hand towel between my teeth like a horse’s bit, so my grunts and groans wouldn’t be heard in the waiting room. He gently withdrew his finger, smelled it, and put it under my nose, so I could smell it. That drove me crazy. With his finger back in my ass and expertly rubbing and circling my swelling prostate, he pulled up my shirt and sucked on my nipples. If I hadn’t been edging since I was thirteen, I would have cum right then and shot all over my belly. I held it, however, and wanted more. He reached down with his free left hand and opened his fly. So as not to miss one wonderful thing, I opened my eyes and looked down at him. His cock resembled a Polish sausage, thick and uncut. Grabbing his husky cock in his left hand and rubbing my prostate firmly with the middle finger of his right hand, the doctor began to slowly stroke himself. His stroking got faster and faster, until, humped and tensed, he squirted cum in four separate spurts, covering my thigh from kneecap to balls. The smell of his warm cum and the feel of it running off my thigh made me cum. At that fantastic moment, when I was deep in ecstasy, he kissed my lips with a loving tenderness that made me remember him to this day. Over the next four years, we did it three more times with variations until I went into The Air Force and lost track of him. After that, however, I always did as he taught me, because the doctor knows best.

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