Lollipop for a good boy.

Tim saw her leaning in the doorway. She wore a lab-coat that hung to her knees but, thankfully, the buttons didn't go all the way down and when she re-crossed her legs, he got a glimpse of trim kneecaps. He wondered if she might be naked underneath and in a rare moment of benevolence, he forgave his girlfriend for forcing him to make the appointment. Lollipop for a good boy.
a “Quicky” by Jo-Anne Wiley

He fussed with the string. What kind of idiot would design something like this!

"Trouble?"

Tim saw her leaning in the doorway. She wore a lab-coat that hung to her knees but, thankfully, the buttons didn't go all the way down and when she re-crossed her legs, he got a glimpse of trim kneecaps. He wondered if she might be naked underneath and in a rare moment of benevolence, he forgave his girlfriend for forcing him to make the appointment.

"This stupid thing," he said, hand groping.

"My female patients don't complain."

He smirked without spite. She was a tall woman, well over six feet, judging by the way she filled the doorway, but graceful in appearance, swan-like: neck, arms, legs. And when she moved, to breathe even, her breasts swam of their own free will beneath the soft cotton, suggesting they were governed by the whims of nature; not restricted by lace or elastic or straps.

"You're cute. This should be fun!" Her smile was broad across a handsome face. She covered the distance between them and thrust out a hand. "Name's McCord... Anna. She had a strong hand, long fingers with the nails buffed and trimmed. It was a man-to-man shake. “Any problems with dizziness? Vertigo?”

“None.”

“Come stand by me; close your eyes and raise your foot. If you feel yourself fall, reach for me.”

Tim desperately wanted to put his hands on the woman. There was that independence of movement again; about her chest. He wondered what she would do if he reached out and accidentally landed a hand on her tit? No, he didn’t have the nerve, but he fell towards her. She steadied him and Tim reached, his hand landing on her shoulder blade. It was about the size of a shovel, and as hard. He slid his hand along her back. He had been right: no bra. He touched her backbone, the flexing vertebrae, bones feeling like a chain of steel bearings.

“Whoa!” she exclaimed, pulling Tim back to his feet.

“This mean I flunked my sobriety test?”

“Sure does,” … a throaty chuckle. “Better sit down.” Anna led him to her table. “Here.” She patted the end. “Hop up and swing your legs over. That’s it,” she said, adjusting her stethoscope. She listened to his heart, looked into his ears, studied the underside of his eyelids, his throat, and tapped his knees and elbows. She worked quickly and efficiently, only pausing to jot notes. “Ok, now the real work!” She snapped her clipboard. “You ready?”

“Yes,” he said, and was horrified when his voice cracked.

“You're nervous.” she said.

“I guess,” Tim replied.

“Because I’m a woman? Some men… I could refer you to a male practitioner.”

“It’s not that. It's just, I'm sorry, you’re kinda intimidating.”

“Intimidating?”

“Well, you’re so damned big.”

“Big?” The eyebrows knitted.

“Not fat, I mean. Christ… there's just so damn much of you. How tall are you anyway? You into sports?”

She took a step closer and stooping to hold eye contact, she started laughing. It was hearty, from down deep. Her face seemed to break into fragments of light. “I’m six-foot three,” she said.

Holly shit! “And…?”

“Forty-two.”

“And…?"

“One-forty-four.”

“And…?”

“And… I’m not telling you my bra size!” She straightened, then: “I ski in winter and play tennis in summer. Now, if there are no more questions, lay back and let me get on with it or you won’t get a sucker.”

“Doctors still give out lollipops?” Tim asked.

“I've tutti-fruity… but only for good boys. Lay back and let me see what all the girls are raving about.”

Tim dropped his head and watched as she stooped over the sink to wash. He wondered what she might look like in one of those tennis outfits. The men at her tennis club must love it. He let his eyes drift from her arched body to the far wall and a poster of a “cut-away” woman; her reproductive organs neatly labele.

Anna's hand was on his leg. The front of the smock was unceremoniously pushed above his waist. Nudging his knees apart with a hip and moving his penis aside, she cradled his scrotum. The room went very still. Anna felt a little shock of surprise as her fingers closed around the lone testicle. “You've only got one,” she breathed.

“Uh-huh,” he confided, turning his gaze.

She shook herself, focused. “Trauma?"

"Trauma?"

"Yes. Accident? Physical abuse? Medical procedure?" she asked bluntly.

"No." She lowered her eyes; cupped him and thought about the consequences. She ran her thumb and forefinger along his good testicle; found the surface silky and smooth and instinctively closed her hand. He found her touch gentle. She was studying his genitals. He liked the attention; being exposed and carefully examined. His limp penis rolled off his belly. Anna gently lifted it. He felt the tingling sensation. He felt so naked under her gaze and he studied the “cut-away-lady” in an effort to control the hormones that threatened to stiffen his cock.

“This one seems fine,” Anne straightened, his scrotum still in her hand. “But we need to find the other one. An impacted testis could become cancerous.”

He desperately wanted to say something funny; make light of the situation.

“You may feel some discomfort.”

He racked his neck, tried to steady his voice. “You do this kind of work often?” he asked.

Her eyes puzzled. “I do have a few male patients,” she said. “And my ex didn’t have any complaints, at least not in this department.” And unbelievably, she gave him a playful squeeze. Not exactly professional! “I'd like to find that errant testis. You ok?”

“I guess.”

“Just relax.” She slid onto her stool and rolled between his knees. She held his penis in her left hand and began to probe the flesh with an extended finger where his scrotum hung from his abdomen. It was slow, exacting work. But Anna was good. She probed the perimeter, working her finger under the skin and into the abdominal cavity, exploring with a delicate touch. Her face was so close he could feel her breath on the inside of his leg; a wisp of hair tickled his skin.

Her ministrations slowly got to him and though he was madly trying to think good thoughts, his thighs tingled and he was fighting the urge. Then she shifted her attention to the base of his penis, just where the muscle entered, he couldn’t hold the low groan. It seeped into the room and floated there. His anus pinched.

“Am I hurting you?” she asked.

“No,” he breathed despairingly from behind closed eyes.

“Oh!” she said and he sensed her gaze on his face. Then after a long pause: “It’s ok you know. I mean, it’s natural. I’m here poking around… it would be natural for you to be aroused.” She was still holding his penis in her left hand and he felt her thumb reach up and rub the ridge at the base of the head, where it was most sensitive.

“Jesus,” he whispered in abject surrender. And it took about two seconds for his cock to double its size. “I’m sorry. I can’t help it. What you’re doing…”

“There.” Her voice was hushed. “Now you have an erection. Don't worry about it anymore. We're both adults. Have pleasant thoughts; trust me, I'm flattered.” Tim felt her finger start to prob around the base of his elevated penis. “This is much better, isn’t it?” Anna said. And leaning forward, she pushed deeper.

Anna searched around the base and then, hooking a finger under the skin, worked back around the edge of the fleshy sack with soft circular motions. “Huh!” she sat up, flexing her back muscles. “Could it have crossed?” Tim raised his head to look at her and was surprised to see beads of perspiration along her forehead.

“What?” he asked.

“…just talking.” She rubbed the back of her wrist across her brow. “I was wondering if it could have moved across.”

“Is that possible?” Tim asked.

“Don’t know,” Anna said. “I’m not a urologist.” Tim felt her fingers between his legs again. “I guess I should look.” She continued with a finger hooked behind his good testicle and dug upwards. She worked at it diligently for a few minutes before giving up. “Shit!” she swore. He couldn't help but laugh. “What?”

“I like it when you swear.”

“I’m not having much luck,” she said. “At least I see you are still enjoying yourself,” and she waggled his erection. “If that testis is in there,” she continued, “It's going to be on the other side.” She took a deep breath. “I’m going deeper. I’m sorry, but I’m going to hurt you. I’ll be quick.” Tim nodded; preparing for the painful push.

It was quick, and didn’t hurt as much. “It’s there!” she exclaimed. “Can you feel that?” Anna wiggled a finger deep in his abdomen.

“Yes!” he replied, though he really couldn’t.

“I’ve got my fingertip on it,” Anna continued. “It’s about the size of a lima-bean. A baby testis, all tucked away.”

Tim swallowed. It was beginning to hurt.

“Just hold for one more second,” she said, her finger massaging and probing. “There!” she said. “I found it!” And a smile flooded her face. She reached for her clipboard. Tim watched as she strode the room, furiously making notes and he wondered if he might be the subject of an article in some medical journal. The clipboard snapped close with a flourish and she returned to the side of the examination table looking rejuvenated. “Prison Experience,” she announced. “And I can promise it won’t hurt.”

“Prison Experience?”

“Uh-huh… prostate. You're young but it's never too early. She walked to her desk and applied lubricant along the length of a finger. “Legs up on the table, on your side; fetal position.”

Tim pulled his legs up. She bent and he felt her gingerly separate his buttocks and place a fingertip on his anus. Pressure built until the muscle relented and he felt the full length of a finger slide into his rectum. It was a wonderful feeling after the sharp prodding. Mostly because an amazingly forceful woman was doing the exploring. She relaxed the tensed muscles with long direct strokes, using the full length of her finger.

“Am he hurting you?” she voice floated up to him through a feeling of sleepy contentment.

“No. It feels nice, actually.”

“Too bad. I charge extra for that.”

Tim was still in his dreamy state but aware of the partial withdrawal, the finger curling. She found the tender spot; massaged it. What an incredible sensation: The light manipulation, the soft rotation. And then she was pushing deep again, taking up the rhythm that had no other purpose than to please him.

When her finger finally receded, she left him feeling empty and alone. Drifting. He wanted to reach out for her; have her hold his genitals in one of those large lovely hands. Mother him.

“Last order of business…” he surfaced. “I want a sperm count; run some tests,” she said without looking at his eyes, “because of the situation with your testicles. I’m going to ask you to provide a sample for the lab.”

She held a small glass dish. “Damn,” he sighed, resigned. “It's embarrassing.”

“Better if I do it, huh?”

“You would do that?” She nodded and slipped the top two buttons of the lab coat. Her breasts shifted. “You can touch my nipples.”

“I thought I was getting a sucker?”

“You get that too.” And she leaned a breast toward his lips. “Titty-fruity.”

end

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