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I volunteered for Dr. Street’s Sexual Response Study. So, at the appointed hour, I appeared at the Clinic. I was greeted by a pretty young woman in purple scrubs. She was of medium height and build, and she wore her dark hair pulled into a muffin on the back of her head. Her skin was the color of coffee with cream. A name tag proclaimed her to be — Nina. She smiled and asked me to take a seat.
I sat and looked at a magazine for a few minutes, while I tried to guess Nina’s ancestry and race. I was stumped, but I would not have been surprised to learn that Nina was a rare and perfect combination of African, Asian, New World Hispanic, and European. She was so pretty.
The young lady called my name and led me to an examination room. It was like an examination room in any other doctor’s office — a clean smell with a hint of alcohol permeated the room. Counters had various instruments and preparations neatly arranged on them. There was a glass jar full of cotton balls. A flip chart with anatomical illustrations hung on the wall.
I got on the scale and had my weight and height measured. Nina adjusted for my clothes and shoes and wrote down — 173cm and 75kg.
“You may disrobe, now. Place your clothing on that shelf. The team will be with you shortly,” she said, and she stepped out closing the door behind her.
I followed the young lady’s directions and seated myself on an examination table. After a few minutes, there were two gentle taps at the door. Then, the door opened, and Dr. Street entered, followed by two more young women also dressed in scrubs.
Dr. Street was a fair-complected, woman in a white lab coat, a stethoscope protruding from one pocket. A name tag on her coat read, ‘C. Street,’ followed by a long string of alphabet soup. She wore just a hint of makeup near her cheeks and eyes. She was neither tall nor short. She gave me a friendly smile, which I nearly did not notice, because my eyes were drawn to her very full bosom. Seated naked on the examination table, I tried to smile back.
I suppose I should say that I do not believe Dr. Street is an M.D. She is licensed as an acupuncturist; she is certified as an herbalist; she is registered as a physical and massage therapist; and she has a few other assorted credentials, which permit her to form impressions about and treat various conditions. I called her ‘Dr. Street’ once.
“You may call me, Christine” is all she responded.
Dr. Street introduced her staff — two more pretty young women in scrubs. The fair one was Patty, the darker one — Amanda. They arranged themselves in a semi-circle around the exam table. Then, Dr. Street picked up and examined my new chart.
“Let us get some numbers than, shall we?” she said.
She pulled her stethoscope out of her pocket and put it on. She wrapped my arm in a sphygmomanometer cuff and pumped it up.
After a few moments, she said, “Your blood pressure and pulse are both a little elevated. Are you anxious?”
“A little,” I said.
“Are you also little aroused?” She asked, glancing at my genitalia.
My eyes followed her glance. On a scale of 1 to 5, where one is, ‘Just got out of a cold shower’ and five is ‘Ready for action with a throbbing erection,’ I was a three, ‘Somewhat aroused.’ Not a two — ‘drop trousers ordinary.’ Not a four — ‘semi-erect.’
“Yes, I guess I am,” I replied.
“Good, then let’s get some more numbers. Gloves ladies,” she said. “Amanda, any Tanner scale observations?”
“Umm, looks rather Stage 3. bahis firmaları Not natural for a man his age. He grooms,” said Amanda.
Patricia, Amanda and Dr. Street all began pulling on nitrile examination gloves.
“You may remain seated on the examination table, but I will need for you to spread your legs wide apart so that we have good access to your genitalia,” Dr. Street said to me. “Patricia, wipes. Benzalkonium Chloride, sterile rinse to remove the antibacterial, then, dry please.”
The pretty blonde woman cleaned, sponged and dried me from the tip of my cock to my anus.
“Mandy, the tape,” Dr. Street continued. “First, the length, from tip to the top of the scrotum, then circumference at the base, then circumference at the root, last the testes.”
Dr. Street handled my penis and scrotum while her assistant took measurements.
“Flaccid – 13 centimeters length. 11 centimeters circumference at the base,” Amanda intoned.
Pretty Patricia wrote numbers in my chart.
Amanda wrapped the tape behind my balls and over the top of my penis, as if she were measuring me for a custom tailored cock ring.
“Root — 22 centimeters. Testes — 18.”
“Very good,” said the doctor. “Now, let’s stimulate an erection in the patient.”
The doctor pulled a device of a shelf. It looked very much like a penis pump you might find in a store that sells sex toys and smutty videos. However, the vacuum pump on this one was gleaming metal — surgical steel, probably, or just maybe brushed aluminum. It was a device of a better class than anything I had seen. Having coated the rubbery seal with a dab of something clear and slippery, Dr. Street placed the cylinder at the tip of my cock. She handed the pump to Amanda and told her to squeeze the handle.
In a flash, my penis was sucked into the cylinder. I felt a pleasant sensation, like a combination of suction and tugging on my member, and yes, I felt my cock stiffening immediately.
“Now, Amanda, keep that vacuum at 75 percent for the next sixty seconds or so and we’ll see what we have,” Dr. Street directed.
Amanda did exactly that, squeezing the pump a few more times over the next minute, each squeeze giving my cock a pleasant sucking tingle. Then, the vacuum was released, the cylinder removed and an impressive erection was revealed. At doctor’s request, Amanda performed the tape measure procedure again. Except for my testes, my numbers had all risen by two, three or four centimeters. I was no longer somewhat aroused — I was a five, maybe a six — definitely ‘ready for action.’
“Very good,” said Dr. Street. “You will need to stand now, facing the examination table, about a foot back from the edge, feet shoulder width or perhaps a little further apart. Your feet should not turn out. They should parallel each other or turn in a little, if possible. I will be giving you a digital rectal examination — a DRE – to make sure that further procedures are not contraindicated. If not contraindicated, Amanda will be giving you a prostate massage and we will be collecting some fluid specimens.”
I stood, faced the table, and adjusted my feet accordingly. My still very erect penis did not reach to the paper covered table surface. Dr. Street squeezed some surgical lubricant onto her gloved finger.
“Now, bend over and place your elbows on the examination table,” Dr. Street directed.
I did. The position of my feet made it difficult to keep my gluteals squeezed together. I felt the kaçak iddaa nitrile between my butt cheeks and a finger found my anus. I was pleasantly surprised by what happened next. It must have been the massage therapist coming out in Dr. Street, because she began to caress and massage my anus with her slick finger, it felt really pleasant to me. Dr. Street seemed to enjoy this unusually sensual approach to making a DRE comfortable because I noticed her smiling reflection in the glass door of the cabinet behind the exam table, too. This didn’t go on too long, Dr. Street is a professional after all, but attention to cordial details can make or break a professional relationship.
“Now, bear down on my finger.”
With a little push, I felt a slender gloved finger penetrate my anus and begin exploring. The finger crooked and rubbed. I noticed a gentle pressure.
“Ah, very nice. Smooth, no indication of enlargement, no bumps, no nodules. No irregularity of shape. You have a very healthy prostate — unusually healthy for a man your age,” Dr. Street opined. “We should be able to proceed, if you are ready.”
“Of course,” I responded.
I felt the finger’s tickling withdrawal from my slippery anus. Doctor removed her gloves with little snapping sounds and discarded them in a waste can. From a counter top, she obtained two small clear glass jars — each might have held 15 milliliters. She labeled each and placed them near me on the table.
“Amanda, your right hand, please,” the doctor requested.
Amanda offered her purple gloved hand. The doctor squirted some lubricant on the glove.
“Now, cross your middle and index fingers and gently push them into the patient’s anus.”
“Whoa! What’s this?” I thought to myself, “Two fingers?”
Still, I pushed back against Amanda’s hand and my pre-lubricated anus accommodated both fingers. There was no massage play like with the doctor . And, penetration by Amanda’s two fingers was not quite as comfortable as penetration by Dr. Street’s one slender finger, but it was painless and only a little uncomfortable.
“Before you begin massaging, take a moment to notice the size and textures of the gland which I have described for you. That is a nice healthy one and you should remember those attributes,” Dr. Street instructed.
Amanda was not quite as gentle as Dr. Street. When she put pressure on my prostate, I could feel the pressure not just in my anus and prostate but all up the length of my penis even to the glans. It was as if my reproductive organs were like a balloon full of water and pressure at one end increased pressure in the whole system.
“Oh, yes, yes, doctor, I see,” said Amanda. “Shall I begin the massage?”
On a nod, I felt the massage begin. It is hard to explain the sensations. I felt like Amanda remained well-lodged in me. Her fingers did not so much move in and out. Still, I had the sense that she was using several strokes or techniques — sometimes circles, sometimes figure-eights, sometimes back and forth and always a pressure that I could feel throughout the length of my equipment.
“Ah, there Patricia, on the tip of the penis, a drop of pre-ejaculate. Get the first specimen bottle, place it under that drop, and capture it. Good. Now, place the index finger of your other hand, in the perineum, just beneath where Amanda is working, press gently and run your finger up the length of the urethra, expressing any additional pre-ejaculate into the vial and seal it. Good!” said Dr. Street.
Amanda was vigorous. kaçak bahis The massage continued for some time with little or nothing being said. At some point, Dr. Street asked whether I felt that a climax was near. I did not and told her so.
“Would it help,” she asked, “if Amanda were to insert a third finger?”
I didn’t think so and said as much. The fact was that I was beginning to feel a little awkward – naked, aroused and bent over a table with three clothed women, one of whom had her fingers in my anus, all watching me for some kind of reaction. This was not proving to be as much fun as I had hoped. I felt pretty certain that left on my own for about a minute I could come up with a semen specimen for the doctor without nearly so much awkwardness.
“Do you think some visual stimulation would help?” asked the doctor.
“Well, yes, maybe it would.”
For a moment, I envisioned Dr. Street removing her lab coat and blouse and giving me a sight of her magnificent bosom, maybe stripping to the buff for me, but this was not to be.
“We have some anatomical photographs from the other day,” she announced. “Trisha, the binder.”
The doctor placed a thin three-ring binder in front of me and opened it. The binder contained plastic sheet protectors and the first one contained an 8″ by 10″ color photograph of a nude woman. She was in an examination room — perhaps the same one I was in. Her back was to the camera. Her skin was smooth and clear. She appeared young. Her bottom was exquisite. Her arms were held slightly out to the side and the curves of her full breasts were visible even from directly behind. Her neck and shoulders were lovely and her shortish dark hair was pulled into a bun behind her head. I began immediately to feel less awkward and more aroused. Yes, the visual stimulation was a good idea.
Dr. Street turned the page to another large photo. It appeared to be the same young woman in the same setting. Now, she was bent over an examination table — that examination table — her feet were shoulder width apart, her toes turned in, the crack of her bottom was slightly parted and beneath her bottom the slighty parted lips of her vulva were clearly visible. In my mind, I imagined taking her right there from behind, standing behind her at the exam table. Such a sweet thought. Amanda was punishing my prostate pleasantly.
Dr. Street turned the page. This photograph was a full-frontal Vitruvian woman. Her arms were out-streched, her legs parted, the lips of her trimmed quim slightly parted, her gorgeous breasts held high by the position of her arms. And, oh my goodness, it was Nina! Yes, I felt a climax nearing.
“Patricia,” was the entirety of what the doctor said as she nodded at the remaining specimen vial.
Dr. Street turned the page. Amanda fingered my gland. Patricia grabbed my penis and placed the head near the opening of the vial. The photograph was a close-up of Nina’s vulva. Two neatly manicured index fingers held the labia parted to reveal all of the pink glories within and, yes, I climaxed right then and there. Patricia collected my fluids, sealed the little jar and wiped a little dribble from my penis. Gently, Amanda withdrew her fingers from my bottom-hole. Some gloves were discarded.
“You may take the specimens to the laboratory ladies,” the doctor told her staff. Then, addressing me, she continued, “Thank you so much for your kind co-operation. Thank you also for the two lovely specimens; I am certain Mandy and Trisha will find them very instructive upon analysis. You may dress, now. I will wait a few minutes and send Nina back to show you out.”
I thought for a moment, I might have seen Dr. Street wink at me, but maybe I was mistaken.
Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32