The Indian Doctor Ch. 02

Not heeding my pleadings, he hovered silently, and calmly over me, dragging his cock ring across my prostrate over and over again. Digging my heels into the padding on the table, I lifted my pelvis to give both him and me a more perfect angle for the punishment of the cock ring—until I exploded in an ejaculation up my belly and then another one and then another one. I collapsed on the table in a whimper and a sob.

"Don't cry, beautiful one," he murmured. "We have just begun."

He slid deep inside me, as, again, I raised my pelvis higher to him, wanting as much of him inside me as I could get. He slow-fucked me deep in long, breath-stealing strokes. Once he established the fuck, he raised his torso and took his hands off my upper chest. He moved his hands to my knees and manipulated my legs back and forth to the rhythm of his cocking. I arched my back and cooed in pleasure. I could see a clock on his wall. I counted the minutes. Twenty minutes later, he moved his hands again. He cupped my balls in one and gently pulled on them and applied rhythmic pressure coordinated with the stroking of his cock. He rubbed and tweaked my nipples with the other, long and sensuously fingered hand.

"Can you come for me again?" he murmured. I could and did.

"You like to come, don't you?" he intoned in the singsong voice of his. "I know you do," he said when, breathing heavily and gulping and gasping I was unable to answer—although of course he was right. "You're still young. The more you do it, the more available it is to you. Don't regret the last coming; I can always give you another one."

I almost laughed. He had said he would counsel me on how to hold it and now he wanted me to come constantly. But of course he'd only said the former to get his hands on my cock.

He held his thin, but firm-muscled torso erect over me and looked down into my eyes, whispering to me I know not what—other than describing how beautiful I was to him and how much he enjoyed being inside me. He encased my cock in his hand and stroked it. His stroking was becoming more rapid, more insistent. I looked up at the clock. Nearly thirty minutes he had been stroking inside me.

"Do I feel you about to come again?" he whispered. "Yes, I think I do." He ejaculated as well. We came together this time. I knew it was all his doing. He had waited for me. My balls ached at the demands he had placed on them, and my ejaculation was weak and thin. His wasn't. I arched my back and cried out as in one long, strong torrent, he filled me deep. I experienced the same soaring seconds of complete satisfaction as he pumped his cum into me.

He'd held there, inside me, afterward for several minutes, mesmerizing me with that singsong voice of his. After I was calm again and breathing shallowly, he climbed off the table and moved around it, unstrapping the restraints. My legs were so numb I couldn't move them for several minutes.

"There, that is the basic routine for each time you visit me," he said. "Then we will add to your experience, giving you deeper pleasures, training you to give other men deeper pleasures as well."

"So, you're training me to be a male whore," I said, flippantly. But it expressed a fear I had.

"Yes. You have a body that men will worship, and you have, in yourself, a need to whore it to men. Search yourself. Do you wish to deny what I clearly see in you?"

I didn't respond, not being sure, but being very fearful—and something else. The mere thought of it aroused me.

"Now we will have some refreshments and build our juices up again, yes? And then we will do something new. Each time we will do something new. You will love it."

He said I would love it. And I couldn't deny it. Why then did I hate him as I did? Was it because he clearly saw needs and desires in me that I didn't want to acknowledge?

I looked up at the clock. What he had called a routine preliminary was actually a monster fuck of well more than three quarters of an hour. And he said we'd do this every time. I didn't know about loving it. But I did know I was in his power.

We sat at his dining room table, naked, as the doctor's little Thai man servant scurried around with just a sarong around his waist, serving beer and peanuts and roasted chicken bits on skewers and dipped in peanut sauce. Before the food had arrived, the doctor gave me a glass with amber liquid in it and told me to drink it.

"No, it's a different medicine," He said, as I lifted my eyebrow. "This goes the other way. I want you to feel it all."

He had a glass of it as well—or purported that we had the same liquid in our glasses—and tossed it off to show me that it would do me no harm. It made me feel warm inside, and I felt the aches and pains from the fucking slowly melting away. I felt as invigorated as I had when I'd come to his door earlier in the evening.

We said nothing. I couldn't think of anything to say, and the Indian doctor seemed to be in a trance, withdrawn into himself. I wasn't even sure he was still with us until his eyes popped open, he stood, took my wrist in his hand, and said, "Come, we return to the table."

He was in erection again. And just him saying "We return to the table" started to make me hard again too. My balls had ached for some time after I'd gotten off the table. But they didn't ache now.

He led me into the office and signaled for me to get up on the table on my belly. Once again he strapped my arms to the side of the table as well as my legs below the knees and at the ankle but positioning my feet on a ledge at either side of the table. For the first time I realized that in this position, my cock slipped through a hole in the padding of the table top. It didn't go straight down, but jutted up at an angle. The doctor reached under the table and I felt the hole constricting to more or less fit the girth of my cock. There was pressure on the root of my cock all the way around from some sort of ring fit to it, and that's when I learned that such pressure could cause an erection to be maintained. My balls were being folded into a mesh that pulled them down from my body.

"Comfortable?" He asked.

I murmured whatever I murmured. I was discovering that the walls of the channel holding my cock were wet and slick.

"Eyes this way, please," he said.

I turned to see that the Thai man servant had come into the office. The doctor moved behind him, turning him to face me. He reached around the little man's belly and unknotted the sarong and let it fall to the floor. The doctor proceeded to hold the short Thai close into his body and to use his hands on the young man's body to bring him—and me—to arousal.

The man was small, but he was perfectly built. He was young, and I noticed now for the first time that he was thick-lipped and with sultry facial features. His cock and balls were small, but the doctor's attentions were improving the cock feature, which was standing up straight from the young man's groin when the doctor moved a hand between his thighs, encased his cock, and milked him to an ejaculation.

I don't know when I started, but sometime during the process, I had raised and was moving my hips. I was stroking my cock inside the sheathing of the table.

"Lek, the pad, please."

The Thai man went over to the corner of the room and returned with a gymnast's pad and laid it out on the ground.

"The dog, I think, Lek."

The Thai man went down on his hands and knees on the pad, and the doctor covered him from behind, crouching over his hips and grabbing the young man's waist with his hands. He started fucking the small Thai in long strokes, letting me see the entire length of him curved out of the hole and then slide in to the root again. The doctor was watching me, though, and I was watching them. And my cock was stroking inside its artificial channel.

"Watch this, please," he called over to me. "After I am done with Lek, I will fuck you just like this."

It was the first time I'd heard him use the word "fuck." It seemed to be so definitive of what I had come to. I grunted and shot off and relaxed on the table.

"You have come again, have you not?" the doctor called out to me in that special voice of his.

"Yes," I answered. I was embarrassed—I was still able to be embarrassed in this situation.

The doctor pulled out of the Thai's ass and patted him on the bottom. "Thank you, Lek, you may leave us now."

The doctor moved around the table, giving the back of my body a moaning massage with oil. He did know how to give a massage. Then he mounted my hips as he done with the small Thai man, slid inside me, and, with slowly increasing speed and intensity, rode my ass in long strokes for thirty minutes, as ticked off on the wall clock. Long after I had fucked the table and come again, he creamed my insides.

I hobbled home with his cum inside me. He told me he wanted me to feel it inside me when I left him as a symbol that he owned my body now. I just lowered my head and didn't disagree with him. When I reached my own apartment, I showered and washed the cum out. Then I climbed into bed with my wife, who already was asleep. She woke up enough to ask if I'd had a good gym session.

"It was OK," I answered. And, in fact, it was as good a workout as I would have gotten if I'd gone to the gym. "I went into the office for a couple of hours afterward," I added.

"That's nice," she murmured sleepily. And then she was more awake, more alert, moaning, as I pulled her buttocks into my crotch and entered her with the cock that had still been hard all the way home from the Indian doctor's apartment. I wrapped my arm under her and palmed her belly and held her to me, as my hips started the rhythm of the fuck.

In all that the Indian doctor trained me to do with men, he never took away my interest in women as well. He said he was working to make me bisexual, not homosexual. And in that he succeeded far beyond my dreams. Not only did I fuck my own wife more often and to better effect from the time the Indian doctor bewitched me, but I began to notice that women were coming on to me and I found occasion to fuck them too.

I never asked him again if I was being trained to be a male whore.

The Indian doctor hadn't lied about the usual routine—or that I'd be back. After the routine, and rejuvenating refreshments, he'd begin doing whatever different sex act he had decided to perform with me that evening. Always something different; always with him manipulating my body at his will; always giving me another ejaculation or two after I thought I was spent (spoiling me, I guess, for later, when I always wanted to have more than one ejaculation from a man). Always giving himself another ejaculation inside me too. Always the full, forceful, single, but filling, ejaculation.