The Doctor's Appointment

The examination room was small and utilitarian, designed more for efficiency than comfort. The walls were painted an unassuming off-white, with a single framed print of abstract art hung slightly crooked on one side--an attempt at warmth that didn't quite land. Bright fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead, casting a cool, clinical glow over everything.

In the center of the room sat the exam table, its padded surface covered with a fresh sheet of crinkly white paper that rustled at the slightest touch. That was where Greg found himself now. His husband of six years, Jackson sat on a side chair glancing through an outdated magazine.

Greg glanced at him and tried to smile, but before Jackson could return it, the door swung open with a soft knock.

A tall man in a white coat stepped in, holding a tablet.

"Good afternoon, I'm Dr. Mathews," he said with a polite, practiced smile. His gaze settled squarely on Greg, assessing, observant--but not unkind. "Sorry to keep you waiting."

Dr. Mathews stood tall as he entered the room, commanding presence wrapped in calm professionalism. He was a striking man--tall and broad-shouldered, with smooth, deep brown skin and a clean-shaven head that gleamed softly under the overhead light. A short, neatly shaped beard framed his face, adding to the quiet confidence in his expression. His eyes were dark and perceptive, yet softened by the warmth behind them.

A single silver stud glinted in his left ear, subtle but stylish, catching just enough light to hint at personality beneath the white coat. His lips were full and expressive, parting into a soft, reassuring smile that made the sterile room feel just a little less cold.

Greg gave a small nod. "It's alright."

The doctor looked amongst the men before turning his attention back to the tablet. "Jackson, right?" He extended a hand. The blonde tossed the magazine onto a counter at his side and took the man's firm grip, "You can call me Tyler."

"Thank you," Jackson said softly.

Turning his attention to his patient Greg he reached for his hand, which the man took. The doctor's grip was almost destructive.

"Nice to meet you Tyler," Greg responded, almost wincing in the man's hands.

"You can call me Dr. Mathews." The dark-skinned man responded. Greg felt his hand go back to normal when the doctor finally let him go. "So," the doctor continued, flipping to the next screen. "Let's talk about what brought you in today."

Greg opened his mouth to answer, but Jackson beat him to it, shifting slightly forward in the chair like he'd been waiting for the moment.

"We've been together for six years," Jackson said, voice even, but a little too ready. "Lately things have... plateaued. Our sex life's kind of gone cold."

Greg's head turned slightly, brows drawing together. He hadn't expected Jackson to launch in like that--not so quickly, not so bluntly. He gave a quiet sigh and glanced down at his hands resting in his lap.

Dr. Mathews nodded slowly, tapping something into his tablet. His attention had moved smoothly, almost naturally, to Jackson. "I see. And when you say it's gone cold, can you tell me more about what that looks like? Frequency, changes in desire, or maybe emotional disconnect?"

Jackson shrugged, crossing one leg over the other. "It's not even about frequency. It's just... not exciting anymore. It feels mechanical. We try things, but it's not really working." He gave a small laugh that wasn't quite a laugh. "I guess I started wondering if maybe it's not the routines--it's the equipment."

Greg stiffened slightly, looking up. "Jackson."

Dr. Mathews paused, his stylus hovering mid-note. "Do you feel there's a mismatch in physical compatibility?" he asked, still facing Jackson, his tone smooth--clinical, but not cold.

Jackson hesitated, eyes flicking toward his husband, then back to the doctor. "Honestly? Yeah. Greg's..." He trailed off, then pressed on, too committed now to back out. "He's just... not very big. And I know size isn't supposed to matter, but I think it does. At least, it does to me."

Silence.

Greg's ears burned. He stared straight ahead, jaw tight, his face a mixture of hurt and forced composure. He shifted again on the paper-lined table, the crinkle of it sounding too loud in the sudden quiet.

Dr. Mathews finally glanced at Greg, his expression unreadable for a beat too long before returning to neutral. "Greg, would you like to respond?"

Greg inhaled slowly, holding it for a second. "No," he said quietly. "I think he has said a lot."

Dr. Mathews nodded slowly, folding his arms as he leaned casually against the counter. "Well," he said, his tone measured but firm, "like it or not, size can matter. Physically, it makes a difference--how partners connect, how stimulation works. Emotionally, it can shape confidence, expectations, even how someone shows up in a relationship."

Greg looked at him, wide-eyed, not sure if he was being humiliated or helped.

"But that doesn't mean something's broken," Dr. Mathews added, pushing off the counter. "We'll do a basic physical today, Greg. Just to check that everything's functioning as it should."

Greg swallowed and nodded, his face tight.

Dr. Mathews turned, casually placing a stethoscope around his neck. "You can keep calling me Tyler," he said, glancing at Jackson with a slight smile. "Greg, let's stick with Dr. Mathews, alright?"

Greg's mouth twitched, but he said nothing.

"Let's start with your blood pressure," Dr. Mathews continued, stepping closer. He wrapped the cuff around Greg's arm, his touch professional but slow, precise. "Breathe normally."

As the cuff inflated, Jackson let out a quiet scoff from his chair. "It's not even about just sex," he said, voice rising with the tension he'd been carrying. "It's the confidence. He shuts down. I feel like I'm always dragging him back in. There's no spark."

Dr. Mathews nodded slightly, then released the cuff with a soft hiss. "Blood pressure's fine," he said, jotting a note. "Let's listen to your lungs. Deep breath for me."

Greg complied, lifting the gown as instructed, the cold stethoscope pressing against his back.

Jackson kept going. "Back in college... I used to be with...." Jackson hesitated "Black guys. It was... different."

The air shifted--sharper now, like glass held too tightly.

Dr. Mathews didn't respond immediately. He moved to Greg's chest, stethoscope tapping lightly as he worked. His face remained neutral, but his jaw ticked ever so slightly.

"Another breath," he said quietly, to Greg.

Jackson leaned forward, elbows on knees, looking at the two of them. "I'm just saying," he added, eyes on the doctor now. "There's something I miss. Something Greg's never really had."

Greg exhaled slowly, chest still lifted, and stared up at the ceiling tiles, counting the specks like they might offer him a way out.

Dr. Mathews removed the stethoscope from around his neck, coiling it with practiced ease as he stepped back.

"I understand what you're saying," he said, his voice smooth but tinged with something harder--personal, maybe. "There's a certain confidence Black men tend to carry. It's not just about swagger--it's about being unapologetically present. And yes, often, it comes with physical traits that... reinforce that confidence."

Greg frowned, his posture stiffening. "That's a stereotype."

Dr. Mathews turned toward him, expression shifting--still professional, but colder now. "It's also often true," he said, sharper than necessary. "I deal in realities, Greg. Not comforts."

The room went quiet.

Jackson looked pleased--just slightly--but Greg's cheeks were red. Still, he didn't say anything more.

Dr. Mathews pulled on a pair of gloves with a snap and gestured toward the floor. "Alright. Let's move on to the genitourinary exam."

The pair looked confused.

"Examining your penis and testicles." The doctor said with a chuckle. Greg's face contorted at the thought.

"Do we have to, Dr. Mathews?"

"Do you want the help or not?" The doctor asked coldly, "Go ahead and stand for me."

Greg hesitated. Then, slowly, he slid off the table, his paper gown shifting with the motion. His bare feet hit the tile floor. With clear discomfort, he pulled the gown aside, revealing himself.

Dr. Mathews glanced down. Just briefly. His face gave nothing away but the most minimal flicker of acknowledgment.

"Alright," he said quietly. "Noted."

Greg closed his eyes for a moment. There was no dignity in the way the silence hung around him--only exposure. Only judgment. His two-inch dick seemed to almost point directly out from his pelvis with no hang imaginable. His two pink balls were almost lost between his thicker thoughts. A tuft of pubes rested just above the tiny shaft.

Dr. Mathews crouched slightly to examine. With one hand he lifted the small penis and began rubbing through the man's scrotum.

Greg stood there, rigid, hands clenched at his sides. The moment was clinical in theory, but everything about the room said otherwise. The silence. The glances. The way his husband, Jackson had leaned forward in his seat, gaze fixed on the exchange like it was something far more personal than a medical check-up.

Dr. Mathews moved with practiced efficiency, inspecting without commentary. Moving from the man's balls he pulled the uncut skin back over the small head of the dick in front of him.

"Everything's functioning normally," Dr. Mathews finally said, straightening up. He peeled off the gloves with a snap and dropped them into the bin. "Go ahead and get back on the table, Greg."

Greg quickly pulled the gown back across himself, flushed with quiet humiliation, and climbed back onto the table. The paper crinkled beneath him again, loud and echoing.

Dr. Mathews turned to his tablet, tapping out notes with his stylus, his expression unreadable.

Jackson shifted in his chair, his tone light but almost too casual. "You've got a great bedside manner, Tyler."

That earned him a glance--and a faint smile. "Thank you, Jackson." Dr. Mathews said, not looking at Greg.

Greg turned his head to the side, staring at the wall. The wall to the right of the examination table was lined with framed degrees and accolades--rows of polished wood and crisp parchment under glass. Acronyms as far as the eye could see. A medical doctorate from Johns Hopkins. A specialization in urology. Fellowships. Teaching honors. Specialized in BNWO Medical techniques. Clinical excellence awards. Even a photo from a medical conference overseas, Dr. Mathews in the center of a group, smiling.

Jackson chuckled, low in his throat. "Are you always this thorough with your patients?"

Dr. Mathews didn't answer right away. He finished his notes, then finally turned back to them both.

"Well," he said, voice smooth, controlled. "I've got some thoughts. About your compatibility. And where the real issue lies." He paused just long enough for tension to bloom. "So," he began, "after examining you and hearing your partner's concerns, I feel it's appropriate to be direct."

Greg tensed on the table.

"The size of your penis," Dr. Mathews continued, "is statistically smaller than average. While size isn't everything, in this case, it is a contributing factor to your partner's dissatisfaction. He has even expressed missing a time when he was with men with larger endowments... black men."

Greg's head snapped toward him, eyes narrowed. "Seriously? That's your conclusion?" His voice cracked with disbelief. "That's your big medical opinion? That I'm too small? That I'm white?"

Dr. Mathews didn't flinch. "Greg, I'm not making a moral judgment. I'm giving a clinical one based on what I've observed and what your partner has reported."

"What can be done about it?" Jackson asked, voice smooth like they were talking about a leaky faucet and not his partner's body.

Dr. Mathews turned to him, his stance relaxing slightly. "There are options," he said. "Surgical interventions exist, though they're controversial."

"Surgical?" Greg's anger had given way to surprise and shock, "You mean... to like make my dick bigger?"

Dr. Mathews laughed.

"On the contrary." Dr. Mathews said simply, "The removal of your dick altogether."

Silence.

Greg blinked. "What?"

Jackson sat up straighter, confusion flickering across his features. "Wait--you mean, like...?"

"Penectomy," Dr. Mathews said, clinical. "It's rare, typically associated with trauma or gender confirmation surgeries, but it can be performed under certain psychological and medical circumstances."

Greg let out a choked laugh, half disbelief, half rising fury. "You're suggesting I just... what? Cut it off? Because he's bored in bed?"

Dr. Mathews's expression remained calm, though his tone lost some of its gentle sheen. "I'm suggesting that some people find liberation in letting go of the source of their shame. That's not a recommendation, Greg. It's an option. And one most people wouldn't even consider unless they were already drowning in resentment."

Greg's face went pale.

Jackson turned slowly toward the doctor, brows furrowed, curiosity flickering behind his wide eyes. "But... how would that help me?" he asked, almost too honestly. "I mean... that doesn't really solve the sex part, does it?"

Dr. Mathews Moves closer to Jackson "Jackson, if what you're looking for is satisfaction, it doesn't always have to come in the form you expect. There are... other sources. Other forms of intimacy. I know this isn't your appointment but would you be willing to stand for me."

"Of course, Tyler." The blonde took to his feet.

Greg sat on the table, watching it unfold with a sinking feeling in his gut. The shift was happening in real time--he could feel Jackson's attention migrating, the gravity between him and the doctor tightening.

Greg's voice cut through the thick air. "What are we even doing right now?"

No one responded. Dr. Mathews ran the side of his hand along Tyler's cheek and down the back of his ear. The soft-touch rushed over him like electricity.

"I'm just saying..." Dr. Mathew's hand made its way down Jackson's back gliding over his ass, trapped within the confines of his jeans. "If you're really that unhappy, and we can't fix it the usual way, maybe it's time to stop pretending this is working."

Greg's chest rose and fell. "So the solution is I get mutilated?"

Jackson blinked, caught between guilt and curiosity. Dr. Mathews had moved closer without him noticing. His chest was pressed firmly against the side of his bicep. Jackson felt his heart beginning to race.

"It's not about mutilation. It's about clarity." He continued to explain to the patient, and yet his eyes never fell back on the man, "Relationships... change."

"Or when a doctor oversteps," Greg snapped. "You're not helping. You're picking sides."

Suddenly stepped away from Jackson. The blonde tried not to reach back out for him.

Dr. Mathews straightened his coat. His tone regained a little of its cool professionalism, but not much. "Sometimes clarity requires pressure. You came here for truth, not comfort."

Jackson sighed, moving past the doctor to his partner for many years. "I know you're upset. I do. But I'm frustrated too."

Greg turned slowly. "And that makes this okay? The doctor is suggesting surgery like I'm a defective appliance. You aren't even pushing back."

"I'm just being honest," Jackson said, voice low but intense. "We've been married six years, and I love you. But I've been suppressing this for a long time. Maybe it's time to accept that maybe you are a little defective...."

"Excuse me?"

"Well not defective..." Jackson stopped himself. Suddenly he felt the firm grip of Dr. Mathew's hand on his shoulders.

"Express yourself, Jackson. It's healthy." The doctor began to manipulate his hands massaging the man's shoulders.

"Not defective... cause all..." Jackson paused. He could feel the heat from the doctor at his back. The firmness of his chest against his spine, the temperature of his broad frame overtaking his own. That was when he realized the long length of pressure pressing against the right of his ass wasn't the doctor's stethoscope. Jackson could feel the heat of his own body spiking. His mouth was going dry, "It's just all white men are sort of ill-equipped..."

Greg's expression twisted. "So now it's my fault. My body's the problem because I'm white? What the hell is going on here?"

Jackson shook his head He was trying to remain clear-minded, but it was becoming hard. "I need to feel desired, Greg. Fulfilled.... Filled. This isn't about punishment--it's about fixing what's broken. And if the pro... procedure..." Jackson's words were failing, "if it helps us realign, why not do it?"

The doctor shifted behind Jackson like a shadow. That was when the blonde confirmed it. The massive presence at his waist was most certainly the doctor's massive rod. The pressure ran from one side of his ass to the other. He big was this man? Jackson felt his own dick beginning to harden.

Greg blinked at him, stunned. "You're asking me to have my body altered forever?"

"I do know what I want," Jackson replied quietly. "I want us... to... work. But I can't keep ignoring this. It's hurting both of us."

Greg hesitated, staring at the floor. An eternity seemed to pass. "I... I guess."

Dr. Mathews stepped away from Jackson to grab his tablet. The blonde man found himself stepping back to follow the darker man's body.

"That's good," the doctor said, already tapping rapidly on the screen. "This is going to bring clarity. Closure. Maybe even healing. Everything will be great for you both!"

Jackson nodded desperately, his heart pounding against his chest, "We need this, Greg. It's for us."

"Get back on the table Greg." The doctor ordered. The younger man waited for a moment before hoisting himself onto the uncomfortable bed and lying back. He didn't speak. He watched Dr. Mathews tap and swipe and sign things. It felt clinical. Mechanical. Too fast.

"This kind of decisive action is rare," Dr. Mathews went on, voice smooth. "I commend you for it! Shows maturity. A willingness to adapt. That's powerful, Greg. The world needs more white men like you."

"More what?" Greg asked, the words almost leaving his lips in a hiss.

Before anyone could respond four nurses entered, dressed in scrubs, gloves already on. Two men moved to either side of the metal bed Greg rested on. One of the women was checking a clipboard.

Greg stared. "Wait... now?"

Dr. Mathews looked up. "Of course. We're already prepped. OR Room 2 is open." Dr. Mathews said to one of the female nurses, "No sense waiting and second-guessing a decision once it's made."

"But--" Greg looked around the room in horror. "I thought there'd be... time. A consult. Paperwork. Something!" The two men pulled Greg's arms to his side. Lifting up to bands at either side of the bed they wrapped them around his arms pulling his biceps and forearms to the sides of the bed. The grip was tight making his upper body immobile.

"You've given verbal consent," the doctor said gently. "And momentum is a gift. If you think too long, you'll freeze. You'll retreat into doubt. That's not what we want, is it, Jackson?" The doctor placed the tablet back on the counter and ran his large hand over the globes of the blonde's ass.

Greg looked to Jackson for compassion, a kind word, or something but the man seemed lost in a trance. Instead, he felt the two male nurses pull his legs further apart and pull a strap over both of them as well.

"I don't think I can do this..." Greg muttered, his voice shaking. He looked to his husband then the doctor, "I don't think I can do his!" His voice grew louder but the darker-skinned man ignored him.

The nurses kicked the brakes at the foot of the bed. The wheels of the cot squeaked faintly as Greg was guided across the room.

"Jackson... I don't think I can do this!" He shouted, "Jackson... Jackson! Jackson, please!" He watched his partner slip out of his line of sight as the bed turned. With white-knuckled fists gripping at the edge of his hospital gown, he rounded the large door. Glancing back, he watched as Dr. Mathews pulled Jackson into his arms pressing his thick lips firmly against the blondes. The last thing Greg saw was the massive bulge in the doctors' pants as the door shut behind them.

"You did well," the doctor said as his lips pulled away from the man's

Jackson swallowed hard. "Did I?" His body was begging for this man.

Dr. Mathews tilted his head slightly. "You were honest. Most people aren't. They're afraid of how far the truth might go once it starts unraveling." The doctor began to unbutton his coat revealing the dark abs underneath. Jackson stared right at the two largest pectorals he'd ever seen.

Jackson's eyes lingered on the quarter-sized nipples almost in his line of sight, "He thinks I pushed him into it."

"Do you feel you did?" The doctor asked grabbing at the base of Jackson's t-shirt. With a gentle pull, he lifted the shirt up the man's body. He was pale with a small snail trail leading from his belly button down. Jackson couldn't seem to answer the man's question, "You were aware of the clinic you came to right? You are the one who signed the documents on file."

Jackson finally reached out and placed his hand on the massive bulge that seemed to nearly wrap its way around the doctor's massive thighs. The heat from the beast hidden within could almost burn him.

"You think he'll forgive me?" he asked almost quietly. He took a deep breath and pulled at the two strings holding up the scrubs the doctor wore. As the strings grew and the pants loosened, he could feel his heart pounding, ready to burst through his chest.

Dr. Mathews let out a soft breath, almost a laugh. "That's not the question you should be asking."

Jackson's brow furrowed as he began to pull down the scrubs, the fabric struggling to move past the massive bulge holding them up. "Then what is?"

The doctor leaned in slightly, his voice low against Jackson's ear. "Ask yourself if you even want him to forgive you."

As the fabric finally freed itself and fell along the trunks of the black doctor's legs the massive cock burst to life. Jackson's face lit up as the long dark rod bobbed below him, bobbing almost to the rhythm of his own heart. He watched as the thick foreskin, finally free naturally pulled itself back exposing the swollen purple head. The veiny pipe-thick shaft seemed to go on forever before disappearing in a mound of dense black pubic hair. The whole thing was at minimum 12 glorious inches.

Carrying his hand under the shadow of the massive rod he cupped into his hands two of the biggest balls he'd ever seen. Each one was the size of two apples and couldn't rest in one of his hands alone.

Jackson let the two huge balls fall back and raised his hand to take the long cock firmly in his hand. He felt his breath disappear. Maybe the doctor was right. Maybe he didn't care if his husband ever forgave him. For the briefest moment, he regretted signing Greg up for the penis removal only and not the total disposal option.

"On your knees, Jackson," Dr. Mathews said, his voice commanding. Jackson obeyed, his eyes locked onto the doctor's cock.

Dr. Mathews guided Jackson's head forward, his cock sliding into Jackson's mouth. His jaw practically unhinged around the man's massive tool. Jackson gagged almost immediately, but Dr. Mathews held him in place, his cock sliding deeper. His eyes widened as the black dick overtook his throat.

"Jackson, do you like that? Do you enjoy having my black dick in my mouth? The physician didn't wait for an answer. He started to raise himself over the white man not taking his eyes from Jackson's mouth. Pressing the man's head back against the chair he had been previously sitting on the began to throat fuck him, poor man.

Jackson cried out around the doctor's cock as it impaled his mouth. Tears began to stream down the sides of his cheeks as the incredible tool took his breath away. God, he needed this so badly!

As the doctor pushed back his upper torso and choke-fucked him over the edge of the chair, Jackson frantically tugged at his pants. Not in an effort to actually remove them but to bring himself back to reality as he felt his consciousness slipping in an out due to a lack of air.

"You see the power of a black dick?" Dr. Mathews laughed. The blonde stared up at him, speechless, his throat still struggling to clear. "This is why your shrimp dicked husband would have never satisfied you!"

"Do you want me to fuck that ass, bitch?" The doctor asked. Unable to answer over the enormous rod in his mouth Jackson began pulling his pants down desperately. Dr. Mathews slammed his dick down Jackson's throat a few more times causing phlegm and mucus to go flying.

As the jeans found their way to the floor, Jackson's white dick was freed. While not as small as his husband's the pale, thin, uncut five inches was nothing compared to the enormous road buried down his throat.

Finally freeing himself from the white man's mouth, Jackson began inhaling as fast as he could. Instinctively Jackson pushed forward and began lapping at the massive swaying balls. The nutsack overtook his entire face as he buried himself in the musk and saliva dripping down the surface.

Dr. Mathews cackled.

"You have been desperate this entire time haven't you, white bitch?"

Jackson gurgled into the man's balls. Grabbing Jackson by the hair he ripped the man's face back. His pale skin was covered in mucus, tears, and spit.

"Lean over the chair." Dr. Mathews demanded before throwing him back.

Desperate for the black man's cock he moved to his feet and threw himself over the chair he had been sitting in earlier waiting alongside his husband of six years.

"Please, doctor, fuck my white hole!" Jackson begged. Running his hand back along the side of his ass he began tickling the tiny pink slit in front of the doctor.

"Damn, you need this bad!" Dr. Mthew chuckled. He rubbed his palm over the man's rigid member for a few moments. The married man finally glanced down at the doctor's penis.

Jackson muttered, "You're so fucking hard," as he put his hand around Dr. Mathew's penis.

The man moaned as Jackson touched him, his hips thrusting. "Yeah, fuck. You are making me go insane, white bitch!"

The doctor spit on his hand and slid his fingers inside Jackson's hole. As he cautiously inserted one finger into him, his gaze met Jackson's. The blonde's breath came in harsh gasps as he watched.

"More," he moaned. "I want to feel you stretch me!"

Dr. Mathews stretched the tight hole with another finger, his breath catching. Desperate to be inside the married, the doctor's cock ached.

From one minute to the next, Jackson's stomach changed from anguish to pleasure as the big man continued to stretch and spread the pink hole. He looked up to see that the doctor was beginning to quicken his speed.

"I think... I'm ready." The white man said. Pressed. The doctor in charge grinned. His pristine white smile appeared to radiate.

"You sure? That bitch ass husband of yours had one useless dick!" He laughed. The doctor didn't even wait for him to respond. His hand directed his massive black dick toward the married man's entry.

Jackson watched helplessly on the chair as the doctor gradually pressed his cock's head on his hole. The blonde inhaled deeply and flinched as the huge cock started to press against his ass.

When the doctor said, "Fuck, you're so tight," he hissed and yet persisted.

Jackson's eyes fluttered shut and his breath caught. "Fuck... you're so big! Oh, God," as the enormous cock widened his hole. The blonde's body jolted back against the chair, his fingers clutching the cushions. "It's so big!"

Dr. Mathews laughed. "This is what you wanted wasn't it?"

"Yes! Please, yes!" Jackson called out, his voice filling the small room.

As the doctor's supportive and caring expression vanished, Jackson's pain and pleasure seemed to intensify. The huge cock started to ruthlessly take over his hole. The enormous 12-inch rod felt like a mile in the white man's hole. When the doctor finally impaled the huge dick in his slit, Jackson jerked and yelled.

Dr. Mathews sighed deeply and waited as the white main flailed on his massive tool. After a moment of humor watching the white man struggle, the doctor continued his abuse.

As Jackson's insides were attacked by the enormous 12-inch cock, tears streamed down his cheeks. Dr. Mathews groaned over him, his face covered with fury and hatred.

"You like that shit, bitch?" He yelled. Jackson was aware that he should respond but couldn't find the words, "Answer me bitch or I'll throw your ass on a surgery table too!"

"It's so fucking good, sir!" The blonde screamed forcing his ass back against the impaling black tree trunk.

The doctor watched the man's eyes rolling back. Jackson was brought back to reality with a hard slap across his ass. "You're not going to faint on me now, white bitch! You'll experience every bit of this!"

Every nerve ending in Jackson's body was ablaze, glimmering with both pleasure and pain. The doctor's enormous cock stretched him in a way he hadn't experienced in a long time. Every inch of it was physical to him, as were the veins and ridges as it moved in and out of his hole

"What do you think, bitch?" The physician yelled.

"It's great Tyler! I've needed this so bad!"

"Want me to breed that ass?" The Doctor asked.

"Oh, please sir! Please breed my hole!" The blonder tried his best to push his ass back against the doctor's thrusts but his force was far too powerful.

The doctor obeyed, his thrusts getting stronger and faster as he showed his hatred for the man and his husband.

"That's it, Jackson," snarled Dr. Mathews. "Take it, you insufficient piece of white fifth, take my big black cock! Your worthless ass husband could never do this to you!"

"Fuck that son of a bitch! I hope he dies on the table!" Jackson screamed.

The doctor slammed his cock inside Jackson's used-up hole with every bit of force he had. The blonde tried his best just to stay stable on the chair so the man could reach his release. His breath came in frantic gasps, and his thrusts became unsteady.

"I'm going to cum, bitch! I'm going to fill your pathetic white ass with my superior seed!"

"Please, sir! I need your cum, please! Please!" Jackson's hole pleaded.

The doctor's body trembled as he approached his climax, his cock began releasing ropes of cum into the white man's shivering hole as his orgasm exploded through him. Every pump of his thick sperm was spread throughout the man's depths as the doctor kept hammering into him. "Fuck, Jackson! Your useless white hole is eating my dick up!"

Dr. Mathew's climax was still tearing through him as his body tightened. And his own dick began to shoot. Jackson's jizz shot forward splattering against the chair.

Without warning the doctor ripped his cock free of Jackson's hole causing the man to fall forward and almost flip the chair onto its side. As he caught himself he turned to look at the towering black man at his backside. The enormous black cock swung through the air covered in his spit and semen.

"Fuck." Jackson winced through the sudden pain that overtook his hole. The doctor took a few steps away, drips of his semen splashing around the room.

"Is that what you needed?" The man asked. His chest heaved up and down flexing his incredible pecs and abs.

Jackson just rested there trying to catch his breath while taking in the incredible view of the man standing before him.

He had stood tall and effortlessly commanding, his physique carved with the precision of a sculptor's hand. Rich, deep brown skin had glistened under the light, smooth, and taut over the muscle that rippled with even the slightest movement. His chest had been impossibly broad, dominated by massive, rounded pectorals that pushed forward with pride--full and heavy with strength. Just below, his torso had narrowed into a flawless set of abs, sharply defined and symmetrical--like stones laid with mathematical precision. Each ridge of muscle had been etched with clarity, the lines between them casting subtle shadows that shifted as he moved.

And there was that incredible cock and massive balls, still as hard as a rock pointing at him begging to impale another hole.

Greg was nothing like this man and never could be. His husband was absolutely useless compared to the definition of masculinity standing before him.

As if reading his mind the doctor spoke.

"You know," The doctor began as he lifted up his pants, "It's not too late to sign Greg up for the total disposal option."

Jackson's eyes lit up at the thought.