The Doctor Will Take You Now

The Doctor Will Take You Now

Summary:

Jim, a shy and curious 21-year-old college student, visits a new clinic after struggling with a strange, aching pressure he doesn't understand. What begins as a routine exam spirals into something far more intimate--and far more revealing. Under the experienced hands and quiet authority of Dr. Angelo, Jim's first prostate exam awakens hidden desires and blurs the line between clinical and carnal. Bent over the exam table, vulnerable and exposed, Jim discovers sensations--and submission--he never knew he craved.

An intensely erotic story of dominance, medical exploration, and psychological surrender. Raw, graphic, and written from a submissive male perspective with a slow, deliberate burn. First-time themes, prostate play, power dynamics, and explicit M/M.

"The First Appointment"

Jim had woken that morning with a familiar kind of discomfort. Not painful. Not even sharp. But it pulsed. Deep. Lingering. As if something warm had settled inside him and refused to leave. Something low in his belly. In his gut. In his... ass?

He shifted in bed, pressing his thighs together. The sensation grew stronger.

It wasn't a typical kind of problem. Not one he could casually throw at his mother over breakfast or text his buddies about with a joke. This was different. Intimate. Embarrassing.

By the time he sat on the toilet and tried to relieve himself, his breath hitched. Not from strain. From a strange, unfamiliar pressure. It wasn't pain. It was almost the opposite. It felt like... fullness. Like something inside him wanted to be touched.

He'd always considered himself healthy. Tall, slim, 21 and lean from campus gym hours and restless energy. But no one talked to young men about prostates. That was for old guys. His dad's friends. Grey-haired men in waiting rooms. Not him. Not a horny college student with a cum sock under his bed and five tabs of porn still open from the night before.

And yet, the ache remained.

That afternoon, he called the clinic. Booked an appointment. Just to be safe.

The nurse's voice was chipper. Too chipper.

"You'll be seeing Dr. Angelo," she said. "He's new with us, but very experienced. Internal medicine. Male health specialist. You'll be in good hands."

Jim thanked her. Hung up.

The words lingered.

In good hands.

The clinic smelled faintly of alcohol wipes and time. Jim sat on the edge of the chair in a hoodie and jeans, chewing the skin around his thumbnail. The ache had returned. Subtle. Deep. And with it... a tingle. A strange pulse that crept up the base of his spine whenever he thought about it too long.

"James Carter?"

He looked up.

The man at the door was tall. Broad. Fifty-something, maybe older -- but not weak. He wore his white coat open, his collared shirt rolled up to the forearms, and his eyes--god--his eyes were dark and calm and steady. Like they'd seen things. Like nothing could surprise them.

"I'm Dr. Angelo. You can call me Paul if that's easier."

His voice was low, slow. Not soft -- just... deliberate. Like he wanted every syllable to land.

Jim followed him through the hallway, pulse rising.

Dr. Angelo's office was warm. Not clinical. No harsh lighting. Just the scent of wood polish and coffee, and the hum of something soft playing from a speaker behind a curtain.

"Go ahead and have a seat," the doctor said, motioning to the cushioned bench beside the desk. "Tell me what's going on."

Jim sat.

Swallowed.

"I've got this... feeling. I don't know. Inside. Like something's pushing from the inside out. In my... uh. Back there."

Dr. Angelo didn't laugh. Didn't blink.

He leaned forward, forearms on his thighs, his voice patient. "Pressure? Like a fullness?"

Jim nodded. "Yeah."

"And it doesn't hurt?"

"No. Not really. It's more like... it feels like it needs... something."

Their eyes met.

Dr. Angelo tilted his head. "Have you ever had a prostate exam?"

Jim flushed.

"No, sir."

"Would you feel comfortable with one today? It's the most direct way to assess any inflammation or other possible causes. You'll stay dressed until I instruct otherwise. You're in control."

Something about the way he said it -- that last line, "you're in control" -- made Jim's stomach flip. His heart pounded harder. He felt small. Young.

But his voice was clear.

"Yes."

Dr. Angelo nodded.

"Good."

He stood and crossed to a side cabinet.

"I'll walk you through every part of the process," he said, pulling on a fresh pair of gloves. The snap of latex echoed through the room.

"Undress from the waist down, then lie on your side on the exam table, knees pulled up slightly. Take your time."

Jim hesitated.

Then he stood.

Hands shaking, he unbuttoned his jeans. Slid them down. Stepped out of them like a boy undressing in front of a man for the first time.

Jim stood there trembling slightly, his jeans bunched around his ankles, hoodie hanging low over his hips. The fabric clung to his thighs. His boxers were halfway down. He looked small. Caught somewhere between boy and man -- uncertain, aroused, ashamed.

Dr. Angelo's voice came from behind him. Calm. Even.

"I'll need the pants off completely, Jim."

Jim stiffened.

"What--uh--off?"

The words hung in the warm room like steam.

"Yes," the doctor repeated. "Completely. Step out of them, fold them over the chair."

Jim hesitated.

"Can't I just-- I mean, can't I keep them... around my thighs or something?"

Dr. Angelo's tone didn't rise. It didn't falter. But it hardened. Just slightly.

"I need full access to your lower body. The gluteal muscles, the sacral base, the perineum. This isn't a casual glance, Jim. It's a clinical examination. You came here for answers."

That last line was firm. A nudge. A choice in name only.

Jim swallowed hard.

His fingers were clumsy. Cold.

He kicked his shoes off. Stepped out of the jeans. Peeled his boxers down and off, folding them tight and placing them on the chair like they were something sacred. The cool air kissed his thighs, his cock hung semi-hard between his legs -- not erect, but not soft either. Confused. Like the rest of him.

"Now," Dr. Angelo said, gesturing toward the padded table. "Bend over the edge. Elbows on the cushion. Let your legs spread naturally."

Jim's stomach turned.

"Wait, I--I thought I could lie on my side--?"

"You can," the doctor said, stepping back. "But that position's ideal for general palpation. Not internal inspection. If you want to understand this pressure you feel--if you want answers--we need to be precise."

The silence between them prickled.

Jim stepped toward the table like it was an altar. Bent.

His bare ass rose up instinctively, exposed under the low clinic light. His hoodie hung useless over his lower back, doing nothing to hide the curves now on display: the soft split between his cheeks, the faint muscle along his thighs, the vulnerable crease of his perineum.

He flinched as cold air grazed his hole.

Then he heard it.

Snap.

One glove.

Snap.

The second.

Jim's breath hitched.

Then came the wet sound. Schlup. A squeeze of lube from a tube. The glistening gel made a slick, obscene smear across the rubber.

"You're going to feel pressure," Dr. Angelo said, standing behind him now. "Cool first. Then tightness. I'll go slow. Just focus on breathing. Mouth open. Elbows firm."

Jim whimpered--low, involuntary.

He felt the first touch: two gloved fingers spreading the cheeks of his ass, exposing the ring of his hole completely. Cool air swept across it. Then a finger -- slick, cold -- traced gently around the outside.

His whole body clenched.

"I--I don't know if I can do this..."

"You already are," Dr. Angelo said softly.

The tip pressed in.

Jim's back arched. His breath caught like a sob.

The sensation was foreign -- like something pushing against the deepest center of him. A place he'd never even acknowledged.

"Breathe, Jim."

The finger slid deeper. The lube was thick, almost warm now inside him. His hole stretched -- not sharply, but persistently. The feeling was unbearable. And yet... something inside him twitched.

His cock stirred.

God.

He was getting hard.

He wanted to run, to shout, to cry -- but his legs were locked. His hole was clenched around Dr. Angelo's finger like it didn't want to let go.

"Your prostate is right here," the doctor murmured, pressing in slow circles, firm and deliberate. "You feel that?"

Jim gasped -- a sound like a sob and a moan all at once.

It was too much.

And not enough.

Jim's legs trembled, bare and parted at the exam table's edge, his elbows pressed deep into the vinyl cushion. The room was warm, but he was shivering. Cold slickness clung to his hole where Dr. Angelo's gloved finger had begun its slow, relentless press -- the thick gel spreading inside him like a warning and a promise.

"Mmmf--nngh--please..."

His moan escaped without permission. His voice was high, breathy, broken -- more like a gasp than speech. His hips twitched forward, but there was nowhere to go.

The pressure increased.

Dr. Angelo stood behind him, unhurried. One hand spread Jim's cheeks wider, the other steady at the small of his back, holding him in place. He leaned in close, voice low, smooth, the tone of a man in full control.

"You're moaning like a little slut," he said, almost gently. "You realize that, don't you?"

Jim's face flushed red-hot. His eyes screwed shut. His lips parted to protest, but the words never came. The only sound he made was another helpless whimper as the doctor's finger pushed past the outer ring of his ass.

The stretch was obscene. Slick and unrelenting. It felt like he was being opened by something more than just rubber and lube -- something deliberate. Something personal.

Dr. Angelo's voice was silk wrapped around steel. Calm. Cruel. Patient.

"Are you gay, Jim?"

Jim's voice cracked. "No--no, I swear--"

"Mm." Angelo pressed deeper, curling slightly, massaging the inside of Jim's rectum with practiced confidence. "You sure about that?"

"I don't--I don't think about guys, I swear--" he gasped.

"Never thought about a cock in your ass?" Angelo asked, slowly twisting his finger inside, stroking the slick inner walls.

"No, never!"

"But you're hard."

Jim's hips jerked.

His cock was throbbing now -- flushed red, leaking precum that dripped in long, viscous strands down his thigh. He couldn't even pretend it wasn't happening. His body was betraying him.

"I don't--know--why--"

Dr. Angelo leaned in, his voice now at Jim's ear. "Then explain something to me."

The second finger pressed in.

Jim cried out -- a high, strangled sound of shock and heat, his knees nearly buckling. The stretch doubled, slick and thick, and his ass spasmed around the intrusion.

"Why," Angelo continued, his breath warm against Jim's ear, "are you moaning like a bitch in heat while I finger your tight little hole?"

Jim sobbed into the table, humiliated. His cock throbbed painfully. The sound of the lube squelching as the doctor fucked him slow and firm echoed in the room.

"Why's your ass sucking my fingers like it's starving for cock, if you're just here for a 'checkup,' hm?"

"I--I'm not--"

"You're dripping," Angelo whispered. "You're rutting your little hips into my table. You're humping like a needy fucktoy."

"I'm not--I don't--"

"You don't what?" he growled, fingers twisting again. "You don't like being opened up like this? You don't want to feel something thicker than my fingers splitting you apart? You don't want your little virgin prostate bred full of something hot?"

Jim choked on his own breath, shaking violently.

"You're hard," Angelo murmured, stroking inside again, slow and cruel. "You're moaning. And this," he added, pushing until Jim whimpered, "is what your body wants."

Jim couldn't deny it.

Not with the way his cock was drooling.

Not with the way his asshole was clenching.

Not with the way every inch of him felt like he was going to explode.

Dr. Angelo leaned closer. One gloved hand reached beneath, wrapped around Jim's cock -- not to stroke it, but to show him how wet he was. He rubbed his thumb over the slit, then held the leaking mess up to Jim's face.

"You see this?" he said, voice like a sermon. "This isn't confusion. This is a dirty little boy getting off on being degraded."

Jim shuddered.

"Now. Tell me the truth," the doctor hissed. "Tell me what you want."

Jim's voice cracked, barely above a whisper.

"I--I don't know--"

Another twist. His whole body spasmed.

Dr. Angelo pressed closer, the heat of him unmistakable now.

"You want to be used," he said. "You want something bigger. And I'm going to show you what that feels like."

Jim was bent over the padded exam table, ass slick and open, both of Dr. Angelo's thick, gloved fingers now working in tandem -- scissoring him slowly, spreading his tight virgin hole further with every cruel twist. The stretch was unbearable. And the worst part -- the most humiliating part -- was how his body reacted.

He couldn't stop moaning.

Not from pain. From... pressure. From shame. From the sick, wet pleasure blooming inside him.

His cock was leaking -- not dribbling, pouring, precum dripping down the underside like he was being milked. His thighs were trembling. His hole was clenching on the doctor's fingers like it wanted to be fucked.

"You hear that?" Dr. Angelo whispered behind him, breath thick and close. "That's the sound of your ass giving up. Listen to it."

The wet squelch of his fingers moving inside Jim was obscene. Sticky. Rhythmic. A steady, open-fisted sound of violation and need.

"You're not a patient," he said flatly. "You're a hole. A wet, needy little prostate bitch. Bent over and begging."

"I'm not--" Jim whimpered.

Dr. Angelo yanked his fingers out suddenly -- slick and glistening -- and gave Jim's ass a hard, open-handed slap that echoed off the walls. Jim gasped, his whole body jolting.

"You think this is something straight boys do?" the doctor growled. "Humping my exam table with your virgin hole spread open and your cock dripping down your leg?"

Jim's voice was barely a whisper. "I didn't mean--"

"You didn't mean to get hard when I touched your ass?" Angelo snapped. "You didn't mean to start fucking back on my fingers like a slut in heat?"

Jim was crying now -- silent, red-faced tears dripping onto the cushion.

"I should leave you like this," Angelo said. "Naked. Used. Untouched by cock. But that's not what you really want."

He stepped around to the front. Jim stayed bent over, but lifted his head -- blinking through tears.

And then he saw it.

Angelo's cock.

The doctor had undone his pants. And it was out.

It wasn't just big. It was fucking enormous.

Thick. Dark. Long and heavy, the head swollen, flushed, already slick with precum. The shaft was veined like something primal, the kind of cock that demanded submission by presence alone. It pulsed as it swayed, as if hungry.

Jim's eyes went wide.

His breath stopped.

"No," he whispered.

"Yes," Angelo said.

He gripped it at the base and stroked once -- slow, deliberate, precum stretching like a string between his thumb and crown.

"You ever sucked cock before?"

Jim shook his head violently.

Angelo stepped closer.

"Then this is how you learn."

He grabbed a fistful of Jim's hair and tilted his head back.

"Beg."

"What--"

"Beg."

Jim's lips trembled. His face was wet. His hole still gaped behind him, twitching from the loss of Angelo's fingers.

"I... I want..."

"Say it properly," the doctor snapped. "You're already bent like a whore. Finish the job."

Jim choked.

Then:

"Please, Dr. Angelo... please let me suck your cock..."

"Why?"

"Because--because I need it. I want to feel it... I want it in my mouth. I want to taste you."

"Louder."

"Please! I need to suck your cock! I'm your little slut, I want it down my throat!"

Angelo's eyes went dark.

"Open."

Jim's mouth dropped open, wide.

The head of Angelo's cock pressed against his tongue -- hot, thick, heavy.

And then he pushed.

Jim gagged instantly.

It was too big.

Angelo didn't stop.

His fist wrapped in Jim's hair, he held him still as the fat cockhead breached the back of his tongue -- then kept going.

Jim's throat fluttered around the intrusion. His jaw stretched painfully. Saliva poured out of the corners of his mouth, dripping down his chin in thick ropes.

Angelo grunted.

"Yeah. That's it. Look at you. Gagging like a bitch on your first cock."

Jim's eyes rolled. His throat convulsed. His lips clung around the thick shaft as Angelo began to fuck his face -- slow at first, letting Jim feel every inch.

"You were made for this," he growled. "Tight little throat. Sucking cock with tears in your eyes and your hole still open behind you."

Jim moaned around it.

It was primal.

His cock pulsed between his legs, leaking nonstop, untouched, as Dr. Angelo used his mouth like a toy.

Every thrust was deep.

Wet.

Relentless.

Jim's throat was on fire, raw and gagging, but he didn't stop. He couldn't. His hands gripped the table. His mouth slobbered and sucked.

Angelo pulled out just enough to slap his cock across Jim's tongue -- thick strands of spit snapping between them.

"You love this," he whispered. "Say it."

"I love it," Jim gasped. "I love sucking your cock. Please, use me--"

Angelo shoved back in.

All the way.

Balls pressed to Jim's chin.

He held him there.

Jim twitched. Moaned. Drowned.

When Angelo finally pulled out, Jim collapsed onto the table, coughing, spit dripping down his throat, his hole still open, his cock soaked in pre.

And Angelo?

He grabbed him by the hair again.

"I'm not done with you."

Jim's body slumped over the exam table, spit dripping from his chin to the cushion, thighs trembling, hole twitching from being fingered and left empty. His mouth still tasted of cock -- thick, veined, salt-slick -- and it had broken something inside him.

He wasn't thinking anymore.

He was feeling.

Throbbing.

Begging.

Dr. Angelo stood behind him again, bare cock in hand -- thick, flushed, hanging low and angry, glistening with precum and spit. It looked monstrous between his fists. A weapon. A punishment.

"On your knees again," he growled.

Jim obeyed like a dog.

He dropped instantly, cock bouncing between his sticky thighs, ass still parted, knees wide.

Angelo stepped in front of him, towering -- cock level with his face.

"Open."

Jim opened.

Angelo fed him the head again, slower this time -- watching the fear mix with lust in the boy's eyes as his lips wrapped around the crown.

"That's right," he murmured. "Take your place."

He grabbed a fistful of Jim's hair, made him stare up -- eyes wide, mouth stretched, drool already clinging to his chin.

"Say it."

Jim blinked.

"Say what, sir?"

Angelo leaned in, voice poison-smooth. "Say what you are."

"I'm your... I'm your patient--"

Slap.

A sharp crack of palm across cheek.

"No. You're not."

Jim whimpered, spit flying.

Angelo's voice cut in again, hard.

"Say it right."

"I'm... I'm your cock sucker."

"More."

"I'm your bitch."

"Louder."

"I'm a cock-sucking bitch! Your fucking throat toy--your little faggot mouth slut!"

He was shaking. Cock hard. Hole dripping lube. Mind shattering.

Angelo grinned.

"There it is."

He stepped behind Jim again. Spit in his palm. Rubbed it along the base of his cock -- a heavy smear of saliva and lube gliding over thick, veined flesh.

Jim stayed on all fours, breathing hard, hole flexing helplessly.

"Say what you want," Angelo said behind him, voice low, dirty.

Jim moaned. "Please--"

"Say it."

"I want your cock--"

"Where?"

"In my ass," he gasped. "Please, Doctor, I want your big fucking cock in my ass. I need it. Split me open. Make me yours."

Angelo chuckled -- dark, hungry.

"Good boy."

He lined the head up to Jim's hole -- slick, throbbing, huge.

"Deep breath."

Jim sucked in air--

And the tip pressed.

Jim's back arched violently.

His hands clawed at the cushion. "F-fuck--ohgodohfuck--"

The head pushed inside -- just the crown, but it felt like fire. Like he was being torn.

Angelo didn't stop.

The shaft kept sliding forward -- inch by brutal inch -- stretching his virgin ring open, pushing past the tight inner walls, parting him slow and merciless.

Jim screamed.

But his cock throbbed harder.

"I can't--it's too much--"

"Oh, you can," Angelo growled. "Because I say you can."

He gripped Jim's hips and slammed in deeper.

Jim wailed -- face buried in the cushion, body jolting as Angelo's cock split him wider than anything ever had.

The pain blurred with pleasure.

It was too much.

It was perfect.

He felt it all: the pressure, the heat, the pulsing stretch inside his gut.

"You feel that?" Angelo grunted behind him. "That's a real cock. Not fingers. Not toys. Me. Inside you."

Jim sobbed. "Yes--yes, oh fuck--yes--"

"You're stuffed, aren't you? Full like the needy bitch you are."

Angelo began to move -- long, slow thrusts, dragging his cock out and slamming it back in. The lube squelched loudly, wet and obscene, each stroke making Jim's ass bounce, his hole stretched open around the thick shaft.

Every thrust slapped skin against skin. Every thrust made Jim moan.

Loud. Slutty. Shameful.

And his cock?

Still hard.

Still leaking.

Dr. Angelo leaned over him, voice hot in his ear.

"You're mine now."

"Yes," Jim gasped.

"This ass," he thrust harder, "belongs to me."

"Yes, sir--"

"Say it."

"My ass belongs to you! I'm your bitch! Fuck me--please--use my hole!"

Angelo fucked him harder now -- relentless. Hips smacking into cheeks. Balls slapping. The pressure building to something savage.

Jim could feel every vein.

Every inch.

He was drooling again. Body limp.

Used.

Owned.

His cock exploded untouched -- cum shooting across the table in thick, clumsy spurts.

He collapsed.

Angelo growled behind him -- and then buried himself to the hilt.

He came deep.

Heat flooded Jim's gut. Wave after wave of thick, hot cum pumped into his stretched hole, spilling out around the shaft and down his thighs.

Jim's breath was ragged. Destroyed.

He was shaking.

Fucked open.

And still twitching.

Angelo pulled out slow -- cock glistening, cum oozing from Jim's ruined ass like a brand.

He slapped it.

Hard.

"You'll remember this every time you sit down."

Jim didn't speak.

He couldn't.

He just lay there -- dripping, trembling, full -- a good little bitch.

Exactly what he was made to be.

Jim lay half-collapsed over the exam table, thighs slick, hole dripping, his body twitching from the aftershocks of being split and used. His chest was heaving. His cheek stuck to the vinyl cushion with sweat and saliva.

Dr. Angelo stood beside him now, not rushed, not gentle -- still hard, still glistening from the brutal fuck he'd just delivered. The air between them was thick with the scent of lube, sweat, sex, and submission.

"You're pathetic," he murmured.

Jim flinched.

"I fucked your virgin hole," Angelo said, voice low and sharp. "You begged for it. You moaned like a bitch in heat. And you didn't even last, did you?"

Jim's cheeks burned.

"No," he whispered.

"You came all over my exam table like a needy little cumdump. Just from getting your ass used. No stroking. No permission. Just cock inside you, and your brain short-circuited."

"I--I didn't mean--"

"You didn't mean to explode untouched?" Angelo snapped. "You didn't mean to squirt your worthless load across my office like a little mutt?"

Jim trembled. His cock was twitching again. Sensitive. Ashamed. Still leaking.

Dr. Angelo leaned over, one hand sliding down Jim's spine -- slow, possessive. Not comfort. Claiming.

"You liked that I didn't ask," he whispered. "You liked how I used your throat. Your ass. Like I owned you."

Jim gasped. "Yes, sir..."

Angelo's hand slid lower.

Over the swell of his ass.

Down the back of his thigh.

Then forward -- low between Jim's legs, grazing his spent cock.

Jim whimpered.

Even the lightest touch made him shudder.

"Look at you," the doctor said darkly. "Used. Leaking. And still twitching for more."

He gripped Jim's jaw -- firm, fingers digging in -- and turned his face toward the mess on the table. Strings of thick cum. His own.

"Look what you did," Angelo said, cold and amused. "Your reward."

Jim stared. Humiliated. Aroused.

"Tell me what it is."

"My... my mess."

Angelo's hand tightened.

"No. Say it properly."

Jim's voice shook. "My cum, sir."

"And what do we do with it?"

Jim swallowed hard.

"I... I clean it."

Angelo grinned.

"Good."

He pressed Jim down -- face hovering over the cushion.

"Lick it."

Jim hesitated. Just a breath.

Then he leaned in.

Tongue out.

He licked.

Slowly. Shamefully. Obediently.

The taste was sharp. Salty. Faintly bitter. His own.

And somehow... that was worse.

That was better.

Angelo watched.

"You're licking it like a good little cum-pet. My exam table bitch. You've forgotten what it's like to be a man, haven't you?"

Jim's voice was a whimper. "Yes..."

"Because you're not one," Angelo said flatly. "Not anymore. You're a hole. A throat. A tongue."

Jim nodded, face still pressed to the table.

"I own your shame," Angelo whispered. "I want your shame."

He reached down again -- fingers at Jim's jaw -- and brought his head up.

Cum still glossed his lips.

Angelo leaned in close. Their eyes locked.

"You'll worship every drop I give you. Whether it's yours... or mine."

Jim's breath caught.

And he nodded.

"Yes, sir."

Jim stood shakily, legs spread, cock still twitching from overstimulation. His thighs glistened with lube and cum, his hole felt raw and open, pulsing with the ghost of Dr. Angelo's cock. His hoodie clung to his sweat-damp back. His face was flushed and sticky with spit and shame.

Dr. Angelo moved with the same calm grace he'd shown since the beginning -- nothing rushed, nothing nervous. He wiped his hands clean with a sterile towel, then snapped off the gloves and tossed them in the bin like this was just another appointment. Just another patient.

But it wasn't.

It never would be again.

Jim was still standing, unsure, dazed.

That's when the doctor spoke.

"You're done for today."

His voice was cool. Professional. Detached.

Jim swallowed.

"I... okay."

Angelo turned his back, calmly scribbling something onto a pad, his voice drifting back like he was reading off an ordinary chart.

"You'll check in with me twice a week going forward."

Jim blinked.

"Twice--?"

"Minimum," Angelo said without turning. "Your prostate's unusually responsive. Could be hormonal. Could be stress-related. Could just be you."

He looked over his shoulder now. Eyes sharp. Icy. Knowing.

"We'll monitor it."

Jim felt the words land heavy.

"You mean..."

"I mean I want you here Mondays and Thursdays," Angelo said, stepping toward him. "Same room. Same table. Same position."

His fingers came up and brushed Jim's lips -- slow, firm, controlling.

"You'll be examined. Thoroughly."

Jim didn't respond. Couldn't. His heart pounded.

Dr. Angelo leaned in again, his voice a low, private thunder.

"If you're early, you wait kneeling."

Jim's breath hitched.

"If you're late, you take it without lube."

He stepped back, face hard again. Cold. Like he hadn't just ruined a boy's body and licked the shame from his soul.

"Do you understand?"

Jim nodded, quietly, submissively. "Yes, sir."

"Good."

Angelo opened the door.

"Now pull your pants on, slut," he said calmly. "And get out."

Jim did.

Still leaking.

Still clenching.

Still his.