Appointments (Patreon)

I can understand why they don't trust people here, a lot of them are real criminals after all, but it still feels a bit humiliating to down the crushed pill and empty the entire glass of water while the nurse is watching. I have to show up fifteen minutes before the scheduled appointment to take the first drug, whatever it is, and then sit down and wait for it to take effect. The fifteen minutes doesn't even count towards the reserved time. It's three times a week, Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, up to three hours each, for four months. That's the sentence to stay out of jail. Miss an appointment, straight to jail. Don't comply with the treatment, straight to jail. Still a pretty good deal. Nine hours per week I don't have any control over, or ten hours if you count this sitting and waiting bullshit, compared to all hours all the time in jail.

I have no idea what the pill is for. Some sort of sedative I'm sure, because I always feel a bit dull and agreeable after. I'm pretty sure I wouldn't have followed all the doctor's instructions so readily if I wasn't drugged somehow, at least not the first few times. Now it is kind of a routine.

I show up, take the drug, and wait a bit. Then she shows up and asks me to join her in one of the procedure rooms. She tells me to remove my shoes, jeans, and underwear and place myself on the chair. It's not really a chair. It's like a Z-shaped thing where you place your legs on the padded lower bars so you are kneeling, and then bend forward so your upper body is flat with the top with your head looking down on the floor past the edge of the padded top surface.

She walks behind me and asks if I'm comfortable. Not really. It's demeaning to sit there and expose my ass to her, legs apart, but I guess that is the point of this therapy. How it will address my supposed anger issues is beyond me. Better than jail though. When I tell her I am she secures my hands down by my hip with straps and then proceeds to strap my legs in place by securing my ankles. She says it is for my own safety, so I don't fall off. It's probably bullshit, but she is right in it's not very secure, but tricky enough to wiggle out of. Not that I have tried. She then tips the entire thing forwards. I had a bit of a scare the first time and audibly gasped as I thought I was about to crash face first into the floor with arms and legs tied. Turned out it's just a secondary position of the thing, positioning my ass up in the air.

"Are you comfortable?" she asks again, every time. Again I say I am, strapped to chair, face almost touching the floor, my naked ass high and exposed. She then slowly inserts something into my asshole. It doesn't go that far in, but feels heavy and has some wires or tubes going to it that I can feel draping my leg. It enters easily. I don't know if it is the same device as the first time, but I wouldn't be surprised if they have been scaling up the size slowly. All I can do is look down the floor while she sets me up and then starts the machine.

Just before leaving the room there is a little pinch in the ass as she injects something in my butt cheek. Then she leaves, promising to be back once it has run its program, never explaining what "it" or "the program" is. The first minutes I feel nothing. Then there is movement, though different between appointments. It can expand in width, it can penetrate deeper, it can vibrate, it can rotate, it can change temperature. It often runs through a series of configurations.

I don't know which of the drugs, if any of them, is making me horny but it doesn't take long until I can hear the soft tapping of precum dripping into the metal tray at the bottom of the chair. It's pointless to try to stay alert. You're stuck in the chair for hours with nothing else than looking at the floor and listening to the hum of the machine and the drip of body fluids. You can just as well close your eyes and let yourself drift away in machine-induced bliss.

It's affecting me for sure. The Monday session is the one I'm craving the most. I start getting anxious already Sunday afternoon, feeling like something is missing. So far I've resisted the temptation to buy a vibrator and explore my ass on my own time, but there is little else I can think of on Mondays before the appointment.

It always feels like no time at all has passed, certainly like too little time has passed, when she comes back into the room and gloves up. I'm just zoned out like a stoner and sometimes don't notice her until she removes the thing from my ass. She then proceeds to unlock the dick cage from my dick and balls. Given my horny bliss the dick will shoot up like a bamboo rod. She has some sort of wand that feels pretty thin that she then puts into the ass right up to the prostate. It never takes many seconds of vibrations for me to shoot a load. It feels like they are bigger than ever before. I'm certainly pulsing more times than before, like 6-10 ropes.

She then washes my butt, dick, and balls, and massage them with some sort of cream. Perhaps different ones. Then she picks up a new, probably sterilized, dick cage and locks everything up. She tilts the chair back up again and asks if everything is OK before undoing the straps holding me in place. I answer that everything is OK, but that really undersells it. I'm like a stoner in a post-orgasm haze for at least ten minutes. Then she reminds me to put on my underwear, pants, and shoes before leaving and reminds me of the next appointment two or three days later.

"You're next," she tells me from the other side of the waiting room, interrupting my read of top sexiest men on Love Island list from Cosmopolitan. The selection of magazines is rather limited. "Afternoon," I reply, putting away the magazines and walking towards the door.

"How was the weekend?"
"Hot, as you well know. I didn't do much." I don't tell her I was spending all of Sunday considering pushing blunt objects up my ass to relieve myself.
"It doesn't invite to activities, does it? Go ahead and make yourself comfortable."

In a now well-practiced routine I kick off my shoes, take off my jeans, fold them and place them on the chair just inside the door, remove my boxers, and put them on top of the jeans. Then I kneel in place on the procedure chair and give my dick cage a quick jiggle. Nothing worse than being strapped to some medical equipment and having your scrotum pinched. Then I bend forward over the shelf, and position my arms back, along the sides of my body.

As always before the doctor secures my arms and legs, and tips the entire contraption forward.

"Are you comfortable like this?"
"Yes."

She then deviates from normal procedure by wiping down my ass with some sort of wet wipes and then inserts the automatic douche. I can feel liquid being pushed in and sucked out of my ass a few times, after which she removes the equipment and leaves the room. I'm starting to become anxious. This is the longest I've been in two months without anything vibrating in my ass. I try to flex my butt cheeks to no success.

After way too long someone enters the room again. "Good afternoon, I'm James." I can only move my head a little and can't see much more than a pair of sneakers and the lower part of sweatpants.

"Hi."

He rifles through some papers.

"I understand you've been under this treatment for two months now, correct?"
"Yes." The whole thing feels absurd. Whoever this dude is, he's talking to my exposed ass.
"So you now have a fully developed prostate massage addiction?"
"What? No!"
"No? So, you would prefer to be released and go home now?"

No, I need my treatment, but that is totally different.

"No. You have to do what you normally do."
"You want me to massage your prostate?"
"Yes! Or whatever is normally done."

I can hear the snap of a rubber glove and within seconds a finger is with ease pushing into my ass. He is probing around carefully and deliberately. I want to move my butt to get it deeper, to have it flick across my prostate, but I'm too tied down. He fumbles around like that for minutes.

"You need to get in deeper," I say almost desperately.
"I'm sorry my fingers are only so long," he says, continuing with his ineffectual rummaging. And after a few seconds, like he was carefully considering it, "My dick is longer, though. I can use that if you like."
"Funny," I say, dismissing his joke.

While he continues doing what I must now assume to be deliberately the wrong thing, the thought continues to linger in my mind. Would it really be a big difference between having another man's fingers or his dick up my ass. Yes! Yes, I decide. But why? This is covered by patient confidentiality, right? HIPPA or HIIPA or HIPAA or whatever. No one has to know.

"What if you did?"
"What if I did what?"
He was forcing me to say it. "What if you did use your dick instead?"
"Would you like me to?"

He must be right. I must be addicted to prostate massage. Why the fuck that happened is a later question. I feel like a soda bottle being lazily shaken by someone. I need to be unscrewed.

"Yes. Yes!"

He pulls out his finger and I can hear the sound of latex, him fiddling with his pants, and then without warning feel something thick and warm moving up inside me. I have a slight shiver as it moves past my prostate and further in. It sure is longer than his fingers all right. I can feel the warmth of his body as it touches against my butt cheeks when he finally gets balls deep. He stops there, leans over me, and asks "Are you comfortable like this?"

"Yes," I say automatically before realizing I really am.