At the idea of having to lie down on his back, Dylan panicked. Sitting with his hands in his lap he could do a reasonable job of hiding the fact that he was hard as a rock, but if he had to lie down it would be instantly obvious.
“I don’t think that’s necessary. I don’t want to waste your time. You should just look at my mole and then I can leave.”
Dr. Schaffer frowned at him. “Am I making you uncomfortable?”
“No!” Dylan looked anywhere but at Dr. Schaffer’s face. “I just don’t want you to waste your time.”
Dr. Schaffer crossed his arms, and Dylan wished he didn’t notice the way the move showed off the doctor’s big biceps. It really didn’t help his underwear situation.
“I’m not wasting my time. Now is this about the erection you’re trying to hide?”
Dylan’s eyes went huge and Dr. Schaffer smirked.
“You don’t have to be embarrassed. I know that being touched can sometimes trigger non-sexual erections. It doesn’t have to mean anything.”
“I’m so sorry,” Dylan said, mortified.
“It’s fine. We’ll both pretend it’s not there and get on with things, okay?” Dr. Schaffer uncrossed his arms and stepped around the bench, moving back behind Dylan. “I’m going to continue the examination now.”
There was no room for argument in his voice, and Dylan was too embarrassed to say anything.
“Keep your head forward.”
Dylan tried to regulate his breathing to something normal, but when Dr. Schaffer started feeling his way down the length of his spine, it was anything but easy. The doctor massaged his way down the length of Dylan’s back, rubbing over each knob of his spine, his other hand warm where it rested against the side of his flank.
Dylan’s cock throbbed at the attention, pre-come leaking from the tip of his cock and making the inside of his underwear feel slick.
“Perfect,” Dr. Schaffer rumbled, removing his hands and stepping back to the other side of the bench. He licked his lips and gave Dylan a stern glance. “Now lie down on your back.”
Dylanreallydidn’t want to. The minute he lay down, both his hard-on and the fact that he was leaking like a faucet would be blindingly obvious.
Dr. Schaffer would know immediately that Dylan was having more than a slight reaction to being touched.
Before he could object, Dr. Schaffer put his hand on Dylan’s chest and shoved him back. His other hand grabbed his shoulder to control his descent, forcing him to lie back on the bench.
Dylan lifted his legs up on the bench, keeping his hands over his crotch and desperately pushing down on his erection.
“Hands by your side.”
Dr. Schaffer sounded like he expected to be obeyed, and feeling like he was digging his own grave, Dylan let his hands sink down to the bench.
For a second Dr. Schaffer didn’t say anything, but then he snorted and put his stethoscope back into his ears.
“No talking,” he reminded Dylan, placing the bell-end of the stethoscope down on his stomach. He held it there, listening, before lifting it up and taking off the stethoscope altogether. “All good so far. I’m going to examine your stomach now.”
Dylan braced himself, but nothing could have prepared him for the sensation of Dr. Schaffer’s big hand placed flat on his stomach, gently pushing down and moving around with clinical efficiency.
He moaned and then cut himself off by clenching his jaw.
Dr. Schaffer froze, his hand not moving.
“Any tenderness?”
Dylan stopped gritting his teeth and shook his head. He’d never been so humiliated in his life.
“Good. I’m going to push down a little harder.”
Dylan was caught off guard by the pressure that followed, but it wasn’t painful. When Dr. Schaffer pushed down on his bladder however, he grunted in discomfort.
