tagErotic CouplingsDots and Dashes of Color Ch. 11

Dots and Dashes of Color Ch. 11

byHarveyMarcus©

WARNING:

The following story is for the entertainment of ADULTS ONLY, and contains descriptions of explicit sex. If you are not an adult, or reading sex stories upset you, or you are offended by subjects of a sexual nature - do not read any further!

This story is for entertainment only. It contains adult oriented material. This is a work of fiction. The acts and characters contained within are figments of my imagination and have no basis in fact. I do not practice, advocate, condone or encourage acts portrayed here. The characters in the story are entirely fictional. You need to believe that all of the characters are over the age of eighteen.

This story may not be reproduced in any form for profit without the written permission of the author. This story may be freely distributed with this notice attached.

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Oops. I claimed that Service With A Smile Ch. 4 was the end of the Dots and Dashes of Color series. Not so much. This segment laid low on my hard disk drive, waiting to spring out and surprise me. And you. Hopefully a pleasant surprise.

A concerned Mr. Marcus contemplates his performance during the two sexual liaisons he'd had in rapid succession - Saroya Zenellis, former Chairwoman of Zenellis Enterprises, and ex-secretary Letti. In both cases, full inflation was delayed and difficult. Given Mr. Marcus's previous history of instantaneous erections, he decides to take action.


* * * * * * * * * *

Nurse's Aid

Not being able to get it up easily or keep it up chafed my gut. There I was, a very sexual adult male with a voracious appetite for women large and small -- okay, maybe not the large ones -- and my penis was not cooperating. The trouble I had with Saroya was downright embarrassing. The last thing I wanted to give her was a laugh at my expense, or lack of expanse. And Letti's bra and pantied body didn't twitch my dick until I was drugged.

I left work early with a feeble excuse -- I had an appointment with a plumber. I didn't announce that it was my plumbing that was going to get a check-up. Oh yes, I'd successfully penetrated and climaxed with both women, but I had been under the influence of artificial pheromones, and I didn't want that drug to become a necessary crutch. Besides, sex under the influence had blocked out too much of my brain's pleasure center. I barely remembered what we'd done when I came to, softening and sticky.

Selfishly, I picked a prick specialist named Marcus out of the Yellow Pages. What the hell, I might get better treatment, and he'd never forget my name. He had an end-of-day appointment from a cancellation. From a customer sporting a spontaneous erection, no doubt.

I drove to a train parking lot. Public transportation would take me within walking distance to Dr. Marcus's office. And, I'd avoid steep parking charges downtown. Here in the suburbs, I'd pay a buck for all day. That wouldn't get me fifteen minutes downtown.

My eyes scanned the train car for attractive females, and there were plenty. One sat on the other side of the aisle, legs exposed by a short skirt, but everything above her waist shielded from view by a newspaper. I gave up looking at her crossed legs when I noticed a familiar name in a front-page article. A class action suit had been filed against MultiMax International. Seems that over ten thousand women got pregnant when their sex partners couldn't pull out before ejaculating when using Couples. The company announced an immediate recall, plus cancellation of a follow-on product, Couples Plus, with stronger adhesive properties. Dumb asses! If anything, Couples needed more lubricant and less glue. As the woman turned the page, she slid in the plastic seat. Her skirt was bunched high enough for me to see black lace panties. My eyes were happy but everything below my waist was dispassionate. Damn, I was broken.

After a short walk and an elevator ride, I entered a cookie-cutter doctor's waiting room through a glass door with the doctor's name -- Marcus - in large black letters. Padded chairs were worn thin from repeat visits of sexually dysfunctional males. And they were there in numbers, dejected looking men whose egos revolved around their dicks. Just like me.

I checked in at the reception desk. A pretty nurse with short-cropped hair and nice curves, in a starched white uniform adorned with a name tag reading BJ, smiled when I gave her my name. "Any relation?" she asked. I shook my head. In the old days, a modicum of attention from BJ would have been enough to get me inflated. Still, all I could think of was "blow job", her full lips on my prick. Was that a twinge? No, just discomfort from a section of unpadded wood beneath my ass as I took a seat.

I filled out forms while every other guy there had their name called, plodded down the hallway behind a wiggling BJ, and disappeared. A man in a white lab coat hurried from exam room to exam room, crisscrossing the hallway. Like keeping plates spinning on sticks, I supposed. Limp sticks.

Finally BJ called out "Marcus." A faint voice in the hallway called out, "What?" I stood and followed BJ down the hall into an examination room. "Get undressed and put on this gown." Strip and be searched. Just like any other exam I'd ever taken, except for her smile.

Just as I began to shiver from lack of clothes in the cold room, Marcus came in with my chart and grunted. His commands were terse. ""Inhale." "Hold it." "Exhale." At long last, he asked me to remove my gown. There I sat, buck-naked. "So, what seems to be the problem?"

I explained that I was having trouble getting an erection. Did I really have to explain? He's a specialist, for cripes sake.

He lifted my dick with thumb and index finger. He was close enough that I could feel his breath. And, no, I didn't react. "Stand facing the table and spread your legs." I heard the crinkle of a rubber glove, then he jammed his Vaselined finger up my ass, I guess to check my prostrate. "Put your gown back on. I'll need to take an x-ray."

"Of my penis?"

Marcus escorted me to a room at the end of the hall. I shuffled my feet and held the back of my gown. If someone saw my front, no big deal. Lots of people had, mostly young women. But I didn't want anyone scoping out my ass. There was another table, a TV hanging on the wall, plus the x-ray machinery.

"You'll need to be erect," said Marcus.

This seemed to be an impasse. I was here because I couldn't get it up, and he needed me erect to diagnose the problem.

"Can you think of something erotic, or do you require stimulation?" For the first time since the start of the exam, his eyes widened and he gave me a crooked smile. "Perhaps something I keep for just such purposes --"

He unlocked a cabinet along the wall. There was a stash of porn the likes of which I'd never seen. Bigger than mine! Video tapes, magazines, paperbacks. I scanned the video titles. He even had illegal copies of Traci Lords flicks, before she was eighteen! I'd heard about those but never seen any.

The phone on the wall buzzed, and Marcus answered. "Uh huh. Yes. All right." He hung up and addressed me. "Choose something. I'll be right back."

Not a second after he left, BJ came through the door. I was still naked! She focused on my groin. When she licked her lips, my dick wiggled. BJ's tongue was wagging, providing virtual stimulation. I was half up, my penis lifting. Why was I reacting to her? I grabbed a magazine from the top of the stack and held it in front of my privates.

Marcus reentered the room. He scowled. "BJ! Please, give this patient some privacy."

"Sorry." Her face got redder.

He turned his back to replace the x-ray plate. I got another flutter of eyelids, and then a wink. Damn! I was hard. BJ scooted from the room.

Marcus turned around and saw my erection. "Seems like something's working." He tilted his head to read the title of the magazine in my hand. "Ah yes, WANTON SUBURBAN WOMEN. Good choice. Keep going with that fantasy."

It wasn't wanton women that got me hard, it was his assistant.

"Lay down. Close you eyes." I felt a gloved hand on my erection. Marcus's. "Almost there. Picture those soccer moms."

The door opened. I peeked. BJ had stepped in. Her hand was at her throat, fingers dipping into her dress towards a breast. Her stance was knock-kneed, as if she was having groin feelings of her own. My dick sprung up, full and proud.

"Are you here again?" Marcus called over his shoulder. "Make yourself useful. Swap the film plates."

BJ pulled a large square from the machine and slid in a replacement. Marcus slid the vertical screen up my legs until my dick rested against it.

"Stay still."

I heard a crackling sound.

"One more," said the doc. BJ now stood along side. Her focus was on my penis, not her task.

"BJ, please, the film."

She changed plates once more. Marcus slid the vertical screen ninety degrees, to shoot from the side.

"Give me a few minutes to have them developed," said Marcus. "You can get dressed and wait in the lobby. BJ will let you know when I'm ready for you in my office."

BJ followed the doctor out of the room. She was looking back at me and almost stepped on his heels.

I was disappointed that BJ didn't stick around and offer to take care of my hard on. It was obvious she'd been interested, and my erection said it was mutual. I just stuffed my erection in my pants and walked back to the waiting area. I was almost proud and walked erect, just like my dick.

Twenty minutes later, BJ called my name and escorted me into Marcus's office, a small dark room decorated with stacks of medical magazines and papers. They might have mostly been medical magazines, with a few new issues of porn for Marcus's collection. I didn't have a chance to ruffle through the stacks to find out. Marcus flew in and threw himself into his swivel chair. It rolled sideways, bounced into a stack of magazines on the floor, and came to an abrupt halt. He waved an x-ray in his hand. "You've suffered some vascular and nerve damage. You'll need to let things heal. Thankfully, no surgery required. Tell me, how often do you have sex?

I considered the question. "Two, maybe three times."

"A week?" he asked.

"No, a day."

The x-ray and his jaw both dropped. What did he expect? I have a reputation to protect.

"That's way more than your organ can take. You'll have to cut back, while your penis heals. I prescribe no sexual intercourse, and no masturbation for a month." He scribbled on a notepad and handed me the slip of paper. I couldn't decipher his scrawl. "Self-stimulation takes a harder toll on your organ than plain sex."

Harder? I only wish. But no way I could my dick take a month's vacation. I nodded, to indicate I'd understood, but not necessarily agreed. My voice was weak. "Thanks."

"Pay BJ on your way out."

Giving BJ my credit card was a cheap way to be close to her for a few minutes more. I didn't have the nerve to ask when she got off -- work, that is -- so I returned the smile and left.

The full impact of the doctor's prescription hit me on the elevator ride down. A month without sex? Impossible! As I strolled towards the train line, flashing neon caught my eye - Adult Magazines. My envy of Marcus's collection got the better of me and I altered my path. I pushed through the entry turnstile inside the door, nodded to the pimply clerk and wandered the aisles. Some of the magazine titles I'd heard of, and even owned several copies, but many were new to me. I was tempted to buy the latest Mayfair, a nice magazine from England, or the latest Juggs, and then thought about Dr. Crumholtz and her accusation. I put both issues back in the rack.

As I came around the corner, who do you think was at the register, getting change from a cash purchase? BJ, from the doctor's office. Purchasing some additions to her employer's collection, no doubt. I approached the counter, hands empty but mind full of lusty thoughts and a flaccid penis in my pants. "What's a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?" It was a stale line, but completely appropriate. Her bag was plastic with a bulge, not flat, so she hadn't bought magazines or books.

"I can't get no satisfaction," she purred.

A Rolling Stones lyric was a just response to my cliché. We both scooted through the exit turnstile onto the sidewalk.

"Which way do you go?" she asked.

I pointed in the direction of the over-head rail line. "North."

"Great! We can ride together."

We stood silent on the platform. BJ swung her plastic bag back and forth. My curiosity was overflowing, but who was I to ask what she'd bought? A train arrived, and we took an empty seat together.

"So, how long have you been a nurse?" I thought that's what she was. She was dressed the part. She was sitting very close, our thighs in direct contact from hip to knee.

"I'm no nurse, just helping out in Daddy's office."

BJ was Marcus's daughter? Damn! He says don't use your dick, and his daughter was the first one in a while to raise my flag. I decided to proceed carefully, and disengage at my first opportunity.

She continued, "I'm enrolled in med school. You know, it's so silly. Daddy shoos me away when he's examining patients, like I've never seen a man's penis before." Her palm rested on my upper thigh. Perhaps the last time since she'd touched one was longer. Although given my condition, any dick would have been longer than mine. "Why, your dick was the first I've seen in months."

Given that her hand was mere inches away from my cock, I got nosy. "In the office, or at all?"

"Isn't that a bit personal?"

Her hand crept up higher on my thigh. My prize lay dormant. Maybe I'd gotten hard in Marcus's office due to circumstances, me naked and all, and not BJ. "And your viewing me naked wasn't?"

"Point taken. I'm between relationships right now." She removed her hand and clutched the plastic bag to her chest.

I exhaled. My curiosity overflowed. "So, what did you buy?"

"There you go again, getting nosey. Say, are you in a hurry to get someplace?"

"No." Harriett was out again this evening. "Why?"

'Cause we're coming up to my stop and I'd enjoy some company. I hate going back to an empty apartment. Why don't you come over? We can chat, and I'll answer all your questions."

Hell, it's only company. I'm in no shape for anything else, despite BJ's attempts at stimulation. "Sure."

"Great!"

She took my hand, like we were young lovers. "Come on," she prompted.

We skipped from the train steps down the block. I hadn't skipped in decades, and hadn't skipped an opportunity to have sex in, well, as long as I could remember.

Her building was a renovated two-flat on a block filled with cloned structures, all red brick, all tuck pointed with new cement.

BJ strutted up the stairs, hips swaying. I followed closely, hypnotized by the motion. When she unlocked the door and flung it open, I tailgated. Because I wasn't raised in a barn, I shut the door behind me.

The efficiency was scarcely furnished: a bed, some homemade cinderblock and laminated pressboard shelves, and card table near the kitchenette with three mismatched folding chairs. Sheets duct-taped to the walls substituted for curtains.

When I turned, BJ had already unbuttoned her white uniform. With a shrug, it hit the floor. She picked it up by the collar. "I'm casual around the apartment. I hope you don't mind. This way, I don't have to wash it out every day."

I nodded helplessly, captivated by her up thrust breasts straining against her black bra, low riding polka dot panties and white nurse socks up to her thighs with stretch tops. No old-fashioned garter belts for this chick. I should have been sporting a raging hard on, but nothing. Not even a twitch.

"School is expensive and Dad doesn't pay me worth a damn. Except he won't let me work anywhere but his office. Phony pride, I hate it."

I decided to stay off the topic of Dr. Marcus. It was obviously a sore point.

"Why don't you think we're related?" she asked.

I didn't have the heart to tell her it was originally Marzinsky before some clerk at Ellis Island butchered it. "It's just unlikely. My family settled in Iowa." A bald-faced lie, no harm, just for fun.

"So, what did you come to Dad for anyway? I bet I can guess."

I grabbed a folding chair and crossed my arms. "You don't have to guess. You probably read my chart."

"Smart guy. You're having trouble getting it up. That's what most of his patients suffer from. So, what did Daddy say?" She held up her palm. "Wait don't tell me." She stood with her hands on her hips. She was Wonder Woman, except with smaller tits and without the lasso of truth. "Abstain from sex and masturbation for a week, and see if the condition corrects itself."

Even though he'd said a month, I didn't correct her. "That's about it. Some rest for the old boy." I patted my crotch for emphasis. "Lay off the hand strokes and limit the pussy."

"Daddy's methods are so archaic. There are newer, more modern treatments. Drugs, physical therapies. How would you like a second opinion?"

"About what?" Was she offering me pills? I didn't want to have to pop a pill when I wanted to get ready for sex. Shit, I'd be taking them constantly.

"About your problem, silly. I'm taking human sexual response, and I could use the practice. Besides, I have some novel techniques I'd like to try."

I was curious but skeptical. "I don't think so." The doctor says limit sexual activity so I take his daughter home and fuck her? Nice move.

"It's not like I haven't already seen it. It can't hurt. Come on."

That's what I was afraid of. That I'd cum on her, or in her. Was my dick expanding? I shook my head and folded my arms.

"Please? I have a gentle touch."

That's good. Nobody likes his manhood manhandled. There I was, with an attractive woman in her undies asking to touch my dick. "Oh, all right. Just look, and limit the touching."

"I promise." She smiled as if she'd just eaten the canary or sucked on someone's penis.

I removed my pants and shirt.

"Might as well take it all off, like at Daddy's office."

I hesitated, Doctor Daddy's prescription echoing in my brain. "Your father said --"

"Strip, damn it. I'm trying to help you."

Her expression was anything but solicitous. It was anger, not the sweet disposition from the train. She must really have issues with her father. Which probably translates into issues with men. Which meant me. I wondered what kind of danger I would be in, exposing myself. Too late. I was completely naked.

"Now let's have a look." BJ dropped to her knees, moved close and lifted my dick by the head using two fingers. Same crotch-side manner as dear old Dad. "I want to see the arterial structure."

"Your Dad said --"

She grabbed my dick and pulled hard. "I'm doing this exam, not my father!"

Damn! Why can't I remember to leave her father out of this. "Okay, okay. Relax."

"So seeing me this way doesn't get a reaction?" She stood up and posed, knee cocked, chest forward. Although viewing her cleavage at the office was a nice fantasy, BJ in the almost flesh wasn't exciting at all. Quite pathetic, actually.

"Perhaps massage therapy." She fell to her knees and began to stroke my dick. She did have a gentle touch, but my limp organ was unresponsive. I began to believe that my problem was mental, not physical. After all, BJ's provocative behavior in her father's office had gotten me erect. Now, barely covered, she wasn't at all titillating.

"Okay, let me try oral stimulation."

It was clear that BJ was horny, had seen me erect, and wanted to take advantage of a big dick. Like so many before her. Her cheeks puffed as she took about half the length of my cock in and out of her lips. The slurping sound was familiar but unmoving.

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