Doctor Jenny's Home Remedy

Synopsis: A man's visit to his chiropractor develops into much more.

Author's Note: A commission I wrote for a client. I welcome any feedback you may have. Enjoy!

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DOCTOR JENNY'S HOME REMEDY

Section I.

The tires of a silver-blue Ford ground into gravel as it sputtered up a long driveway. Heavy rain fell like sheets of hail on the windshield, so cold and so dense that the driver could barely see ahead of himself. Greg Mullins, following his weekly routine, somehow managed to make it to the farmstead in one piece. Bad weather was unusual for his end of the county--even during the holiday winter--but one thing was for certain: Greg would not let anything stop him from receiving his weekly treatment, even as he sat shivering in his jeans and overcoat.

"Ugh..." He groaned. "Freakin' cold..."

This browned-haired man, no longer a youth, pulled a red umbrella from the passenger's seat and slowly stepped out of his car, boots splashing in a shallow puddle of water. He was warmly and comfortably dressed in blue jeans with an Armani topcoat and a green polo shirt underneath. And as he combed his brown hair in the rearview mirror and scanned the rainy, rural neighborhood behind him with his equally brown eyes, the man named Greg heaved a defeated sigh.

Another day, another year, he thought. Another year, another year of aches and pains. I'm most definitely not getting any younger.

Greg Mullins was in his late thirties now, well past the point of no return, and now in the latter stage of his life that stopped giving gifts and instead started taking them away. And with the stress and ailments of his own job, it was no wonder that Greg had little choice but to make weekly visits to his chiropractor.

Not that Greg minded.

The small, homely clinic, despite being run from a converted garage on a small hobby farm, was more than enough to suit his needs. And having been a regular patient for more than eight years, he did not intend to go anywhere else to have his joints cracked and his muscles massaged. As far as he was concerned, he would drive through a hurricane to get the care that he needed here.

As the heavy rain poured over a white, gable roof, spilling copiously over the potted rosemary and sunflowers on the porch, Greg was feeling unusually stiff. Wiping his boots on the floor mat which read "My Home Is Your Home", he quietly turned the squeaky, brass knob and walked in.

The reception room was just the same as usual. The walls were painted in neutral, pastel colors. Paintings of flower fields, clouds, and Golden Retrievers were hung high and low. A small statue of Jesus Christ himself sat on the shelf beside some Christmas stockings, candy canes, and strings of blinking, yellow lights. The floor was faux wood, but the hallway leading into the treatment rooms were lined with squares of plush, beige carpet. And a sweet incense that Greg could not quite place was burning; true to her word, Dr. Jenny would never burn the same candle twice.

"Hello Mr. Mullins! Welcome back!" A young brunette behind the desk greeted him warmly. "Keeping dry out there?"

"Trying to, Judy." Greg said, returning her smile alongside a rusty grunt. "Trying to."

"Here for your 4 o'clock, obviously?"

"Yes. Is Jenny in?"

"She's just finishing up with another patient. Have a seat. I'll take care of your papers for you."

"Thanks! Will do."

Greg took a seat just below the whirling ceiling fan. Striving to use his phone a little bit less these days, he took the opportunity to pull a copy of Time magazine off an adjacent coffee table, nonchalantly flipping through it. Images of advertisements, models, and political articles flashed rapidly through his vision. None of it registered as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. The pain in his lower back was hitting him like glass shards. He leaned forward in an attempt to curb that pain, but to his chagrin it didn't ease one bit.

At that moment, a woman in form-fitting, blue scrubs entered the room. She shuffled in spritely, quickly nabbing a clipboard and glancing at Greg with her bright, grey eyes. Her long, auburn hair--graying at the roots--was worn in a charming ponytail, and her fair skin glowed immaculately in the light as she smiled sweetly.

Greg's heart skipped a beat. She was half the reason he was here.

"Well, well, well! Mr. Mullins! Good afternoon," she greeted warmly.

"H-hey, Doc," Greg replied with a pained smile.

"I half-expected you not to show up. Heard the storm is pretty bad."

"Wouldn't miss a chance to see you, Jen," Greg mused playfully. "Honestly, my back is killing me."

"I'll betcha. Give me a sec, okay? I'll be with you in a moment."

And with that, Dr. Jenny was gone again.

Greg had known Jenny for almost ten years. And despite knowing that she was a happily-married mother of four, Greg could not deny the blooming feelings he had for her as a single, unmarried man. At 5'9''--nearly the same height as himself--and a modest 140 pounds, Greg thought she was quite attractive for her age. The odd but alluring amalgamation of professionalism, faith, and flirtatiousness drew him to her like a moth to a flame. And over the last eight years, Greg had watched her not only expand her business, but become a mother to an increasing litter of children. Even now, he could still vividly remember his first visit when her first newborn slept quietly in a crib in the corner. A part of him felt like a surrogate father of sorts.

At last, a much older woman with a cane sauntered out from the hallway behind the curtain. Waving goodbye and wishing Judy the secretary a "Merry Christmas", the old woman opened the front door, pulled out an umbrella, and left.

"Greg! Come on over!" Jenny's face popped out from beyond the corner. "I'm ready for ya!"

Section II.

Greg was no stranger to this room.

The fluorescent lamps above flickered a champagne yellow, casting a dim but comforting pall of gold upon the walls. The curtains were closed, barely obscuring the silent deluge of rain just beyond it. A tall bookshelf of old medical textbooks, some perhaps dating back to Jenny's college days, sat in the corner undisturbed as it had for the past several years. Except now, Greg noticed, there was a copy of the Bible whose binding and label were lit by a small tealight. And by the door were a pair of potted ferns, providing a smidgeon of verdure in what would have been a mostly austere treatment room. In the center of it all was a pink massage table upon which Greg took a seat.

Jenny shut the door behind her, slipping on a new pair of clinical gloves.

"I'm not surprised your back is still in rough shape," she started. "You took the herbs I prescribed, didn't you?"

"I did," Greg replied. "But no dice."

"Mm, okay. No surprise there, if I'm being honest. Considering your line of work..."

"Yeah... can't do much about that."

"Well, all we gotta do is find your pressure points. A massage in your sensitive areas will do wonders!"

"Sensitive areas, huh," Greg smirked.

"Sensitive areas!" Jenny replied with a suggestive wink. "Now lay down before I force you down!"

"Aye-aye, doctor!"

Greg could not stifle a smile as she commanded him playfully; he enjoyed this weekly dose of banter, and he often wondered if any of her other patients were even half as close to her as he was. In many ways, Greg felt special, although he never thought to take advantage of that for fear of destroying a perfectly steady friendship.

Her gloved fingers pressed gently into his skin.

"GAAHaahhhhaagh!" Greg bellowed a spine-curling cry.

"Oof! You are STIFF!"

Greg, lying on his belly, clutched the massage table for dear life as he felt Jenny's thumbs pressing into the tender muscles in his back. She had started from the top and slowly worked her way down to his lower back. And when Jenny ground the pads of her thumbs into the taut cords of muscle, it was all Greg could do to grit his teeth and endure it.

"That's your lower lumbar," she said. "This is a purely medical question, but I gotta ask, Mr. Mullins--have you found your inner bull lately?"

"My--Ah... Well... Possibly?"

"I'll take that as a no. Am I right?"

"Well, yes," Greg admitted sheepishly. "You know me. I'm sure I have more exes in my past than I do girlfriends in my future..."

Jenny furrowed her brow and sighed.

"Aww, don't say that, Greg. You're as handsome as they come. I'm sure the right woman is waiting for you to sweep her off her feet right this minute."

The right woman is sitting right--ouch--right on top of me! Greg thought. If only...

Indeed, at this point Jenny threw her weight upon him, almost straddling Greg as she pressed in her fingers and circled them around Greg's stiff muscles.

"Hips are--are out of alignment too," she grunted. "I'm not sure what else to prescribe, but..."

Jenny took a breath and stopped abruptly. Greg couldn't see her face, but he had a strange feeling that something was on her mind and she was hesitant to bring it up.

"What?" he asked.

"Greg, what about that girl, Carla? That Latin gal from last year?"

"That wasn't... there wasn't anything there. Nice girl, makes good money. But..."

Greg shifted uncomfortably. He didn't want to make excuses in front of Jenny of all people when the truth was simply that no other woman measured up the way Jenny did.

"What about Michelle? You even introduced her to me. She was a good match for you, I thought," Jenny said.

"Well..." Greg joked, avoiding the question. "None of them were like you."

Jenny bellowed a hearty laugh that Greg was sure the secretary could hear outside the room.

"Well, aren't you hard to please! Alas, I am happily married, Greg. And that isn't changing anytime soon."

"I-I should hope not! I wasn't serious."

"Uh-huh..." She nudged him snidely.

Greg's band-aid response didn't work. Having dared to share a tease of his true feelings, the ensuing silence was deafening.

It was then that Greg realized Jenny's next words were carefully chosen. As a newly-baptized Christian and an ever-faithful wife who had in her youth been regarded as somewhat of a slut, Jenny was a woman who Greg could not have possibly imagined might regress to her old ways. But every once in a while, even Greg wanted to relive a period of his life when he had no fear of death. Perhaps this was no different with Jenny.

"Hey Greg," she said. "We've known each for a long time now. Almost as long as I've known Nathan. Just between you and me, I don't mind--" She averted her gaze. "--giving you a hand, if you catch my meaning.

"What?" Greg blinked.

"Purely clinical, of course! I mean you're obviously, sexually unfulfilled. If the stress from that is part of the cause your condition, obviously--" She shrugged, as if it was the most natural suggestion in the world. "Pardon my expression, but get those balls drained, you know?"

"Well..."

"Alright, fine. Just take the pants off. At least let me have a closer look, okay?"

"Er--o-okay, if you say so."

Normally, Greg was never asked to undress unless he needed a serious examination. Massages were easily given through clothing. Stripping to his underclothes was a rarer affair.

Before Greg knew it, he was lying face-up on the massage table wearing only his shirt and underwear. He breathed deep, acutely aware of the blood slowly amassing in his groin, desperate to fight a certain physiological reaction as Jenny leaned over and felt around his groin with her gloved hands. Greg lay there in silence, feeling the sweat of anxiousness on his forehead.

Then Jenny pulled down his waistband. Greg shivered as he felt the cold air on his pubis. A blush crawled up his neck, like the legs of a dozen warm spiders, as Jenny gazed upon his manhood as she had never done before. And when Jenny fumbled around the tender sack of his balls, Greg nearly jumped

"Your testes are lightly swollen," she said, quickly jotting it down on her clipboard. "Could use a woman's touch, I think?"

She smiled coyly. Even Greg could see the barrier of friendship slowly cracking. He wasn't sure he wanted it to.

"Want me to try? With my hands?" She smirked.

"I..."

"If it makes you uncomfortable, Greg, just say no. I'm just trying to help you release some of that pressure."

"O-okay, if it'll help."

"I used to be really good at this back in college. Can't even tell you how many guys I..." She trailed off, as if uncertain whether it was the right time for such a story.

Greg would not pursue it.

Jenny's movements were purely clinical at first. Greg was tense as ever as he felt the nitrile of her gloves fondling his sensitive testes and slowly-growing erection. Part of him wanted to feel the warmth of her hands instead of the cold, synthetic rubber, but he didn't dare ask it. After all, this unusual "treatment" was already more than he could have imagined.

Fortunately, he didn't need to ask.

"I'm going to take my gloves off, okay?" Jenny said.

"S-sure."

"Nitrile gloves are great for many things, but definitely not handjobs!" She quipped.

"Hah..." He forced a laugh.

She snapped off her blue gloves, revealing slender, pale fingers. When Greg realized those same fingers--those fingers that been massaging him for so many years--would soon be bringing him to orgasm, he felt his erection grow several sizes, rising to half-mast directly in front of her.

Oh God.

Greg thought he saw Jenny's smile, but when he felt the uncomfortable drip of massage oil on his glans, followed by the gentle touch of Jenny's palm wrapping around his length, he found himself unable to think of much else.

"Hng..." His breath hitched at her touch.

Bubbles of thick oil slathered through her fingers as she stroked his length slowly but sensuously, thumbing his frenulum and kneading the lubricious oil around the pliable folds of his foreskin. She pursed her lips, examining his throbbing girth as she pumped her hands up and down in a rhythmic piston. Jenny's own breaths were quiet but controlled, and Greg could see that she was concentrating deeply on the act, acquainting herself with every vein and ridge of his erection. A husky moan left his throat, and the man realized this treatment was quickly unraveling into something much more intimate.

"Jenny..." He mouthed her name as he felt the small hairs of his thighs all standing on end.

"Am I hurting you?"

"No..."

"It's good then?"

"Very."

She grinned.

"I still got it!"

Jenny increased the pace of her strokes. Bubbly runnels of oil and precum dripped thickly down her knuckles and his scrotum. And Jenny, clearly intending that, began to massage his testes with her other hand, palpating his tender, vulnerable orbs between her thumb and forefinger. In the hands of any other woman, the ministrations may have been painful.

Faster and faster she stroked his length, her slight wrist clapping softly against Greg's thighs. Beads of precum began to bleed from Greg's throbbing girth, coating Jenny's fingers. But still she persisted, biting her bottom lip in anticipation of what was to come. Greg felt familiar, tiny convulsions exploding in his core as Jenny tightened her grasp, the friction of their slippery flesh rapidly taking him to the edge. Greg became suddenly aware that Jenny herself was also breathing harder.

"Ugh..." Greg groaned again.

It was to his disappointment when she suddenly stopped, seemingly unaware of how close she had brought him. Greg was almost disappointed.

"Heh," she mused. "I think I'm going to give my wrist a little rest. Sorry."

"It's okay..."

"Let me change things up a bit..."

Then Greg watched, stupefied, as Dr. Jenny began to undress herself. She reached for her own shirt and undid the small, plastic buttons one by one. The first glimpse of her black-lace lingerie set his loins aflame, the swells of her immaculate, D-cup breasts spilling amply over the dark, Chantilly lace. His gaze fell further to the slender curve of her pale navel and her firm abdomen. Greg knew Jenny to be a fairly athletic woman for her age, often comparing her to a surfer. But for the first time, he could see it in person and up close. As her shirt hung open by her shoulders, she noticed Greg unable to avert his gaze.

"Are you gonna pick your jaw up off the floor or what?" Jenny chuckled.

Greg didn't know how to respond. When he became aware of what she meant, he wiped a spot of drool off the edge of his mouth, shut his lips, and lay there in silence as Jenny continued her "treatment".

"It takes what it takes, Greg!" She shrugged. "I think you need this, personally."

Then Jenny leaned over the foot of the massage table, collapsing the segment under his knees until his calves and feet dangled freely. Her supple breasts swayed invitingly as she leaned in just enough, settling Greg's throbbing manhood directly between them, just underneath the plastic fastener of her bra. Just like that, she pressed the firm orbs of her breasts together, enveloping his hot shaft in her infinite softness. Greg tensed up as his hot blood rushed to his loins, gulping as the rare sensation of her warm, lustrous breasts filled his mind with so many thoughts that he couldn't juggle any of them. When Jenny began to pump him again between her pale, pillowy mounds, he let himself go entirely and moaned long and low.

"Ah..." He threw his head back against the massage table, deciding to indulge at last in Jenny's generosity. The sounds of her skin brushing against his slick length and her quickening breaths passing over his glans caused goosebumps to erupt all over his body. The soft and pleasant valley of her cleavage accepted every inch of him, engulfing every ridge and every vein of his manhood, painting itself with coats upon of his glistening desire. And when he lifted his head and looked down upon her, barely able to fathom the sight of his own cock poking through the top of her breasts, their eyes briefly met. Jenny looked back down at his manhood with a tight-lipped smile, continuing to mash and knead his length between her soft mounds.

"That feels amazing, Jen..."

"Glad to hear it. I don't do this for Nathan much nowadays. But back in college," she started. "I can't tell you how many of the guys on the football team asked me for this. I got really good at it."

"Y-you mean--" Greg managed to mount a response. "Back when you were a cheerleader? You said you used to be quite the... uhh... slut."

"Mhm. The Homecoming afterparty--was fucked silly by the entire team. I don't think I'll ever forget that. I was lucky I didn't get pregnant several times over, actually. After that I met Nathan and had to change my tune. Kept me all to himself. You know the rest."

"Well, you haven't lost it, I think," Greg grunted, wincing as Jenny slowed her pace. "I still think you're attractive... maybe even more so..."

"Thanks," she smiled. "Actually, I haven't been doing it with Nathan much these days. Ever since you encouraged me to embrace some of my grey, I was wondering if, well, if Nathan didn't actually like that."

"Even if he doesn't, I think you wear it well."

She laughed. "Alright, Greg, don't lay it on too smooth. Otherwise, I may just kiss you instead of titfuck you."

"Heh, sorry."

As the clock continued to tick, Jenny's movements intensified. She took off her blue shirt completely, slipping each sleeve down from her smooth, alabaster shoulders. With the quickest of movements, she reached behind her back and unclasped her black bra. Greg's heart skipped a beat when her rosy nipples--a sight he had so long imagined on dark, lonely nights--emerged into his view. Her broad areola melted into her pale skin, the peaks of her nipples firm and erect. Greg could see her breasts had some weight and slack, but much like the rest of her body, they were yet firm and attractive. He was overcome with the desire to clutch them, to claim their soft weight in his palms. But he would have to settle with a little more.