Not The Preferred Technique

Penis captivus is a real thing, but it's thinly attested in the medical literature. A report from 1947 is the best-sourced, but many cases likely go unreported because, let's face it, it's fucking embarrassing to get your dick stuck inside a pussy. Treatment appears to involve waiting for the hard-on to subside or, alternately, anaesthetic applied to the female involved. Just in case you need to know that. Y'know, in case a friend asks.

Enjoy this story. It's a bit shorter and leaner than a lot of mine, but I hope you like it. It stands on its own, but if you want to read more about Steve the stripper? Check out "Violet Eyes" on my story page. As for Nadia... well, she's new, but her friends Izzy Speier and Ronnie Silber turn up here and there.

* * *

Kenny From Dispatch had had a giggle in his voice when he'd sent me on the call, so even before I arrived I was tense. Something had to be up, because Kenny From Dispatch was not really a giggler.

"Reports of a mishap at a party. The caller wasn't willing to be more specific, except that it apparently involves a stripper, over."

"A what, over?" Mikey, my partner, had glanced sharply over from the passenger seat. A stripper. I was thinking of caustics and paint, turpentine, shit like that. Maybe an inhalation injury, or a chemical burn? And who the hell does painting work at ten at night? My mind was suddenly flying through our inventory of stuff in the back of the truck: did we have silvadene? If so, how much? Might we need to wear respirators? I hoped it wasn't the eyes, as I was pretty sure we were out of erythromycin...

"A stripper." There was that little giggle again, then Kenny From Dispatch clarified. "An entertainer, over."

"Oh." I pondered, shaking my head, before it made sense. "Oh!" Shit. "Like, a dancer? Over?"

"Roger." He seemed unwilling to say anything else, which made sense over a radio net being listened to by six sets of paramedics and all the firehouses.

"Ten-four," I shrugged. "Enroute."

The place was a nice house over at the base of Briggs Rd, just at the bottom before it started climbing. McMansions crowded the neighborhood on all sides, and I could smell wealth in the air. This wasn't the big, old-money fraction of town: that was further up. Down here lived banking people, lawyers, folks like that.

It was not the kind of neighborhood where one would expect a stripper.

"So," I sighed to Mikey as we dropped down from the cab, "a couple things to think about when you're responding to a call like this. There's the potential for embarrassment for the patient, but also for the people around." A police cruiser was already parked on the far side of the driveway, and I nodded toward it. "There's already a cop here, so everyone will be on edge."

"Got it." Mikey was a rookie, but not a bad one.

"So we need to be mindful of all that and keep the patient calm." We started up the serpentine walk, my heavy medical bag perched high on my shoulder, and came to the door. "Remember: be professional. These people are likely to be embarrassed, and there will probably be tits hanging out. You ready?"

He nodded. "Ready."

"Good." The door was unlocked, the room beyond an echoing expanse of hardwood and beige paint with a big sectional facing the fireplace. In the corner was one of those rotating light thingies, throwing dazzling spangles of red and green and blue all over the cathedral ceilings. A speaker system sat forgotten in the corner, and I stepped in over a cast-off pair of pants. "Hello?" I called loudly. "Fire department! Is anyone injured?"

I calmed down a little bit when I didn't hear any screaming or anything. You never know what you're walking into. "Back here!" came a thin reply. "The back bedroom!"

Hoisting my bag higher, I led the way along a set of shallow stairs, through an open-plan dining room furnished in an expensive but dated style, checking out some Lladro figurines in a china hutch. No, this definitely did not look like the kind of house where strippers would be hanging out. This house screamed baby boomers, and as I reached the wide doorway to an impersonal granite kitchen I began to hear voices.

Mostly the soothing kind. And, occasionally, a sharper one: that would be the cop. I picked up my pace, my boots flying across the nice tile: I thought I recognized the voice of that cop.

Yup. LaFratta.

He was not an ugly man, really, but his attitude was terrible and there were many, many rumors about him. Not the good kind of rumors. I saw him from behind, leaning casually against a doorjamb with his arms crossed in front of him. He twisted his head around when he heard Mikey and I in the kitchen, talking into the room out the side of his mouth. "See? Paramedics are already here. You guys will be fine." He turned then, his face melting into a leer as we ran up. "This one's a fucking doozy, Sloman," he chuckled quietly. "Good luck."

I flashed him a severe look, the kind I liked to give to assholes of any kind, in any circumstance. "You can duck out, Officer LaFratta, if there's no real threat."

"Just securin' the scene," he snickered as I pushed past him into the room, my med bag bumping him. Might not have been accidental, either. "Ow."

"Mikey," I snapped over my shoulder once I'd gotten my first look at what was going on here, "why don't you and Officer LaFratta take some of these people out of here while I figure out what our patients need, hmm?"

The bed before me was huge, with a flowered comforter and a rattly brass headboard, a King at least. Probably a California King, the kind I'd never ever be able to get through the door of my apartment. Sitting against that old-fashioned headboard was a man, stark naked, with a body like nothing I'd ever seen before outside of anatomy textbooks. Every muscle was visible beneath mocha skin, from his shaved head to his big feet. He sat there with an odd little smile on his face, his hand wrapped around one of the largest erections I'd ever seen, a monstrous brown stalk pushing up from his groin like a NASA rocket. It loomed thick and uncut over mouth-watering thighs, his hand tracing lightly up and down its length.

The next thing I saw, nestled between his knees, was a shape now covered by a big fluffy towel, being alternately cooed at and petted by five shapely young women. They all looked like sisters, or at least cousins, and it took me awhile to realize they actually weren't: they were just women, punched from the same mold and occupying the same social class, educated the same way, and so forth. Their wild eyes kept shifting from the quaking figure under the towel to the last person in the room, the one closest to me in this weird little tableau.

It was a man, just a bit taller than me, standing naked and sculpted and sweaty just a couple of feet away from me, at the foot of the bed. It took me a moment to realize he was actually leaning up against the thing under the fluffy towel, and that the thing under the towel had an ass, and that that ass was a woman's. And it was naked. And pressed tight against the front of the man's thighs. He looked back at me with a mournful little smile that suggested a mixture of about 10% shame, 20% concern, and 70% amusement.

I liked that smile.

I cleared my throat. "Can we get all the extra people in here to file out into, like, the living room?" I gestured behind me, making myself look somewhere other than the standing man's ass or the sitting one's cock. "My partner Michael, and Officer LaFratta, can answer any questions you might have." The ladies crouched over the bed got up, murmuring to the woman under the towel, and I noticed all of them in matching shirts. I made myself smile. "Bachelorette party?"

One of them looked doubtfully at the others, then nodded. "Yeah. Ava here is getting married next week," she said, gesturing vaguely at the towel. "Um. Is she going to be okay?"

"I need you ladies to step out of the room, please," I told her firmly. They teach us to take charge at moments like these, and I'd always been good at that. "Mikey?" I nodded meaningfully to my partner, who finally got the message.

"Follow me please, ladies!" he called, and before I knew it I realized I was staring again at the seated man with the splendid penis. He saw, and smiled confidently when he caught my eye.

"Sir," I began weakly, "maybe you could go with them and, well..."

"No problem." He slid off the bed and sauntered around the far side, giving his friend a whack on his butt as he did so. I saw no jiggle in that glorious ass. "Good luck, compadre."

"Yeah." The man behind Towel Woman had a low, vaguely vapid voice, the kind you might expect from an extra in a surf movie. "Thanks, man."

The black man towered over me as he moved past about eight inches away from me, which was well within the range of his bobbing penis. I struggled to keep my eyes on his face. "Thank you for your service, what you do," he smiled. He had a panty-dropping smile. "Just so you know, we're happy to offer a discount on events for first responders. So keep us in mind, okay?"

"O-okay."

"I'll leave a card with your partner," he went on, his voice twanging at my pussy.

"Go ahead and shut the door behind you please, sir?" I wasn't sure what the fuck was happening here, but I was pretty sure privacy would be a good idea. Especially where women and LaFratta were concerned. I waited until I heard the click of the latch behind me, then I cleared my throat and lowered my bag to the floor. "Um. So. Sir. Are you in any pain?"

He blinked at me a bit. I noticed he had large hands, resting now on that smooth pair of female buttocks before him. "What? Oh! Um, no. I'm not the patient." He nodded down at the fluffy towel. "Her, um, vagina is doing something weird."

"Weird?" I glanced down his body, past a slick set of smooth abs, peering at where he was joined to her. "Like, can you back out so I can take a look?"

"Yeah, that's the thing," he went on, smiling vaguely. "I... well, I'm stuck."

"Stuck?"

"I can't pull out." The fluffy towel moved a bit, like a cat shifting in its sleep. "It feels weird when I try. Like I'm being held in a hand..."

I blinked. "You're serious?" I had no idea what to say. "I mean, you've tried... just, like, pulling out?"

"Of course," he snapped, no longer as polite, and to be fair? It had been a pretty dumb question. "I'm telling you, it's stuck." He flexed his ass slightly, and I heard a hiss from underneath the towel. "Feels like one of those finger traps? Like you get as a party favor when you're a kid?"

"Yeah, I get it." I gnawed at my lip. I'd never heard of anything even remotely like this. "And you're not in any pain? Like... how does it feel?"

He looked at me strangely. "Like I'm in a really, really, really tight pussy," he shrugged, and yep. This guy really did think I was an idiot. I nodded, hoping my face was neutral, trying hard not to look at those dazzling abs and the little trail of trimmed hair that led down from his navel to disappear into the shadows between his mysterious partner's buttcheeks.

The woman under the fluffy towel was trembling, her face looking like a Munch painting. Or maybe Bosch. "It hurts," she whimpered once I'd gently folded the towel back.

"I know, honey." It came out automatically, my tone soothing, and when I rested my hand on her naked back she started to breathe more normally. "I'm here. What... I mean, is he too big, or..."

"No!" She turned a tear-streaked face to mine. "He's fine. I just... like, I tensed up. Completely. I can't unclench."

"Like one of those finger traps," the man repeated helpfully. I glared up at him.

"Listen, just stay where you are and try not to move." I forced my eyes to his face. "I'm Nadia. What's your name, sir?"

"Steve." He cracked a nice smile, not as pussy-melting as the other guy's. But nice. "Pleasure to meet you, Nadia."

"And you, hon?" I kept my thumb in motion along the woman's upper spine. She was very pretty. "What's your name?"

"I'm Ava," she managed. She was already sounding clearer, stronger. It's amazing, the placebo effect: just having a medical pro around makes most people feel a lot better.

"Hi, Ava. Is this your party, honey?"

"Yes." She licked her lips. "I'm the bride," she added, with a little hint of irony in there.

"Yeah?" I glanced back up at Steve, who simply stood helpfully with his cock buried in her. "You've got a lovely house, Ava."

"It's my parents'," she gasped, and then her eyes went wide. "Holy shit! I'm fucking in my parents' bed..."

"Shh. Relax, honey." My thumb never stopped, and after a few seconds I had it: the confusing tangle of vocabulary I'd been trying to remember out of the DSM-5. "Have you ever heard of vaginismus, Ava?"

"Doesn't sound familiar," she frowned. She had a beautiful mouth. I figured it had probably taken both cocks already.

"Have you ever had a problem like this before?"

"No."

I looked back at Steve, my voice going professional again. "Did you have any trouble entering, sir?"

"Like, at first?" He thought about it. "No, but she was on her back."

"This tightness, did it start when you started, um, started... entering her from behind?" Paramedic training teaches you to ask awkward questions, but this was a whole new world.

"Oh, no." He shrugged, his lips twitching upward in a slight grin. "No way. I sank right in."

"It was so good," Ava nodded.

"Oh," I said blankly. It had been awhile since Don had fucked me.

"I was railing her," Steve went on, "and we were both really into it."

"Really into it," Ava confirmed. She was flushing now.

"And then, all of a sudden?" He waved a hand toward her butt. "This happened."

I nodded. "Mikey!" I called through the door. The woman started. "I'm going to have my partner look this up. I've never seen this before." I swallowed, trying to think of the right kind of small talk. "So. You're getting married soon?"

"In a week." She sank down onto her elbows, her back arching, and Steve watched her move with that same grin on her face. "Not to him," she admitted, jerking her head backward at him.

"I'm just the stripper," he put in.

"Yeah?" Mikey cracked the door.

"Get the tablet and do some research," I told him shortly. "You're looking for a disorder that results in spontaneous vaginal flexion strong enough to imprison a penis."

"Oh. Okay..." He gaped at the three of us for a second, then disappeared. The door snicked closed again.

"Ava, I think we're going to need to get the gurney and get you to the hospital," I started, but already she was shaking her head vigorously.

"No. No fucking way." She glanced at Steve over her shoulder. "My fiancé doesn't know about this. Hell, no one knows about this!" I thought of the five bridesmaids and said nothing. "And you want to wheel me out of here? In front of my parents' neighbors?"

"Um." I thought about it and had to agree she had a point: we'd need to figure out how to get her onto the gurney, with him still... attached? Inserted? Then get the two of them out the front door, down the steps, and into the truck, all while he tried to walk while staying in her... "I'm not sure the gurney is the right height," I reflected, trying to judge the length of the man's legs.

"It's sore," she bleated. I patted her back and straightened.

"So. Steve." I allowed myself a glance down his body. "Any chance of you, like, getting smaller?"

"I've been trying," he confessed, spreading his hands helplessly, "but it's hard." I suppressed a giggle, but I know I smiled. So did he. "I mean, it's difficult. To soften. Under the circumstances."

I sighed. "Because it feels so good."

He nodded fervently. "So. Fucking. Good."

"Can you get him out?" Ava was starting to cry again, and I thought carefully as I moved back toward Steve.

I beckoned his head lower as I leaned up to whisper into his ear. He smelled richly of sweat and pussy; clearly, he'd had his face in a snatch or two earlier. "Listen," I started, trying to keep eye contact, "I think she's right. We can't get you guys into the ambulance." He nodded. "You really need to get smaller, man."

"I'm telling you, I've tried." He was whispering back, his breath hot on my ear. "Honestly? Every time she shivers, it feels even better."

"Oh my god." I tried not to roll my eyes, honest, I did... but I failed. We both stood there, looking down at the quaking Ava, until I took a deep breath and tipped my head back toward Steve's. "Can't you just ejaculate?"

"Inside? No," he said at once, "it's against company policy. And..." he trailed off and licked his lips. "It'd be tough. I'm wearing a cockring."

"A what?"

"A cockring." He swallowed. "Haven't you ever hired a stripper before?"

I was about to answer, my mouth dropping open like a guppy's, when Mikey knocked on the door and stuck his head in. "Nadia? It says it might be something called vaginismus."

"No." I scowled, glaring at him. "I know that one. He wouldn't have been able to get inside." Mikey shook his head, perplexed. "His penis is inside her vagina," I hissed.

"Ow," Ava moaned.

"Oh." Mikey went back to the tablet, his fingers flying over the hospital's diagnostic app, while I stood there awkwardly with Steve.

"It's okay, Ava," I purred, glancing up at the man. "Umm... look, this is super-awkward, but if we can't get to the hospital and you can't relax..."

"What would they do to me at the hospital?" she quavered.

I had no idea. "Probably give you a muscle relaxant? But I can't do that out here."

"I don't want to go to the hospital."

I glanced at Mikey, who frowned at the tablet. "Honey, listen. Steve? He's trying to get, uh, limp? But he's having trouble. I don't think we can get him out until he can, like, soften."

She twisted around, eyes wide. "Can't he cum?" she demanded. "Please?"

"I..." I knew I should say nothing. Everything in me told me to get these two to the hospital. I licked my lips. "I mean, I can't recommend that..."

"I can't," Steve mouthed softly. "Cockring..."

I whirled from one to the other, totally unsure what to do, when Mikey cleared his throat. "Got it. Says it's rare." He looked up. "Penis captivus."

"What?" I shook my head. It sounded like a species of bug, or the motto of a whorehouse or something. "Penis captivus?"

He shrugged. "Symptoms match. There's a reference from like the forties," he went on, trying not to look at the naked Ava, "but not much else. Tranquilizers are indicated."

"Yeah," I nodded, my gaze shifting to the sweating Ava, "I can't do that here."

"Just cum in me," she pleaded, wincing as she turned. "It's fine. I want you to."

"Yeah?" Steve arched his eyebrow, his fingers tightening on her hips.

"Yes!"

He glanced at me, worried, and I moved back to where he stood behind her thighs. "You can head back out, Mikey. Thanks." I nodded up at Steve to make sure he was okay with me leaning in to check him out, and then suddenly I was bending over Ava's straining lower back.

"What are you doing?"

"Just... checking," I frowned, bending low. The bed smelled overwhelmingly of sex. Her ass swelled beneath my hands as I gloved up and touched her warm skin, spreading her cheeks as gently as I could, and then there it was: the reddened flesh of Steve's penis shot out from among a closely cropped brush of pubic hair, thick and rigid as it disappeared into Ava's slit. I squinted, making out a dull black band tight around his root. "The ring. It's... it's rubber?" I said excitedly.

"Silicone."

"Oh!" I smiled up at him. "No problem. I'll just get my shears and snip it off..."

"No!" They both screamed it, jarring me. "You're not getting any scissors near my package," Steve barked.

"Or my pussy," Ava added firmly.