School Doctor Strips Schoolboys Ch. 01

Irene was a popular girl. She dated boys, and had a fondness for athletes. Some said she engaged in "heavy petting" which seemed to mean a lot back seat nudity. This was not her first sighting of a penis.

Her question was therefore mock innocent.

"Doctor, is Davey's penis..."

Her pause was cruel.

"...smaller than other boys'?"

"Well, Irene, they come in all sizes. But Davey's is the smallest I have seen at this school. In fact..."

Davey came close to fainting. Irene had locked eyes with him. She was smiling.

"...the smallest I have seen in some time."

Davey wanted to shout a protest. He had seen smaller! Hell, big athletes too, tall fellas with a bare three inches stiff! But now Irene had a weapon to deploy- with his sisters, with other girls at school, with girls in his street, with his mother!

The doctor then gave the girl a guided tour of Davey's ballsack. She told Irene that a scrotum was "a muscular sack hanging beneath the penis." The doctor found Davey's stones among his hair. She held the skin and its contents up, as if inspecting some fabric on display in a department store. She explained how some boys- Davey being an example- had their scrotums tighten when their penis hardens. "Look," she said, "Young Davey's scrotum has almost vanished," and they both leaned in close while the doctor cupped the bag and bounced it slightly and looked back at Irene. "The loose skin has been pulled up by the stretching of his penis stem." Davey had flushed with shame and clenched his eyes shut.

He said the final embarrassment was when, lying there, she had quizzed him about masturbation. With Irene standing behind, grinning over the doctor's shoulder, Doctor Speight had got him to admit he was a masturbator. She then closed in with a series of quick questions. How often? Once a day. She pressed him: are you sure only once? What about on weekends? He had crimsoned with hot embarrassment knowing that Irene could hear. He admitted that sometimes he "did it" twice.

Where, the doctor had asked, where do you masturbate? Well, he mumbled close to tears, in bed. Or in the bathroom. Do you use Ponds Cold Cream or Vaseline like many of the boys? Well, sometimes soap, he had whispered. Do you think about naked girls when you masturbate, the doctor had asked. He froze...then nodded, eyes filling. Over the doctor's shoulder Irene had grinned, triumphant. Do you think about their breasts, the doctor had pressed. "Yes," he had gulped. "Sometimes." Irene's chest had filled.

There was silence. Both the doctor and the girl had stared at his offending erection: four inches on the dorsal side, wrinkled and red, with a pointy cap.

"You keep doing that and, of course, it will never grow."

The doctor then walked to her desk and returned with a plastic beaker. "You like doing it. So do it now," she said. Whaddddt? The boy had jolted with astonishment. She was instructing him to...jack off? Now? In front of them? She looked determined and was holding the beaker at the head of his cock. Then like an autonomon he had put a hand on the flesh, as if doing it for the first time, and hesitantly moved it up and down. Then suddenly he stopped.

"But, please doctor...please...not with her here. It's embarrassing and she...she...will tell my sisters."

"Nonsense. You have just said you masturbate. And I don't think girls are very interested in what silly boys get up to under the blankets or behind the bathroom door. Are they Irene?"

The girl shook her head, her gaze fixed on Davey's erection, her blue eyes swimming. On back seats on many occasions she had enjoyed the school's best athletes. With pants, rolled to their ankles they had slurped over her breasts or fingered her crotch while they jacked themselves off. This was different. Oh boy, was this different! She was getting to see a boy forced against his will to jack off in front of superior, dressed females, the agonised humiliation of a fella writhing with embarrassment at a four inch prick.

The doctor told him to start, to do it just as he did when he was on his own. He set to, eyes closed so he couldn't see Irene's.

When it was over- his ropey emissions had roiled into the beaker and flavoured the air- Doctor Speight had Irene write a note with Davey's name and stick it with adhesive to the beaker, the girl grinning at the close-up view of the stuff that had flown out of Davey's stubby penis. She couldn't wait...to let all the girls in her class hear, to catch Davey's three sisters and brief them "...and Doctor Speight said Davey had the smallest of any of the boys, the smallest in the school!"

She looked at him with contempt, flat on the table, long and skinny- hairy to boot, his subsiding penis dribbling disgracefully, his arms by his sides as the doctor had instructed. She caught his eye and smiled. He wilted.

Meanwhile Johnny Marcello slumped on the bench outside the school surgery. As the minutes ticked by his fear mounted. He kept thinking of these reports from his friends. There was a sinister, creepy feeling about the prospect of a female doctor making him take his clothes off and do those other things like...checking on his masturbation and collecting his sperm samples or rating his body's hairiness...

Surely...

...surely not all of them. Surely after doing with all those other boys she would only expect him to have a quick check-up, just down to underpants. Maybe...maybe...she would just slip her fingers into them, to feel that all was normal. Allow him to maintain his privacy, his dignity. And surely there would be no more girls admitted. There must have been complaints. And no Miss Assam.

Three senior girls sauntered past.

"Marcello...!"

"...to the doctor!"

"Oh my God!"

"I hope it's our turn!"

And they doubled up, roaring with cruel girls' laughter.

Before he could reflect on this deepening mystery the frosted door opened and Doctor Speight appeared. "Johnny Marcello? Thanks for being punctual. Come right in, please."

Talk about business-like. Everything about her suggested she was to be obeyed.

Doctor Ida Speight was in her 50s, large bosomed, broad beamed, certainly stern, with her hair in a bun and glasses hanging around her neck. She wore a crisp white coat. Johnny's stomach was in turmoil and his eyes darted with terror. He nervously took in the small, compact surgery with its desk covered in files. There was an examination table and, in one corner, a screen.

Ominously, a medical chart on one wall offered a diagram of the male urinary tract and sexual organ.

"We've got to get you back to your class as soon as we can, so let's get into it," said the doctor. She added that the survey element meant it was going to be a particularly thorough examination.

Johnny's stomach turned over. His guts felt they were turning to water. This is what he - in fact, every male his age- dreaded: being " examined " by a female doctor or nurse without clothes - and, let's be frank, getting an erection. And Johnny had, he thought, a particular reason to fear a full body examination. He was stiff most of the time and would certainly never be able to keep it down and soft in front of a lady doctor. But worse, his cock was very unusual, or at least that's what he thought.

It was a six incher, somewhat thick, and with a extra-large plumpish head. Like a particularly spongy mushroom. So far no problem. But when erect- which seemed to be its natural state- it curved inward decisively, to point back at its owner. It looked just like a big ripe banana. When it sprang up in the showers after football or swimming it got the other boys' attention and rapidly became the subject of conversation. "Banana prick" was the inevitable jest from naked boys who would rather have a mate's penis discussed than their own. That was par for the course but what would a fucking female doctor make of this...this little deformity? It was something he had always worried about.

This was his little secret.

And weren't his heavy balls too low-hanging and loose? His right ball hung much lower than the other. Way lower. Certainly other boys had said so, especially Eddie Whyte who seemed to take a great interest in Johnny's physique and in the showers had proposed games of what he called "bare back wrestling," just the two of them.

Then from Doctor Speight came the instruction he had dreaded.

"Go behind the screen and strip off."

He winced, as if struck in the face.

She was looking him straight in the eyes.

The words "strip off" hung in the air.

He walked in a stupor, almost hypnotized, and found himself behind the screen slowly loosening his tie. As he moved to shirt buttons he felt a prickle of pure terror. And it didn't fade as the trousers joined his shirt on the chair. Looking down at his BVDs he quietly resolved to test his luck.

Leaving them on- the last cover of his modesty- he hesitated. Then he took three faltering steps, emerging from the screen to present himself .

Lifting her head from the paperwork on her desk Dr Speight gave him one look and said, "Oh, I think we can take those off as well..."

Her tone suggests she is used to dealing with the wiles of schoolboys with false notions of modesty. And using authority to make them take off all their clothes. No matter how reluctant the young men might be to stand bare as a board in front of a matronly woman medico.

"...This is a serious examination and I haven't got X-ray eyes."

Johnny Marcello again looks like he's been slapped: his face freezes in exquisite pain.

"Of course, if you want to...I can always take them off for you."

In shock, he quickly retreats behind the screen. He's flushed with panic. A spooky feeling of agitation fills him. She's ordered him to appear completely naked. Without so much as a fig leaf...starkers...in front of her, a woman, a female, a lady doctor.

Moving as if in a trance Johnny slips thumbs into his waistbands. He hesitates like a frightened animal. But what can he do? So slowly, slowly, slowly he slides his underpants down his legs. He steps out of them and hangs them on the chair.

Johnny Marcello is in his birthday suit. As nude as Michelangelo's David. And more frightened than if he were facing Goliath. He can feel the air around his cock and balls. He feels very, very naked. He keeps thinking of the old expression, "as naked as the day he was born." He thinks of his Italian-descended, traditional Catholic mother seeing him like this- and quickly banishes the dirty thought.

He takes a deep breath.

Like a schoolboy to a spanking he moves sluggishly out from the screen, this time to present himself to this formidable lady- the age, incidentally, of his Mom- in puris naturalibus. Desperately, as soon as he thinks of it, he throws his hands in front of his genitalia.

A Venus-pose. He hopes it looks natural . The obvious place to hang them, after all . Almost appearing an innocent afterthought. Folded, they might just cover the timberline of glistening pubic hair. Might even help cover an eventual erection.

Doctor Speight looks up to eye him through the glasses poised on the tip of her nose.

"That's the boy," she says, looking right at him. Johnny blushes deeper than he has ever blushed in his life- and he is a natural blusher. But at least he's got himself sort of covered.

"Now let's weigh you. Up on the scales, John."

Hands rigid before his member, Johnny awkwardly turns to cross the room. But- uh oh- he realizes he's presenting the doctor with a picture-perfect view of his white globes right smack in her line of vision. The humiliation, he thinks, she can see all of my bare behind, my bum cheeks. As he hobbles onto the scales he's also aware his loose scrotal sac is swinging slightly but at least his cock is limp...for now.

Please don't let it get hard, he prays.

He stands on the scales staring fixedly ahead. With a clipboard the doctor moves to his side. Close- he can feel her fill the airspace.

"Let's see. Yes, a healthy, heavy weight for a boy of your age. For a young athlete." She writes on her notepad .

"Now over by the wall and we'll take your height."

Hands in front Johnny moves to the measuring rod. He still suffers that unique tingle of fear in his guts: tense horror at being totally stitchless in front of a lady. The doctor aligns the measure with the top of his head- he feels her breath on his shoulders- and makes another note.

"Good. Now we'll take measurements around your chest, waist and hips. Sooo... if you'll just place your hands on your head."

Again he registers an exquisite look of astonishment.

Once again, no alternative but to obey. Trembling he raises his arms to his head, revealing armpits bursting with proud black hair. And exposing lower down his scroll of pubic bush. Dangling from it is now revealed his wide young bratwurst, the foreskin covering the entire head, meeting at the tip in an irregular rosy pucker.

He is now completely open to her gaze. But she is over at her desk looking for something.

She swings back towards him with a tape measure. She keeps her eyes up, deliberately it seems, to avoid staring at his lily-white privates. Standing right in front of the scared, buck-naked 18 year-old she now encloses his upper body with outstretched arms and tape, pinching the two ends together. Just under his left armpit. He shudders, nearly jumps, at the tickle. Turns beet red. This is terrible, just terrible.

He is beginning to think that something might be stirrring in his loins...

Doctor Speight, finished with his chest, now moves lower, slipping the encircling tape down Johnny's trunk to his midriff where she repeats the exercise. Bet her eyes are feasting on me, he thinks, as he stares resolutely ahead. She can see everything a fella can call his own - my cock, my hair, my balls. Bet she's going to make some king of fuss about me not being circumcised. Or having uneven, low hanging balls.

His self control is now being challenged.

The tingle of air around his unclothed genitals.

His top to toe nudity which, in his childhood in a very strict Catholic home, was always associated with being naughty. Being rude. Being disgusting and obscene.

Inevitably with such thoughts Johnny's prick begins to thicken. To start, it's barely perceptible. That big fleshy head with the grinning slit just protrudes a little from the foreskin as if to ask, "Hi, what's going on here?"

Then it pushes further out, as the foreskin withdraws back along the shaft...which has now also decided to lengthen. Unmistakably, to lengthen.

The doctor, however, is all business. She almost prattles, "We're making a comprehensive record of how males your age develop. Sooo...all these measurements come in useful."

Johnny is willing his prick to subside, marshalllng every fibre of self restraint. But it is at the point where that fleshy head - actually now at its full circumference- is lifting from the balls. Up and away! Always the crucial stage, the point of no return.

Please don't shame me in front of a woman doctor, he orders his dick, please...what will she think? But Johnny's prick is really stretching now. The skin tugs back along its shaft. It is pointing to the floor, at the angle of a slippery slide in a playground.

Fortunately she has finished with the tape and is making notations. "Our aim is to chart growth from year to year," she says concentrating on filling in the spaces. "A very interesting exercise given that the male body at your age is at such a sensitive stage..."

He attempts a triumph of the will. But his manhood continues to assert itself, sinews stretching to full length to stick out defiantly. And to swing into that curve, in one final pulse to point accusingly back at Johnny's flat abs .

Stre...etch!

A final stiffening and he is sporting a stubborn, beam-hard erection, not quite your 45 degree textbook stiffy, given that banana-bend which is his distinguishing feature. But by any test, his membrum virile is well and truly there for all to see. And his balls hang low, barely diminished by the erection.

"Oh, you can put your hands down now," she says with what Johnny recognizes as a sickly sweet tone. Probably suppressing a giggle at my embarrassment, he thinks. She is determinedly not looking down at his jutting meat. But he knows she knows, that is, about his embarrassment; for one thing, because her manner has switched from businesslike efficiency to one of infinite understanding. A sort of maternal understanding. Sounding like one of those modern, educated, mothers who knows all about their son's challenges like nocturnal emissions and stained sheets.

And there is a hint of a smile.

She looks Johnny right in his moist, terrified eyes and says, "Now, John, the survey requires a measurement below the waist..."

Johnny thinks, she's gonna measure my dick!

"...that is, from your hip to knees, knees to feet. So if you make sure you're standing very straight..."

The doctor bends in front of him. Johnny sees only the top of her head. He feels her press the end of the tape to the inside of his trembling thigh. He gapes but no sound comes out. Her thumb and forefinger are holding the tape in place...up there between his balls and inner thighs!

Johnny's stubborn young manhood rears above her, like a bent artillery piece on a battle cruiser. In such a sensitive spot her touch sends a few more jolts into his rigid prick and renders it, if possible, even harder. He screws his eyes shut.

He has a shameful vision. A wicked little fantasy that he has locked onto for as long as he can remember. He is there, buck-naked with his banana-shaped erection on display, and a party of girls from his class and his neighborhood are standing in front of him. Some of them, friends of his sisters. Neatly dressed in their school clothes, of course. Each staring greedily at his funny-shaped boner, nudging one another. Giggling in that ruttish, girly way; never taking their mocking eyes off his curved flesh standing absurdly to attention above the low-hanging sack, one ball lower than its twin- which they also begin to find curious. And point at. Giggling because they find it as funny as his cock.

In another favoured fantasy a female swimming coach has arrived at the school and organised mixed swimming with girls to wear suits and boys to compete naked as jays. The girls watch as the teacher lines up the boys and, one at a time, hauls down their swimmers. Whisk! Down she draws them! Down furry legs to ankles. "Step out of those, please!" And the girls stare!

That's a favorite. Boy! That gets him excited!

For the first time he sees her drop her gaze on his blood-hardened projection. This cannot be happening, he thinks with a visible shudder.

Again her tone is that of a very enlightened mother talking to a troubled teenage son. She looked him in the eye and said: "The male organ comes in all shapes and sizes and bends are not at all unknown. Not all all. At a guess I would say one boy in 20 in your school would have either an outward or an inward angulation on his penis when erect, although few as strong as yours. But it is not Peyrorie's disease and it is important you know it has no effect on a male's capacity to enter a woman and have sexual congress..."

Johnny was suffering waves of deep blushing and his eyes were filling with tears, so acute was his shame at having his condition discussed while stark naked and inches from this doctor.

"...and as for involuntary erections like the one you have now, relax. Totally commonplace- especially in medical examinations, and especially with a woman doctor or nurse."

Her smile was devastating. He dropped his gaze. One tear actually spilled onto his cheek.

"Now, I'll just check for hernia."

Johnny's eyes screwed shut again while the doctor delicately handled each ball in his bag.