Let's Get Started

Text by Susan Strict.  Artwork by Rodzo.

His doctor referred him to the clinic.

It was, the doctor had said jokingly, a ‘problem’ that many men wished they had, but to him it was making his life a nightmare and he desperately wanted a cure.

"I think they will almost certainly be able to help you," the doctor said as he wrote his notes. "It is unusual, but you’re not unique."

He took the appointment card, pleased that he would not have to wait for the usual delay while the wheels of the National Health Service turned interminably slowly and managed, as they so often did, to miss a cog and lose him somewhere in the system.

It had been many months now that he had had the problem. His reluctance to explain it to a doctor had kept him away from the surgery, until finally he had become so frustrated that he really had no choice. He could not do it. He had no problem getting it up and, more to the point, keeping it up. He just could not do it. He was fit, strong, active and healthy. He could quite happily go on for hours, way past the point where not only was any woman completely satisfied but actually demanding that he stop because she had had more than enough. And, every time, he still had not done it.

Two young nurses met him when he arrived at the clinic. He was greatly relieved to find they had received the doctor’s comprehensive notes and that he would not have to explain it all to them. They merely asked him to confirm his name and date of birth, and then led him into one of the rooms at the side of the main corridor.

"Take your clothes off, please," said one of them, "All of them. Then lie on the couch on your back, hands by your sides. The specialist is running a little late, but she’ll be here shortly. We’ll help you get ready for her."

He did as he was told, uncomfortably aware that the presence of the two young nurses was causing him intense arousal, which must have been obvious even before he had finished removing his clothes. He lay down and closed his eyes, trying to concentrate on anything other than those firm young bodies under their crisp, clean, white uniforms.

"The specialist will need you to keep perfectly still while she examines you and performs any procedures she feels necessary," she told him. "So I’m just going to do up these straps to help keep you in one place. Let me know if it’s too uncomfortable at any stage."

He kept his eyes closed as he felt the wide leather straps being buckled across his chest and across the tops of his thighs. These effectively stopped him moving at all. His hands were lifted gently from the couch and straps buckled around each wrist. He felt similar straps being buckled around each of his ankles.

He opened his eyes as suddenly his legs were pulled wide apart off the edges of the narrow couch, and bent backwards towards his wrists. There were two simultaneous clicks from either side of the couch as the wrist cuffs were locked to the ankle cuffs.

"Hey! That’s really uncomfortable," he complained.

"Good," she replied calmly, "Thank you for letting me know. I’ll tighten it a little more until it hurts properly. Sarah, would you gag him now, please. Just until Miss Strict gets here."

The gag, a thick tapered plug on a wide base, was forced between his lips and into his mouth. Sarah buckled it tightly behind his head.

"Now," said the first nurse, "We have a few readings to take before Miss Strict arrives. You’ll like her, and she understands exactly the reason you’re here. She has quite the same problem herself – she so often goes on for hours and hours without quite getting there, but she’s very persistent. I’m sure you’ll get along with her just fine. Have you had your blood pressure taken before?"

He nodded, at the same time vainly trying to make it clear he was unwilling for any of this to continue and just wanted to be released.

"Good," she said. "You’ll recognise this. The pressure cuff usually goes around your arm and we pump it up. It feels quite tight, but it doesn’t hurt. Now, this one is a little different. We put it around your genitals – if you look closely you can see the inside of the cuff is rough and spiky to stop it slipping. Then we inflate it just like the old-fashioned blood pressure device on your arm, only we have to put rather more pressure into it when we’re dealing with that part of your body, so it will feel more than a little tight."

He shook is head frantically, but she was already wrapping the pressure bandage around his testicles and his rigid member. She started to inflate the cuff. As it tightened he felt an intense pain of it squeezing his testicles, and at the same time the roughness of the inside surface pressed its spikiness painfully into his skin. If he had not been gagged he would have shouted at the intense pain of it.

She placed the end of her stethoscope on the very end of his hardness, and listened intently as she released the pressure.

"No," she said, disappointed. "I couldn’t hear the pulse properly. I’ll have to do it again. Sarah, could you help me please. I want you to pump it up a little more this time and control the pressure while I hold onto this and listen for the pulse."

The pressure increased again even more painfully than before. He screamed through his gag as she jerked his hardness one way and then the other before she was able to get the reading she needed.

"Perfect," she said, unwrapping the deflated cuff and putting it away. "Now we need to take your temperature."

Somehow, he knew exactly what was going to happen even before she produced the oddly shaped thermometer and inserted it deeply into his urethra. He was totally powerless to stop her. His body shook with pain and discomfort.

The door to the room swung open and another woman walked in.

"Ah," said the first nurse," Good morning, Miss Strict. He’s all ready for you."

Miss Strict walked up to his and stopped with the fronts of her thighs just touching the top of his head as he lay there. She looked down at him.

"He doesn’t look very happy," she commented. "And you’ve gagged him. He’s not good to me like that."

"I’ll take the gag out," answered the nurse.

"Please do. Would you sit on his chest, if you’d be so kind. It helps if there’s a little more pressure on him, I always find. You can take off your shoes, and your skirt so that you don’t crease it."

"Right then... Mr... er... Jones, is it?" Miss Strict continued as she slipped off her long white coat and dropped it behind her. "Good. I see they’ve fixed you properly, so let’s get started, shall we?"

The nurse clambered on top of Mr Jones’s chest, her shoes placed on a chair and her skirt folded neatly over them. Her knees touched the sides of his face as she crossed her stocking-clad feet under the narrow couch. He started in disbelieve up between her thighs to the split crotch of her shocking-purple knickers.

"Oh Mr Jones," scolded Miss Strict, "It’s not good getting excited over her, she’s only here to assist me. Any attention she pays to you is incidental, purely incidental. I will be attending to this end of you, and Sarah will attend to your other end on my instruction."

The nurse was removing his gag as Miss Strict spoke. Free to speak at last, his words came out in a rush.

"Just undo the straps I don’t want you to do this I didn’t come here to be hurt and pulled around and strapped up like a chicken I want to go what are you going to do?"

"My dear Mr Jones," said Miss Strict in an exasperated tone, "You have a problem, and we’re going to cure it. That’s why you’re here, and that’s what is going to happen."

"Not like this," Mr Jones asserted firmly, "If this is the ‘treatment’ for my problem, then I don’t want it. I don’t have to undergo any treatment I don’t want to. I’ll make other arrangements. Now get off me and undo these straps."

Miss Strict laughed, and the other nurses laughed too. "But you do have to," Miss Strict told him, "Your problem isn’t physical, it’s mental. Your doctor has already signed the certificate and you countersigned with your agreement. I’ve signed it too. You can’t refuse treatment, you know, not under the provisions of the Mental Health Act. So just be a good man and we’ll all get on with it as quickly as we can. With a little luck and a lot of effort you can be back to normal and out of here in a month or two."

"You’re mad," shouted Mr Jones, now really frightened.

Miss Strict laughed again. "No, Mr Jones, it’s you who has the mental problem, although ‘mad’ is not a term we like to use nowadays."

Mr Jones looked up at her trying to see the expression on her face, but his line of vision was partly obscured by her large firm breasts overhung him. Under her coat, now dumped on the floor behind her, she wore only a thin, white leotard which really hid nothing of her body.

"What are you going to do?" he asked again faintly.

"Nothing unpleasant at all, Mr Jones, I assure you. In fact, you are going to experience every man’s dream. Two of us will be making love to you, if you want to look at it that way, and I do so hope that is how you look at it."

"But how...." Mr Jones was confused.

"I’ll explain it carefully to you," Miss Strict told him gently but firmly. "Sarah’s job is to make you do it. Yes, thank you, Sarah. You can put on the surgical gloves now, and make sure they’re well lubricated.

She will work at you until you do do it, and when her shift finishes another nurse will take over. Understand?"

"But that’s the problem," pointed out Mr Jones wearily, "I can’t do it like that. Or any other way."

"Ah but that’s all in your mind," said Miss Strict triumphantly as though she had just proved a point, "You haven’t had any incentive to do it. Now you have an incentive, and that’s where the rest of us come in."

She paused, waiting for his comments. None came, so she continued. "As my nurses may have told you, I have an interesting problem of my own. I have absolutely the greatest difficulty in doing it myself. The only way it works is by lengthy and repeated attention, but never as a result of full penetration. So we have the perfect match. You will give your undivided attention to me, with your tongue and your lips, while Sarah gives her undivided attention to you. Our objective will be quite simply to synchronise: you will do it at precisely the same moment I do it. When we can achieve that every time, we will move on to the next stage."

"That’s not going to make me do it. I’ve tried that with a girlfriend sitting on my face while I... well, you know. It doesn’t work."

"But you didn’t have the incentive!" Miss Strict spoke to him as if he were a particularly stupid child. "The rules are quite simple, but listen carefully:

Firstly, your reward for doing it will be that you are immediately left alone to rest for thirty minutes. That may not seem a particularly attractive reward right now but, believe me, after only a few hours it will seem like heaven.

Secondly, if you achieve synchronisation then you will be allowed to rest for one whole hour, and once you have proved you can achieve it every time then we can move on to the next stage and leave this altogether.

Thirdly, just to make sure you are making the proper effort, if you work hard enough to make me do it at least once before I finish my shift, then you will not have to worry about making anyone do it during the night. If you do not, then Carla will take over from me. Do you know Carla? No? She’s one of my best nurses, and she’s quite the opposite of me. She can do it a hundred times a day, I may exaggerate a little but not much, and she requires almost no effort from you at all. But I warn you, she’s a little on the heavy side and as much as the first few times might well be interesting and enjoyable, by the time she’s done it on top of your face over and over again for her whole eight-hour shift you really will wish you were somewhere else.

Fourthly, if you don’t do it then Sarah’s attentions are going to make you more than a little sore. She’s stronger than she looks, and she has the power in her hands to keep going all day without a break if necessary. If you lose your... um... rigidity then it’s all hands to the pump, as it were. By which I mean we all stop what we’re doing and concentrate on getting it back into the state where we can work on it again. Of course, we have chemicals we can rub in and inject, and all sorts of devices to keep it how we want it, but those are a last resort and I’m sure it won’t come to that. You just need to remember that it might, if you don’t adopt the proper mental attitude and make the effort.

One last thing. While we are at this stage and we don’t yet know you too well, we’ll need to check on your blood pressure and temperature every couple of hours. It’s a necessary precaution which you can forget when we move on to the next stage. Most men aren’t too keen on having those readings taken. I can’t imagine why. Still, if that’s the case with you, then you can look on it as another incentive to get it right so we can all move forward.

I think that’s it. Any questions?"

"You mentioned ‘the next stage’?" His voice was fearful.

"Of course." Miss Strict raised her eyebrows. "You don’t think that merely achieving synchronisation on a regular basis is enough to pronounce you cured?"

"But what next stage?"

"Oh don’t worry about that. I’ll explain it all to you when we get there. That might be weeks away, and you’ll have forgotten everything I’ve told you by then."

Miss Strict started to remove her leotard.

"As I was saying," she went on, "Shall we get started?"

Without waiting for an answer, she stood astride his face and with a small sigh she lowered herself onto him. At the same time, Mr Jones felt Sarah’s gloved hand starting to pump vigorously at his hardness...