Clinical Restraints and shameful examination (MF/M)

[Richman65]

Clinical Restraints

It was supposed to be a routine medical exam. No one warned him that in this clinic, protocols are merely an excuse to explore what truly happens when a strong, trained body is pushed to its limits... and beyond.
The restraints are medical-grade leather. The stares, too intense to be professional. And when cold steel instruments slide where they shouldn’t, the truth becomes clear: this examination isn’t about his health—it’s about how much he’s willing to endure... and how much he’ll secretly enjoy it.

The door of Aurora Clinic - Advanced Sports Medicine opened with a soft click. Daniel "Danny" Carter, 21 years old and 1.85 meters tall, adjusted his swim team backpack over his left shoulder, the muscles of his V-shaped back tensing under his fitted shirt. His skin, bronzed from years of training under the sun, contrasted sharply with the immaculate white walls.

"Are you sure this is the place?" asked Emily, his high school sweetheart, fiddling with the silver necklace he’d given her—a tiny heart pendant that always tangled in her loose blouse. Her liquid green eyes, like algae in deep water, scanned the clinic’s luxurious lobby as if searching for clues about what awaited them.

At 1.68 meters, she was just tall enough for Danny to notice how her dark brown bangs fluttered every time she breathed nervously. Petite but not fragile—her short black-painted nails, her worn Converse sneakers—everything about her screamed a rebellion that softened only when she held his hand.
Danny ran a hand through his damp, dark brown hair, still wet from his post-training shower.

"The coach was clear," he whispered. "All competitive swimmers have to get examined here this year."

What the coach hadn’t mentioned was why. The university already had sports physicians, but according to the official statement, Aurora Clinic had "cutting-edge technology for comprehensive biomechanical evaluations." Danny suspected something else: rumors swirled that the league director had ties to the clinic’s owner—something about sponsorship contracts and "premium" exams that, coincidentally, cost triple the standard rate.

But Danny couldn’t risk it. If he wanted to keep his scholarship and his spot as team captain, he had no choice.
The air smelled of disinfectant, that sharp chemical sting that made noses twitch. The walls were adorned with photos of Olympic athletes, all flashing perfect smiles and steely gazes. "Thanks to Aurora Clinic for keeping us at our best," read a plaque beneath a famous runner’s portrait.

Danny sank into a black leather chair, feeling the cold material cling to his thighs. Emily flipped through a fitness magazine, though her eyes kept darting toward the receptionist—a blonde woman whose cleavage seemed to defy workplace dress codes.

"Name?" the receptionist asked without looking up.

"Daniel Carter. I have a 3:00 appointment."

"Ah, yes. The swimmer." Finally, she lifted her gaze, scanning Danny’s body with a smile that left no room for ambiguity. "Dr. Graves is expecting you."

The doctor greeted them with a professional smile, but his gray eyes scrutinized Danny as if already assessing every muscle beneath his clothes.
The office smelled sterile. Danny adjusted his sweatshirt over his shoulders while Emily, beside him, kept flipping through her magazine with feigned interest.

"Daniel Carter?"

The voice was warm, professional. Both looked up at the tall man in a white coat holding the door open. Dr. Graves smiled with a perfect blend of authority and cordiality, his reading glasses hanging around his neck like a casual afterthought.

"You may both come in," he said, gesturing broadly. "Unless you’d prefer the lady to wait outside, Daniel."

Emily subtly squeezed Danny’s hand.
"I’m staying," she declared before he could respond.

The office was surprisingly cozy. Well-worn medical books, a discreetly hung diploma, even a green plant in the corner—nothing like the cold hospital rooms Danny remembered.

"Sofia," Graves called softly, "could you bring us some water, please?"

The side door opened almost immediately.
The nurse who entered wore scrubs so impeccably pressed they might as well have been carved from marble. Her dark brown hair was pulled into a flawless bun, not a strand out of place.

"Of course, Doctor," she replied, her voice sweet but not warm.

Her dark eyes flicked from Graves to Danny, then to Emily, scanning each of them with the efficiency of an X-ray. When she left, Danny noticed Emily had gone rigid beside him.

"My assistant," Graves explained as he sat. "Sofia has been with me for five years. She has... exceptional hands."

Something in his tone made Danny swallow hard. Emily’s brow furrowed slightly.

"Well, let’s begin," Graves continued, picking up his tablet. "Daniel, before any physical exam, I need to understand your routine. Do you train daily?"

As Danny answered, he noticed Sofia returning with a metal tray holding three glasses of water. She set it down with a soft clink, but when he reached for his, her fingers brushed his.

A brief, calculated touch.

Emily saw it. So did Dr. Graves.

And when Danny looked up, Graves was watching all three of them with a smile that didn’t reach his gray eyes.
The clinic’s cold light reflected off the white tiles as Danny Carter perched on the edge of the examination table, the sanitary paper crinkling under his thighs. Beside him, Emily nervously toyed with the hem of her blouse, eyeing the metal instruments on the tray.
Dr. Graves, seated across from them on his stool, scrolled through his tablet with apparent distraction before beginning.

"Sofia will be recording all your responses and assisting me during the exam," he continued. "Clinic protocol requires a second professional present for sports evaluations. For your safety... and ours."

Danny nodded, though he couldn’t help but notice how Sofia’s gaze lingered a second too long on his shoulders before dropping to her tablet.
Graves started with routine questions, his voice neutral as he typed:

"Do you drink alcohol?"
"Only at parties, occasionally."
"Do you smoke?"
"Never."
"Average hours of sleep?"
"Six, seven... sometimes less during competitions."
The doctor nodded, making a note.
"Have you ever lost consciousness during exercise?"
"No."
"Do you take any supplements besides vitamins?"

As Danny answered, Graves stood and retrieved a blood pressure cuff. Sofia, silent, recorded every word with clinical precision.

"Good," said the doctor, turning back with the device. "Now we’ll take some physical measurements. First, blood pressure."
The cuff tightened around Danny’s arm with a mechanical whir. Sofia stepped closer to note the result, her subtle lavender perfume mingling with the latex scent of her gloves. She logged the numbers with robotic efficiency, but her quickened pulse betrayed her. Danny smelled like chlorine and something more intimate, an aroma that clung to her throat. The doctor always chose the most beautiful subjects, but this one... this one was special.

"120 over 80," Graves announced. "Perfect for an athlete. Now, we need your exact weight and height."

He pointed to the professional scale in the corner but made no mention of a gown or changing screen.

"To avoid skewed data, clothing can’t interfere," he explained, as if reading Danny’s mind. "You can keep your underwear on, of course."

Emily, silent until now, cleared her throat.
"Do you want me to wait outside?"

Graves offered a professional smile.
"Actually, it’s preferable you stay. For high-performance evaluations, it’s helpful to have someone close who can corroborate details later... eating habits, sleep patterns, that sort of thing."

It was a reasonable excuse. Too reasonable.
Danny, with no choice, stood and began peeling off his team sweatshirt.
The white T-shirt slid onto the chair, revealing a torso sculpted by years of training. Sofia didn’t look up, but her fingers paused briefly over the tablet.

"Now the pants, please," Graves said, as casually as if asking for the time.

Danny hesitated, but the expectant stares—the doctor, the nurse, even Emily, now slightly flushed—left him no choice.
He held his breath. He wasn’t shy—sports had taught him to undress without shame—but this was different. The way Graves and Sofia stared wasn’t evaluative. It was... hungry.
The training pants slid down his legs, the sound of Velcro tearing through the chlorine-and-alcohol-charged silence like a gunshot. Danny exhaled sharply, feeling the clinic’s cold air lick his thighs as the fabric pooled around his sneakers.
He pushed the pants to his ankles, revealing snug white cotton briefs that clung to his athletic frame like a second skin. The simple garment accentuated every curve of his narrow hips and powerful thighs, the pristine elastic waistband a stark contrast against his golden skin. The fabric hugged his anatomy with a fidelity that left little to the imagination.
Dr. Graves paused almost imperceptibly as his gaze traveled over the young man’s form before snapping back to his tablet with practiced professionalism. But he couldn’t miss how Sofia, across the room, blinked a beat too slowly, her dark eyes flickering over Danny’s body before she lowered them to her paperwork, face schooled into neutrality.
Emily, seated in the corner, felt heat rush up her neck. She knew every inch of her boyfriend’s body. But seeing him here, exposed and vulnerable under the clinic’s bright lights, with that nurse watching... it made her blood boil. Was it anger? Desire? She couldn’t tell. Her fingers twisted nervously in her blouse’s hem. Part of her wanted to cover him, shield him from those gazes; another, more secret part thrilled at how even the doctor seemed affected by his presence.

"Excellent physical condition," murmured Graves as he adjusted the blood pressure cuff, carefully avoiding direct eye contact with where the white cotton stretched taut. "Now, for the flexibility measurements..."

Danny nodded, hyperaware of every gaze in the room—even the ones pretending not to look—burning into him. The AC raised goosebumps along his bare skin, the fine hairs on his legs standing on end. He’d never felt so exposed. So... examined.
And the worst—or maybe the strangest—part? Somewhere deep inside, a part of him responded to that attention, to the evaluative stare that seemed to savor every detail of his physique. But that was something he’d never admit aloud.

"Perfect," Graves murmured, gesturing to the scale. "Step up, please."

The digital scale beeped sharply as Danny stepped on, shattering the tense silence. Sofia recorded the number with a steady hand, though the faint blush on her cheeks betrayed her composure.
As Danny moved, he felt the weight of their stares.
And he knew this was only the beginning.
Dr. Graves snapped on his latex gloves with a sharp click that echoed through the room. He adjusted his stethoscope with fingers that barely concealed their eagerness. Danny’s skin was warm under the cold metal, and he pressed the instrument a second longer than necessary, relishing how the young man suppressed a shiver.

"Breathe deeply," he ordered, though he knew Danny already had. He wanted to watch his chest expand; his abs tighten under that thin sheen of sweat. It was a routine exam, of course. It always was.
His gray eyes flicked to Sofia, who held the measurement chart with a solemnity only they understood. She wanted to see him squirm too, he realized. And that was why he’d chosen her: no one would notice how her hands "accidentally" grazed the waistband of those white briefs.
Graves’ fingers traced Danny’s ribcage with anatomical precision, but there was something more in his touch—a curiosity that went beyond medicine. His nails, trimmed to the millimeter, pressed just hard enough to leave ghostly marks. When he inhaled, Danny caught his scent—menthol and ether, as if the man had rubbed himself down with alcohol beforehand.

"Fascinating," Graves murmured, pausing at the hollow between pectoral and shoulder. "Your muscle tissue responds even at rest. Have you always been this... reactive?"

Silence.

"Now turn onto your side, Mr. Carter," he said, gesturing to the table with a smile that never reached his eyes. "I need to evaluate the flexibility of your... posterior muscles, as well as your range of motion." He unspooled a metal measuring tape that gleamed under the fluorescent lights. "Lie on your back, please."

Danny obeyed, the cold paper sticking to his bare skin. His already-minimal white briefs seemed to emphasize rather than conceal under their scrutiny.
Sofia approached with a digital thermometer, but her gaze strayed for a heartbeat to Danny’s defined torso before snapping back to professional indifference.

"First, we’ll take your core temperature," the doctor announced. "Open your mouth, please."

The thermometer slid under his tongue as Sofia adjusted the goniometer with hands feigning detachment. She knew what Graves wanted: for her to "slip" while measuring his hips, for her fingers to "accidentally" brush his inner thigh. And she’d do it—it was her role. But this time, for the first time, it wasn’t just obedience.

"Extend your leg, please," she murmured, and when Danny complied, she tightened the device harder than necessary, just to watch his toes curl.

Graves began measuring the length of his arms, his gloved fingers dragging deliberately slow over every centimeter of skin.
"Perfect extension," he murmured, moving to measure his chest. His hands lingered too long around his pecs, thumbs pressing just hard enough on his nipples to make them stiffen against his will.

Emily, still seated, clenched her fists on her knees. Something about how the doctor handled her boyfriend’s body twisted her stomach.
"Is... all this really necessary?" she asked, fighting to keep her voice steady.

Graves didn’t even glance up.
"Standard protocol for elite athletes, Miss Clarke. Every detail matters."

The thermometer beeped. Sofia withdrew it, letting her fingers graze Danny’s lips unnecessarily.
"36.7. Normal," she announced, though the gleam in her eyes suggested she’d found something far more interesting.

The doctor continued, now measuring the circumference of Danny’s thighs. His hands slid down the inner seam, stopping just where the briefs’ elastic bit into his skin.
"Lift your legs, hip flexion," he ordered, guiding the motion with a hand beneath Danny’s knee.

Emily held her breath as the white fabric strained dangerously, revealing more than it concealed. Sofia, ostensibly organizing instruments, missed nothing.

"Excellent flexibility," Graves remarked, pressing into his hamstring. "Though I detect some tension here..."

His hands traveled lower, "assessing" his calf, then his ankle, in an unnecessarily slow descent.

The office phone vibrated with a muffled buzz. Dr. Graves sighed, retrieving the device from his pocket with visible irritation.

"Excuse me—I must take this."

He exited with quick steps, leaving the door slightly ajar. His voice faded down the hallway, murmuring medical terminology.
That's when Sofia, without warning, opened a metal cabinet and withdrew four wide black nylon straps with industrial-grade Velcro closures. The restraints gleamed like sleeping serpents. The metallic clack of the cabinet made both Danny and Emily blink in surprise.

"What...?" Danny began, but Sofia was already approaching with the first strap in hand.

"For neuromuscular reflex testing," she explained in a neutral tone as she wrapped the band around his right ankle. The shhhk-CRRRR of Velcro sealing echoed like thunder in the sterile silence.

Emily's stomach clenched watching the thick material depress the golden skin of her boyfriend's ankle.

"Wait—is this really necessary? Is this standard protocol?" she protested, but Sofia continued as if she hadn't spoken.

The second strap (zzzip-VRMMP) secured his left wrist to the examination table with professional efficiency. Danny instinctively tested the restraint, feeling the rough nylon chafe against his arm hair.

"Relax," Sofia murmured as she placed the third strap on his left ankle (rrrip). Her gloved fingers—cold despite the latex—lingered a beat too long while adjusting the tension.

Emily stood frozen as the fourth and final strap (CHAK) completed Danny's immobilization. His athletic torso arched slightly against the restraints, making the white briefs stretch even tighter across his hips.
A cold sweat broke across Danny's back as the straps triggered memories of nightmares where he'd try to run but couldn't move. The restraints left crimson grooves in his skin, like marks from a nonconsensual ritual. He noticed with growing discomfort how every deep breath emphasized the tightness of his underwear.
Emily dug her nails into her palms watching Sofia "adjust" the straps with excessive meticulousness. Something about the nurse's expression—that clinical gaze that nevertheless roamed Danny's body with microscopic attention—formed a knot in her throat.

"According to Sports Medicine Association protocol," Sofia recited, "we need to evaluate stress responses through controlled restraint."

"I... I'll wait outside," Emily blurted, standing so abruptly her purse hit the floor.

Neither Sofia nor Danny responded. The nurse simply stepped aside, adjusting a metal instrument on the tray with barely concealed enthusiasm.
The door clicked shut behind Emily. Her footsteps faded rapidly down the hall.
The door closed behind her, cutting Emily off from Dr. Graves' confessional universe. She took a deep breath, grasping for normalcy in the deserted hallway. Just as she moved to leave, a sound stopped her cold—not quite clear, somewhere between a sob and indistinguishable moans, followed by a deep sigh penetrating the wooden barrier.
Was that... muffled voices? Dull thuds? Never clear, always open to interpretation. Or... the sound of a body shifting against leather, accompanied by gasps?
A contradictory shiver ran through her: cold skin, molten belly. The image of Danny—vulnerable or perhaps... aroused—imposed itself violently. Her hand almost involuntarily grazed the door's cold surface. It's indecent to listen, she thought, yet her feet refused to move. Another series of sounds, faster now—
The line between concern and electric, almost painful curiosity dissolved completely. When she finally turned to leave, she did so with her head slightly turned, as if part of her remained glued to that door, trapped in the mystery of those ambiguous sounds feeding forbidden emotions.
Dr. Graves reappeared at that moment, as if he'd been waiting for the perfect timing. His gray eyes swept over Danny's restrained body with thinly veiled satisfaction. Like a collector admiring a new acquisition.
"Perfect," he murmured as latex gloves creaked around his flexing fingers. "Now we may begin the full examination."

Sofia smiled for the first time, handing him a metal speculum that gleamed under the clinic's cold lights.
Dr. Graves approached the examination table where Danny lay immobilized, his minuscule underwear serving as the only barrier between his body and the gleaming metal instruments under fluorescent lights that accentuated every muscle, casting indecent shadows across his abdomen.

"Before we proceed," Graves said, picking up surgical scissors that snapped ominously in the air, "we require complete access for the inguinal examination. Standard protocol."

Danny held his breath as the blades hovered near his waistband. But rather than cutting, Graves folded the fabric downward with millimeter precision, exposing just enough while maintaining symbolic coverage.
With Danny now more exposed yet technically still "clothed," Graves began asking increasingly uncomfortable questions while his gloved fingers traced circles near—but not quite touching—the groin:
"Does Emily typically initiate intimate contact during your competitive abstinence period?"

His fingertips pressed lightly against the inner seam of Danny's briefs. Sofia leaned forward, her cleavage crossing professional boundaries.

"Do you notice decreased lung capacity the day after sexual activity?"

"I-I don't know, Doctor."

"You should measure it... for science." The cold metal of forceps grazed the waistband, making Danny shudder.

The stainless steel slid beneath the fabric's edge. "I've... never tracked it," Danny murmured.

"Have you considered how bondage might improve performance? Controlled limb restriction increases—"

"Doctor!" Sofia feigned modesty, though her eyes burned with curiosity.

Graves smiled. "We're discussing science, Sofia. Daniel understands."

The speculum was never used where Danny feared. Instead, Graves employed it to examine:
Tension in lower abdominal muscles (pressing the instrument through fabric)

"Vascular response" (measuring femoral pulse with forceps)

When finished, Graves removed his gloves with a final snap.

"You may cover yourself," he said, knowing the straps prevented movement. Sofia pretended to help, only twisting the waistband tighter.

Sofia approached Dr. Graves holding a metallic instrument that reflected the clinical light.

"The Jennings mouth gag, Doctor," she said professionally.

Graves accepted it with surgical solemnity, rotating it for Danny's inspection.

"This is a standard mandibular immobilization device, Daniel," he explained calmly. "Though some call it the Jennings gag, its purpose isn't to silence you—though speech will be temporarily limited—but to maintain controlled oral access during examination."

His gloved fingers indicated each component with academic precision:

"Ergonomic medical rubber pads protect your molars, screw mechanism for graduated opening, and tongue depressor to prevent obstructions." Graves ran a finger along the surface that would soon touch Danny's tongue. "This screw adjusts your jaw... gradually."

The antiseptic's sharp scent filled the air.

"Open please," Graves instructed, positioning the device. "As wide as is comfortable... though we'll exceed that limit for accurate data."

When Danny complied, the doctor slid the pads over his tongue with false delicacy. Sofia secured the occipital rods behind him, her fingers lingering on his nape.

"Phase one adjustment," Graves announced (click). Danny's jaw yielded two centimeters.
"Phase two," (click) The depressor pressed his tongue down.
"Optimal aperture achieved," (final click) His jaw spread wide enough to expose tonsils.

"Aaghn Ggkh—!"

"Breathe through your nose," Graves instructed, activating his penlight. "This isn't to prevent speech, though I understand the resemblance. Purely scientific methodology."

He secured a leather strap around Danny's neck with surgical precision, the supple yet unyielding material ensuring complete immobility.

"Safety first," Graves murmured, testing the strap's tension. The leather's creak mingled with Danny's saliva dripping onto stainless steel. "Though something tells me you'd prefer it... less secure."

The cold light probed every oral cavity crevice. Sofia recorded data, but her eyes lingered on:
Saliva strands connecting lips to chest
The visible tension in his neck
His tongue's futile movements Gloves crunched as Graves slid two fingers along Danny's restrained tongue. Accumulated saliva dripped into Sofia's metal tray.

"Wider," Graves ordered, though Danny's jaw was at maximum. His thumb massaged the frenulum in circles, eliciting:

"Hhhnnnn!"

"Uncomfortable?" The doctor's fingers advanced to the soft palate, triggering gag reflexes. "Just testing responses... though others prove more interesting."

His gaze dropped to Danny's tented briefs. Sofia adjusted the lamp without breaking professionalism.

"Deeper assessment," Graves declared. With obscene slowness, he penetrated further until knuckles brushed lips. The latex texture, rhythmic motion, and excessive moisture too closely simulated another act.

"Mmm... excellent mucosal lubrication," he noted, withdrawing with an audible pop.

"By protocol," Graves said while adjusting the pharyngeal speculum, "I must ask: any prior temporomandibular discomfort during training?"

Danny's attempt to speak produced only choked sounds. Drool cascaded down his torso.

"Ah yes," Graves smiled, wiping fluid with gauze that left wet marks. "Verbal responses must wait. Sofia, note 'patient demonstrates optimal competitive jaw aperture.'"

The nurse recorded this slowly, the device maintaining Danny's perfect clinical submission.
Having finished the oral inspection, Dr. Graves stepped back.

"All clear here," he announced, stopping Sofia from removing the gag. "Best leave it. We want no... involuntary reactions during the remainder."

Sofia nodded, but Danny caught her fleeting smirk before professionalism returned.
The doctor's hands found Danny's throat.

"Lymph node evaluation," Graves murmured, calculating pressure along his neck. His fingers manipulated the Adam's apple, drawing stifled moans the gag reduced to:

"Angggk aaagh—!"

Descending further, latex-clad hands circled Danny's chest, pausing on nipples that hardened instantly.

"Interesting response," Graves remarked, pinching one gently. Danny shivered with shameful pleasure.

The examination continued with excessive thoroughness, fingers probing abdominal muscles as if seeking more than medical data.

"Deep breaths," Graves ordered near the waistband.

The elastic yielded slightly as Danny's body betrayed him. Humiliation intertwined with illicit pleasure.
Graves positioned himself between Danny's legs, latex gloves straining over flexing fingers.

"Now for the inguinal hernia check," he stated professionally, though his gray eyes gleamed darker.

Fingers descended Danny's abdomen with medical pretext. When they brushed the sensitive area:

"Aaaaaggghh!"

The gag muffled but couldn't conceal his body's response. The waistband strained as Graves "assessed muscular insertion," fingers slipping beneath fabric to touch curly hair.

"Aaah—ghh?"—!"

Sofia interrupted: "Doctor... should we record vitals?"

Graves smiled at the racing heart monitor.

"Excellent suggestion. Although..." His gaze dropped meaningfully. "Some physiological responses require no instruments."

Danny shut his eyes, mortified yet helpless. The gag kept his mouth obscenely open, saliva now mingling with silent gasps.

"Relax," Graves murmured, returning to the waistband. "This is all sports medicine."

Danny's moan sounded suspiciously like pleasure.
The clinic's cold light highlighted every bead of sweat trailing down Danny's torso as his muscles strained against the restraints. The Jennings gag kept his jaw forcibly spread, muffling any sounds that tried to escape.
Dr. Graves observed with professional interest the evident bulge straining against Danny's white briefs, the thin fabric stretched to near-transparency.
"A remarkable physiological response," Graves remarked, snapping his gloves tighter. "But we can't let it interfere with the evaluation."

With precise movements, he unfurled a surgical elastic band.

"This will control pelvic congestion," he explained as he wrapped the base of Danny's erection, tightening gradually until blood vessels stood out against flushed skin.

"Aaahn Hhhnn—!"

Danny arched against the table, but the straps held him immobile. Sharp pain blended with overwhelming pleasure in a contradiction that burned him with shame. Graves remained unfazed.
Leaning closer, Danny caught his own reflection in the doctor's glasses—sweat-slicked, bound, mouth forced open. Graves didn't pant, didn't sweat. His breathing remained measured, as if counting each exhale. As he adjusted the band, a silver strand escaped his immaculate hairstyle, swaying like a pendulum over his forehead as his bare fingers tightened until his knuckles whitened.

"Just seven minutes of evaluation," he said, pressing two fingers along the throbbing vein. "Elite athletes usually tolerate it without issue."

Their eyes met, Graves' gleaming with more than clinical interest.
"Unless you can't endure it."

"Pressure within safe parameters, Doctor," Sofia noted on her tablet, though her sugary tone betrayed professionalism.

She leaned over Danny, her scrubs brushing his restrained arm.
"You must have exceptional vascular capacity," she murmured, biting her lower lip. "Most don't last half this long."

The charged air thickened with each passing second. The elastic creaked faintly with every pulse, keeping Danny teetering on the edge without release.
Graves watched the clock with feigned indifference, but his fingers maintained calculated pressure, ensuring every touch blended torment with pleasure.

"A little longer," he announced, as if Danny weren't acutely aware of each second. "Unless you need us to stop now."

His gaze made it clear this wasn't a real option.
Danny shut his eyes, shame and desire twisting together in his chest. Sofia remained, documenting every spasm, every choked moan, every humiliating detail.
And the worst—or perhaps best—part was some primal part of him never wanted it to end.

"Fascinating physiological feedback," Graves murmured, pretending clinical focus as his fingers lingered too long. "Sofia, document this for the records. Three photographs minimum: full positioning, vascular response, and..." his thumb brushed the leaking tip, "...facial expression."

Sofia stood beside the examination table, gripping the medical camera with near-obsessive focus. The flash captured:
His body arched against restraints
The tented fabric of his briefs
Eyes caught between panic and rapture
Then came the unofficial shots:
Abdominal muscles quivering
Red marks from the constricting band
Glazed eyes losing control

"Exemplary," Graves said when reviewing the images. "Daniel, you're a... model patient." His double meaning hung thick as he added, "I'll inform your girlfriend we're nearly done."

When Graves entered the waiting room, Emily jumped up from her seat, fingers worrying her blouse's edge.

"How is Danny?"

"Perfectly controlled, Miss Clarke," Graves adjusted his glasses. "Though we noted unusual... vascular hyperreactivity."

"Meaning?"

"His body overreacts to clinical stimuli." He leaned closer, voice dropping. "Common in young athletes. The testosterone, the competitive pressure..." A calculated pause. "Has he shown similar... responses privately?"

Emily swallowed, recalling nights when Danny finished suspiciously fast.
"N-not that I've noticed."

"Today's treatment helped." His gray eyes glinted. "Though he'll need monthly follow-ups. To... practice control."

Before she could respond, he added:
"He'll be... sensitive afterward. Be gentle."

He left her flushed; Danny's bound image seared into her mind.

While Graves was out, Sofia traced Danny's restraints.
"This reaction isn't unusual," she whispered. "But yours... God, the scale is impressive."

She slipped a card into his discarded pants' pocket.
"Call me for private... consultations."

Danny couldn't help noticing Sofia's curves—the scrubs' thin fabric clinging with each calculated movement, revealing white lace beneath. Her athletic body, full lips, and knowing eyes held him captive.

"Any discomfort here?" Graves pressed near his pubic bone.

Danny shook his head, but his ragged breathing betrayed him. Sofia caught his gaze and leaned forward, ensuring he saw everything.

"Everything appears in order," Graves said, though his hands lingered. "Though next time, we'll need more... thorough evaluation."

Danny closed his eyes, the gag still stretching his mouth as his body betrayed him again.

"Complete duration achieved," Graves announced, gripping the elastic band. "Now we assess circulatory recovery."

A final deliberate squeeze made Danny scream into the gag. The band peeled away with a wet sound, leaving angry marks. Blood rushed back in a painful, dizzying flood. Sofia watched like an entomologist pinning a butterfly—admiring beauty, ignoring suffering.

"Prolonged vasoconstriction with rapid recovery. Nearly record-breaking," Graves remarked, tracing the red lines.

Sofia "cleaned" him with slow, probing strokes.
"No significant edema," she lied, nails grazing his half-hard length. "Though some... congestion remains."

Graves smiled at Danny's shudder.
"Normal post-compression response. But we'll monitor it next session." His gaze promised: This wasn't medicine.

Graves theatrically removed his gloves. "Remove the devices, Sofia."

Her fingers lingered at each strap:
Massaging his marked wrists
Dragging nails along his inner thigh
Brushing his hips while freeing his ankles

"Slowly now," she purred, "helping" him up with unnecessary contact.

Graves eyed his lingering erection.
"Excellent compliance. Though some... reactions require further observation." His whisper burned Danny's neck: "I look forward to testing your limits next month."

As Danny dressed, Sofia "accidentally" grazed his pocket.
"Next time, fewer... restrictions."

"Finally!" Emily hugged him, then admitted in a husky whisper: "Seeing you helpless like that... God, it turned me on."

Danny blinked. "Really?"

"Let's try it at home. Without the medical pretext."

Walking to the car, Danny noted three things:
Sofia's number burning in his pocket.
Emily's hungry gaze.
Next month's appointment card in his hand.

As the engine roared, Danny glanced back at the clinic. One part of him recoiled. Another already imagined:
Graves' hands exploring deeper
Sofia's camera capturing new angles
Emily watching from the corner

Was that groan relief... or disappointment? Even he didn't know.

End.
Your feedback is appreciated. Depending on your comments, I might write a sequel. What do you have in mind?"

[DeeperThanRed]

Great story! It's always a pleasure to see a handsome jock bound in white briefs, and the medical touches were excellent! I hope Danny stays loyal to his girlfriend but finds himself unable to escape further bondage nonetheless.

As a side note, gender tagging your story might help more people check it out.

[Richman65]

Thanks for your comments. Please tell me how to tag it? I'm interested. Maybe later, in the case of a sequel, Danny will give us some new surprises.

[LunaDog]

Firstly, utterly superb, i love a good 'medical' story.

Secondly gender tagging. Simply indicate the gender of the person doing the tying up followed by a '/' then the gender of their victim. So, if a girl ties her boyfriend up for example, this would be of the form F/M.

If more than one person is involved simply indicate so by either putting more than one letter or use the plus sign, i.e. FF/M or F+/M

Finally use CAPITALS to indicate that the people involved, on either side of the equation are adults over the age of eighteen. Lower case, like in the stories for everyone section, means that minors are involved. So, a story in that section between two youngsters would be tagged f/m

Hope this helps.

[Richman65]

Thank you very much for your observation. I´ll do it