Health maintenance organization

by Josef Howard

The new HMO doctor is built like a dream, and has some very interesting ideas about patient care.

I'm a bartender. The dive I work in is usually pretty dead, although we have a few regular patrons, mostly guys who live or work in the neighborhood. My pay is barely enough to cover my rent, and most nights I'm lucky to make over twenty bucks in tips, but the owner treats me and the other guys well, gives us paid vacations and even pays for health insurance. A few months back, without any explanation, the owner changed our health plan. None of our old doctors were in the new plan, which meant we all had to find new doctors and of course that meant physicals and lots of forms. The only silver lining was that when the owner heard us grumbling, he promised us a day off to make the first visit.

None of us had ever been to the local doctor in this new plan, so I had no idea what to expect, but when he walked into the examining room my jaw dropped so fast I just about dislocated it. He was built like a Tom of Finland drawing. He was wearing a loose fitting hospital intern garment, only he left the front unbuttoned, which showed off this enormous hairy pecs and fur covered stone-hard abs. Whatever was stuffed in his crotch stretched the fabric of his loosely tied pants so tight there were horizontal creases around his hips. He held out a broad muscular hand with thick hair on the back and the knuckles.

“Hi, I'm Dr. Bone.”

I wondered if he'd always had that name or if he changed it when he discovered the sight of him gave his patients boners.

“I'm going to be your primary care physician. Have you been in a Health Maintenance Organization before?”

Who hadn't nowadays? I wanted to tell him they were usually a major pain. I mean, half the time you're either well or dead by the time you get to a doctor, or the doctor can't prescribe the drug you need or even mention its name! But he seemed like a good guy and I didn't want to get off on the wrong foot with him.

“Take off your shirt and your pants, please.”

It sounded a little provocative, but I shucked my shirt and pulled down my pants anyway. He had me so excited I was too dazed to be embarrassed about the big ass hard- on that tented my boxers, and apparently he was too professional to acknowledge it. He started listening to my heart and my lungs with his stethoscope and instructing me to breath deep.

“You know the idea behind HMOs is that they can provide more cost effective health care by keeping patients from getting sick in the first place. They make sure you get your inoculations, keep your weight under control, eat well and take care of minor ailments before they get serious and require hospitalization. But I'm proud to tell you that our HMO goes even further. We keep our patients healthy by getting them in the best physical shape of their lives and keeping them in top physical condition. We use a variety of therapies that get results fast, and we shepherd you through the whole process. I've been on the program for two months now, and I feel better than I have in my whole life.”

“You look like you work out,” he added.

I'd been lifting for five years, and I'd managed to gain about forty pounds, but next to him I looked like a pencil neck geek. “I do,” I said.

“A lot of people work out for years and never get things together to make the kind of gains they're capable of. We're going to see that you not only reach your potential, but that you stretch it a size or three.”

One part of me was sure stretched to the limits. And he finally took notice.

“This looks very healthy.” He slipped a hand under my elastic waistband, pulled my underwear under my balls and freed my purple dick. “You like the way I look?” he asked modestly.

I nodded.

“It's okay to touch me,” he offered.

I laid my hand on his hard, warm, pectoral and combed my fingers through his coarse fur. My pinky found his full blunt nipple. I tweaked it gently. He shuddered and drew a quick breath. Below his loose waistband, his tightly packed package was unraveling. At first it slid down his leg about half way to his knee. As I extended my other hand to his chest and fingered his other nipple, it swelled as thick as a Pepperidge Farms salami and began to jump inch by inch to the side, up his hip until it popped above the drawstring and climbed up his rippling stomach. Meanwhile the good doctor was working copious amounts of saliva around my shaft with both his hands. When his dick finally stood straight up and grazed his sternum, I dumped a thick load on his chest and chin. “Excellent,” he said. You're in fine condition. You should respond very well to the treatments.” He wiped a bit of it from his face and slurped it up with his tongue. “Get down on your knees and close your eyes.” I stood up from the examining table and knelt at his feet. “Now open your mouth and say 'ahhh'.”

I did, and a tube steak the size of Florida slid past my teeth, forced my jaw open wide and brushed past my tonsils. I would have gagged if I hadn't been so damned pleased to wrap my wet lips around it. “Awww,” he groaned so loud I thought the whole office must have heard him. “It's very … important … that you get the whole thing … deep inside your throat … in order to complete your examination.”

Under other circumstances it might have been impossible, but I had never been more motivated to swallow a cock, and the doctor was gentle, but firm. When he was all the way inside he began to slowly fuck my mouth, and my throat opened up even more. As he tugged at my head, I realized I was hard again myself, and bobbing up against my stomach. It hardly seemed possible, but the doctor's dick began to get harder and thicker inside of me, forcing me to align my mouth and throat to get him in and out. Suddenly he shook hard all over. When his dick pulled back into my mouth I tasted hot, thick, cum and felt it squirt against my throat. Without any direct stimulation, my cock squirted again. I caught some in my hand and lathered it all over as I drank all that he poured down my throat.

“Very good!” the doctor said. I thought he meant his orgasm, but then he said, “Your tissue is firm, but elastic. That's an important indicator of your probable success in the program.” He stepped back. “Man! I'm going to need to change smocks! This one's soaked with sweat!” His chest and abs glistened with sweat and his chest hair was damp. The pits of his smock were soaked and so were the groin and the thighs. He stepped out of the pants and shucked off the top. I knew he was big and well defined, but seeing him totally naked was awe-inspiring. The veins and the striations were all over him, and his muscles were more full and round than any man I'd ever seen before. Even completely relaxed, his muscles looked as hard as granite.

“What's the matter?” he said when he caught me staring. “Oh, all this?” He flexed his right arm and did a most muscular for my benefit. “When we get through with you all this will seem average!”

Dr. Bone wiped himself dry with his soiled smock and removed a clean dry one from a small locker in the examining room and dressed. I wondered how many smocks he went through in a day. Was that part of the examination a part of every patient's visit? It certainly made me anxious to return to the doctor! A nurse came to draw blood and the receptionist made a follow-up appointment to review the results of the tests and make plans for my treatment. A week later I made my second visit. This time when the doctor entered the room in the doorway behind him was a man even more muscular than himself and about a half foot taller. He made way for him and introduced us.

“This is Brock. He's going to be your trainer.” Brock had a heavy forehead and deep-set eyes. His nose was broad and his chin was wide and solid. He looked at me and I was rock-hard. I was so stunned I couldn't speak. When he shook my hand I felt jism squirt inside my pants. The doctor took my silence as resistance to the idea of a personal trainer. “I don't want you to worry about the cost,” he offered. “It's part of your treatment program. Everything I prescribe for you, including your trainer, is covered by your HMO.”

“Your blood tests came out very well. You are in good health and I expect you to respond remarkably well to the program.” Brock grinned at that comment. His lips parted and two rows of large, straight teeth shone. Although the doctor still wore his open smock, I could hardly look at him for studying my new trainer. He had to be at least six foot four. Huge hard slabs of muscle pulled his extra large t-shirt tight and shaped it like a super-hero's costume. His impossibly thick thighs drew the legs of his gym shorts even tighter and bunched them up to his groin. His arms had to be at least thirty inches around, way bigger than his head. His slab-like pecs fought for room with his huge shoulders. I could hardly believe my good fortune. The doctor had been in my pants in under a minute; I was sure I'd be pinned by my new trainer before the end of the first workout.

“…so are you ready for your first workout?” the doctor was asking me. I hadn't heard a word of what he had been saying before, but I nodded. He had me roll up my sleeve and he injected some “vitamins” in my arm. “For the next few days I'm putting you on medical leave while we get you into shape,” Dr. Bone told me as he withdrew the needle.

I protested, but he told me it was “medically necessary” and I decided what did I care if I used up a few sick days. After I completed the program, I would never need them again anyway.

Brock got me into workout clothes and led me to a private gym in the medical offices. “What do you bench?” Brock asked. His voice was so deep that I felt it more than heard it. “Two forty,” I lied. I had benched 240 five years ago, but then I aggravated a tendon in my shoulder and I hadn't been able to bench more than 200, but I wanted badly to impress this muscle monster, as if I could. “Great. We'll start with that.”

He loaded the barbell and I lay down on the bench, sheepish that we'd get off to a bad start with the lie I had just told him. But when he gave me a lift-off, I found I could handle the weight without any problem. I was elated. “Close your eyes and breath deeply.” Brock said when the set was finished. I thought I'd already been breathing heavy watching the huge bulge in his gym shorts.

Brock added a couple plates and I started with next set right away. The new weight felt heavier, but I was still in control of it and I got twelve reps out. Brock added more plates. We did three sets. As I stood up I looked at the bar. I hadn't really paid any attention to how much he had added before. I'd finished my benches at 315!

The rest of the workout went the same way. We started a little above my previous maximums and went way beyond in a matter of minutes. By the end of the hour my muscles were feeling exceptionally tight and pumped. I had just done a set of dumbbell arm curls with 75 pound dumbbells!

“Take your shirt off,” Brock said.

Here it comes, I thought. Why else were we working out in a private gym that no one else had entered since we began? The back of my mouth went dry and tingly as I contemplated the sight of Brock nude and wondered how big he was. I peeled the sweat soaked t-shirt over my head then caught my reflection in the mirrors. Did my eyes deceive me, or did I really look bigger? I was certainly much more defined. Maybe it was just the pump. One of Brock's ham-sized hands reached over my shoulder. I prepared to turn and look way up into his eyes, but he didn't turn me around. Instead, for the next half hour he stretched every muscle in my body so hard they hurt worse than when I was lifting. When he finished I posed again and this time I knew I was bigger. Brock smiled appreciatively at the expression on my face. It looked like I had gained about an inch on my arms, three on my chest and two around my thighs. I was still nowhere near as big as Brock or Dr. Bone, but the gain was phenomenal for a single workout! My pants barely fit when I dressed, and I couldn't get my arms into my shirt. I decided to put my T-shirt and gym trunks back on.

While I was dressing, Brock walked into the locker room. “My clothes don't fit!”

“I didn't think they would,” Brock smiled.

I stopped dressing and straightened up to face him. I had on my trunks, but no shirt. I could see in the mirror the flushed skin and the tiny, throbbing veins in my pecs. My face flushed too. Brock stared at me, but stayed where he was. My dick filled with blood and tented my shorts. His eyes glanced down for a second.

“I'm leaving you a post workout drink. When you get home, mix it with juice and sip it slowly before you turn in.” Brock kept a steady gaze.

“Are we finished, then?” I asked.

“Till tomorrow,” he said. He stepped forward and extended his hand. I arched my brow, but took it and shook.

What was going on here? I wondered. Did I misjudge things? Maybe the doctor wasn't indicative of the rest of the program. But, damn! Why couldn't the trainer have been the one with hot pants?

I drove home slightly dejected. It was difficult to be too unhappy, because at the same time I knew I was onto something incredible with the doctor's new program. If this worked out as well as it seemed it would, I shouldn't give a damn about Brock. Who needed him? I downed the workout drink Brock left me, chased it with a beer and fell asleep on the sofa.

The sound of someone pounding on my door woke me up. “Let's go! Let's go!”

Who the hell…?

“Let's GO!”

It was Brock. I recognized his baritone. How did he even know where I lived? I supposed it must have been written on my forms at the doctor's office.

I stumbled to my feet. My legs were even bigger than last night! I wanted to catch sight of myself in a mirror, but Brock was still pounding and shouting.

“Open the door! You're not getting out of this. It's only your second workout! Your ass is mine!”

Well that sounded promising!

I opened the door. Brock was like the rock of Gibraltar in a tight tank and baggy workout pants on my front stoop. He shoved me affectionately on the shoulder.

“Hey, you're looking good! Sleep in your clothes last night? Maybe I should have warned you. That stuff can make you sleepy.”

He dropped his gym bag on the floor and spread the contents of a big brown paper bag on the kitchen counter.

“I brought you breakfast. By the way, you see yourself yet?” I shook my head.

He shepherded me down the hall into the bathroom. “Well, come on, come on! Take a look!” The touch of his giant hands on my shoulders had me hard again. And in a flimsy pair of shorts, the heft of my boner tenting my briefs made it all the more obvious—to me at least. Brock didn't pay any attention.

He shoved me into the bathroom and twisted me around in front of the mirror. Brock was grinning behind me. As impossible as it seemed, I was bigger again than I had been yesterday at the gym! My arms must have been around 20 inches, my thighs were much thicker, and for the first time in my life I had a solid six-pack. Brock prompted me into a double bicep by pushing up on my elbows. “Not bad, eh?”

He reached around either side of my waist and as if my shorts were tissue paper, he tore them off. A dick the likes of which I had never seen outside a porno film flopped free. My eyes riveted on the sausage between my legs. As I watched, my salami turned into a tiny tree trunk, straight and tall. I looked in the mirror for Brock, but he'd left the room. There I was standing there naked, looking better than I had ever imagined I could, and he had walked out on me. I knew I was no were near as hot as he was, but com'n! If I wasn't hot enough to turn him on now, he'd have to be a eunuch!

I heard his voice from the kitchen.

“Wrap yourself in a towel and come eat.” A towel couldn't begin to hide my excitement, but I wrapped one around my waist anyway. I walked into the kitchen with my hard dick poking out through the flap.

I barely recognized any of what was scattered over my kitchen counter. There was a green paste in one carton, a thick purple fluid in another and a few pieces of a hairy blue fruit slightly larger than a kiwi in a plastic bowl. Brock spread the green paste thickly on a bagel and handed me half.

It was the most exquisite thing I had ever tasted. It almost made me cum. He nudged my hand with a glass of the purple liquid. I opened my eyes and took it. It was like a lightly carbonated fruit juice. Again, the most delicious drink I had ever swallowed. I finished most of what he brought myself in just a few minutes, even though some of it was plainly for him. After breakfast, Brock loaned me some gym clothes. I had to whack off twice to keep my dick inside the shorts.

Back at the gym we started with squats. Brock loaded the bar with about 300 pounds. I would have protested, but after yesterday and seeing the results in the mirror, I just let him load it they way he wanted.

Sure enough, the weight felt light as a feather. He added a couple 45-pound plates to each side and a pumped out another set of sixteen. By the time we were up to 900 pounds, my exhibition of strength was giving me another hard-on. No matter how much he put on, it was as easy the first set. We moved on to the bench. I gleefully helped him load it up with 650 pounds. No strain at all. I stood up, lifted the same barbell off the rack, and curled it, as we both grinned from ear to ear. Un-fucking-believable! I did another double bicep for the gym mirror. My arms were even bigger. They popped up so huge my dick slipped up past the top of my shorts. Brock put me through a few other compound exercises, but it was plain that I was so strong none of the barbells or weight machines could hold enough plates to stress me. He clapped me hard on the back at the end of the workout.

“That about wraps it up for today,” he said with a broad smile. I was breathing heavily in the locker room, but not from exertion, from exhilaration. The amazing thing was that after lifting all that tonnage; I wasn't the least bit tired. In fact I felt like I could tear every weight plate in the gym in two! My arms, my chest, every muscle in my body practically vibrated with energy and felt firmer than stone. I couldn't even make an indentation in my pecs with my thumb. Something else was that hard too, and standing tall, thick and straight up my stomach. In the shower stall I lathered it up thick with soap and worked it vigorously with both hands. I began to picture Brock as he had been while I was bench-pressing, his crotch inches from my mouth, or the way he was while I squatted, his voluptuous chest tight at my back. An instant later I was splattering cum up higher than the showerhead and biting my tongue to keep from screaming with pleasure. My dick was a little softer when I toweled dry, it pointed out, not up, but it was still full and firm. I pulled on some baggies Brock loaned me and walked back to Brock's truck. He started the engine and backed out of his parking spot.

“Tomorrow we take it to the next level,” he said.

“What do you mean, 'the next level'?” I asked. The thought of an even greater strength exhibition made me go bone hard again. My dick slid up through the elastic and climbed up my abs. I didn't care if Brock saw it. In fact I hoped he WOULD see it, and DO something with it already. I'd been lusting after him since we met, and today I felt man enough to take him.

“You'll see,” he said, cryptically.

It was almost noon the next day when I woke up. I knew I was bigger again. I could tell by the way my lats brushed against my arms, the way my thighs rubbed together, the way there was barely room for my biceps when I bent my arm, and by the thick poke my hard dick was giving my chest.

I stood. I could see through the mirror across the room that I was as big as the doctor now. I shot a quick double biceps and groaned appreciatively. My arms were huge, my pecs stood out like iron pillows, and my thighs were so big they practically pushed themselves out of my hip sockets.

A thick pole of flesh the size of a normal man's arm stood straight up from my groin to my chest. I wrapped both hands around it and beat it vigorously until I came. I rubbed some of the copious cum down its length and jerked it some more. In an instant I was coming again. Then again. And again. I finally stopped when I was convinced I could keep it up all day if I wanted. Okay, so I did it one more time after that, just to prove it to myself.

Brock whistled when he saw me.

“Man, you're a monster! Flip me a biceps pose.” I flexed my right arm. Even out of the corner of my eye I could see the front of his shorts swelling. I flexed the other arm. His face began to flush and a pole as big as mine started to tent outwards. “Damn!” He said.

I was still naked. No clothes restricted my dick, and it curled up and stood straight as a flagpole on Independence Day. I tensed into a most muscular. I could feel every muscle in my chest, shoulders and arms bulge like balloons. The head of Brock's dick was inching out of his workout pants, and I thought I finally had him. Then he said, “Hey. We don't have time for this,” and he nudged his dick back down, fished out some fresh clothes and tossed them at me. “Get dressed.” But he squeezed my trap affectionately as his eyes dropped down to my hefty prong.

Brock drove us out of the city this time, down a dirt road, under a viaduct and into a wrecking yard. He got out. I was still sitting in the cab.

“C'mon,” he prodded.

We walked over to pile of concrete blocks and picked one up with one hand. Not surprisingly, he could handle it like a dinner plate. Then he took it between his hands and pushed in on it. The concrete crumbled like dust. “Here. You try it.” He picked up another and tossed it at me. It was as easy to catch as a riffle ball. I held it between my hands in front of my chest and crumbled like a cracker. The wind- blown gray dust coated my chest. “Shit!”

He grabbed the door of an old, wrecked car with one hand and twisted it off the frame. Then he presented the outside of it to me, handle about chest high, looking through the empty window frame at me.

“Take it.” He shoved the entire door towards me. I took it with both hands and squeezed them together, the door buckled, metal groaned. I groaned. My dick was jerking, spraying cum out over the top of my gym shorts into the air, into my face and up my chest. Minutes later when the cum stopped flowing, Brock pulled his t-shirt over his head and wiped the bulk of it off my face and chest. He handed the soggy shirt to me. I dabbed up the rest. He stood close to my face and sucked a little of it off his thick finger. “That was kind of a waste.”

Our eyes locked, then our lips, then our arms. He was so hard that holding him felt a bit like hugging a boulder. Our stiff fuck poles were jammed hard between our chests, greased by sweat and pre-cum. Brock disengaged and dropped fast to his knees. He pulled down on my dick and put the huge head in his mouth. His chest expanded as he literally inhaled my entire cock. Never before had anyone applied so much suction to my prick. I hadn't been even close to cumming, but the power of his lungs pulled a huge load of cum up out of my balls and into his throat. My immense cock throbbed and shuddered. Now I was excited! My dick felt like it was on fire. When Brock stood, I saw that he was naked too. He put his hands on either side of my waist lifted me up into the air. His shoulders nudged my thighs, slid my legs up on his broad shoulders and his immense prong found its target.

I could see on Brock's face that he was overcome with lust. His eyes were wide and glazed. His lips quivered and his chest heaved. “You are so hot!” he whispered in my ear. “It's been all I could do to keep my hands off you.”

With his hands under my buttocks now, he jerked me up and down his elongated prick.. The ultimate fulfillment of my frustrated lust made me cum almost as soon as he began. Not long after, I could feel Brock cumming inside me, but he didn't slow down. He kept fucking me until we'd both cum several times.

Tarred and feathered in sweat, cum and dirt, we uncoupled.

“That was incredible. I've wanted you to do that since the minute I first saw you! I hope this is just the start.”

“Oh, man, I'm sorry.”

“Why, you're not interested in me?”

“Are you kidding? I think I just proved I am! And I've never fucked a client before in my life! The problem is I'm not a free man. Dr. Bone and I are lovers. We've been monogamous for five years. I feel terrible that I gave in to my feelings for you.”

It figured. Even if you became a fantasy super stud, the best ones were still taken. I could have told him his boyfriend wasn't half as faithful as he was, that Dr. Bone had had his way with me on my first visit, and probably made porking his patients a regular part of his examinations. But why ruin his misconceived fantasies. They were probably both very happy together, each in their separate ways.

On Friday I went back to work at the bar. The other bartenders and our regular patrons were stunned. No one could take their eyes off me. The Saturday night crowd was twice the normal size and my tips went through the roof. Eventually my coworkers went through the program too, we shucked our shirts, and our little establishment became quite popular, which made the owner quite rich. Who says it doesn't pay to take care of your employees?

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