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The surgeon grimaces as he pushes his chair away from the desk between them. He reaches towards his back and says, “You mind coming over here? Back is killing me.”
John, hunched over and still bright red from humiliation, moves to stand before stopping himself. It’s just him and the surgeon in the room; the nurse had to run out after getting a page. He feels uncomfortable but tells himself it’s from shame. What else could it be? The shirt the nurse gave him to put on doesn’t have any ties or buttons, and it hangs open in front. John closes it as he stands and makes his way slowly over to the surgeon’s side of the desk.
The surgeon is ruggedly handsome, short brown beard and gentle brown eyes. He’s tall and muscular, much bigger than John, who has always been small and lithe, even after being on testosterone for years and going to the gym a few times per week. He watches as John comes closer and stands in front of him. He rolls his chair a bit closer and John backs up, his butt hitting the edge of the surgeon’s desk.
Um. This feels weird.
John watches nervously as the surgeon reaches for him, but those large hands don’t touch him. Instead they curl around his shirt and gently tug it out of his hands, and then the surgeon slowly pulls it off. His gaze is hot on John’s face, but John can’t bear to look at him.
The removal of the shirt makes the milk leaking from John’s chest even more obvious. He flushes again, ducking his chin. He’s been taking all of the post-surgery meds he was prescribed, even if some of them were different than the ones he’s heard were typical post-surgery meds. But his surgery was a little complicated and he knows that.
“I’m just going to examine your chest,” the surgeon tells him, and he doesn’t bother waiting for John’s nod before sliding his hands over John’s chest and beginning to gently palpate. “Surgery is very traumatic for the body. All sorts of different reactions are not common, but still considered normal.”
John bites his lip. “I’ve never heard of this happening to someone.” He holds in a gasp when he feels the surgeon’s thumb gently brush over a nipple. Unlike all other trans guys he’s talked to, he’s had no numbness around his nipples. In fact, they’re somehow more sensitive now than they were before. He can feel the surgeon’s thumb as it palpates around his nipple and then slowly gets wetter from the breast milk constantly leaking out. “Um, sir?”
The surgeon chuckles a little, his warm breath fluttering over John’s bare belly. His other hand comes up, curling around John’s bare hip, keeping him in place. This hand has a gold wedding ring around the ring finger and it’s cold against John’s overheated skin. “Just seeing your production levels. Stress can set off lactation.”
“I thought all the milk ducts were removed.” That had been part of his reasoning for top surgery; he’s always had terrible dysphoria about his chest, but he’s had actual nightmares about leaking milk. He’d told his surgeon that when he’d come in for his first consult. He doesn’t even like drinking milk. “You said you’d take them out.”
“Usually I do, but perhaps I missed one.” The surgeon’s chair moves even closer, boxing John in against the desk. The surgeon’s thick legs are on either side of his own, body warmth seeping into him. It makes him feel both relaxed and caged, and he’s not sure how he should be reacting. Maybe this is normal? He’s not sure.
“How could you miss one?”
“While there are norms for the human body, many people reside outside of them without realizing. You may have a milk duct in an unusual place or an unusual size. Perhaps there was an extra one or one hidden behind muscle and I simply missed it.” His thumb brushes over John’s nipple again, wet with milk, and John can’t hold back his gasp.
“Sorry,” he manages to get out through the embarrassment. The surgeon chuckles.
“Don’t worry about it.” His large hand slides up from John’s hip and John wants to cringe away, although he’s not sure why. Surely this is just a normal post-surgery consult, right? It’s not John’s fault he’s been leaking milk like a cow for the past month, and it’s not the surgeon’s fault either. Just some weird post-surgery reaction. His hand cups John’s other small, swollen tit and then after a brief moment, he pinches John’s nipple.
John gasps, tries to lean away, but there’s nowhere to go.
“Just checking sensation,” the surgeon assures him, not even bothered by John trying to get away, still pinching him. John tries to push him away but it’s a bit fruitless; the surgeon is so much bigger than him and he’s still weak from sitting around for a few weeks post-surgery. “Stop that.”
John freezes immediately. “Um, sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. Just stop moving. I can’t examine you properly if you keep squirming like a child.”
He flushes again. He’s so stupid. The surgeon is right; he’s a grown man, he can deal with his hot surgeon squeezing his nipples. John bites back a moan when the surgeon stops pinching and then soothes his sensitive nipple by rubbing milk over it.
“Can you do anything about the milk?” John asks in barely more than a whisper. “I hate it. I hate it so much.”
“Unfortunately, I think it might just need to take its time,” the surgeon says, sounding regretful. He removes both hands from John’s chest and leans back in his chair. John nods and then freezes as the surgeon lifts one hand to his mouth and licks a bead of John’s milk off one finger. Okay, that is not normal. He glances over his shoulder at the closed door behind him. There’s a desk and a chair between him and the door, but he can probably twist around and climb over the desk and grab his bag and he can be out of here in just a few seconds. Before he can do anything, his surgeon makes a curious sound and says, “That’s strange.”
“What?” John asks, head swinging back around to look at the surgeon, eyes wide. “What’s wrong?”
“You have some swelling,” the surgeon says. He gestures John closer, but there really isn’t anywhere for John to go to get closer. “My back really hurts. Come here. It’ll just take a second.”
He pats his lap.
John isn’t the tallest guy, but he’s definitely not small enough to fit on another guy’s lap. Even if that guy is his really hot surgeon who is practically twice his size. “Um, can’t you just—”
“No. This will just take a second.” His surgeon even rolls his chair back a couple inches and gestures to his lap again. “I just want to take a closer look. You don’t have a problem with that, right?”
No, he doesn’t. He has a problem with getting in his surgeon’s lap. That’s weird. But his chest aches and his chest is still fucking leaking and he’s willing to do anything to stop the goddamn milk. Unease colors his face again as he slowly steps forward and then slides into the surgeon’s lap.
He’s warm and thick. Every part of him feels so solid and real. John first tries to sit sideways on his lap, but his surgeon bodily turns him so he’s straddling his lap. He tries to stay a little farther away but his surgeon pulls him in closer until their pelvises are touching.
The surgeon’s hands clamp on his hips and keep him from moving. “That’s better,” the surgeon murmurs. “You had such nice tits, John. Such a shame to cut them off. But I made sure to keep the best part of you.”
“What?!” John squawks. “What did you do to me?!” He tries to pull away but his surgeon is far stronger than he was expecting, and then everything stops as a hot mouth closes over one of his aching, leaking nipples, and begins to suck. “Oh—oh god...”
He finally feels the surgeon’s cock, hard and pulsing and twitching, inside the surgeon’s pants, and John thrashes, trying to get away. Just a few seconds is all he needs. He doesn’t even need his bag or his shirt or his phone, he just needs to get out. But the surgeon is stronger than him, a lot stronger, and John can’t move an inch. He’s trapped.
He can feel the milk leaving his chest, feel milk dribbling out of his other nipple, feel the surgeon’s hot, wet mouth, constantly working at his nipple, licking and sucking and gently teething, and John shudders in mingled disgust and arousal. He tries to squirm away from the surgeon’s cock but can’t move an inch, and he sobs at the feeling of helplessness that floods over him. “Stop,” he begs, feeling tears well in his eyes. “Stop it.”
The surgeon pulls off his nipple, leaving it to feel cold as the air hits it. John doesn’t want to look at him but forces himself to. “No,” the surgeon says simply. He looks as kind as ever, no meanness in his face. But his lips are wet with John’s milk. He licks his lips, twitches his hips so John feels his cock again. John swallows, feeling faint. Maybe the surgeon just wants to jerk off? He can jerk a guy off. He’s done it before. His surgeon examines his face. “This room is soundproofed,” the surgeon says, tone casual. “No one can hear you. So feel free to make noise.” He smirks. “I know how noisy you are.”
“Wh-what does that mean?” He’d woken up from surgery with his whole body sore and he remembers having difficulty peeing, his pussy had been sore, but he’d been so out of it that he hadn’t even thought about it. Had the surgeon...while he was...oh god.
A mouth on his other nipple clears all thoughts from John’s mind. His stupid body reacts against his will, his mouth gasping, his back arching, pushing into the surgeon’s mouth, and he moans as his pussy rubs up against the surgeon’s clothed, hot cock. “Good girl,” the surgeon says around his nipple. John tries to push against his big shoulders, tries to push his hands away, but he feels stupid and weak with arousal, tears welling up and sliding down his red cheeks as his surgeon continues to nurse from him.
It takes a couple minutes of suckling and nursing for the surgeon to drain that tit dry. He pulls back with a satisfied smack of his lips and he smiles up at John, who tries to push away from him again. The surgeon ignores his protestations and unclamps one hand from John’s hip to reach between them.
John’s mouth suddenly works. “Help!” he yells. “Help!” His voice breaks on the first word but the second is stronger. “Please help me!”
The surgeon’s hand doesn’t stop. “I told you, soundproofed.” Then his thick, warm fingers are sliding down John’s panties. John thrashes again, trying to wrestle away, but he doesn’t even get close. Instead a thick finger circles around his long, thick clit, finding the sensitive spot on the side, and John’s hips twitch against his will. “Make as much noise as you want.”
“Stop,” John begs, eyes squeezing shut as the finger leaves his clit and slides down. “God, no.”
“Good girl,” his surgeon murmurs as his finger finds John’s wet pussy. He’s been wet for weeks, ever since top surgery. “Aren’t you an eager little thing?”
“No,” he moans, but his body betrays him by softening and letting the finger in. “Stop, please.”
“Stupid little thing,” his surgeon says, his hand on John’s hip helping him begin to move, rocking back and forth on his thick finger. John doesn’t want to but maybe it’ll be over faster if he gives in. Milk leaks down his chest and he wants to wipe it away, but his hands are on the surgeon’s shoulders and he’s using the leverage to reluctantly move back and forth on the surgeon’s thick finger. “I knew I wanted you the second I saw you. So stupid and empty.” A second finger prods at his entrance and John whimpers. “Come on, let me in.”
“No,” John whispers, and when the second finger slips in, he shudders. The surgeon encourages him to lean forward and he does, bringing his wet chest right up to the surgeon’s face. His entire body goes soft as the surgeon’s mouth lands on his leaking nipple and he moans. His body works against his frantic mind as he’s encouraged to gently ride the surgeon’s fingers, and John doesn’t even notice the surgeon’s hand leaving his hip to squeeze between them and unzip the surgeon’s pants.
The move is quick and practiced, the surgeon removing his fingers and rocking John’s body forward so the head of his cock finds John’s pussy. Then he’s encouraged to slide forward and down, and John screams as he’s stretched and filled.
He’s never been interested in bottoming, even when he thought he was still a girl. He just never liked it. And it still feels as invasive and wrong, but his body disagrees. His body sinks onto the surgeon’s cock, welcoming it in, hungry and soft where he wants to be hard and unrelenting. It makes him feel sick, sick in the same way the milk leaking from his chest makes him feel. He wishes he could throw up, wishes he could manage to punch the surgeon across the face, wishes his body wasn’t so easy to confuse and convince to let in such a massive cock.
Every inch that slides inside him feels huge and painful. He’s not nearly wet enough to make it comfortable, but the surgeon is stronger than him and he has gravity on his side, relentlessly pulling John forward and down, sliding him ever deeper onto his surgeon’s cock. John tries to push against him, tries to push free, but his body is trapped.
A warm hand finds one of his hips and gently encourages him to slowly start working his hips. John groans and shakes his head, trying not to comply, but it...it feels good. Feels really good, even through the pain. He sinks down again, another impossible inch, and the surgeon’s warm mouth finds one of his sensitive nipples. He didn’t think there was any milk left but the surgeon finds some, greedily suckling as he makes John ride his cock.
He’s crying as he’s forced to ride his surgeon’s massive cock. He doesn’t dare look down to see how much cock is left to slide inside of him. Both realities are equally terrible: either he has most of a cock inside of him or there’s much more left to go. He doesn’t want to see either. He doesn’t want this to be happening at all, but a flush of pleasure rushes over him and he whimpers, his back arching again to push his tit into his surgeon’s mouth. His surgeon is still directing his hips, making him move up and down and back and forth on his massive cock, and he sinks another inch deeper, pain lancing up his spine and making his pussy tighten on the surgeon’s thick cock.
“That’s it,” the surgeon murmurs, pulling his warm mouth off John’s leaking nipple. His eyes have dilated and he looks up at John’s flushed face with dark pleasure. “Keep riding me, that’s it. You know your pussy wants it.” He licks up a few drops of milk from John’s chest and moans at the taste. “Fuck. Just like that.”
“Please stop,” John whimpers. The surgeon ignores him. Both hands are on his hips now, making him ride the surgeon faster and harder, and he sinks down further, feeling his pussy muscles, unused and weak, begin to wake up and work around the surgeon’s cock. “No.”
The surgeon laughs at him, his voice deeper and hoarse. “Oh, yes,” he murmurs. There’s somehow even more of his cock to slide inside John and it finally gets deep enough that John can’t hold back his pained scream. He tries to get away again but he’s gone weak; all strength has gone to his weak pussy muscles, trying to work around the cock inside him. The cock is huge and his pussy is weak, but he tries to get away from it anyway. He’s not successful in the slightest; all he manages is to work himself up and down on the surgeon’s cock a few times, making himself whimper and making the surgeon moan in pleasure. “Keep going, girl. I wanna cum in you.”
That makes John’s entire world freeze. He’s not on birth control; there’s been no reason since testosterone took his period away and he doesn’t like being fucked. “No,” he manages to get out, but his body won’t move away, just rocking back and forth and up and down on the surgeon’s cock. It still hurts, still painful, still—
The surgeon moves quickly, arms wrapping around John’s waist, and he suddenly pushes to his feet and strides forward, slamming John’s back against the desk. John gasps as air is slammed out of his lungs and the surgeon starts thrusting into him like a wild animal. His cock finds more room inside John’s pussy, hitting a few spots that send pain shooting through John’s body, making him cry out once he gets enough breath to do it.
It doesn’t take long for the surgeon to cum, John moaning as his pussy works around his cock, practically mouthing at it, happily soaking up the cum as it spurts inside him. It’s hot, too hot, burning him from the inside. The surgeon slumps forward, going on his elbows, and then his head ducks down to lap at John’s leaking nipples.
The door behind John opens. “Sir? Your next appointment is here.”
“Just a few minutes,” the surgeon gasps out, still working his slowly softening cock through John’s wet pussy. John shivers. “This one needs a bit more work.”
“Yes, sir.” John finally gets his head to move and he looks back to see the nurse from earlier duck her head out and close the door. She—she knew. She let the surgeon do this to him. She knew what he was going to do and—
“That’s my girl,” the surgeon murmurs as pleasure begins to move through John’s body. He didn’t realize it through the pain and the shock but he notices it now: the surgeon’s hand is down between them, thick fingers working John’s clit up and down. “Come on my cock. That’s a good girl.”
“Not a girl,” John manages to get out through the haze of pleasure. The surgeon laughs at him. He cums, gushing around the surgeon’s cock, his clit twitching in the surgeon’s hand, pleasure rocking his entire body. “Oh god.”
His body panics when the surgeon pulls his cock out. His pussy is throbbing and aching and it feels like it’s gaping wide open. John tries to reach for the surgeon’s cock but the surgeon just laughs at him again and wipes his cock off on John’s dirty panties. He snaps the panties back into place over John’s gaping pussy and pats it. John shivers and twitches.
“Get up,” the surgeon snaps, tucking his cock back into his pants. He wipes his hands off on John’s damp belly and then steps back. He’s not moving like a man with a hurt back. John briefly wants to turn over on his belly and offer his pussy again to get fucked but that thought is quickly pushed out by hot, sweeping shame, and he manages to unpeel himself from the desk and hobble around to get his shirt and his bag. “Wait,” the surgeon says, and John stops himself from pulling his shirt back on. The surgeon taps his computer keyboard and peers at the screen. “I’m going to up your medication. You’ll have to come in weekly for updates.”
“What?” John finally gets out. “Wait—what?” His mouth is trembling and he feels like he’s going to cry again. A few tears leak out again. He’s going to report this the second he leaves this office. He’s going to sue this health insurance company for everything it’s worth. He’s going to—
“You sexually assaulted your doctor,” the surgeon says, still looking at his computer screen. “You wouldn’t want that to get out, would you? Get put on your record.”
“You—you did that to me.” John can still feel his pussy throbbing, muscles working around nothing, cum pooling inside of him, leaking out to soak his panties. He tries to swallow back tears but can’t manage it, a few tears leaking out of his eyes and down his cheeks. He finally gets his shirt on and buttons it up over his still leaking tits.
The edge of the surgeon’s mouth curls up in a smile. He finally looks away from the screen and looks John up and down. “Oh? Who’s going to believe you?” He shakes his head. “See you next week, girl.”
John grabs his bag and tries to storm out, but his sore pussy and back don’t let him move very fast. The nurse is out in the hall, waiting for him. She tucks her phone back into her pocket and leads John down the hall to a desk. John hobbles after her, trying to keep more tears from leaking out and spectacularly unsuccessful. His tits are leaking too, staining his shirt.
The nurse is similar in size to John, although she has large fake implants and her lips are plumped up with injections. Her nails are long and fake and she has some light facial hair along her jaw. John frowns at her as he taps on the keyboard in front of the monitor. There’s a gold wedding ring on her left ring finger, matching the surgeon’s ring. There are small square imprints on the front of her scrubs, right over her nipples.
As he watches, one of the square imprints goes dark and as she asks for John’s customer number, John realizes she’s...she’s like him.
John numbly gives her the number, still staring at her fake tits. She glances up at him and then follows his gaze down to her tits and she sighs. She reaches down and pulls the leak pad out from her bra, tossing it in the trash and pulling another out of her pocket. “I leak all the time now,” she mutters offhandedly.
“Did you—did you get surgery from him?”
“The doc? Sure I did.” All color leaves her cheeks and she glances over him. “Oh. You’re here for that. I didn’t realize.” Hadn’t she seen him being—being fucked? By the surgeon? Had she not even noticed? Or what was it? Did she not care? “No wonder he wants you here every week.” She sighs, taps a few more times, glances at him again. Her gaze drops to his chest. “You want to sign up for the implant consultation now or just let him do it for you?”
“Implant consultation?!” John squeaks. His hands come up automatically, protecting his chest. “What are you talking about?”
“Alright, I’ll just let him do it. See you next week. Same time.” The nurse writes the appointment time on a piece of paper and hands it to him before turning off the computer and walking away. John stares after her, shifting uncomfortably as more slick and cum gush out of his pussy and wet his already wet panties. As he watches her walk away, he notices a bit of darkness in her crotch, and realizes she’s leaking too.
John swallows in fear, curling his fingers around the appointment card, squeezing it until it’s a ball of hot paper in his fist. He gets his new medications, robotically leaves the medical building, finds his car in the massive parking lot, and he sits in the drivers’ seat, panicking.
What the hell is he supposed to do? He should go to the police. He should call the corporate offices, get the surgeon fired, get him arrested, call everyone who would do something about this evil surgeon who is raping clients. But he doesn’t know where to start. He doesn’t know what to do. He thinks about that instinctual panic he’d felt when the surgeon had removed his cock from his pussy, how scared he’d been, how good it had felt to finally cum. His tits are still leaking; they’ve already filled back up again with milk and they’re aching again, and all he can think about is the surgeon’s hot mouth on his tits, drinking from him.
His pussy hurts.
A week later, John walks into the medical building at the same time as the week before. The same nurse as last time gives him a smile as she leads him to the surgeon’s office. She’s quickly paged away and that leaves John and the surgeon alone together.
John’s hands are shaking as he removes his shirt and the compression vest and the padding he’s kept inside to keep the milk from staining all of his clothes.
“Come over here,” the surgeon says, pushing his chair back. “My back is killing me.” He pats his lap.