Reginald Woodrow Buttress felt the deep throb before he opened his eyes. It was the same every goddamn morning and lasted all day, every day. A boner so big and hard you could club an elephant with it.
Why, God, why? Why me?
Perpetual wood. Permanent hard on. Eleven fucking inches of purple, throbbing stone. There was so much blood in his dick, he sometimes fainted. Even then his dick didn't go soft. It never did.
Problem was, Reginald never let himself cum. He had an irrational dislike of cum. I suppose you could call it a fear. Didn't want it on him or near him. He didn't even want to look at it. So, therein lay the root of Reginald’s perpetual wood problem. Despite going to the brink, he never released, never let it go down.
Reginald loved to slowly stroke his wood. Sometimes he did it for hours, keeping things slow to prevent himself from getting too carried away. That was not an option. He did cum once and was horrified to have a runny, sticky mess on his stomach and legs. Not to mention the wayward squirt that landed on his chin, missing his mouth by only half-an-inch. The sheer velocity of that one actually hurt. He'd showered four times before he felt clean again.
Wrapping his long fingers around his pulsing, rock hard member, Reginald began his typical stroke, slow and light with a little twist at the top. This produced warm feelings, giving him a short moment of respite from the perpetual throbbing ache of his engorged cock.
His dick really was a fine specimen: long, thick, with smooth skin, no bulging veins, and perfectly cut. His balls, however, were a mess. They looked like they belonged on a bull, dark and swollen, and apparently ready to burst open. There must've been more power built up in those balls than in a pressure cooker that had been left at a high temperature for a week. He was more than ready to blow. He needed a damn good wank, but he just couldn't. Not with all that... stuff.
Reginald continued stroking until he spotted a small shiny drop emerge from the very tip of his cock. This sent a ripple of panic through his body.
Hell no! Not again!
He let go of his cock to avoid the impending biohazard eruption. There was no way he was letting the trouser snake spit venom on him again. Reginald took a crisp, white handkerchief from the bedside table and gingerly wiped away the shiny droplet. He got out of bed, carried the cotton square between forefinger and thumb, and dropped it into the waste bin. That wasn't going into his washing machine!
Once he'd calmed down, he felt the familiar ache return to his loins. It was time to shuffle into a cold shower and ready himself for work.
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Reginald closed the door to his fifth story apartment and locked each of the four deadbolts. He then double-checked each one before striding down the hallway to the elevator. Pausing halfway, he turned and went back to check the locks again. Everything secure, he reached the elevator and extracted a new handkerchief from his back pocket. He covered his forefinger and depressed the ‘down’ button, then flicked the garment toward the opposite hallway wall to remove any lingering bacteria. He replaced it in his pocket, folding the soiled part inside. He did all this gingerly, careful not to shift the fabric of his pants and raise his discomfort any further.
The elevator chimed and the door opened revealing a smallish man leaning against the back wall, absorbed in his iPhone.
Oh, wonderful. Occupied.
Reginald sighed, annoyed that he would have to wait for another car. He was guarded about sanitation, and breathing the same air as someone in a confined space went way beyond his limit.
Unfortunately, the stairs of the building smelled of stale piss, probably from the damn homeless people who milled about. The stairs were definitely off limits.
Hearing the sigh, the man in the elevator looked up to find his squeamish downstairs neighbor standing motionless in the doorway. Reginald might as well have been dressed as The Nerd in a high school play. A white dress shirt was tucked tightly into hiked up khakis and slivers of white sock peeped between his pants and loafers. He wore thick rimmed glasses high on his nose and his hair had a meticulous parting.
“Oh. Hey, Woody,” the smallish man said dryly, “You’re not going to get in, are you?”
Regaining some composure, Reginald attempted to clear his throat but still croaked, “I believe I’ll catch the next lift.”
“This is New York, dude, and you’re not British. Why the fuck do you always call it a lift? And what are you hiding in your pockets there, fella? Got another case of the stiffies, or is it still the same one?”
The bell chimed a second time, the doors closed and the man’s laughter sank away. Reginald cringed, another sigh escaping his lips.
Reginald finally found an empty ride to ground level and carefully entered the crowded lobby. The first few steps were easy because he could hug a wall, hiding his crotch from public view. But, beyond that, lay a veritable ocean of open space before he could reach the exit. However, his wall hugging actually looked like a crab trying to walk along a wall vertically. His boner was so big his knees bent and his ass stuck out. There was no way in hell he could get close enough to that wall to hide anything. In fact, it drew more attention to him.
Reginald waited as long as he could, then began his awkward advance. His strained eyes locked on the floor and his feet barely left the ground. As he shuffled along, he thrust his hands in his pockets and clenched his fists, trying to cover his stubborn erection as much as possible.
He failed.
He heard a snicker and a snort from a young woman when he'd made it halfway to the exit.
“Damn it!” Reginald hissed loudly, knowing his cover had been blown again. “Damn it, damn it, damn it.”
The woman’s snicker attracted the attention of the man with whom she was conversing, another neighbor Reginald considered to be an absolute bum of a human. The man turned to see the cause of amusement, then joined in the fun of the spectacle.
“Are you playing pocket pool again, Woody?” the man yelled. The woman’s snicker erupted into an uncontrollable belly laugh, and everyone in the lobby looked in Reginald’s direction and chuckled. Panicked, Reginald increased the speed of his shuffle and his ass wagged like a penguin in full sprint. As he neared the door, he called out to the man. “It’s not Woody, it’s Reginald.”
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Winnifred Tuttle walked into the Eclectic Cowboy Coffee Shoppe and waited at the counter to place her order.
“Morning, Winnie,” chirped the cheery man behind the counter, making sure to keep his gaze on her eyes, not any lower. “Will it be the usual?”
“Please, Tom,” she said with an unnerving amount of calm in her voice. “It’s Winnifred.”
“Oh, that’s right. I’m so sorry, Miss Winnifred. It’s just that my aunt had the same name and we always called her–”
“It’s fine, Tom.” Winnifred closed her eyes for slightly longer than a blink. “Yes, today is Tuesday, which means I’m here, which means I’ll have the usual.”
“One skinny mochaccino, one and a half sugars, and two slices of toast with butter, not margarine. Coming right up.” Tom looked at her and almost winced in anticipation of her reply. But Winnifred simply tugged her lips into a loathsome smile and walked to her usual window table. As she'd turned, Tom had taken the opportunity to stare at her enormous bouncing rack.
Settling into her seat, Winnifred unwrapped her silverware from a paper napkin and looked at the bustling street scene. She absentmindedly buffed the utensils with a handkerchief from her purse and began preparing for her Tuesday morning show. At precisely 7:45 every Tuesday morning, the most peculiar man shimmied down the street and purchased a newspaper at the booth outside Winnifred’s coffee shop window. She’d been watching this man for months and looked forward to his awkward strut down the sidewalk.
Before long, a waitress put her order of toast on the table. Winnie, as always, avoided eye contact. She then unfolded the paper napkin and carefully tucked it into her collar to protect the front of her clothes. Winnie had an unfortunate knack of dropping food onto her 44DDD boobs. It was unavoidable. They got in the way of everything.
Picking up a knife, she scraped the top of the butter and proceeded to apply it to her toast. Starting at one corner, she smeared a line to the center of the bread, then proceeded onto each of the other corners until she was left with a big X from top to bottom. In the triangles of toast free of butter, Winnifred spread grape jelly. Thinly, of course. Her toast was now ready to eat, and she returned her thoughts to the man she’d come to see.
Despite the quirkiness of his demeanor, she found herself surprisingly drawn to him for two reasons. The first reason was obvious. It’s what first caught her attention — the enormous boner he tried in vain to conceal. Good heavens, it was a monster. As she continued to watch him over time, she began to notice a subtle handsomeness buried beneath his hiked-up pants, rimmed glasses, and extremely parted hair. She’d been forced to admit weeks ago that this stranger had lodged himself in her mind and was not likely to leave anytime soon.
Winnifred didn’t consider herself a pervert or deviant of any sort, so she was somewhat mortified to realize that she was so drawn to this man. Also surprising was the fact that she couldn’t resist touching herself when she saw him. But, most astonishing of all, the Tuesday morning touches had become a habit and now she actually craved them. That was her second reason for coming to see the stranger.
Winnifred looked around to ensure she was not being watched, then leaned forward. Her large bosom rested on the table and concealed her actions below. She slid a finger beneath the elastic waistband of her skirt and walked her fingers toward her heat.
She looked at the watch on her free wrist. Two minutes until show time. The man hadn’t yet arrived and she was already worried she might be pooling in her seat. She closed her eyes and pushed her fingers further down, finding the hood of her clit. It was already engorged, throbbing with anticipation. She slid over it, wet her fingers on the inside of her lips, returned to her clit and shuddered at the explosion of feelings.
Slowly, in a circular motion, Winnifred coaxed pleasure from deep within. Thoughts of that huge boner brought warmth and tingles to her kitty that she’d never felt before. Winnifred increased her strokes and flashed to the fantasy she’d crafted over the weeks.
Through the window, the odd man caught her gaze and stopped shuffling. He abandoned whatever obligation caused him to take this route every morning and stood on the sidewalk, staring hungrily at her.
Winnifred whimpered and dove her fingers inside to wet them again.
The man dropped his coffee onto the sidewalk and started a slow, confident walk toward her. His waddle was gone, replaced by a confident gait, as he advanced to whisk her away and fuck her brains out.
Winnifred arched her back in the chair and bit her bottom lip.
As the man approached, he ripped the top few buttons from his dress shirt, revealing a perfectly toned chest. He ran his hands through his hair, disturbing that unfortunate parting and creating a delectable mess above his rigid face.
Winnifred began rocking her hips, unaware that her hugely bouncing tits were smashing onto her toast.
This now-confident superman strode into the coffee shop and approached her table. Tom started to ask what he would like to eat and the strange man pushed him hard against the wall, reducing him to a pile of limbs and apron on the floor. The man plucked Winnifred from her chair and carried her out of the building in his massive arms.
Just before Winnifred was able to cum, Tom arrived at her table. “Here you go, Winnie — umm, Miss Winnifred. Your coffee.”
Embarrassment, seared with hot anger, flashed through Winnifred as she jolted her hand from her skirt and banged her elbow on the arm of her chair. Her enormous wobbling bosom threatened the integrity of her bra.
Tom gawked. ‘Her bra must be industrial strength,’ he mused.
“Damn it, Tom! You shouldn’t sneak up on people like that. And stop calling me Winnie.”
Tom flinched and almost dropped her coffee. “I’m... I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“Put it down and leave,” Winnifred screamed. She turned from Tom and looked out of the window. To her horror, she saw that her sexy pedestrian had already purchased his paper and was a mere shuffle from being out of sight. She’d missed him and would have to wait another entire week to satiate herself. She was devastated and turned to stare fire into Tom’s eyes. He blinked, gulped, and then ran for his life to the storeroom in the back.
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Reginald continued his shuffle north on 38th street until he came to the stand where he bought his daily paper. This was one of the day’s few bright spots. Not only did the old attendant never attempt conversation, but the wall of the booth blocked any view of Reginald’s erection. As far as Reginald knew, the old man had no clue about his hard luck.
In addition to the attendant, today was Tuesday, which meant that another treat awaited him. Every Tuesday morning, a woman with the biggest tits Reginald had ever seen sat in the nearby coffee shop. She didn’t seem to be flaunting them, but their sheer size meant even the most conservative top couldn’t conceal their glory.
‘She must have to replace a lot of blouse buttons,’ Reginald thought while imagining her top bursting open and two huge bazookas falling onto the table.
Some days it almost seemed like she was flaunting them, and Reginald wanted to dive in and motorboat her mesmerizing cleavage. Even though the sight of her raised his discomfort level a few notches, he was captivated by those heavy hooters and sometimes didn’t even notice the added pressure growing in his pants. Reginald thought his mind must be playing tricks, but it seemed like she was watching him as well.
Reginald shooed away these thoughts and continued with his transaction. He placed the precise coinage on the counter, nodded as he always did, and continued toward his office. As he did, he heard a commotion from the coffee shop and turned to see his buxom beauty screaming at a man holding a tray of coffee. Her giant tits were rocking like a cream colored wave pool. Reggie felt he might burst out of his pants at the sight of her tits in undulating motion and he hurried his shuffle onward.
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Three blocks later, Reginald turned into the lobby of his office building.
The doors opened and, to his dismay, the car was packed with people coming up from the parking garage.
Shit! He silently scolded the groggy passengers.
The car was seldom empty, but he couldn’t remember the last time it had been so full. And, considering the line gathering behind him, he knew he might as well get on. Mustering all his gumption, he covered his nose with a handkerchief and stepped inside. Holding the handkerchief in place, he tried in vain to cover his crotch with the newspaper held in his other hand. As quickly and carefully as possible, he teetered into the car, turning his back to the sleepy passengers and exposing himself to the crowd waiting for the next car. Frozen in his awkwardness, he could do nothing but glare over his handkerchief at the amused crowd.
Giggles rose from the crowd and Reginald let out a long, resigned sigh.
He stared at the floor, or what little he could see of it below the incredible protrusion stretching the front of his pants. Somebody behind him coughed, and Reginald squeezed shut his eyes. Before long, the elevator stopped and Reginald had to step out to let people exit. He shuffled back in and turned to face the lift doors again. It was then that a woman, in anticipation of exiting on the next floor, stepped across from his left and stood in front of him.
As the lift resumed its journey, it lurched and the woman stumbled backward, which was unfortunate because Reginald lurched forward at the same time. A searing pain shot through his cock as it wedged between the cheeks of her ass, despite the several layers of fabric between them.
He screamed, she screamed, and the lift doors opened at the next floor. The woman fell out and was still on her hands and knees when she pulled the wedgie out of her ass and crawled away from the lift.
Reggie stood with tears in his eyes, if for no other reason than it had been the closest he'd been to fucking anybody and it all happened by accident.
Ding. The doors began to close.
At precisely the same time that the doors clicked shut, a muffled, “Humph!” filled the elevator. Some didn’t notice, but others flicked curious glances around.
To Reginald’s utter horror, his awkward brush with the woman had left him too close to the doors and the tip of his raging boner was now pinched between them. Reginald’s face went immediately to full-cringe and a cascade of sweat erupted from his brow. He instinctively tried to remove himself from the steely grip of the doors, but each time he rocked back he brushed — horror of horrors — against someone’s crotch behind him.
Shit! He was already circumcised and didn't need it done again. When the doors opened again, Reginald spilled out into the hallway, gasping for air as if he’d just avoided drowning. He abandoned the newspaper, rolled onto his back and spread out on the floor, panting. When he eventually opened his eyes, he found an old man standing over him, a disgusted gaze on the stiffy that tented Reginald’s pants.
“Geez, fella,” the old man said in a thick Boston accent, “what gives? Your dick looks like it’s about to jump outta your pants. And the rest of you looks like you just got hit by a truck.”
Reginald was near breaking point. His cockhead had just been smashed, he was lying on some vile carpet, and this hook-nosed bastard was talking about his dick like it was a picture on the wall. God only knew how many filthy germs had attached themselves to him in the last five seconds. He'd have to throw this suit out. At a loss for words, Reginald glared at the man and slowly covered his crotch with the handkerchief.
The old man laughed heartily. “What is that? A rain fly for your tent? Come here, son.” The man extended a yellow hand to help him up but Reginald jerked away from it, like it was a snake.
“Thank you, but no thank you,” Reginald said firmly, struggling to his feet. “It’s been a rough morning,” he finally admitted, smoothing his clothing and sending the handkerchief floating to the soiled ground. There it would remain until someone other than Reginald dared to touch it.
“I’ll say…” the kind stranger started. “Look, I’ve seen this kind of problem before. Second cousin on my dad’s side couldn’t get it down, which was priceless because his brother was known for not being able to get it up.” The old man mixed laughter with coughing, betraying years of smoking. “Anyway," he wheezed, "there’s a doctor who specializes in this sort of thing. I think you could benefit from her, well, treatment. She isn’t listed in the phone book but I know the address. You got a pen?”
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Reginald followed the old man’s directions four blocks south and found comfort in the fact that the doctor’s office was on the ground level. He couldn't cope with any more cockshock from elevator assault and battery.
He found a nondescript wooden door. Using a new handkerchief, he turned the doorknob and entered a long, dimly lit hallway. It ran to the back of the building. Creeping forward, he followed the hallway until he came to another door, Dr. Doris Dvorak stenciled on it.
Reginald entered a small office with a modest receptionist desk. An older woman sat behind the counter, the blue glow of a computer screen lighting her face. When she saw Reginald, a look of shock creased her face. She stood immediately.
“Sir, are you alright?” Her words were calm but stern, her concern doused with years of professionalism. “I think it would be best if you came with me right away.” Her tone and demeanor didn't permit any argument.
Reginald was whisked through a side door to a small waiting room lined with dark leather couches. In there, half-a-dozen men slouched in seats, trying to conceal erections. Each of them immediately identified Reginald’s ailment and gave him a concerned look of brotherly compassion.
The woman urged Reginald forward, continuing through the waiting room to another hallway, and finally to an exam room. Two generic chairs hugged one white wall and faced an exam table covered in fresh paper. A counter top in the far corner housed a sink and various assortments of typical medical garb.
“Please, wait here, Mr. —”
“Buttress, Reginald Buttress.”
The woman stared blankly at Reginald for a moment before speaking. “I’ve never seen a condition as severe as yours, Mr. Buttress. To be honest, I’m surprised you made it this long. I’m fetching the doctor right away. Please, disrobe and sit on the exam table.”
At that, she left the room. The click of the door closing and light hum of the air conditioning serenaded his spiking panic.
Dis – Disrobe? Oh God no!
Reginald’s mind went on autopilot for a few moments, his anxiety dancing around. Should he stay or go? He stood in the middle of the room, eyes blinking rapidly, boner pointing ever-constantly north. Eventually, he gathered the nerve to flee and started for the door. He was stopped short when it opened and a tall, blonde woman in a full-length white lab coat walked in. High cheek bones and blue eyes betrayed her Slavic descent. As she advanced, her coat flapped open just enough to reveal an immaculate hourglass figure cloaked in simple, pink scrubs. Wide hips sashayed and large, perky tits lurched toward Reginald.
“Good morning, Mr. —” she looked at the chart in her hand, “Buttress. I would ask how you’re doing but I can see that you’re in quite a bit of discomfort. I’m Dr. Dvorak.” The beautiful woman’s accent was sharp to the ear, confirming her East European origin.
Reginald froze in a conflicting state of fear and attraction. He felt his eyes were larger than saucers and he wiped his dripping brow with a sleeve. He was speechless.
“Please, Mr. Buttress, time is of the essence. Disrobe at once.”
Reginald had no intention of disrobing. Now, he thought of nothing other than escaping this office. Immediately. Sensing his discomfort, the doctor continued, “Mr. Buttress, the condition from which you're certainly suffering is known as Priapism. Are you familiar with this terminology?”
“I think it means you can’t lose your ere--erection,” Reginald croaked.
“Correct, Mr. Buttress. It's a very serious condition. Now, please disrobe.”
Reginald’s angst erupted into anger. “What the hell is the matter with you people? I haven’t been here for more than five minutes and everyone keeps telling me to take off my fucking clothes. I’m not going to disrobe, madam, not for you and not for anyone else.”
Dr. Dvorak looked calmly at him while Reginald panted from his outburst. Then she crossed arms over her chest. “Mr. Buttress, I’m sensing a certain amount of angst in you. Please, have a seat, with your clothes on, and we will discuss your situation - which could very well be life threatening.”
Reginald looked suspiciously at the two chairs and instead opted for the fresh paper lining the exam table.
“Mr. Buttress, I will not coat this in sugar for you--”
“Sugar coat,” Reginald corrected.
“Fine, Mr. Buttress. I will not sugar coat your situation. Should your erection continue in its present condition, clots of blood could develop in your penis and cause a debilitating or lethal stroke. And I cannot stress the extreme nature of your case. Not only is it apparent that your condition has been manifesting itself for quite some time, but the abnormally large size of your penis only amplifies the risk involved.”
“So, you’re saying my boner could kill me?”
“Yes. That’s precisely what I’m saying, Mr. Buttress. You’re now faced with what I would consider a life and death decision. Will you allow me to save your life, Mr. Buttress?”
“I—“
“Of course you will,” Dr. Dvorak interrupted, using a sterner tone. “Now, please stand up, Mr. Buttress. I haven’t got all day and I will permit you to keep your clothes on.”
Relief washed over Reginald and he slid off the table and stood, awaiting further instruction.
“Mr. Buttress, the procedure I will soon perform is a very powerful one. So powerful, in fact, that your condition will likely improve before you even walk out of this door.”
The doctor knelt before him.
“Recently published studies have indicated that the energy released in this particular procedure is incrementally similar to the energy release in the chemical process known as nuclear fusion. This is the reaction which powers our sun.” Dr. Dvorak loosened his tightly-cinched woven belt.
“I am fully aware of nuclear fus — wait, what the hell are you talking about? And I thought you said I was going to keep my clothes on.”
Before Reginald could protest further, Dr. Dvorak unbuttoned his pants and slid them and his tighty whities to the ground. His raging hard-on caught in the elastic band of his undies for a split second before breaking free and slapping him, hard, in the stomach. Reginald winced.
“Well, Mr. Buttress, I’m talking about a blowjob, of course.”
Dr. Dvorak grabbed Reginald with both hands and thrust his engorged member into her mouth. She pressed her tongue firmly against its head before sliding it toward her throat. The entrance was slow but deliberate, the sensation overpowering. Reginald whimpered, arching his back and abandoning all restraint as weak knees bent toward his seductress. Dr. Dvorak foresaw his swoon and braced him, hands on his quivering thighs.
Once she had him steadied, Dr. Dvorak began her main assault, fast nods forward and back. She looked up and saw Reginald’s shocked gaze, then moaned deeply while staring at him. Little flicks of her tongue across the slit of his cock made Reginald shudder. When the doctor opened her throat and swallowed a few inches, he thought his mind would explode before his cock.
Back and forth his cock slipped between her lips, her tongue pressing against the shaft. He was barely coping with the multitude of sexual sensations when she swallowed the tip again and moaned lightly. The vibrations wracked Reginald’s entire body. Months of pressure were built within him, meaning this procedure needed only mere seconds to approach conclusion. Nearing his climax, Reginald remembered his fear of cum.
“Doctor, I’m about to cum. I… I hate the stuff.”
Dr. Dvorak removed him from her mouth and stroked a hand over the slick skin. “Don’t worry, Mr. Buttress, I will take care of this for you.”
With that promise, Dr. Dvorak took him deep in her throat, all the way to the hilt, and Reginald finally crossed over the brink. From somewhere deep in his psyche, Reginald grabbed the back of the woman’s head and thrust repeatedly, shooting torrents of seed down her throat.
“Doctorrr,” he screamed.
Dr. Dvorak thought she was going to drown. The first jet of cum hit the back of her throat so hard it caused her to catch her breath, thus sending the next spurt into her airways. She coughed, almost choked, his cock still halfway down her throat, and this seemed to exacerbate the force of his orgasm. In turn, she coughed harder. Stream after stream erupted from his trembling giant and was hungrily gobbled by the blonde woman.
“Fuuuck,” Reginald growled at the face he was fucking. Then, from a corner of his mind that had never before seen light, he said, “You like that big cock in your throat, don’t you, Doctor?”
Eventually, the thrusts subsided and Reginald steadied himself. The good doctor slowly removed him from her mouth, using the most forceful suction yet to extract every last drop of his seed. She finally released the head of his cock with a wet smack. She blinked through moist eyes and, when her aroused panting finally subsided, she answered his question with a timid, “Yes.”
At that, Reginald closed his eyes and shook his head as if he were trying to dry his hair. He tilted back his head, looked toward the ceiling, and stretched out his arms. “I feel amazing,” he roared.
Reginald felt constricted in his clothes and tugged at the top button of his dress shirt. Failing to undo the button, he gave up and ripped his shirt apart, sending three or four buttons bouncing against the wall. He stooped and gathered his pants, hoisting them to just above his hips before securing them under the tails of his untucked shirt.
“Doctor, that was amazing. You’re a genius. And, as much as I would love to stick around for a follow-up treatment, there’s a certain someone I have to catch.”
At that, Reginald turned for the door, ruffled the obnoxious crease from his hair and strode into the hallway.
“Bring that monster back anytime, Mr. Buttress,” the quivering doctor yelled through the open door.
“Please, Doctor. Call me Reggie.”
A special shoutout and a HUGE thank you to JWren for his editing help. I know you hate all caps but that one was necessary.
