Doctors Orders 4

A couple of weeks before my four year hitch in the Air Force was to end, I received notice to report to the base hospital for a discharge physical. I was to see a Major Hughes on Thursday at 0900.

On the appointed day, I arrived at the clinic in the hospital about 5 minutes before the scheduled time. A cute nurse at the reception desk signed me in and told me to take a seat in the waiting room. After 15 minutes, a male orderly called my name and led me to an exam room.

"Go ahead and take everything off, except your undershorts," he said. "The Black Widow will be with you momentarily." Then he laughed and left the room.

As I began to undress, I wondered what the heck the "Black Widow" crack meant. I figured it was some inside Air Force medical humor. After I was wearing only my boxers, I sat down in one of the chairs to wait for the doctor. The exam room was pretty routine: a long exam table, a couple of chairs, a sink, and a scale. I did notice that the room seemed very bright. Must have been the mil-spec fluorescent lights.

Just a couple of minutes later the exam room door opened and a tall African-American woman entered. "Good morning, Sgt. Peterson," she said. "I'm Dr. Hughes. I'll be doing your exit physical today." She was at least 6 ft tall, and maybe 30 years old or so.

She had on a standard female officer's blue skirt and blouse, with a white lab coat over top. I noticed her athletic legs before I saw the major's insignia on her collar. She also appeared to be quite busty beneath her immaculate white coat. Her beautiful face and flawless, chocolate complexion were highlighted by her perfect smile. In short, Major Hughes was a major babe.

Then I realized that my meager genitals would soon be completely exposed to this sexy, black goddess. A mixture of fear and humiliation replaced my appreciation of Dr. Hughes' good looks. I could feel my balls retracting tightly to my body. I knew my cock would be just a stub. My only hope was that somehow I would be able to leave my shorts on during the exam.

Not a chance. I awoke from my daydreaming as Dr. Hughes began to speak. "The purpose of today's exam is to make sure that you don't have any service-connected injuries or illnesses," she said. "Please remove your shorts and we'll get started." Then she sat down on an exam stool and flashed me a sly grin.

"Yes ma'am," I croaked, as I stood up and began to slip off my boxers. Major Hughes was sitting only 3 or 4 feet from me, and was focused like a laser beam on my crotch. As my shorts hit the floor, her huge smile let me know how small my package had become.

"It's not THAT cold in here," she chuckled.

"No ma'am," I agreed. I looked down and saw that my cock and balls had shrunk to baby size. "I'm just a little nervous."

"With emphasis on 'little'," Dr. Hughes laughed. "Well, just try to relax, sergeant. Let's begin."

Then Dr. Hughes opened a cabinet and removed a large specimen beaker. Still sitting on the exam stool, she motioned for me to stand next to her. "We'll start with a urine sample," she said. Smiling sweetly, she reached out and held the beaker up to my tiny pecker. "Ok, let 'er rip," she chuckled.

I looked (and felt) like a two year old being potty trained by his mommy. The Major had my cock AND shrunken balls inside the specimen beaker. And of course, I just couldn't pee with her staring at me. The humiliation was too extreme.

"Come on, sergeant," said Dr. Hughes. "We don't have all day. If you're unable to urinate, I'll have to catheterize you. And I know you won't like that."

"Yes, ma'am," I said. I remembered the catheter from my appendectomy two years before. So I concentrated on peeing, and was soon able to produce a little trickle of urine.

"Good boy," said Dr. Hughes when I had filled up the beaker with enough for a sample. "Go ahead and stand on the scale while I seal up this container."

I walked across the room to the scale as Major Hughes dealt with the urine sample. When she was finished, she joined me at the scale. "Don't be shy," she said. "Step right on." With her left hand on my bare ass, she guided me onto the scale. "190 lbs," she announced. Then she extended the scale bar to get my height. "6 ft, 3 inches. You're quite a big boy," she teased as she winked at my still shriveled package.

Then Dr. Hughes had me get off the scale and stand in the middle of the exam room. She sat down a couple of feet from me and had me begin a series of exercises. "We need to test your range of motion," she said. She directed me through a series of deep knee bends, toe touches, and jumping jacks. She carefully observed me, with the same amused grin on her face. My tiny pecker barely moved at all, and my balls were still tightly contracted. If every guy was hung like me, the jock strap manufacturers would all go bankrupt.

When the exercises were finished, Dr. Hughes told me to sit on the end of the exam table. She first took my blood pressure, then began to listen to my heart and lungs. As she held the stethoscope to my chest with her left hand, she casually rested her right hand on my thigh. Her long, slim fingers were only about half an inch from my shriveled cock, which, at this point, was also only about half an inch long.

After a quick check of my ears and throat, the doctor then took a vial of blood from my left arm. As she turned to place the blood sample on the counter, Dr. Hughes uttered the words I had been dreading: "Ok, Sgt. Peterson, let's check you for any hernias. Please lie down on the table."

"Yes, Doctor," I said as I stretched out. She walked back to the side of the exam table, and seemed to pause as she stared at my pale, tiny prick. With a grin she began a thorough examination of my genitals. I noticed that she wasn't wearing any exam gloves. As she held my cock between her thumb and forefinger, I wondered if she had any children. Because I would probably compare unfavorably to a five year old at the moment.

After what seemed like a two hour scrutiny of my shriveled goods, Dr. Hughes walked over to a cabinet and began to put on some latex gloves. "Let's take a look at your prostate," she said. "Pull your knees up and hold them apart with your hands."

I did as I was instructed, and was soon spread out on my back like a woman having a gyno exam. Dr. Hughes strolled over to the foot of the exam table, stopped between my widespread legs, and smiled down at me. "Just relax, this won't hurt a bit," she said, as she began to insert her long middle finger into my anus.

She quickly found my prostate gland and began to massage it. And just like she had thrown a light switch, I began to sense a stirring in my cock. "Feels pretty good, doesn't it?" asked Dr. Hughes, as she continued to finger me. I couldn't disagree, and was soon sporting my usual 4 inch wood.

"Looks like your little friend woke up," laughed Dr. Hughes. Then, as I started to feel an orgasm building up, she began to move her finger rapidly in and out of my ass. That did it. Before I could say a word of warning, I shot a huge load of cum all over my stomach and chest. Some even landed on my chin.

"Wow, you would make an excellent donor at the fertility clinic," chuckled the doctor, as she pulled her finger out of my ass. She took off her gloves, threw them in the trash, and told me I could get dressed.

"You seem to be in excellent health," she said as she gathered up my medical records. "Enjoy civilian life. And if I may give you some advice, look for an Asian woman when you want to get married. Somehow the proportions seem about right." Then she smiled, waved her little finger at me, and left the exam room.

It took me a few minutes to catch my breath, clean myself off, and get dressed. I quickly left the hospital and was out of the Air Force in another 2 weeks. I never saw the "Black Widow" again, but I did take her advice. I married a Japanese girl 15 years ago. And she still loves to tease me about what she calls my "little Samurai sword".