Disappointing Dr. Rogers 1

By tinybetacuck

Doug opened the door to the waiting room and walked in. The antechamber was small, and it was made even more cramped by the baskets of toys lining the shelves and the magazines scattered across the low coffee table. The door to the next room was closed, so he sat down on the couch, set his backpack down on the floor between his legs and picked up a People magazine. He was still leafing through it when the office door opened in front of him. A forty-ish woman and middle-school-aged girl walked out followed by Dr. Rogers.

He looked up to hear Dr. Rogers telling them to email her about rescheduling their appointment next week because she would be out of town. The mother looked a little worn but spoke genially as she guided her daughter by the back through the doorway.

Doug avoided eye contact as they awkwardly pushed through the narrow strait between the coffee table and coat rack. The door to the hallway opened and closed behind him, and Dr. Rogers motioned him in to the office.

“Great to see you Doug,” she said in her jaunty rasp. “How’s it going?”

Doug rose, picking up his backpack by the strap and letting it dangle from his side.

“Oh I’m pretty good, thanks.”

He walked through the door, which she closed behind him. “I’m back in town for the week, and I wanted to stop in and talk things over with you.”

The office was well appointed, appropriate for a successful therapist. The room was deep but not very wide, and a new Mac laptop was open on the desk by the door.

Doug walked past the desk and sat down on the couch against the back wall. He put his backpack on the cushion next to him and watched Dr. Rogers pick up a notebook from her desk. She walked towards him, hoop earrings jangling beneath her fashionably pinned-back wavy hair, and she sat down in the high-backed chair across from him.

“I’m glad you did, it’s always nice to hear from you,” she said, smiling at him. “Does anything in particular bring you in today?”

Doug fidgeted. Dr. Rogers was his childhood shrink. He had seen her as a nervous boy when he was about the same age as her previous patient, visiting her in her old office once a week for a few years, then sporadically for another year or so. They always had had a smooth, happy relationship. Looking back on it, he thought she exuded a nurturing maternal calmness. Even now, over a decade later, he felt relaxed around her.

Of course he was well aware that he harbored a deep and abiding infatuation with her. He had built an image up in his mind over the years their years apart, which he often drew on while masturbating. Her remembered her as always kind, always happy to see him, always genuinely concerned over his wellbeing. She still tugged at that one spot behind his chest—halfway between his brain and his balls.

He had started visiting again about a year ago, driving the 40 minutes out to his hometown once every couple of months to nibble at the corners of his anxieties. She was fit for woman in her late 40s and always wore the smart but casual business suits of the modern professional woman. Looking at her from across a small coffee table, he thought her blouse hugged her breasts nicely.

“Yeah there were a couple of things.” He gave her a few of what he thought of as news items: how things were at work, what his parents were up to, what he had been doing for fun. Ten minutes went by. He genuinely liked talking to her about these things, but he also knew that if this had any shot he would have to ease into it.

“And how about your relationship,” she asked. “How’s Jess?”

He came right out with it. “Well, we actually aren’t seeing each other anymore. It had been pretty bad for a while, and it just had to happen.”

“Oh Doug, I’m sorry to hear that,” she said kindly.

“Thanks.” He wasn’t quite sure what to say. The break-up was a big deal, but he didn’t know how he felt about it yet. He and Jess had been together for almost two years, and it was all still so fresh.

“How do you feel about it?” she asked.

“I really don’t know. It’s so new. We were dating for a long time. Life feels different without her, but I don’t think it’s all bad. I can see now how unhappy we were dating, so staying together for it’s own sake wouldn’t have made any sense.”

“Do you know why you were so unhappy?”

“I don’t know,” he said again. “It seems like it was a lot of things, so it’s hard to put my finger on one.”

“I know you had spoken to me about your sexual life, how it hadn’t been good for a while.”

His seemingly innocent nibbling over the past year was paying off—she brought it up on her own.

“Yeah, we hadn’t had sex in a few weeks, and even when we did before that it wasn’t great.”

He sighed, upset at the truth this part of his plan was based on.

“That’s too bad. Sex is an important part of a relationship, especially since I know you have such a vivid interior sexual life.”

She clearly remembered his sessions well. They had discussed his sexual frustrations in a couple previous sessions, and he divulged some of his deep fantasies. But he always made sure to just dip a toe in those waters, carefully steering it back to less dicey topics after mentioning his kinks. Now it was time to plunge ahead.

“Yeah, you know, she never warmed to what I was into. I think it kind of turned her off. But I just like the idea of talking about my little dick.”

He said the magic words. Saying it out loud gave him the rush he craved. One of the scenarios that he’d thought of during so many sleepless nights lying next to Jess, stewing in his frustration and anger, was coming true. Dr. Rogers knew about his embarrassment. When he walked in the door, she knew what was hanging daintily beneath his jeans. What made the humiliation more acute was how he had described in detail his sexual inability and his failure to make Jess cum during sex. She knew he was a bad lover, and—the kicker—despite his large manly shoulders and slightly heavy physique, he would never be a worthy sexual partner of a confident, mature woman.

“Yes, it’s certainly possible that some women might have a problem seeing their man as submissive and still feel attracted to them.”

“I just feel so much anxiety about my small penis, how I feel like I just can’t do the job that a bigger guy could do,” Doug said. “I understand that bigger isn’t always better, but she doesn’t like dainty sex, and how could she not be happier with something bigger. Something more powerful and manly than mine.”

She frowned slightly at this blatant self-loathing and tried to bring him back from the lip of such negative thoughts.

“Is it really that small? I know the average is smaller than you might think.”

Doug was ready for this question. His palms started sweating, but he worked up the nerve to give the answer he had been practicing during late-night masturbation sessions for the past few weeks.

“I’ve talked about this with you a couple times before, and you can tell that it’s something that gives me a lot of anxiety.” Here it comes, and he stuttered a bit out the gate: “I’ve been…I thought…thinking it would really help me if I can just show you.”

He wasn’t sure what to expect. She had always been open and willing to talk to him about anything. Even though she was a children’s shrink—the games and toys around the room always reminded him—who had known him for more than half his life, she hadn’t blinked when he first brought up his small penis and his fetish for cuckoldry. On the other hand, this had to be inappropriate, right? There had to be a line that he was crossing, despite how he couched his suggestion as a plea for help.

She looked only slightly taken aback, at least.

“Well Doug. I don’t know about that. I’m happy to talk about sex, but…I don’t know about that.”

The reasoning he had worked out: “I mean just so you have a frame of reference, so you don’t have to guess if I’m exaggerating it in either direction. I’ll just show you and then you’ll know and I’ll put it away.”

She hesitated, thinking it over. Thinking it over! At least his worst-case scenario wasn’t playing out: Dr. Rogers standing up and pointing her finger at the door, shouting at him about indecency and deviant behavior.

“Hmm, I know you are a respectful guy, so I will say yes. If you really think it will help you.”

Holy shit. This is happening. I’m about to show Dr. Roger’s my cock. Remember this forever.

Doug was so happy he had shaved his pubes two nights before in anticipation of the appointment. Now his cock looked even smaller and boy-like, increasing the chance he would get the humiliation he so craved. His heart was pounding in his throat as he stood up and reached for his belt. This is really happening! What’s going to happen!

“Ok great thank you” came out in a guttural cough.

She pushed her glasses up her nose and leaned forward, pen in hand, as he undid his belt and undid the button. With clammy palms, he pulled his zipper down. He grabbed the sides of his jeans and in one motion pulled his pants and boxers down to his ankles. He lost his balance and ungracefully fell back on to the couch.

His little cock and balls flopped out and bounced between his white, flabby thighs. He leaned his body forward, putting his feet flat on the floor and opening his legs to give her a good view: Flaccid from the excitement, his circumcised shaft was as thick as a roll of nickels and eked out a wrinkled two inches. Hanging below, his boy-ish, hairless scrotum housed two pebble-sized testicles. He looked down at what he had to offer, then up into her eyes.

Her glasses were at the end of her nose, and she looked down through them at his cock. Her hands were clutched together in her lap on her open notebook.

“Well, I can see why you think you are small,” she allowed. His stomach simultaneously rose and dropped and his heart fluttered. He knew that no matter what happened today, he would repeat those words in his head for the rest of his life. “I could see how you might think about what a bigger one would be like for her.”

“Doesn’t it look like a boy’s dick?” He didn’t even premeditate that comment, it just came out, so pathetic and vulgar.

“I don’t know about that, though the way you’ve groomed it does something to suggest that.”

This was going so well. Her comments were the most devastating kind of humiliation. Not offered in hateful bursts meant to insult and hurt, like the dominatrix porn videos he subjected himself to several nights a week, but leaking out off-hand, unthinkingly, like some kind of obvious truth. His cock started to rise, swelling into semi-erection. Dr. Rogers raised her eyebrows incredulously.

“Yes, I guess you should show me what it looks like erect,” she said, dismissively. “Frankly, I can understand your sex life with Jess so much better now. I thought you were just being over-anxious, but your penis really is quite small and not very sexy.”

Doug started tugging at his limp dick with his right hand, sticking his left underneath to cradle his tiny ball sack. He stared ahead, open-mouthed at Dr. Rogers’s shirt, suddenly nervous at having to perform. For how much he wanted to be humiliated, he still felt a competing urge, an in-born, masculine drive to be virile and powerful. He used his thumb and index and middle fingers to jerk off frantically, the little head of his mostly-flaccid cock waggling ludicrously from side to side.

All of the moments with Jess came flooding back: her lying on the bed in front of him, perfect breasts staring up at him and swaying gently with her movements, wet pussy pleading to be fucked, while he fumbled with his sad cock—like he was right now—frustrated and embarrassed and horny and angry.

His cock stubbornly wouldn’t grow. It wouldn’t harden at all, and he was so horny. He looked up at Dr. Rogers’s beautiful, impartial face, unsure of what to do.

She sighed. Her demeanor had changed significantly from the patient, nurturing persona he had known for the past decade. She hadn’t said much, but he could perceive how very unimpressed she was with his penis and his inability to become erect. His ineffectualness seemed offensive to her.

“Look, is there anything I can do to get this done faster.” She looked at him impatiently, daring him to ask of her what she knew was on his mind.

“Uh, well I guess it would help if you, you know, if you wanted to—”

“Just say it!” She looked at him angrily, staring him down. “If you want me to get my tits out so you can get hard, then just ask. You are paying for this session, first of all, and second of all, be a man! Pursue what you want.”

He didn’t know what to say. Part of him felt so embarrassed he wanted to crawl into a hole and die, while at the same time his cock started to stiffen in her hand. Dr. Rogers was already looking down at her blouse and undoing the top buttons. This plan of his was going so well he couldn’t believe it, but he was also afraid of the Pandora’s Box he had opened.

He gaped as her lush cleavage came into view. She undid the top four buttons and pushed her blouse underneath the large cups of her bra, which was black with lacey fringe around the straps and a black bow between the cups. He drank in her perfectly framed mounds with his hungry eyes. By now he had forgotten his anxiety: his cock was rock hard and his balls had tightened up underneath.

Dr. Rogers reached into her bra and pulled out her left breast. It sat out on the folded-over bra while she dug out her large right breast. Now both of her tits were facing him, framed and supported perfectly by the black bra and purple blouse bunched up underneath. Her pink areolas shrank and tightened in the open air. Doug unknowingly moved his hand up and down on his cock, his gaze soaking in his childhood therapist’s perfect tits.

Dr. Rogers peered imperiously down over her glasses. “Move your hand, let me see your dick.”

Doug jerked his hand away and looked up obediently, surrendering to the sexual alpha in the room. His 4-inch boner jutted out of his lap obscenely.

“Let me grab a ruler,” she said, rising from her chair to walk back to her desk. Her tits jiggled as she stood up and with every step, still flawlessly situated in her upturned bra. “But from the looks of it, you’re not very well endowed.”

The intense humiliation crashed over him like a sheet of rain, but he shook the splash and came up for more. His cock strained with the exuberance only a little boy-sized boner could muster.

Dr. Rogers walked back with a ruler and knelt next to Doug’s lap.

“I bet this is the closest you’ll get any woman with her tits out to get to you,” she joked humorlessly. The corners of her perfectly lip-sticked lips turned up, and she locked eyes. There was a cold, unfeelingness in her gaze that turned his stomach. “Your penis is small, Doug.”

Still paralyzed by overstimulation, Doug leaned back passively. Dr. Rogers pushed his legs apart and actually grabbed his dick! He exhaled sharply. She glanced up at him, annoyed at how much it meant to him. She positioned his boner so it reached its maximum height and held the ruler up alongside it. Keeping the objects steady and leaning forward to look through her glasses, Dr. Rogers said: “Yes, four and a third inches, about what I thought.”

She wanted to re-measure, just to be sure. She tried changing her grip on his dick, and the hard little boner sprang back against his body, precum smearing his stomach hair. She reached to pick it up again. Her bare tits bounced under his face, filling his nose with her scent. Her fingers slide over the bottom of the narrow shaft and Doug’s leg spasmed. He started to cum. His mess splurted out, covering Dr. Rogers’ ringed fingers. She pulled her hand back while he was still spurting, ruining his orgasm, and glared, disgusted. His breathing was deep and husky, and he didn’t dare reach for his dick to glean whatever pleasure he could from his shameful act.

“Ugh, what the hell, Doug?” She held her hand away from her body like she was holding a dead animal. “That’s really gross! Nobody wants you to do that.”

His face flushed with embarrassment. He could feel sweat bead on his scalp. Doug could not believe that he just prematurely ejaculated onto Dr. Rogers after only being out for maybe three minutes. He had turned into complete putty in the situation, losing all control over his body. You are such a total passive bitch! his mind screamed at him. His cock shrank back into his lap, red and shiny and limp. His groin was covered in cum, matting his leg hair.

Dr. Rogers grimaced at her hand, then looked up sharply. “Doug, suck the cum off my hand.”

“Wha-, what’d you say?”

“Do it!” She stuck her hand inches away from his mouth. Her eyes flared. “Suck your disgusting cum off my hands. You are a loser, Doug.”

The familiar smell of his own semen filled his nostrils. Reluctantly he leaned forward and stuck his tongue out. The tip touched one of the wet spots on her index finger.

“Suck the cum, you pathetic boy.” She shoved her hand into his mouth. The shock woke Doug up, and he began licking and sucking earnestly. The acrid, salty goo covered his tongue and lips. The semen mixed with saliva and strands got stuck in his stubbly beard and mustache as he licked between her fingers.

After he sucked her fingers clean, she wiped the cum from his jutting stomach and made him lick it off. When he stopped licking for a moment,

Dr. Rogers snatched her hand away. Her exposed breasts rippled as she pulled several tissues from the box on the coffee table then tossed the dispenser on to Doug’s lap.

She stood up. “Take your shoes off.”

He scrambled to kick of his black sneakers, looking up at her attentively.

She turned around, wiping her hands with the tissues. She reached for a nearby bottle of Purell and squeezed a dime out into her palm. After her hands were dry, she started fidgeting with her cloths. From behind her, Doug could tell she was putting her boobs back into the cups of her bra. “Take all your clothes off,” she ordered, without turning around.

He hesitated for a moment before standing up, then he rose, kicking his jeans and underwear into a pile at his feet and starting to unbutton his shirt. He threw all the clothes on top of his bag on the couch next to him. He stood there nude, his now-limp, short cock hanging between two pale, sparsely-haired masses of thigh. He left his arms dangling passively at his sides.

Dr. Rogers turned around. Her hair, which had become slightly disheveled over the last few minutes, had returned to its immaculate pin-up. Her blouse was crisply buttoned up, leaving no sign that her breasts had been hanging out of it moments before. She scanned his standing, nude form with a withering stare, and Doug was immediately ashamed. He instinctively reached to cover his groin, but one look at her face told him that wasn’t a good idea.

“It’s time to tell you the truth,” Dr. Rogers said. She strode back in front of the easy chair she started the session in and sat down. He remained standing. “I’ve known you for a long time. I’ve had a lot of affection for you. You were a sensitive young boy with your share of anxieties. Since you’ve been seeing me again in the last year or so, you’ve been telling me about your sexual problems, and I thought that it may be just your anxiety manifesting itself in your mind.”

She paused here, and Doug knew she was weighing her word choice carefully. He stood motionlessly, watching as she tapped her pen on her dark red lips. He was suddenly keenly aware of the draft flowing through the room, and he felt his exposed nipples harden and his scrotum contract against his shriveling shaft. Finally, she inhaled and continued.

“I was wrong. I see that now. Now that Jess has left you, and you’ve shown me…that”—she gestured her pen towards his penis—”it all fits together. You have not grown into a man. Your penis never grew from when you were a boy, and you clearly aren’t aware how much you need to compensate for that. You have told me yourself about your inadequacy as a lover. Jess never came, you came prematurely so frequently. That poor girl, she must have been lying beside you so often just seething in frustration after you rolled off of her. All women know that feeling when they need a good fucking, a good ramming from a man with stamina and power and a big, sexy cock. Obviously you didn’t, and couldn’t, give her that.

“Look at your body, Doug. You think a woman wants to see that? You think she wants to come home from a bar with you and unzip your pants only to have that little worm in front of her face? We both know you would be too nervous to even get hard in that situation.” Her voice had risen into a firm lecturing level, and she seemed to rein that back into a calm, practiced psychiatrist’s tone, though her eyes remained hard and set.

“No, as you’re doctor, I’ve decided that you will not fuck anymore. You will not cum anymore. You had your chance to please a woman; to learn how they could give themselves over to you, how the bodies that you ogle and obsess over would be yours for the taking. But you didn’t, and I think its best you never find out what your missing. You will only disappoint the girl, anyway.”

She stood up, gesturing with her hands for him to dress. Even though there were still 15 minutes left, the session had clearly ended. Doug had been utterly exposed and emasculated.

“Come back in two weeks. Same time, same day. I will be prepared to help you … adjust your life to reflect the limitations nature has bestowed on you,” Dr. Rogers said carefully. She went back to her desk and began organizing the papers on her desk. “Please leave now.”


Read Part 2 Here.



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