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couldntbedamned · 2 years

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Nevertheless, Recover

Summary: Peter finds himself once again in Dr. Strange's office, hoping to find a reason and a cure for his latest ailment. He's come to the right place, since Dr. Strange will do everything it takes to diagnose and treat Peter. Hopefully, Peter will survive the embarrassment.

Warnings/AO3 Tags: 18+ Minors DNI, Medical Kink, Medical Procedures, Medical Inaccuracies, (no seriously don’t use this as medical advice ffs), Medical Examination, Sexual Roleplay, Humiliation, Dacryphilia, Sounding, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Forced Orgasm, Multiple Orgasms, Overstimulation, Dubious Ethics, Gaslighting, Aftercare, Safe Sane and Consensual, Peter Parker is an Adult, The Author Regrets Everything, The Author Regrets Nothing

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Nevertheless, Recover

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Peter sits on the exam table and his legs swing back and forth in an expression of his agitation. He’s once again in the office he’s coming to hate.

He’s tried to get another physician, but Dr. Strange is in his health insurance network, and none of the other approved doctors are accepting new patients. Technically he can go to an urgent care place, but it doesn’t feel right. He’s not dying and the thought of explaining his problem to a stranger kind of horrifies him.

At least Dr. Strange is familiar. Kind of. Unfortunately.

He can only imagine the verbal lashing he’s going to get from the man once he realizes why Peter is here. Strange already thinks he’s some kind of sexual pervert, if their last visit was any indicator.

Peter bids the doctor to come in at the strong knock and Strange walks in, shutting the door behind him.

He’s wearing dark blue scrubs that compliment his skin, bring out his eyes, and show off the leanly muscled lines of his arms. Why did Peter’s doctor have to be so good-looking? It wasn’t fair! And the stethoscope around his neck just draws attention of the v-cut of the top… Peter closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He can’t afford to get hard right now.

“Mr. Parker,” Strange drawls. “Welcome back.”

“Peter’s fine,” Peter says quickly.

“Alright, then, welcome back, Peter.” He sits down on his wheeled stool and gives Peter his full attention. “What seems to be the problem?”

He can’t do this. Fuck, this is too damn embarrassing. He focuses on the floor and mumbles it out under this breath.

“Earning my paycheck today, I see,” Strange says before blowing out an impatient breath. “You’ve requested a consultation with me. Now, since I’m an adult doctor and not a pediatrician, I expect for my patients to be able to discuss adult things and that we’ll do so like adults. At a minimum, I expect that I will be able to hear you and that your eyes will meet mine. Now, eyes on me and speak up clearly.”

Peter looks up. He can feel the heat of the flush rising up his neck and into his cheeks. “S-sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, just look at me when you’re speaking to me. Now. What brings you into my office today?”

Peter swallows and forces himself to look at Dr. Strange. “I uh, I can’t get off.”

“When you say that ‘you can’t get off,’ do you mean that you are unable to reach orgasm?” Strange clarifies.

“Yeah. I haven’t been able to for a few weeks now. I get kind of close and then nothing. I guess I want to make sure nothing’s, you know, broken.”

Strange’s eyebrows raise. “Okay. Well, I’m sure we can get to the bottom of this.” He rolls his stool back and grabs a notepad off of the small counter along with a pen. “Let’s start with some basic questions.”

“Basic?”

Strange gives him what’s probably meant to be a reassuring smile. Considering Peter’s history with Dr. Strange, it’s anything but. But he needs to be able to get off. So badly.

“O-okay. You’re the doctor,” Peter tells him.

“Good boy,” Strange says. “Now, when was your last orgasm?”

Oh fuck.

“It was a week after my physical,” Peter says. “So, the 31st.”

“How was that orgasm achieved? Masturbation? Intercourse? Prostate stimulation?”

“U-um, I was, uh, I was m-masturbating.”

“And how were you masturbating? Were you stimulating your cock, being penetrated?”

Peter closes his eyes. “I h-had a dildo I was riding. And I was stroking myself.”

“Okay. This toy you used, was it stimulating your prostate at any point in time?”

He can’t stop the light flush turning red hot. Why is this so important? “I can’t actually remember.”

“If it had been, you would remember,” Strange says, unimpressed. “Trust me.” He’s writing something and Peter can’t see it from the angle he’s sitting. “Were there any external stimuli?”

“E-external?” Peter asks. “I was using my hand.”

Strange stops himself from chuckling but his expression is just a little… condescending. “I mean were you watching pornography?”

Peter closes his eyes. He just knows that if he admits that yes, he was watching porn, Dr. Strange is going to be judgy. Even though everyone watches porn. Oh fuck. What if Strange asks what kind of porn he was watching?"

“Peter?”

Peter’s eyes open and he see Strange watching him intently, annoyed.

“I don’t like repeating myself,” Strange tells him.

“Yeah, I was watching porn!” Peter finally bites out. “So the fuck what?”

Strange’s eyes narrow. “If you feel guilty for watching consenting adults have sex with each other, that’s your problem. I’m asking questions to get a sense of what the circumstances were when you last had an orgasm in the hopes we can get to the root cause of why you’ve been unable to do so since then. If you’re going to be an uncooperative little brat, then perhaps you’re not mature enough to even be attempting to have an orgasm, let alone watch other people do so.” He makes sure Peter’s meeting his gaze. “I would suggest you watch your tone, Peter. Either you want my help, or you don’t. Stop wasting my time.”

Peter lowers his gaze, curses himself. Surely a doctor like Dr. Strange has seen and heard it all before, right? The chances of Peter being the outlier are very slim.

“I was watching porn,” he says, voice calmer this time. “Gay porn, actually. I uh, I don’t get turned on with straight porn, or lesbian porn.”

“Okay.” Strange makes more notes. “What about it appealed to you?”

He shifts. “One of the men was younger and looked like me, kind of. With brown hair and eyes. And the other guy was older and tall and not super built, but he looked nice.”

“You found the subjects physically attractive.”

Peter nods. “Yeah, but more than that they were… well, the older one was in charge, you know? Told the younger one what to do and how to do it. He was kind of mean about it but the younger guy seemed okay with it, happy even. He was really hard, at least.”

“You enjoyed the idea of dominance and submission?” Strange asks.

Peter shrugs. “I don’t know if it was exactly that. I guess it came off like the older one would give the younger one what he needed, eventually, and the younger one knew the older guy would take care of him so long as he did what he was told. And at the end they were kind of sweet with each other.”

“I see,” Strange says. He writes some more notes. “Have you watched the same video since then?”

“I can’t,” Peter admits. “It got taken down.”

“The times you’ve masturbated to orgasm, were you watching the video?”

“N-no. Not always. The theme was kind of similar, with the older guy in charge of the younger smaller guy. And I don’t always watch something when I’m trying to get off.”

“Have you tried watching other videos while masturbating?”

“I’ve tried everything,” Peter says. “I mean, short of choking myself.”

“At least you have some common sense. Thank goodness for small favors,” Strange says. “Your most recent attempt at climax, what were you doing?”

Peter doesn’t want to answer. Hell, Dr. Strange will probably have him shipped off the psych ward and he’ll end up spending the rest of his days in a straight-jacket and eating green jell-o through a straw.

Strange sighs. “Peter, there are other patients I could be seeing right now, patients who have bigger concerns than if their penis can ejaculate. Please stop wasting my time.”

Once again, Peter feels the heat creep up his neck and into his ears, his cheeks.

“I was pretending like I was being held down,” he admits. “Like, like I didn’t have a choice. And I was pretending that the guy was being really mean when he talked to me.”

Strange’s eyes are on him, and finally he blinks. “So you have rape fantasies? Like a little over half of all men?”

Peter forces himself to keep looking at the doctor while he speaks. “I g-guess so, yeah. It’s not all the time!” he hastens to add. “But sometimes, it happens. I don’t want it to actually happen!” he insists.

“Of course you don’t,” Dr. Strange says simply. “A person’s fantasies have little-to-no bearing on what that person wants in reality. The mind has many mysteries.”

Again, the doctor makes notes that Peter is unable to read. “Frankly, I’m just surprised you actually admitted it. I thought you would have lied, for sure. You’re not exactly my most upfront and cooperative patient.”

Peter swallows. “You would have known if I was lying.”

“True. Now, are there other fantasies you have that no longer help you to climax?”

Peter takes a deep breath, and spills. He has a few, for sure. There’s the kept-house boy fantasy, where part of his duties included making his body available to the master of the house. A basic, if uninspired fantasy involving a very strict college professor, a spanking with a ruler, and going the extra mile to get an A. He stammers through the one where he’s short on rent and the suave, rich landlord suggests they could come to an arrangement. On it goes, and Dr. Strange never speaks a word, just writes. “And that’s pretty much it,” Peter finishes.

It’s a lie, of course. Kind of. Is it really lying if he can’t even admit it to himself? Dr. Strange would probably say yes. But Peter thinks he’s been thorough enough.

“That’s quite the list, Peter. When you’re having these fantasies, are you using your toys?”

“S-sometimes. But mostly I just jack off.”

“I see.” He wheels himself over to the counter and picks up Peter’s file. “During your last visit, you mentioned that you were sexually involved with another man. Have the two of you had intercourse since that visit?”

“Just once. That was the first time I wasn’t able to get off.” Peter frowns. “Not that he cared.”

“Okay. Well, there could be a few different factors at play here, Peter. Stress is a big cause of impotence. Tobacco, alcohol, and other addictions can also lead to difficulties. Peyronie’s disease could be another cause, but I feel sure a physical exam will rule that out. Given that you were here a month ago and in good physical health, I doubt your inability to orgasm stems from high blood pressure or cardiovascular problems.” Strange clasps his hands together. “We’ll do a brief physical exam and sounding, check for nerve damage, and I’ll also have a panel run to rule out any sexually transmitted diseases.”

“A-an ultrasound?” Peter asks. “I thought those were for pregnant women.”

Dr. Strange studies him as if he’s some sort of dumb puppy. “It’s for getting images of inside of the body. We can make sure there’s no swelling or infection.”

Peter nods. “Okay.”

Strange stands and moves to the cabinet. He pulls out a medical gown very similar to the one Peter wore the last time he was in the office and hands it to him.

“Go ahead and get changed. I’m going to go and grab some equipment we’ll need, and I’ll be right back.”

Great. Equipment. Were ultrasound machines transportable? Peter has no idea. And why did Dr. Strange call it sounding and not ultrasound? It’s not much of a shortcut.

Dutifully, Peter undresses and folds his clothes neatly. Why he feels the need to hide his boxers like they’re something shameful when Dr. Strange has literally seen him full of an enema, Peter doesn’t know. He pulls on the gown - and funding must be terrible if they can’t afford to replace the gowns with ones that aren’t nearly see-through from constant laundering - and sits back down on the exam table.

His feet are cold, and he wonders if there are those non-slip socks in any of the drawers. He can - no, no, he’s not going to go there. The last thing he needs is Dr. Strange walking in on Peter rifling through his cabinets and drawers. He’ll just ask.

A knock on the door is followed by Dr. Strange wheeling in a cart that has a small laptop-looking device on it. A bottle of gel is next to it and a strange looking probe-type thing connected to a cable. Underneath on a shelf is a variety of instruments he can’t see clearly - hopefully no scalpels - and a slim black case that’s zipped closed.

“You’re a lucky guy, Peter,” Strange tells him, adjusting the cart’s placement before moving to shut the door to the room. “This mobile ultrasound machine is top of the line.”

Peter doesn’t feel lucky.

He just wants to know if he’s ever going to come again.

“Go ahead and hop on the scale over by the door so I can get your height and weight. Then I’ll get your blood pressure and we can move on.”

Peter’s annoyed, but masks it as he gets off the table and walks over to the scale. He lets out a sigh as Strange moves the balance weights and then lowers the height marker to the top of his head.

“You’ve lost weight,” Strange remarks. “I’m guessing the stress from your problem.”

“It’s hard to think about food when you’re worried if you’ll ever get a boner again,” Peter says.

Strange looks at him sharply. “You didn’t say you were having trouble getting erect, just reaching climax.”

Well, fuck.

“It takes a while to get hard, when I can manage it. And when I am hard, I can’t get off,” Peter explains. “Does that change anything?”

Dr. Strange looks heavenward as if astounded. “It certainly doesn’t make this less complicated.” He narrows his eyes at Peter.

Peter steps off the scale and onto the cold floor. Which reminds him. “Um, Dr. Strange?”

“Yes?” Strange asks with an exasperated sigh.

“Um, it’s really cold in here, and I came in wearing sandals. Are there any of those socks they use in hospitals that I could wear?” He can’t help it; he looks at the floor, feeling stupid.

“Are you asking the floor or are you asking me?”

Peter looks up. “I’m asking you.”

Shaking his head, Dr. Strange pulls a pair out of one of the cabinets and tosses it on the exam table. Peter eagerly pulls the pair on before hopping back up on the bed. He wiggles his toes, glad that they’re finally warm for the first time since coming into the office. He notices Strange staring at him and stops, flushing.

“Cute,” Strange says dryly. He sits back on his stool. “Since you weren’t honest before, I’m going to need you to tell me when you last had an erection.”

“A couple of days ago,” Peter answers. It’s humiliating, but he doesn’t feel like pressing his luck.

“And how long did it last?”

“Well, I tried to get off for about thirty minutes before I gave up. Then I took a cold shower, and it went away.”

“Before your problem started, how long did it usually take for you to climax?” Strange is making more notes.

“How am I supposed to know that?” Peter asks. “Sometimes I’d go off immediately, other times I’d try to take longer so I could get to the part where…” he trails off, embarrassed.

“Peter,” Strange warns.

“I tried to time it so that I didn’t get off until the older guys in the videos would let the younger guys come.”

Just kill him now. No orgasm is worth this.

“As fascinating as your habits are, I’m going to need some kind of timeframe as an answer.”

“Between ten and fifteen minutes if I was watching porn. Around five if I was just fantasizing and jerking off,” he admits.

Dr. Strange makes a few more notes and then stands up, the stool rolling backwards with the movement. “Okay. I’ll start with a basic physical and then we’ll move on to more targeted diagnostic tests.”

“Basic?” Peter asks.

“Not as in-depth as was required for your last physical,” Strange says. “If you would actually bother to start showing up regularly, they wouldn’t be so invasive.”

“I’m going to do better,” Peter promises before he can stop himself.

“We’ll see,” is all Strange says.

That hurts, sends shame coiling in his belly. He doesn’t know why he wants Dr. Strange’s approval so badly. But fuck, he does.

He studies Strange as the man pulls on his latex gloves with a distinct snap. And with that snap, something sparks in his groin.

“Well, isn’t that interesting,” Strange murmurs.

Peter looks down and groans in embarrassment.

He’s hard.

All because of those fucking exam gloves.

“I-I don’t know why -”

“Do you get off on these visits, Peter?” Strange asks.

“No!”

Yes.

“Hmm.” Strange looks like he doesn’t believe him but doesn’t say anything further.

A gloved hand gently takes hold of one of Peter’s testicles, rubs it and Peter can’t help but moan softly. Then it’s being squeezed roughly.

“I’m sorry!” Peter gasps out. “Look, I am, but it feels good, okay?”

“Just try to control yourself,” Strange says.

The other testicle is examined. “Nothing unusual, heavier than your last visit, but that’s to be expected with the lack of release.”

His cock is next, and fuck why does Dr. Strange have to be so impersonal about it as he feels up and down?

“Any burning or discomfort when you urinate?”

“No,” Peter answers honestly.

“Alright. I’m going to check for blockage in your urethra, but I’ll need you soft for it.”

Peter groans, knowing what’s coming. Sure enough, Strange puts an ice pack on his groin and he can’t stop the yelp he lets out. It’s so fucking cold his cock feels like it’s on fire.

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Strange tells him. “You’ve been through it before.”

That memory along with the cold of the ice pack duals with the unfortunately arousing condescension from Dr. Strange. Eventually, the cold wins out and Peter feels himself starting to soften.

“H-how do you check for blockage in something so narrow?” Peter asks.

“Sounding,” Strange answers.

“An ultrasound can tell you that?” he asks skeptically.

“Probably. And I’ll do one of those, as well.”

“I’m so confused,” Peter says. And he’s worried and all he wanted was a consult to figure out why he can’t come and now Strange is going to be doing things to him again.

Dr. Strange grabs the slim black case Peter noticed earlier and unzips it. He pulls out a slim, delicately curved rod. “This is a sounding rod.”

“How is that supposed to look and see if there’s a block?”

“It goes inside your urethra, Peter.”

Peter’s jaw drops. “No! No fucking way! There’s no way it can fit down there!”

“I assure you, it can, and it will. These are sterile rods. I wouldn’t do this if it weren’t safe and effective.”

“No,” Peter says again.

“I see,” Dr. Strange says. “I’m afraid you don’t give me much choice, here, Peter.”

There’s a tiny pinch in his neck and he starts to feel a little… off.

“W-wha?”

“Just a quick-acting, mild sedative. It’ll wear off in a few minutes. Knowing your previous behavior, I thought it was best to be prepared,” Strange tells him.

Then he’s pulling up the stirrups and strapping Peter’s legs in before pushing the things out so that he’s splayed. Then he lifts and locks two arm rests into place; Peter’s never noticed those before. Again, his arms are strapped down. Then a strap comes over his chest and is tightened and Peter’s basically bound, helpless, to the exam table.

“I’ve never had such an uncooperative, ungrateful patient before,” Strange chides. “You schedule my time, claiming to need my help, and then you do everything you can to let me know that my expertise and my professional judgement are beneath you, as if you know better.”

Peter can only stare up at him, guilt roiling in his gut.

Strange checks his watch. “You should be getting sensation back.”

He is. “Yeah.”

“Good. Now, what’s going to happen is I’m going to check and make sure there’s not any blockage that’s preventing your ejaculation. I know the rods can look scary, but I wouldn’t just shove something into you. I’ll use medical-grade lubrication and start with the thinnest rod.”

Swallowing heavily, Peter nods. “Will it hurt?”

“It will feel unusual,” Strange tells him.

He removes the ice bag from Peter’s crotch and studies the flaccid organ. He sets the bag aside and grabs a bottle of lube and a plastic syringe.

He closes his eyes when Strange fills the syringe with lube. He can’t watch. Things aren’t meant to go into his dick! Sure enough, the feeling of the lube being pushed into him is so weird, but he manages to keep from crying out.

A little hard to, considering that when he can bring himself to open his eyes, his attention is glued on the case that holds the sounds. And on Strange, whose long, blue-gloved fingers are selecting a sound.

Dr. Strange calls it the thinnest, yet to Peter it’s anything but, far too thick to even consider sliding in there.

“Relax, Peter. I wouldn’t do anything to injure a patient, even one as difficult as you.”

Peter lays his head back; he can’t watch this. This feels like a violation beyond anything he’s ever experienced in this office, and Dr. Strange had once measured his testicles!

A gloved hand gently grasps his cock and holds it steady while another begins to feed something cold and slick into his dick and fuck it’s so weird.

It’s not bad, exactly but it is the weirdest sensation he’s ever felt in his life. And it doesn’t stop. The rod keeps sliding down and down and-

“Oh!”

Strange holds him down - damn, the doctor is strong! - and continues to move the sound around a bit and it touches something.

“What are you feeling?”

“I-I can’t describe it,” Peter says with panting breaths.

“Try.”

Peter looks up at Strange and then down to where he’s thrusting and twisting the sound in and out of Peter’s urethra. Then the gloved hand squeezes his cock and fuck nonononono…

“I feel like, like I need to go, but not,” he manages to say. “It’s this weird fullness, but nothing like I’ve ever felt.”

“Imagine that,” Dr. Strange muses.

He pulls the sound free, and Peter wants to weep because it was feeling good.

“I’m going to use the next size up,” Strange informs him.

It looks too thick and not thick enough, and he’ll never admit it, but Peter wants it in him so badly.

As the sound is slid in, and oh it’s so much and he can feel tears running down his face, he hears the distinctive sound of Dr. Strange’s derision.

“Of course, you’d be getting aroused by such a basic medical procedure,” he drawls. “At this point chemical castration might be the only chance at subduing your perversions.”

Sure enough, Peter can feel himself stirring. Only, it doesn’t feel good, it hurts! The curve of the rod is an immovable force in his aroused cock.

“Stop!” he begs.

“Just relax. I’ll get another ice pack.”

“No!”

But Strange doesn’t listen, just leaves the sound in place, steps away and grabs another two packs of hell from the freezer. One is placed on Peter’s eager cock and the other is settled on top of the remaining sounds.

He’s trying to fight the arousal, trying to keep his head, but the rod is still in him, and he can feel it as if it’s becoming a part of him. Just as his breathing is easing, as he’s growing used to the sound, Strange twists it again, thrusts it in and out, barely touching that magic place Peter had felt before. The barrage of sensation coupled with the lack of that spot and the ice pack is just… Peter whimpers as he feels tears roll down his cheeks.

“Seems clear, but I think I’m going to try one more, the next size up,” Dr. Strange says as if to himself.

He pulls the sound out, sets it next to the other used sound with a clink.

Peter’s eyes close. He’s floating underwater somehow, like waves above him are rushing him forward only to draw him back further, deeper. His nerves are on fire, and he knows he’s still got another to go.

“Oh, relax,” Strange chides. “It’s hardly torture.”

Then there’s the sensation of cold so extreme it burns, and Peter opens his eyes to see the next rod - that’s sat under an ice pack - slide into his cock.

“Fuck!”

“Hmm. That’s quite the response.” Strange takes his time, pulling the sound back and then twisting it on the slide down.

“It’s too much,” Peter whines. “Dr. Strange, you gotta stop.”

The movement of the sound doesn’t stop. “You’re fine,” Dr. Strange says dismissively. “And what I ‘gotta’ do, is treat my patient. Don’t presume to tell me my job.”

“S-sorry!”

“I’m sure you are.”

After what seems like hours, with his cock burning and struggling to get hard despite the curved rod Strange seems so happy to torture him with, the sound is removed.

“No blockage,” Dr. Strange comments. “That’s good.”

He’s almost scared to ask. “If it’s not blocked, then what could the problem be?”

Strange spares him a look as he returns the ice pack over Peter’s cock. “We’re narrowing the possibilities down.”

Peter’s scared to ask what’s next. Oh hell, there isn’t some kind of enema thing for dicks, is there? He’ll die if there is. His heart will give out, and he’ll die.

“W-what else is there to do?” He hopes it comes out as curious as he can manage. He’s scared, but he needs to know.

Dr. Strange arches a condescending brow and Peter feels about two feet tall. “I’m going check on your prostate,” Strange tells him. “Chances are slim that it’s the issue but needs must.”

Peter knows how this is going to go. At this point it might as well just happen. He can’t thwart Dr. Strange. So, he just nods.

“That’s the compliant kind of patient I love to work with.”

Hah! He’s strapped to an exam table with an ice pack on his dick. He can’t exactly not comply at this point.

In his sight, he sees Dr. Strange pull on a fresh pair of gloves and his cock, even suffering under the ice, twitches at the snapping sound the gloves make. Strange lubing his fingers doesn’t help, either. He’s had those long, skilled fingers inside of him before… he shakes his head. Now is not the time to contemplate if he’s actually turned on by visits with Dr. Strange!

Gloved fingers circle his rim, and he shudders. Or, shudders as much as his restrained body can manage.

“Hmm. I need better access.” He removes the gloves and does something that has the table sliding inward under itself, leaving Peter’s ass exposed to the open air. “Much better,” Strange concludes after crouching down and getting a closer look.

The gloves and lubricant ritual repeats.

When he feels the gentle prodding along his exposed hole, he bites down on his lip to keep from making noise. It’s all for naught when a finger works its way in and Peter feels it feeling around. A whimper escapes just as another finger joins the first and twists.

“Sensitive, hmm?” Strange asks lightly. “That’s a good sign, at least.”

Then the two fingers are rubbing gently - so gently! - against his prostate and the noise that slips from Peter is a mix between a moan and a shout. He needs more, needs it so bad it hurts and if only he were anywhere but here and with anyone with Dr. Strange!

“P-please…”

He’s not sure what he’s begging for at this point. More. Less. To go home, to have Dr. Strange never stop what he’s doing, something.

Just as he’s feeling it building, something warm and delicious that he hasn’t felt in so. long... Strange pulls his fingers free.

“No!” he whines.

“Peter, how many times do I have to remind you that my exam room isn’t your personal porn studio?” Strange asks coldly. “I’m trying to diagnose your ailment, yet you continue to fight against me one minute and then use me to try and get off the next.”

“I’m sorry,” Peter apologizes desperately. “I am, really! But I can’t help that it feels good! And isn’t that part of why I came to see you? Because I haven’t been able to feel good?”

Dr. Strange continues looking at him like he’s not worth the effort it takes to lift a stethoscope.

“Try to contain yourself,” Strange says finally.

Tearfully, Peter nods. It’s not fair! How is he supposed to control what his body feels?

“Have you forgotten how to speak?”

“No!” He squeaks. “I-I’ll try to… try to control myself.”

“We’ll see,” Strange says dismissively. He turned to the ultrasound cart. “I suppose it’s time to take a look inside. Do you think you can get a grip on yourself?”

Peter clenches and unclenches his fists. “Y-yes.”

“Forgive me if I don’t hold my breath.”

He grabs the probe-looking thing from the cart and turns on the laptop. “This,” he says, motioning with the probe thing. “Is an ultrasound transducer. I’ll be using this to take a look inside your rectum.”

“You’re going to stick that inside me?” Peter chokes out, horrified. “It’s too long! You’ll poke a hole up there!”

Dr. Strange lets out a long sigh and sets the transducer down.

“Unbelievable,” he says, looking down at Peter. “I have half a mind to just send you on your way and let you figure out your alleged problem on your own. If you’re not behaving like a hysteric little pervert in my office, you’re fighting me on every step of your medical care.”

Peter can’t exactly hang his head, restrained to the table as he is, but he feels lower than dirt. Why can’t he just comply?

“Tell me, are you this much of a brat to everyone else who tries to help you, or is it just deep disrespect you harbor for me in particular?”

“N-no!” Peter insists with a sob. “Dr. Strange, I’m not trying to be difficult, I swear! I-I just…”

“You just what, Peter? Hmm?”

“I-I get scared and embarrassed! I don’t know why my body reacts the way it does in here and I’m scared that something is seriously wrong with me!”

Why oh why didn’t he just learn to live with not getting off?

“And you didn’t think that communicating this with the doctor who is trying to help you was necessary?”

“I’m sorry,” Peter pleads brokenly.

“Your actions do speak louder than your words,” Strange says finally.

He pushes up Peter’s gown before picking the transducer back up, slicking it with the ultrasound gel. “Now, please remember that I, unlike you, am a trained doctor and in fact, do know more than you about this procedure.”

Tears running down his face, Peter nods.

An irritated sigh.

“Y-yes, Dr. Strange.”

The device slides inside of him and Peter gasps. Strange pays him no mind, focuses on the screen instead. He moves the transducer in and out, angles it this and that way.

Peter does his best to remain still, but on the prods against his prostate, he can’t keep his hips from canting. Strange notices - because of course, he does - and a strong, gloved presses down on Peter’s abdomen, halting his movements. Peter can’t stop the moan; he can feel the transducer inside of him and the pressure from Dr. Strange’s hand… it’s hell on earth and amazing all at once.

“I’m not seeing any masses,” Dr. Strange says, pulling out the transducer and setting it aside. “I’m going to do another check.” He connects another transducer to another port and after squeezing some ultrasound gel on Peter’s abdomen, presses it against Peter’s skin. Peter turns his head and sees the two-up display on the screen. He can see his insides!

There’s prodding at his rim and Peter lets out a gasp as Strange works two fingers inside. He can… he can see Dr. Strange’s fingers inside of him!

Strange angles his fingers and Peter’s hips jerk up.

“And there’s your prostate,” Strange tells him, directing his attention to a small gray spot on the screen. “Considering it’s still in working order, and everything is all clear on the ultrasound, I’m not seeing any physical reason for your ailment.” His fingers stroke over it again and again as he speaks and Peter moans.

“If there’s noth-” Peter breaks off because the sensation is so much. “Not physical then, oh, fuck! what is it?”

He’s close, the closest he’s been in forever and he wants to come more than he wants his next breath.

Strange pulls his fingers free and as terrible as it is to feel the orgasm cheerfully slipping away from him, it’s even worse seeing those fingers leave on the screen.

“At this point, I’m leaning towards psychological rather than physical.”

“I’m not crazy!” Peter insists tearfully.

“Of course, you’re not,” Strange says blandly.

“It doesn’t make any sense!” Peter finally says while Dr. Strange is wiping him clean of the ultrasound gel and setting everything on the cart back in order. “In here is the closest I’ve been to having an orgasm in since the problem started!”

“Hmm.” Strange pulls on another pair of gloves with a snap and watches as Peter’s cock twitches. “I wonder.”

He grabs the medical lube and slicks a gloved hand. Then he grasps Peter’s cock and begins to stroke.

Peter mind goes white for a few seconds as sensation floods him. Dr. Strange is methodically jerking him off, not too much pressure, not too fast. Just a slow steady up and down that has Peter wishing he could arch his hips into that amazing, gloved hand, get more friction… But even if he could, he figures Strange would just take his hand away leaving him desperate and wanting.

“Tell me,” Strange orders dispassionately. “Are you close to orgasm?”

Peter whines.

Strange’s hand leaves him and Peter cries out.

“I asked you a question, Peter.”

“Y-yes! I am! I’m sorry!”

“You’re going to tell me when you get close again, understand?”

“Yes, I understand.”

It’s hell, heaven, as Dr. Strange jerks him off. Peter’s so desperate for it, so needy that when that cliff races towards him, he can’t keep his mouth shut.

“Fuck, yes! Right there, I’m close, I’m so close Dr. Strange, please-”

Strange takes his hand away and Peter lets out a sound like a wounded animal.

“Interesting,” Strange says clinically. “I wonder…”

He begins stroking again, only it doesn’t feel as… clinical? Methodical? It feels so good and Peter’s been denied an orgasm for so long, he’s desperate.

“How does this feel, Peter?” he’s asked.

“Good! Fuck, Doctor, it feels, feels so g-go-ow-oh!”

The hand is gone and everything good that’s been rushing toward him is pulled away like sand under a wave.

“Absolutely fascinating,” Strange comments, slowly looking from Peter’s erection up to his tear-streaked face and back again. In fact, he’s studying all of Peter quite closely as if he’s some kind of unusual experiment.

The “please” that Peter whispers, pained, settles around his gut with shame.

After what feels like an eternity, Dr. Strange wraps his hand around Peter’s cock and begins to stroke.

“Please, please, please!” He’s full-on begging for it. He doesn’t care, he’s desperate, and he’ll find a way to live with the fact Dr. Strange will forever think he’s a broken sex fiend that needs to be added to some kind of national registry after he comes. “I’ll do any-”hic“-anything!”

“I’m sure you would,” Strange says dismissively. But he keeps stroking.

Peter is lost to the sensation as Dr. Strange works his cock. Nothing has ever felt so good in his life, and it doesn’t matter if it’s all because of stupid Dr. Strange and his stupid latex-gloved hands and stupid condescending ways. He’ll deal with it because he wants to come so badly. It’s been so long…

The pleasure is building and building and fuck Dr. Strange is stroking him so perfectly, with enough of a grip to make it almost hurt in the best way.

He’s close, so close…

“You’ll be pleased to know that I’m confident I have a diagnosis, Peter,” Dr. Strange says. He’s still stroking.

“Wha-what? Real-fuck really?”

It’s there, right there, and his entire body tenses.

For the first time in nearly a month the glorious wave of release rushes over and through him and he’s coming, semen painting Strange’s gloved hand in thick spurts that never seem to end. Long shudders wrack his body with no outlet as he’s strapped down, helpless.

“Anorgasmia,” Dr. Strange says lightly. “Induced by erotophobia.”

Panting heavily, Peter tries - and fails - to process what Strange is telling him. It’s hard, when the doctor is continuing to stroke his cock as if to ensure Peter empties every drop of ejaculate he can.

“I don’t understand,” he says. The pleasure is shifting into something else. Like when he’s got a paper cut and everything around the area is too tender to touch.

“Of course, you don’t,” Strange scoffs. “It’s a much more sophisticated concept than what you’d be used to. But knowing what it is will allow me to treat you.”

The hand around his cock, gloved and slick with lubricant and Peter’s release, finally leaves his cock, which flops pathetically against his thighs.

“Isn’t that what you did just now?”

The look Strange gives him is so condescending that Peter’s face burns.

“No, everything I’ve done so far has been to diagnose, not treat.”

“But it took so long!” Peter complains.

“And whose fault was that?” Dr. Strange asks derisively, pulling the gloves off and disposing of them. “Who continuously withheld information and fought me every step of the way?”

Shame burns in him. Fuck, Strange is right.

“Well?” The question is caustic like salt in a wound.

“I did,” Peter whispers. “It’s my fault.”

“I’d say that I hope you’ll cooperate with your treatment, but even when the bar for my expectations of you is on the ground, somehow you always manage to find a shovel and dig even deeper.”

“I’ll do better, really!” He promises.

“I doubt it,” Strange replies. He walks over to his cabinets, opens a drawer, and when he turns back, Peter can see that he has a slim black box. “Anorgasmia is a type of sexual dysfunction. The individual cannot achieve orgasm even with adequate stimulation. It has a number of causes, such as injury or chronic disease, but yours is definitely psychiatric in nature.”

“I’m not crazy!” Peter insists.

“No, what you are, is afraid. Erotophobia is exactly what it sounds like: a fear of sex.”

“I’m not scared of sex, either,” Peter says stubbornly.

“No, not sex itself,” Strange agrees, pulling what Peter recognizes as a prostate massager from the box and shows it him before setting it back down in the box’s grooving. “Your fear is for what you’ve discovered about yourself sexually.”

Peter isn’t sure what Dr. Strange is talking about. He can’t get off because he’s scared about getting off? That doesn’t make any sense at all!

“Now, if you confront that fear, Peter, I have every reason to believe your little problem will go away.” Strange carefully pulls on a fresh pair of gloves with that maddeningly arousing snap.

Peter stubbornly looks at the soft light of the ceiling instead of Dr. Strange when he feels his cock twitch.

“So, as far as your treatment is concerned, it’s actually very simple.” Strange slicks up the prostate massager. “My advice to you, not that you’ve ever bothered to heed it before, is to relax.”

“Wha-” Peter can’t even get the word out before the massager slides inside of him. He feels it shift a bit and then there’s the most wonderful vibrations, right there. His cock begins to fill, blood racing.

“As far as kinks go, medical fetishism is fairly common,” Strange says as he starts to stroke Peter’s cock. “There’s actually a wide spectrum of elements that can be involved such as anesthesia, being placed in an iron lung, or just hoping for a glimpse of a naughty nurse. However, your attraction is to the loss of control you experience during medical exams and procedures.”

The vibrations are spine-tingling and with the doctor jerking him off, Peter can barely protest that ridiculous statement before another climax washes over him. It’s a hot kind of pleasure that has his toes actually curling and his chest rising and falling rapidly. He can’t believe he’s come twice so quickly after not being able to for so long.

“There we go,” Strange murmurs. He’s still stroking Peter’s cock as if determined to milk his orgasm as long as possible. It feels amazing until it doesn’t. And the massager inside of him hasn’t stopped. In fact, the vibrations only increase in power. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of, though I can’t say I’m particularly pleased at your insistence on using my office for your sexual satisfaction.”

Strange’s hand continues its firm up and down grip on Peter’s limp cock and after a few minutes, somehow, Peter grows hard again. It’s too much, far too much and the vibrations against his prostate seem to affect everything deep inside of him. How on earth could he possibly come again? How could all of this even begin to arouse him?

“Once you allow yourself to admit that this is a kink of yours, your little problem should go away.” His thumb starts rubbing against the head of Peter’s cock, a maddeningly slow contrast to the heavy pulsing inside him.

“I c-can’t,” Peter manages. He can feel an orgasm building up and he’s terrified it will wreck him.

“I’m not telling you to act out your kinks, just accept them,” Strange says, not entirely misinterpreting Peter’s meaning.

The climax rips through him and he distantly hears the cry he lets out, feels the little bit of ejaculate that Dr. Strange seems intent on milking from him.

It has to be over, right?

“You’re making progress,” Dr. Strange says. He bends slightly to inspect the massager and Peter is nearly giddy with relief that it’s over. Until Dr. Strange presses a button on the base of the massager and the vibrations don’t stop. No, they change into something low and gradually buildup to a sensation that has stars flashing behind Peter’s eyes before dropping down to that low buzz. It happens again. Again.

Still, Dr. Strange resumes his stroking, only pausing to add more lubricant.

“Please,” Peter begs weakly. “Doctor, please…”

He can’t do it again. He can’t…

“Just accept them, Peter,” Dr. Strange insists.

He feels like his senses have been dialed up to eleven. The tears welling up at the overstimulation fall down his cheeks and down his temples. He can’t, there’s no way. It’s too much, too soon, and no, Peter doesn’t-

“You are aroused by medical procedures and the loss of your control that goes with them, Peter,” Strange says calmly. “You have a medical fetish. It’s really very simple.”

“I-I don’t,” Peter sniffles out. “I-I’m n-not a…” he can’t get the word out; shame is low and hot in his belly.

“Don’t lie to your doctor, Peter.” Strange’s voice is cold, stern. “Your erection is proving otherwise.”

The realization that Strange isn’t wrong, that his cock, so useless and unfulfilled for so long, is again growing erect has Peter closing his eyes at the humiliation.

“There’s nothing left,” Peter mumbles. “I can’t.”

“And yet, I must insist on finishing your treatment,” Strange says, stroking and thumbing over the slit of his cockhead. “You’ve wasted enough of my time and energy just so you can get off. The fact that you best enjoy doing so when you’re supposed to be getting medically tended to is hardly a case worthy of my particular skills, yet here we are.”

God, Dr. Strange is right. Peter’s been nothing but an inconvenience and now Peter’s fighting him again and he deserves it, deserves just how much the next orgasm - if he can call it that - is going to hurt. The vibrations are still going from low to high over and over and with another press of a button, the intensity of the pattern increases just like his cock.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “S-sorry-”

“Don’t be sorry,” Strange retorts, voice dripping with condescension. “Accept your diagnosis and treatment before I’m forced to take drastic measures and castrate you. Maybe then you’ll be a compliant patient, for once.”

Visions spark in his head at Strange’s cruel words. Surely the doctor would never… couldn’t…

“It would be a poetic sort of justice, my ensuring that you’ll never be able to pleasure yourself again after having been so disrespected in my attempts to help you, wouldn’t it?” Strange asks lightly.

Peter whimpers as the sensation builds and builds…

“Admit it, Peter,” Strange orders. “Just admit that you enjoy this.”

“I-I l-love t-thi-is,” he stammers out. The orgasm floods over him like a tidal wave, then pulls him back out to a sea of raw sensation that doesn’t exactly feel good but somehow, feels just this side of too much.

“Finally, there’s a good patient,” Dr. Strange drawls, hand stroking his cock slowing, stopping. He turns the massager down, and then off. Peter dimly registers his ass clenching around the massager as if to keep it inside of him, but Strange pulls it free with a squelch.

“Now, I’m going to undo the restraints and you’re going to take your time getting up,” Strange says briskly, removing and disposing of the gloves. The straps are loosened, and Peter just stays where he is, useless. “I’ll need to refer you to a therapist and put in an order for electrolyte-infused water.” He glowers down at Peter. “Try to contain your libido while I step out.”

It’s an unnecessary request, since the last thing Peter is concerned about is getting off, not when he’s boneless and sated, tingles still racing through him in the best way. The sound of Strange leaving the room and shutting the door is so far away…

“Peter, sweetheart, are you with me?” Stephen asks. He’s back and gently, carefully helping Peter sit up, ensuring he has a hand on Peter the entire time.

“Hmm? Yeah,” Peter says, still buzzed and bleary with endorphins. “Yeah, ’m here.”

“Good, drink some water for me,” Stephen insists. “Slowly now, there we go…”

Peter nearly laughs when he realized that Stephen hadn’t been joking about the added electrolytes. “You brought me the good water,” he says.

“Nothing but the best for you,” Stephen says warmly, rubbing his back where the hospital gown gaped open. “You did so good, Peter. You were so perfect.”

“I did good?” Peter does laugh. “Jesus, Stephen, you’re the one who had me coming until I was dry!”

“I didn’t go too far, did I?” He carefully helps Peter into a pair of loose but cozy sweatpants and a long-sleeved shirt of Stephen’s from Columbia that’s seen better days.

“Mmm, no,” Peter assured him. “No, you were perfect, like always.” He shoots Stephen a sly grin as a sparking gold ring envelops them and they’re in their living room. “You just had to work it in though, didn’t you?”

Stephen chuckles, inclines his head. “You have your kinks, I have mine. You’re okay though?” he asks, more seriously. “Do you need anything?”

When they’re cozied up together on the sofa, Peter leaning heavy against Stephen and obediently opening his mouth to take, chew, swallow the cut-up fruit and granola bites that he’s being fed, he finally answers.

“Just hold me, like this,” he says. “And maybe promise me you’re not going to put that impotence spell on me again. Three weeks without getting off is a lot.”

“You asked for that spell,” Stephen reminds him. “Insisted on it, actually.”

“Only for the scene,” Peter clarifies. “I was probably a bit too enthusiastic about having it last as long as it did.”

“Worth it, though?”

Peter thinks back on the scene, on how Stephen had finally made him come, and then come again and again, pleasure growing and crashing through him. “So worth it!” He sighs, yawns. “We need to do one of yours, next,” he insists. “I’m kind of curious how you’d do it without actually doing it, y’know?”

Stephen laughs, drops a kiss on his head. “Let’s let you recover before we start worrying about my particular perversions,” he says. “Besides, I’ve had it planned out in my mind for weeks.”

Peter shivers but smiles and nestles in further to his side.

“Best doctor ever,” he says, and dozes off.

<<<>>>

Like in Private Practice and in It's All Routine, this is a negotiated and discussed scene and both Stephen and Peter are enthusiastically consenting.

#couldntbedamned fic #spiderstrange #spideystrange #peter parker x stephen strange #stephen strange x peter parker #medical roleplay #medkink #medfet #doctor strange x peter parker #peter parker x doctor strange #read the fucking warnings #no seriously read them

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