What Happened in the Clinic of the Empty Office

Quarantine left me with something I hadn’t expected: an old, animal hunger that no toy could quiet. Five months shut inside my apartment, talking to clients over video calls and counting the steps from the balcony to the refrigerator. Masturbation became as routine a chore as brushing my teeth. I tried everything—from a hairbrush handle to dildos I ordered for delivery in unmarked boxes—but nothing came close to the sensation of a real cock pushing inside me. After three weeks, I stopped counting my daily wanks. After two months, I began dreaming about strangers cornering me in the elevator and fucking me against the mirror.

When the company allowed us to return in shifts, I would have worn a tie even if it hadn’t been necessary. We worked in groups of six people per floor, socially distanced, wearing masks and working short hours. The office looked like an abandoned set: empty corridors, computers covered in plastic, the air conditioning humming in a room where no one was present. And in that silence, the looks stood out more.

Dr. Gonzalo was looking at me.

Gonzalo was the company physician. He must have been around fifty-eight, heavily built, nearly bald, with overly bushy eyebrows and forearms covered in gray hair. He wasn’t an attractive man in the conventional sense—he always smelled like a mixture of cheap cologne and coffee—but he had a way of looking at you that stripped you bare before you even opened your mouth. I’d felt that look before the pandemic, in the cafeteria corridor, in the elevator, once in the underground parking garage. I had stored it away in my head for the nights alone in my bed, with two fingers inside my ass and my other hand wrapped around my cock, along with other looks I collected from older men and would never admit to out loud.

On the second Thursday at the office, I woke up with a muscle spasm. Real or imagined, I didn’t care. Midmorning, I got up from my desk, walked to Wing D, and knocked on the clinic door. The clinic was in the farthest corner of the floor, with no outside windows, at the end of a corridor that no one used back then.

“Come in,” he said from inside.

I entered and closed the door. Gonzalo was sitting behind the desk, filling out a form by hand. He looked up. He held my gaze longer than a doctor should.

“What brings you here?”

“My lower back hurts. It’s been like this for days. I thought it would go away.”

He nodded slowly. He stood, walked around the desk, and came toward me.

“Take off your shirt. Sit on the examination table with your back to me.”

I obeyed. I unbuttoned my shirt, folded it over a chair, and sat on the examination table. I felt the disposable paper crinkle beneath my trousers. Gonzalo put on a pair of gloves—taking his time, stretching them with a sharp snap—and came up behind me. His fingers traveled down my spine from the nape of my neck. They weren’t delicate hands. They were callused; they were strong.

“Here,” he said, pressing a lower vertebra. “And here. Everything’s tight. Breathe.”

I breathed. His hand moved a little lower, once, then again. On the third pass, without quite hiding what he was doing, he slid two fingers over the waistband of my underwear, brushed the top of my ass, and moved back up. I closed my eyes. I felt heat rise up my neck and my cock begin to swell against the fabric of my trousers.

I swallowed. The entire clinic, with its smell of alcohol and fluorescent light, had begun to shrink until it was no bigger than those two fingers.

Keep going, please, keep going. Put your whole hand inside me.

“You have a slight deviation in your lower back,” he said, his voice dropping half a tone. “I’m going to give you an injection for the pain, and then I’ll realign you. Is that all right?”

I nodded without looking at him. My heart was pounding like a drum.

“Lower your trousers. Lie facedown and hug the pillow. I’m going to prepare the injection.”

I did it before I could think. I pulled my trousers down to my knees, my underwear too, and lay facedown. I rested my cheek against the pillow, hugged its edges, and looked at the wall. The wall had an old vaccination-calendar poster on it. I memorized the whole thing so I wouldn’t think about what I was doing, but thinking was the only thing I could do. I felt the air-conditioning blowing against my bare back, my thighs, my naked ass, against a part of me that no one had touched in months. My cock, pinned beneath my weight, was dripping pre-cum onto the disposable paper.

I heard water running in the sink. I heard a plastic wrapper opening. I heard a belt buckle give way, and trousers falling to the floor. That last sound wasn’t a doctor preparing an injection.

I didn’t move.

“Stay just like that,” he said, and now his voice was very close.

I felt the examination table dip on either side of me as he climbed onto it. His knees slipped between mine and opened my legs with deliberate calm, without hurry, as if he had every right in the world. He pressed his chest against my back. His weight was enormous. The smell of cologne and coffee filled my face. Something hard and hot, with no fabric between us, touched me between the cheeks. It was thick. I felt the drooling head of his cock slide through the cleft, searching for the entrance, marking me. He ran the tip of his cock over my hole once, twice, three times, rubbing it there, making me feel the whole length of it before putting it inside.

“Is this why you came down here?” he asked in my ear.

“Yes,” I whispered.

“Say it louder. Say why you came down here.”

“Yes, Doctor. I came down here so you could fuck me.”

“That’s what I like to hear.”

I heard the snap of a lubricant packet. I felt a cold stream spill over my ass and run down my perineum. Then two thick fingers forced their way in, one first, then the other, twisting inside me and spreading apart to stretch me wider. He fingered me without tenderness, with the roughness of someone who knew it wasn’t necessary, pressing that inner spot that made me lift my hips involuntarily. He pulled his fingers out with a wet snap. And then I felt the rest. He pushed the thick head against my tight ring, applying pressure, pressure, until my hole gave way with a flash of white-hot pain. He shoved in with one single movement, without pausing, without asking. The pain tore a cry from me that I muffled against the pillow. He was thick, much thicker than I had imagined, and long, and he entered inch by inch without allowing me to protest, forcing his way in. For a second I thought he wouldn’t fit all the way, that my body would split apart. But he went in. He went all the way in, until I felt his hairy balls flatten against mine and his pubic hair scrape my ass.

“If you scream, you’re in trouble,” he murmured. “People pass by right next door. Hold this cock inside you. Hold all of it.”

I held it. I shut my mouth, clenched my jaw, and focused on breathing through my nose while he stayed buried inside me, letting me feel every vein, every hot inch. After the first few seconds, the pain changed. It became an impossible fullness, a heat radiating forward, inward, toward parts of me that had been waiting for months. Without realizing it, I raised my hips. I held them up for him, offered myself, pushed my ass backward like an animal in heat begging for more. One part of my mind told me I should be angry, outraged, calling someone. The other part told me there would never be another opportunity like this, that this fat doctor was splitting my ass open the way I had needed for months.

Gonzalo noticed. He gave a low laugh against my nape.

“Well, well. You came down here looking for this. You came down so the old man could fuck you. How long has it been since someone really fucked you?”

“Months,” I panted. “Months, Doctor.”

“I can tell. Your ass is hungry. It squeezes like a virgin.”

He began to move slowly, pulling out almost to the head and sinking back in calmly, so I could feel his entire length entering and leaving me. Every withdrawal left me empty, and every thrust filled me again, a hard blow against the end that sent my voice up into my throat. Then he went faster. Then with the steady rhythm of a man who knew what he was doing, who knew where he needed to strike. One hand held my hip; the other grabbed my hair and pulled my head back to drive into me harder. The examination table creaked with every thrust. The disposable paper tore beneath my chest, crumpled and sticky with my own spit and pre-cum. His testicles slapped against mine with every thrust, a wet, rhythmic smack filling the clinic.

“Does your back still hurt?” he asked, panting, burying his cock inside me to the root.

“No,” I said, almost voiceless. “No, Doctor.”

“Good. That’s the treatment. Cock all the way in. It’s the only thing that cures you.”

He bit the nape of my neck. He sank his teeth into my shoulder. He pulled my hair so hard that my back arched and my ass opened wider for him, and he took advantage of it to push deeper, deeper, until I felt the thick tip strike a place no one had ever touched before. A high, whorish moan escaped me, which I tried to smother against the pillow.

“You like that,” he said, striking the same spot again. “Tell me you like it.”

“I like it,” I whispered. “I like your cock, Doctor. Fuck me harder.”

I dug my nails into the pillow. I could hardly believe it was happening, and at the same time I could hardly believe I had waited so long. Every time he went all the way in, an electric current ran through me from my coccyx to the base of my skull. My own erection, trapped against the paper, throbbed every time he sank into me, leaking clear fluid without me touching it. My ass made an obscene sound—slurp, slurp—wet with lubricant and saliva and what he was going to leave inside me.

He reached one hand beneath my body and grabbed my cock. He closed his rough fist around it and began jerking me off in time with his thrusts, every drive coordinated with a tug. It was too much. My legs trembled. I felt his fingers in my hair, his cock in my ass, and felt myself about to come.

“Hold it,” he ordered in my ear. “You come when I tell you to.”

“I can’t,” I moaned.

“Hold on. I’m close.”

He increased his pace. He fucked me mercilessly, with the hard strokes of a big man who had nothing to prove, driving me down into the examination table, driving me against the torn paper, sweating over me. The smell of cologne and coffee was now mixed with the smell of sweat, sex, bodies.

“I’m going to come inside you,” he announced, without asking permission. “And you’re going to keep it in.”

“Yes,” I said.

“Say it properly. Say what you want me to do to you.”

“Yes, Doctor. Empty yourself inside me. Fill my ass.”

I heard him hold his breath. His fingers closed around my hip so tightly that I would still have purple marks the next day. He thrust all the way in once, twice, and stayed there, trembling, his cock buried to the root. I felt the spasms of his member against my walls, the throbbing of his cock unloading inside me, the heat of each jet forcing its way in, one after another, thick and long, hot, viscous semen filling me until there was no room left. His fist tightened around my cock at that moment and brought me off too. I came without being able to hold back, in spasms that shook my back, shooting semen onto the disposable paper, onto his hand, onto my own belly, while my ass clenched in waves around the doctor’s cock and milked him of every last drop.

***

Gonzalo stayed on top of me for a moment, breathing hard, his cock still buried inside me. Then he pulled out carefully, very slowly, and I felt the warm emptiness and the semen beginning to leak out. He climbed off the examination table. I heard him turn on the tap and wash. I didn’t move. I stayed facedown, legs spread, my ass dilated and throbbing, his hot milk dripping down the inside of my thigh.

“Get dressed,” he ordered. “And don’t let it out. Clench your ass and keep it inside for a while. Make it last until you get home.”

I sat up slowly. Everything hurt, and I didn’t care. I clenched my hole as he had told me, feeling the semen shift inside me, and pulled my tight underwear up, then my trousers. When I bent down to tie my shoes, I felt the milk move inside me and a drop escape into the fabric. I let out a sigh that he heard.

“Can you feel it?”

“Yes. I can feel all of it.”

“Good. You’ll come back the day after tomorrow. I have to check your spine. And your ass.”

I nodded. I finished buttoning my shirt. Before leaving, I looked him straight in the face for the first time. He had his lab coat on again, neat and tidy, and was writing something in my file as if nothing had happened. He only looked at me when I reached the door.

“And next time,” he said, “bring me something more interesting than a backache. Come with your ass washed and no underwear.”

I stepped into the corridor. The office was still empty. I walked back to my desk with that warm sensation between my legs, my hole throbbing, my cheeks burning, my head buzzing. I sat in front of the computer and opened some random email to pretend I was working. Every time I shifted in the chair, a drop detached itself from my open ass and ran down my thigh. Each drop was a reminder that it had happened, that I hadn’t imagined it, that something inside me had been marked, that old man had broken me open and left his signature inside me.

The next morning, before leaving home, I checked the calendar to see which days I was supposed to return to the office. I marked each one with a little cross. Then I opened my email and wrote to Dr. Gonzalo to request a follow-up appointment. He didn’t take long to answer.

“Thursday,” he wrote. “And come without eating lunch. And without underwear, like I told you.”

I closed the laptop and stared at the wall, my hand inside my trousers, touching my still-sensitive hole. Outside, cars were beginning to sound as they had before. Inside, I was only just getting started.