The Robust Doctor 9: the Turk

Several weeks had passed since the colonoscopy and I considered my story with Dr. Robusto over. I didn’t try to contact him again. Nor did I hear from him. What he had done to me after the colonoscopy was unforgivable. There was no getting around it.

Today there were no rainbows or unicorns inside me, nor treasure trolls with their hair standing on end. Today there were shadows of Mordor and Nazgûl, and a great eye of fire in the center of my chest that incinerated everything. That’s why I was dressed in black.

I stepped into the elevator and pressed the top floor. As on the previous two occasions, the door to the apartment I was going to was open. I went in and saw the Turk kneeling on the carpet, wearing his white leather wrist and ankle cuffs. And a matching band serving as a collar. Other than that, he was wearing a jockstrap and sunglasses that made him look like a faggy summer tourist in Torremolinos. The blind son of a bitch was so fucking hot. My cock tingled just from seeing him.

I closed the door and stopped to look at him in the light of the lamp he had left on for me. His gorgeous dark body had rounded muscles that stood out against the white leather. He was very broad-shouldered and had disproportionately generous legs for his build. A line of black hair rose from inside the jockstrap, crossing his abdomen and widening over his chest like the yellow brick road when it reaches Oz. A true male delight, basically.

His apartment was small and minimalist, all in black and white, with few decorations and pieces of furniture. Logical, considering he was blind. Why would you want decorations if you can’t see them?

“Good evening, Sir,” he greeted me politely, his hands behind his back. I loved his voice, so masculine and diligent, with that funny Turkish accent.

“Neither good evening nor shit, lying whore,” I replied contemptuously.

I always got in a very bad mood when I had him in front of me, but today I was in an especially dark mood. And the more bad temper I had inside, the more dominant I became. Volkan lowered his head when he noticed it. He was especially sensitive to tones of voice.

I took him by the chin and forced him to raise his head, giving him a loud slap with my open hand. The Turk tensed but didn’t move an inch. I was sick to death of men and the one who was going to catch it was him for putting himself in range. Besides, he seemed to like it: everyone happy.

I sprawled on the sofa, grabbed the beer he had left for me on the little table, and took out a cigarette. When he heard the “clack” of the can opening, the blind man automatically approached on his knees and positioned himself between my legs.

I opened my pants and he began to rub my package with his beautiful mature male face, round and square at the same time. He had a wide jaw and a powerful chin. The aquiline nose and pointed beard reminded me of Aladdin. T...