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From: m21 with tongue <m21_with_tongue@yahoo.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} The Physical Therapist (MF cons stroke)
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Date: Thu, 14 Dec 2006 17:10:01 -0500
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

I started this a while ago and never finished it. I
think that it's okay quality-wise (imho:)), but needs
more length. But I've given up on lengthening it. Feel
free to, but credit me, please.

Feedback appreciated.

------------------------------

The Physical Therapist

"Okay, two o'clock Wednesday with Jill.  Please come
fifteen minutes early the first time so we can get
your paperwork in order."

The voice at the other end of the line belonged to
someone -- Carmen? Carrie? -- at the scheduling desk
at an outpatient rehabilitation center I was going to
go to for physical therapy.  The owner of the voice
greeted me when I came at 1:50 on Wednesday, five
minutes late.  "Hello, Mr. Breathnach," she said,
pronouncing it wrong, as most everyone does; "how are
you?"

Instead of burdening her with the obvious fact that if
I were fine I wouldn't be there for a physical therapy
appointment, I merely said I was okay, and started in
on my paperwork.  "Fine," she said when we were done. 
"Jill will be out shortly."

Shortly turned out to be fifteen minutes, and Jill
turned out to be Jill Johnson.  I followed her into
one of the rooms and she closed the door.  It would be
called an examination room if it were in a doctor's
office -- a small room with a table for the patient to
sit on, a chair for the therapist, a sink for washing
up, and cabinets and drawers full of equipment.  She
told me to sit on the table; she took the chair; and
she started asking me questions.

Looking at her now while talking to her, I realized
how attractive she was.  Clear blue eyes; a small,
pert mouth; medium-length blonde hair; a slightly
jutting chin; and probably the best figure I'd ever
seen.  And clothes to accentuate it.  She interviewed
me about how I get about (on crutches) and the like,
and I tried to pay attention instead of staring and
fantasizing.  Then she had me move my legs in various
directions while she measured how far they went.  That
was a little difficult -- having this breathtakingly
beautiful woman touching my legs in a private room
without my whimpering -- but I managed to control
myself.  She gave me some specific exercises to work
on at home, and said she she'll see me next time --
our session was over.  "And hopefully next time I'll
take you on the floor" -- where all the exercise
equipment was.  I just wanted to take her on the
floor.

-----

My two o'clock on Wednesday was a Liam Breathnach, and
he turned out to be a twenty-six-year-old man on
crutches, six-foot-one, with multiple fractures in
both feet, and atrophied muscles in his legs.  His
orthopaedist had set him to us for several weeks of
therapy.  He came late, a lousy start, and I went
through the usual examination.  But I caught him
staring at me, and he seemed a little distracted. 
Now, I'm not ugly, far from it, but neither am I
stunning.  I have a big chin, for one thing.  And I
don't wear a lot of make-up, and certainly not tight
clothes or anything sexy.  So it doesn't often happen
that people stare or whistle at me.  Yet this patient
was clearly uncomfortable alone with me.

So I decided to take a look at him, with a slightly
less-than-clinical eye.  He was, as I said, six-one,
and nicely built; if not for his injuries and
subsequent atrophy, he'd probably be a good amateur
athlete of some sort.  Probably worked out a few times
a week before his accident.  His looks, too, were far
better than average, with a nice, chiseled chin and
dark, dark eyes made even darker by his dark hair. 
Suddenly I started wanting him, too.  But that had
happened before with patients, and nothing ever came
of it.  Too much is on the line -- my license to
practice, for example -- to fool around with a
patient.

So we finished the appointment, and I promised him
more activity the next time.  He got out of there like
the building was on fire, although I suppose it was
just himself.

-----

"Next time" came after a week of dreams featuring
Jill.  I came on time, even five minutes early.  And,
at two o'clock exactly, Jill came out to escort me in.
 This time we went out to the floor, as promised,
where she had me sit on a table with my foot -- first
one foot, then the other -- on a BAPS board,
essentially a flat board with a ball attached to its
underside.  I had to try to use my ankle to get the
edges of the board to touch the floor.  It's not as
easy as it sounds.  Or it wasn't for me, at least. 
Having the woman of my dreams hold my knee the whole
time didn't help matters any.

Having thoroughly embarrassed myself on the BAPS
board, I was glad to follow her to the parallel bars. 
Unlike a gymnast's parallel bars, these are pretty
sturdy, and are perhaps waist-high.  They're meant for
walking between while holding on to either side.  But
I wasn't to walk that day.  Instead, she got what's
called a rocker board.  This is just a rectangular
board that rocks back and forth like a see-saw.  She
had me stand on it and rock forward and backward, to
exercise my ankles, while she stood right in front of
me.  After about one rock back and forth, she decided
that I wasn't doing it right.  "Your ankles, not your
hips.  Keep your hips still and just move your
ankles."  And she put her hands on my hips to hold
them in place.

So there I was, rocking forward and back, forward and
back, standing right in front of this fabulously
beautiful and sexy woman, who actually had her hands
on my hips.  Forward and back, forward and back, and I
had the beginnings of an erection.  But I couldn't
stop the exercise without an excuse, so I tried to
think of something else.  There I was, trying to
concentrate on the anatomy of the muscles in my feet,
and most of my mind was thinking about the beautiful
Jill.  Forward and back, forward and back, and, yes, I
was getting hard.  I couldn't hide my hardness because
my hands were on the bars and I wasn't allowed to bend
my legs.  So I stood there -- forward and back,
forward and back, in and out, closer to her and then
back, and by now I had a true erection.  She was
looking down at my feet, so I couldn't imagine that
she didn't notice it, but she said nothing, letting my
continue the exercise, continue the movement toward
her and away, toward her and away, getting harder and
harder.  Then I saw that she was breathing shallowly. 
Apparently, I wasn't the only one turned on.  Finally,
she announced, "Okay, you can stop," and took her
hands off my hips.

-----

The rocker board had been a mistake, I saw.  I hadn't
thought it through.  Touching his knees while he was
sitting with the BAPS board was such a turn-on, it was
all I could to to resist sliding my hands up his
thighs.  And now this.  He was rocking in and out in
front of me, I was already feeling horny, and I had to
hold his hips.  And he was clearly getting turned on,
too: I could see a bulge in his pants that I wanted. 
Inside of me.  Fast.  No good, this has to stop, I
thought, and I told him to quit rocking.  I managed to
get away from there without grabbing him.

I walked away, to a room, for table exercises, and
then realized I hadn't told him to follow.  So I
turned around.  "Are you coming?" I asked, then had to
bite my lip to keep from laughing at the unintended
pun.

So he followed me, and then, while walking to the
room, is when I decided to be a little naughty. 
Nothing overt, nothing I would get reported for, but
some unnecessary touching never hurt anyone, did it? 
And he had such a hot body.

-----

I followed her into one of the examination rooms, and
the walk across the floor did me good: I managed to
calm down a little.  She closed the door.  "Would you
strip from the waist up," she suggested, "so I can
listen to your heart and lungs?"  I complied, although
I didn't know physical therapists did that sort of
thing.  But, lo and behold, she took a stethoscope out
of the drawer as I unbuttoned my shirt.

"This is not usual," she said, "but I noticed you were
a bit out of breath on the rocker board, so wanted to
make sure your heart and lungs sound okay."  I didn't
tell her that my breathlessness was her doing.

She listened to my chest and back with the
stethoscope, keeping one hand on my torso practically
at all times, which was, well, electrifying.  God, how
I wanted her.  At one point her hand was on my belly,
and I wanted to shout "Just slide it down, right down
there," but instead must have made some sound, because
she glanced at me suddenly and I thgouth I saw a hint
of a smile.

-----

After the completely unnecessary examination with the
stethoscope, I was all heated up again.  I wanted this
man more than anything in the world, to feel his
warmth, to stroke his body, to feel his hardness, to
straddle his cock, oh my god, to feel him inside me,
his heat, my tightness, oh god, bringing me to
oblivion.  I started to feel dampness on my thighs: I
was truly horny.

But I couldn't actually do anything with him that
would get me in trouble.  I would have to get hold of
myself before I went too far.  I excused myself,
telling him he could put his shirt on, and stepped
outside to breathe.  When I came back, fortunately, he
had dressed.  I then had to do table exercises with
him: straight leg raises, hip abduction, the usual
stuff.

I would just have to control myself.  Maybe not
touching him at all would be best.

-----

She stepped out of the room, telling me to dress.  I
was glad of that -- a few more minutes of that
torture, and I would have just taken her right there
on the table.  By the time she returned, I was no
longer quite as turned on, no longer hard, although I
was still horny as hell.

She started making me do leg exercies.  She asked me
to lift one leg straight up off the table without
bending my knee -- a straight-leg raise, as she called
it.  No problem, I could do that; she told me to do
twenty.  For the first few, she stood right by me, not
touching me, thankfully.  But then she told me I was
doing it wrong: "You're moving your pelvis," she
gasped.  "It has to stay on the table."  This time,
she didn't touch it.  But after I did a couple more
leg raises, she told me again, "your pelvis has to
stay down," and she put a hand on my hip to keep it on
the table.  I started getting hard again, feeling her
hand on my hip.

She was to my left, and holding down my right hip, you
see, reaching right over me, and my cock was getting
erect again.  Every time I raised my leg, her hand
went with it a bit, sliding up and down my body, and
her wrist was sliding up and down my cock.

-----

His leg raises were a rousing success.  That was a
little joke -- they roused him.  I had to hold down
his hip, and I couldn't resist: I kept my wrist down
so it rubbed his cock.  God, but I wanted him badly. 
I kept him doing leg raises until he was good and
hard, then I told him he could stop.

Then -- and I'm not proud of this -- I moved my hand
to his cock and started rubbing it through his pants. 
A nice massage for my patient -- hey, mom, did you
hear I'm now a massage therapist too? -- and he looked
like he was going to come right in his pants, so I
pulled away and watched him calm down a bit.

But I still wanted him.

I went to the door of the room and locked it, then
came back.  He just stared at me with those beautiful
eyes. I jumped on the table, straddling him, and
kissed his eyes, his mouth, his face, and he responded
in kind, kissing my mouth hard, making me warm,
kissing my neck, my jaw, holding me, rubbing his hands
over my body, turning me on so badly I needed him so
badly I needed him so badly I wanted him inside me
NOW.

-----

After what seemed like a very short foreplay, she
opened my zipper.  She started stroking my cock while
she pulled her skirt up over her waist and her panties
down and off.  Then she held me while she took me
inside her, sitting on me, going up and down, up and
down, fucking my brains out and coming, she was coming
and I was coming inside her oh yeah and then she
collapsed on me and said one word: "More!"

-----

I was so embarrassed, I couldn't believe I had said
that.  But I wanted him more.  I wanted him naked, I
wanted him to carress my breasts, to beat up my
nipples, I wanted to feel his strong hands all over
me, I wanted to see his beautfiul chest again, his
abs, I wanted to see his ass.  I wanted to fuck him
again and again.  I was so horny: this had never
happened to me before: I think this hot, hot man
turned me into a nympho.



 
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Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
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