“Hey Dylan, can you help me lift this box?  I know it is supposed to be a one-man job but I am having trouble with my left hand and don’t want to drop it.”

“Sure, Hank,” Dylan said, coming over to help him lift it onto a lower shelf.  “How long have you been having issues with your hand?”

“A couple of weeks.  It feels a bit numb and at times it is hard to grip things.  I know I should have it checked out but cannot afford to take time off from work.”

“I understand, but if you drop something, it is going to come out of your check, and you may even lose your job if the boss sees it,” Dylan told him.  “You know he is.”

“I’ll think about it,” Hank said.

For the next few days, Dylan tried to stay close to Hank, helping him when he could.  Finally, Hank couldn’t take it any longer and called in on Friday to go to the doctor.  When he walked into the doctor’s office, he registered and took a seat in the waiting room. 

After an examination and some x-rays, the doctor came back into the exam room and said, “You have a pinched nerve in your wrist.”

“What’s the treatment?  Am I going to have to miss much time from work?” he asked, worry working its way into his voice.

“It depends on how the physical therapy works over the weekend.  You may have to miss at least Monday for a follow-up to see Nancy McFall, the physical therapist I am sending you to see today.  Her office is about a mile from here.  She is expecting you.”  The doctor handed Hank a business card and stood up.  “She has great success with her treatments.  I know because I saw her for my pinched nerve.”

When Hank looked at the card, it suddenly hit him that her last name was the same as his doctor’s.  “Is she related to you?”

“She is my wife,” he said walking out of the room.

Hank checked out and headed to her office.  When he walked in, he was pleasantly surprised at the calm ambiance of the room and soft jazz music playing in the background.

“May I help you?” the receptionist asked.  “Do you have an appointment or need to make one?”

“My name is Hank Richards.  Dr. Allan McFall said he had made me an appointment and to come right down.”

“Ah, yes, the pinched nerve in the wrist.  Nancy will be right out to get you.  Can I get you something to drink while you wait?”

“No, I am good, but thank you,” Hank said taking a seat.

About five minutes later, the side door opened. A young woman with red hair stepped into the waiting room.  She didn’t appear to be old enough to be Dr. McFall’s wife, so Hank figured that it was her nurse as she was probably twenty years younger than Dr. McFall was.  So, he was surprised when the receptionist called her Nancy as she pointed toward him.

“Hi, Hank. Allan told me you were having issues with your left hand.  Come on back and we will get you started on your physical therapy.”

Hank followed her back to the examination room.  “Thanks for working me in.”

“It was no problem,” she told him, opening the door to an exam room, and motioned for him to go on in.  “Are you right or left-handed?”

“Right-handed,” wondering what that had to do with his issues.

“Which hand do you masturbate with?”

“Which hand do I what with?” he asked, sure he had not heard her right.

“Masturbate with,” she repeated, gesturing for him to sit on the exam table.

Hank did not answer her at first, wondering if this was some type of joke, that it was a way Dr. McFall got his kicks.  No, he is not that type of man.  He is a respectable doctor, Hank thought.

“Look, Hank, I can’t help you if you won’t tell me.”

“My right hand,” he said softly, feeling funny discussing this subject in front of a woman, especially his doctor’s wife. And he still did not know what that had to do with his problem.

“Okay.  I will admit this is a very unusual form of physical therapy, but it does work.  You just have to continue to do it at least once a day after this weekend,” she explained, taking a small cup out of the cabinet and showing it to Hank.  “Will this be big enough or do you need a larger one?”

The cup was about the size of a cup you would get with a kiddy meal at a restaurant so he said, “Yes, that will be big enough,” although he was not sure what she wanted him to do with it.

“I want you to masturbate in that cup, and then I will show you how much herbal powder to mix into it.  Once it is mixed, you will rub it on your wrist, both sides, and your hand, leaving it on for thirty minutes before washing it off.  For the first three days, you will need to do this at least four times a day,” she said as she handed him the cup.

“You want me to sit here and masturbate into this cup and then rub it on my wrist and hand?” Hank asked.  “Are you a real physical therapist or just some whacko who gets her kicks picturing a man jacking off and rubbing it on himself?”

“I am a licensed physical therapist and do regular therapy.  This is a special treatment that Allan and I have found works for your type of issue.  I learned about this when I did mission work in Uganda several years ago, which is where I met Allan.” Nancy explained.  “And you must use the hand with the pinched nerve, which is why you have to use your left hand.  You are getting pleasure along with exercise, so let’s get started.”

Hank sat on the edge of the exam table, trying to figure out how he was going to get it hard with no porn to watch or any magazines to look like.  I guess I will just have to close my eyes and use my imagination, he thought as he stood up, and put the cup behind him before slowly working his zipper down.  “Ah…are you going to leave?”

“I will if you are too shy but usually, I stay in the room and give the men some incentive,” Nancy told him.

Hank stood there, just staring at Nancy as she took off her lab coat, putting it on a chair nearby.  Facing him, she slowly unbuttoned her blouse, one button at a time. As more flesh was uncovered with each button opened, Hank could feel his cock getting harder.  Nancy pulled her blouse out of the waistband of her skirt and slipped it off her shoulders, putting it with her jacket.  She was wearing a tiny flesh-colored bra that could barely cover her ample chest.

“That is all you are going to see unless I see your left hand on your cock.”

Hank quickly worked his cock out of his black briefs, his left hand wrapping around the thick shaft.  It felt awkward to be using his left hand, but when he started to switch to his right hand, Nancy glared at him.  Reaching behind her, she undid her skirt, wiggling the tight skirt down over her hips to the floor.  She picked it up and put it with the rest of her clothes.  The tiny thong Nancy was wearing was also fleshed-colored like her bra.  She was wearing sheer, nude thigh-high stockings and four-inch heels. 

Damn, Dr. McFall is one lucky doctor getting to go home to her at night.  I would so love to be in his place, Hank thought as he stroked himself faster, all traces of embarrassment gone.  Nancy just stood there, her legs slightly apart, letting him get his fill of looking at her.

Seeing how big and thick his cock was, Nancy wished that she did not take her marriage vows so seriously because, at this moment, she really wanted to take that monster down her throat and taste it. At just the thought, Nancy could feel her panties becoming wet.

Hank could see the desire flooding her eyes. This only made him stroke his cock faster, picturing what might be going through her thoughts. He soon felt his balls tightening with the urge to cum. The more he imagined her thoughts, the stronger the urge was until the precum was dripping from the tip of his cock. Then he saw Nancy lick her lips. That was almost his undoing, the tip of her tongue gliding over her bottom lip. 

Hank could feel his cock pulsing in his hand, his breathing deepening, coming out in short little bursts.  He gripped as tight as he could, feeling a little pain in his wrist.  Nancy moved closer and grabbed the cup from the exam table, handing it to Hank before stepping back.  He held it in front of his cock as the first ropes of cum shot out of his cock.  Nancy watched him fill the cup, wishing that it was filling her mouth and sliding down her throat instead. 

When he had squeezed the last drops from his cock, he leaned back against the exam table, his legs trembling, his breathing labored, feeling like he had just run a marathon.  Reaching out, she took the cup from him and carried it over to the counter, then turned around and quietly got dressed.  Walking back to the counter, she took a jar out of the cabinet, unscrewed the lid, and put it beside the cup.

“As soon as you get yourself together, come here so I can show you the rest of the treatment,” Nancy said.

Hank tucked himself back in his jeans and zipped up before walking over to her.  She measured out two tablespoons of the mixture and put it in the cup, stirring it with a tongue depressor. 

“Using your right hand, smear it on your wrist and hand, then have a seat on the exam table or chair.  I will be back in thirty minutes,” she instructed him before leaving the room.

Hank felt silly doing what she had told him to do but he had come this far so he decided to see it through to the end.  After thirty minutes, she returned and had him wash it off. 

“That feels a little better already,” Hank said in amazement, moving his wrist and flexing his fingers.

“By Monday morning, you should have full grip back and little to no numbness.  You need to do it at least three more times today, and at least four times Saturday and Sunday,” Nancy reminded him.  “Here is enough supplies for the weekend.  Instructions are in the bag also.  You can go back to work on Monday, but remember to stop by and get your two-week supply kit. To be free of pain, you have to do it at least once a day.  I will include some extra herbal medicine in case you need to do it twice a day,”

“How much will these treatments cost?” Hank asked, knowing that his insurance would not pay for this type of treatment.

“Nothing, because I bill as physical therapy.  See you Monday.  Just check out with Cora.”

“Thanks, Doctor McFall,” he told her as she left the room.

By the time Monday came around, his wrist and hand felt almost normal.  He was finally able to do the job without Dylan’s help.  And Dr. McFall was right, he was getting pleasurable exercise.