Robert walked up to the counter. From the dottiness of his steps, it was clear he was uncomfortable walking. The elderly receptionist adjusted her glasses. She too was wearing the sterile pastel mint green scrubs.

“St. Andrew's emergency service, how may I help you?” she asked, her eyes inspecting him, wagering whether he was really in a state of emergency or if she'd decide to let him wait like these thousands of other patients who thought it smart to skip their generalist and go to the emergencies directly, thereby jam the line for the truly urgent patients. He had walked in unaccompanied after all and seemed in a sane enough state aside his wobbly legs. Could be anything—most likely nothing.

Trying to avoid her gaze, he rummaged in his pocket to produce a characteristic ring to which a torn thread hung.

She pouted her lips knowingly and rolled her eyes. “Name and insurance card, please,” she routinely demanded, despite carrying a half-amused, half-'no that again' undertone.

“Uh, Robert,” he whispered, trying desperately to appear as inconspicuous as possible. “...uh... Rayleigh,” he completed his embarrassed elaborations as he went through the various cards in his wallet, looking for the right one.

The receptionist chuckled when she saw what insurance she was going to bill. “Thank you. You may take a seat,” she emphasized the last part, knowing this was likely no option for Robert in his state of distress. “Doctor Madison will see to you as soon as she's got her hands free.” ...and it had to be a female doctor.

During the entire wait—fortunately, little more than fifteen minutes but still a lot longer than he had hoped for—Robert awkwardly kept shifting his weight from one foot to the other, seeking a position of minimum discomfort but failing to find it and earning questioning glances from the dozens of other urgent patients waiting for their turn to get their booboos treated.

The opal glass doors slid open and in came a stern-looking woman, stethoscope over her shoulders, a chart in her hand. Had he not been in his invidious situation, he would have instantly categorized her looks as prude, frustrated and underfucked.

“Mr. Rayleigh?” she asked, looking at him without hesitation despite the large number of other patients in the waiting room. Robert thought he'd see her suppress an amused smirk while professionally adjusting her glasses in a way so her hand veiled her mouth from his gaze. These moves looked very well-practiced. “I'm doctor Madison. I'll be conducting the,” he thought he'd heard just a hint of hesitation as if fighting a laughing fit, “examination. Would you please follow me?”

Robert did as told and maladroitly hobbled behind her to a single-patient room where she motioned him to the bed.

Studying the chart, she pointed her pen at him and instructed, “Lose your pants and underwear while I get the necessary equipment.” Hearing him gulp at the last two words, she reassured him, “Don't worry, it's a routine procedure. You'll be out before you notice I did anything.”

Her elaborations made him blush in shame. Never would he have thought going to the emergencies for a ruptured thread on anal beads was such a common incident.

While he waited for doctor Madison to come back and administer her art on his constantly stimulated anus, he tried to find a somewhat comfortable position on the bed, for the doctor was certainly not going to treat him upright-standing.

He settled for a sitting position where he sat as far up on his buttocks as he could—almost on the small of his back—the better part of his weight resting on his hands while he had his legs splayed and knees bent. He tried, in a way, to grant the doctor access to his anus but also to have as little pressure on his rectum as possible. Lying on his belly might have been a far more comfortable position but he feared he would not be able to see what the doctor was doing. At the same time, lying on his belly would have meant to awkwardly lie on his erection that resulted from the combination of his shame, the anal intrusion and the prospect of having a female doctor fumble his place where the sun didn't shine.

While he was desperately trying to persuade his cock to chose any other moment to show its spectacular not-quite-nine-inch glory—an anatomic feature he would, in any other situation, be very proud to demonstrate—the door to his room opened again. To his surprise, it was not doctor Madison who entered but a young, blond nurse, barely twenty—just his type—in a stereotypical, rather anachronic and not exactly function-optimized latex outfit. Her name tag read, 'Rosemary.' The corners of her mouth seemed to have an intriguing way of naturally curling up.

“Doctor Madison sent me,” she said smiling as she stepped from the disinfectant dispenser to the box of blue nitrile gloves. She made sure to tear them to near-rupture and let them slap against her forearm demonstratively when she added, a playful tune in her voice, “Now let me see the naughty little accident there, you beautiful man with delectable appendage, you.”

The obvious lack of professionalism had Robert petrified from shame. His face was pale, his eyes fixated on the nurse who took a bottle of lube from a drawer and placed it on the bedside table.

“Let's see what we have here,” she said, an amused twinkle in her eyes.

She unscrewed the cap of the lube container and dribbled a generous amount of the clear liquid over Robert's bulbous purple head.

“I need you to loosen up a bit first,” she explained as she pumped his shaft with both her hands.

Soon, Robert—better: his rock-solid steel rod—was getting her point and he allowed his tense body to relax as a first moan emanated from between his lips.

“Lookie there who's a good boy,” Rosemary commented. She added, with joy in her voice, “So let's see if we can extract those beads from there, naughty boy.”

She slowly probed his backdoor with one finger while keeping on pumping his shaft. He tensed up at the additional intrusion but soon hummed in pleasure.

“They're not in too deep. Shouldn't be too much of a problem,” she explained. Then, looking him in the eyes, she raised her eyebrows and added, “This doesn't mean it can't be fun, though. Relax and enjoy, lovely man.”

Rosemary entered him with two fingers this time. Robert felt her trying to make the first bead turn in his anus. While doing so, she brushed his prostate several times, causing him to moan with each touch, his moans slowly growing in length and volume and altering between unintelligible groans, fucks and her name.

Just as he was about to erupt, she let go of his cock and reached to the bedside table for a set of tweezers. “Almost there,” she explained. “The first bead had turned around so I couldn't reach the thread. Now I'll just have to pull them out gently.”

Robert was both relieved at seeing the end of his situation but frustrated by his denied orgasm. Rosemary licked her lips as she tugged at the beads by the thread, a devilish sparkling in her eyes. She resumed playing with his erect member, slick with the lube, as the first bead popped past his sphincter, causing him to wince in pleasurable pain. In reaction, a huge dollop of pre-cum oozed out of the slit on his helmet and the engorged mushroom grew even more in size and seemed to darken to a deeper shade of purple.

Rosemary put the tweezers aside. She licked her lips at the sight of the colorless ooze emanating from Robert's cock. She took the freed bead in her hand and slowly pulled on the chain of beads, causing him to gasp with every change of pressure against his sphincter and prostate.

About halfway there, she licked up the stream of pre-cum that was dribbling down his shaft and took his helmet between her lips while pumping his shaft with one hand and still pulling the chain of beads with the other.

As he felt his orgasm build, she had her lips just around the base of his glans where her tongue expertly licked his frenulum while her hand massaged his balls. She timed his orgasm perfectly with the last bead coming out of his anus.

A staccato of guttural moans came from the depths of his throat in rhythm with the spurts of cum he shot into the nurse's waiting mouth. His pent-up pleasure was released in a deluge of five large streams and four spasms less rich in seed with longer breaks in between. After those, Robert let himself fall on the bed, exhausted from the most massive orgasm he had ever felt.

Rosemary smiled at him through cum-stained teeth and engaged in a deep French kiss he didn't refuse. He moaned as he tasted his cum on her tongue and felt a part of the gooey liquid slide onto his. Both swallowed looking into each other's eyes. She pecked him on the forehead, removed her gloves and put away the bottle of lube. The pair of tweezers landed in the nearby sink and the beads in the garbage can.

She gave him one last smile before she opened the door. “If I were you, I'd get dressed and leave. Extra time costs more,” she almost sang.

Dumbfounded, Robert got dressed as suggested but hesitated whether he could leave just like that. Wasn't Rosemary supposed to inform doctor Madison? And wasn't doctor Madison supposed to check him out at the reception? The prospect of having to face this rather frigid appearance had him double the speed and leave immediately. Not necessary to face the people who exactly knew why he had come more than necessary, he figured.

Trying to pass the reception, he heard an obnoxious harrumph. It was the elderly receptionist. “Mr. Rayleigh, not so fast. Where's doctor Madison? There's some paperwork to do. Also, we've been looking for you.”

“Yeah, uh, nurse Rosemary said I was free to leave,” he tried abashedly.

“Nurse Rosemary?” the receptionist asked. “There is no nurse Rosemary, we don't even disclose our forenames to patients. Unless...” She wrinkled her forehead pensively.

Suddenly, she burst into laughter. “Poor fella. You mean Rosemary the girl who was admitted to the ER two days ago. Poor thing. Tragic. Hit her head severely in a terrible accident. Major PTSD with massive personality disorder as far as we can tell. We're waiting for the papers to send her to a mental institution for stationary observation.”