Anonymous Doc’s Wild Exam Room Handjob with Shy Uni Stud Arthur

Sweaty palms hit me too, but I’m the one in control. University medical office, that cramped back room smells like antiseptic and anticipation. My phone buzzes in my pocket—another Tinder ping from last night’s swipe. Ignore it. Today’s the real deal. Arthur Heusen, 22, the cute shy one I’ve been teasing online for days. ‘Bet I can make you pop in under five during your check-up,’ I messaged. His replies got me wet. Now he’s here, first physical after screens.

Infirmière knocks. Grumpy old bat, fifties, tight uniform straining over her gut, glasses perched like she’s judging sins. ‘Arthur Heusen, Doctor Quinet’s ready.’ I hear him shuffle out of the booth in just his black boxer briefs, heart pounding. I wait in the hall, blue eyes locked on his as he steps out. Lean build, nervous flush on his cheeks. Smells like fresh soap and that faint cologne—woody, intoxicating up close. Finally.

The Approach

‘Tout va bien since last year?’ I smile, voice smooth, authoritative. He stammers, ‘Y-yeah.’ Brain-fried already. Lead him to my office. He stands there, nearly naked, hands twitching. I sit, cross my legs—skirt hugging my curves, blouse dipping just enough for my full tits. Ears, throat, blood pressure. My fingers graze his skin, deliberate. Feel him tense. Spine check—palms slide down his back, brushing ass cheeks. He’s hardening. Bulge tents those briefs. Good boy.

‘Lie down, on your belly first.’ He flips, hiding it. Stethoscope cold on his back. ‘Breathe deep.’ His ribs expand under me. ‘Turn over.’ Boom—there it is. Thickening cock straining fabric, right at elbow level. I pretend not to notice, but my pussy throbs. Phone vibrates again—fuck off. No time. This kid’s mine now. No dragging it out. We’re doing this raw, quick, brutal.

Grab the waistband. Tug down slow. His cock springs free, half-hard, veiny, perfect. Gland peeking, already leaking pre-cum. He gasps, eyes wide. I smirk. ‘Relax, Arthur. Just a quick test for that tachycardia.’ Skin hot, pulse racing under my touch. Cup his balls, roll ’em gentle. He twitches. Slide foreskin back, inspect like pro—but my thumb circles the head, slick.

The Explosion

Pull briefs off fully. He’s exposed, breathing ragged. Straddle the stool close, tits brushing his thigh. Wrap fingers around his shaft—firm grip, manicured nails teasing veins. Up slow, down firmer. Squeeze the base. ‘Tell me if it hurts.’ He moans, hips buck. No pain, just pure fucking need. Accelerate. Pump steady, twist on upstrokes. Thumb flicks piss-slit, spreads pre-cum. ‘Fuck, you’re throbbing. Heart pounding from this, huh? Or my hand on your cock?’

He groans, ‘D-Doctor…’ Dirty grin. ‘Call me whatever, but don’t cum yet. I wanna check your heart at the peak.’ Stethoscope out—left hand on his chest, feeling jackhammer beats. Right hand jerks faster, tighter. Glans purple, swelling. Balls tighten. I lean in, breath hot on his neck—my perfume hits him, floral musk mixing with his sweat. ‘Gonna make you explode in my palm, boy. Shoot for me.’ Eyes lock. Pump hard, relentless. He arches—’Oh fuck, shit!’ Cum erupts. Thick ropes splatter my hand, warm, sticky. Pulse wild under stethoscope. Hmmm, perfect.

He pants, spent. I grab paper towels, wipe slow, savoring the mess. Tug briefs back over his softening dick—last drip pearls out. Stand, smooth skirt. ‘You’re good for service, Arthur. See you next year.’ Or sooner, on the app. He stumbles out, red-faced. I buzz the next. Phone vibrates—his thank-you text. Smile. Back to normal. Stranger again.