Like many British families, Tim and his mother had decided to spend their holidays in Mallorca, just before school started in September. At that time of year, the weather was still perfect and prices, now out of peak season, were more affordable.

It had become a tradition: they returned to the same resort every year. His mother really liked the place—it was designed for families, full of amenities, with swimming pools, all-inclusive packages, and spacious rooms organized like small apartments. Tim even had a room to himself, which gave him a certain sense of independence, even though he knew his mother was never too far away.

Even though he was growing up, Tim continued to go on vacation with her. Their relationship was still strong and affectionate. He was a reserved, somewhat shy boy, and she maintained a certain influence over him, while giving him more space than she had a few years earlier.

Like many boys his age, however, Tim was not particularly inclined to listen to his mother's advice. If it had been up to her, he would have had to moderate his food intake, avoid too much sugar or cold drinks after sunbathing. But he, armed with his teenage appetite and the freedom offered by the ‘all-inclusive’ bracelet, spent his days trying every dish available at the buffet.

Physical fitness was the last thing on his mind. After all, Tim had always been thin, almost wiry. And even though he had entered puberty, he still looked rather immature, which often made him seem younger than his age. He was in that in-between stage where the body begins to change but is not yet fully defined—he even had little body hair, just a little on his pubic area and under his armpits. He was definitely in the midst of sexual development, given his frequent morning erections, but his appearance was definitely that of a young boy.

Perhaps his mother's advice wasn't so useless after all. By overindulging in snacks, cold drinks, and random dishes from the buffet, his stomach was starting to protest.

Perhaps it was the sharp contrast between the stifling heat and the icy water of the pool, or maybe the less than excellent quality of what he had eaten. The fact is that, while he was swimming peacefully, enjoying that moment of relaxation, Tim was suddenly overcome by violent nausea and excruciating stomach cramps.

Instinctively, he jumped out of the water, staggered to a nearby bush, and vomited into it, doubled over in pain.

His mother, lying on a sunbed in the shade, reading a magazine, saw Tim rush out of the pool with a contorted face, his arms clutching his stomach. She followed him with her eyes as he staggered towards a bush and doubled over.

She dropped the magazine without even closing it and jumped up. She hurried over to Tim, worried. She found him pale, sweaty, still shaking next to the bush. She ran her hand over his forehead, then his shoulders, trying to calm him down.

“Honey, you're sick... we have to go to the doctor. There's a medical center here at the resort, it's not far.

Tim shook his head, trying to pull himself together. “I'm better... it's gone. It's okay... really.”

But his mother wasn't convinced. She spoke to him in a gentle but firm tone, as only a mother can when she knows she has to protect her child.

“Let's not joke around. I saw you, Tim. I don't care if it's just indigestion or something else. But we have to make sure everything is okay. Come with me, please.”

Tim hesitated. He didn't feel like it at all. Going to the doctor for a stomach ache seemed excessive to him, and at that moment he just wanted to disappear, not attract any more attention. But something inside him held him back: the fear that his mother, in her agitation, would tell his father everything.

His parents had been separated for a long time, but the idea that his mother might call him alarmed him. His father was one of the old school, all strictness and discipline. He wasn't a bad man, but he certainly never shone for his understanding or gentleness. Tim remembered it well: years ago, for one reason or another, he had even spanked him—and not pretend spanking, but on his knees, bare bottom, until he felt the punishment was adequate. It had been clear that, for him, certain mistakes were corrected his way. What a burning sensation on his buttocks and what embarrassment...

Tim didn't want to relive that feeling, that mixture of shame and anger, just because he now refused to see a doctor. He knew that if his mother got too worried, she would end up making that phone call.

Finally, he lowered his gaze and sighed softly. “Okay, let's go...”

She took his hand and led him, without saying another word, toward the small white building of the medical center, nestled among the palm trees of the resort. There, waiting for them, was a man in his fifties with dark skin and patient eyes: a reassuring-looking Spanish doctor who immediately ushered them into the infirmary, while the scorching morning sun remained outside, blocked by the door curtain.

The infirmary was simple, almost bare. The walls were completely white, the air conditioning hummed softly, and there was a faint smell of disinfectant. There was an old wooden desk, a bed covered with white paper that creaked at the slightest movement, and a somewhat chaotic display case full of instruments, boxes of vials, gauze, and half-full bottles. Nothing reassuring, but not too threatening either.

Tim, still dressed only in his swimsuit and a light T-shirt, looked around without saying much while his mother talked to the doctor—a Spanish man in his fifties with a low voice and a calm demeanor. After a few exchanges and a couple of questions, the doctor seemed to form an opinion.

“Take off your T-shirt and get on the bed, please,” he said with a slight but understandable accent.

Tim obeyed silently, pulling off his sweaty T-shirt and climbing onto the bed, the paper crumpling beneath him.

The doctor began to calmly feel his belly and stomach, pressing on certain points, asking occasionally, “Does it hurt here? And here?”

After a few seconds, he nodded thoughtfully. “It's probably food poisoning... nothing serious, but annoying.”

Then he took a thermometer. “We need to check your temperature, but with all the sun you've been out in today, the reading under your armpit or in your ear may not be reliable. We may get a higher reading than the actual temperature.”

Tim looked at him a little puzzled, saying nothing, waiting to understand what the alternative was.

The doctor paused, then placed the thermometer on the desk with a calm gesture.

“To be sure, it's better to take it rectally,” he said casually, as if he were talking about the weather.

Tim's eyes widened. “Eh? No, no... no way!” He recoiled slightly on the bed, his face instantly reddening.

His mother approached the bed with her arms crossed. “Tim, please... It's no big deal. It's just to check that you don't have a high fever.”

“Mom, please... no!” he protested, halfway between embarrassment and panic.

She lowered her voice slightly but kept a firm tone. “Then cooperate, because if you keep this up and get worse, as soon as we get home I'll have to talk to your father about it. And you know what he's like when he's confronted with certain things.”

Those words hit home. Tim looked down, stiff, as if he had just surrendered to a sentence. The mere thought of having to face his father's severity over such a matter made him suddenly lose all hesitation.

He snorted softly. “Okay... okay!”

The doctor nodded with a reassuring smile, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. “Good boy. It'll only take a few minutes.”

Tim closed his eyes and tried to think of something else, while the paper beneath him rustled, betraying his every movement.

The doctor had calmly prepared everything, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. Thermometer and lubricant. He turned to Timothy with a gentle but direct voice.

“To take your temperature, you'll need to lie on your left side and pull down your swimsuit a little, okay?” he said in a neutral, almost reassuring tone.

Timothy turned pale. He looked at him for a moment, then looked down at the floor, uncertain. “Okay...” he muttered, uncomfortable.

He wasn't used to undressing in front of his mother anymore. He now felt old enough to want some privacy, especially in such embarrassing moments.

“Mom... can you wait outside, please?” he asked in a whisper, avoiding her gaze.

Surprised but understanding, she nodded. “All right, honey. I'll stay nearby. I'll talk to the doctor afterwards.”

As soon as the door closed behind her, Timothy stood still for a moment, then turned to the doctor. The man, calm and professional as always, motioned for him to undress.

With slow, awkward movements, he lowered his swimsuit just enough. He lay down on his side, as he had been told, his young, hairless buttocks now at the mercy of the doctor. He clenched his knees and tried to cover his private parts with his free hand. His face turned bright red. That middle-aged man would see his little hole and testicles from behind!

The doctor showed no hesitation or surprise. With quick, professional movements, he approached to take the measurement, while Timothy tried to think of something else, wishing it would all be over as soon as possible.

The doctor made no comment, simply proceeding calmly and quickly, as if none of this was out of the ordinary.

The embarrassment, already strong, became terrible when the doctor, after putting on latex gloves, proceeded with external lubrication. The boy felt the man's hands spread his buttocks, then smear the young, virgin orifice and begin a slow and gentle external massage that the boy unexpectedly appreciated.

In fact, as soon as the doctor placed the gel-coated glove on the young man's orifice, he felt all of Tim's muscle tension, which is why he decided to massage a few seconds longer than normal and in a more delicate manner. He was sure it would help the young Englishman relax.

The procedure only lasted a few seconds, unfortunately for Tim, then with an expert but respectful gesture, the man inserted the cold glass thermometer into his buttocks about halfway, without rushing.

Tim flinched slightly. A shiver ran up his spine and he tried in vain to tighten the muscles of his anus; he didn't know if it was the unexpected contact with the cold object or the penetration itself, which he had never experienced in his life. It was a new, strange, embarrassing sensation, but not only that...

Tim tried to relax, still lying on his side. The doctor behind him held the thermometer firmly between his buttocks, moving it slightly, careful not to let it slip out.

He felt a little cold. Maybe he did have a fever, and he felt... vulnerable.

And then something unexpected happened.

A slight, almost imperceptible warmth began to rise inside him. Confused, he realized with embarrassment that he was starting to get aroused. Not in a marked way, not in a deliberate way. A timid erection—completely involuntary—was making its way, like a silent response of the body to a stimulus that, however clinical, was still physical.

Panic tried to take hold of Timothy's mind. What is happening? he thought. This is not the time, this is not the place...

Yet there it was. He felt a bead of sweat roll down his temple. Not from fever this time.

Fortunately, in that position, the doctor would not notice the sudden erection.

After a few minutes, the doctor removed the instrument from the boy's bottom, pulling it out gently, causing him to shiver again. He read the temperature, holding the small instrument up in the air. 37.8

He looked at the shy boy with a mixture of professionalism and calm that only years of experience can teach you to maintain.

“You have a slight fever...” he said with his marked Spanish accent, placing the thermometer on the bed. He paused briefly, as if to give him time to breathe before continuing. “I'll have to give you a shot of tonic.”

Tim looked at him over his shoulder, still lying on his side. His eyes widened.

“An injection... where?” he asked, even though he already dreaded the answer.

“Intramuscular. Buttock. It works faster and is less stressful on the stomach.”

He hadn't had one in years. Maybe since he was a child. The last ones had been quick, fleeting vaccinations. But a real injection, intramuscular, the idea of the needle terrified him!

He took a deep breath, then found the courage to speak: “Doctor, isn't there... another solution? A pill, anything else?”

“I understand. Really. But you have a fever, and other medications aren't suitable after you've vomited. This is the fastest and most effective way. It's not a punishment, it's just... medicine.” Said the doctor, knowing how painful the liquid would be, especially when injected into a lean, muscular butt like the boy's.

The word punishment sent a new shiver down his spine.

Tim nodded slowly. He wanted to insist. To find a way to avoid it. But he wanted to play the brave one.

He clenched the edge of the sheet with his fingers. The doctor had already started preparing the syringe.

He stood there, half-naked, his butt exposed and his swimsuit at his knees.

He could hear every sound.

The sound of the blister pack being torn open, the cap of the vial being broken, the dull click of the syringe as the doctor pressed the plunger to expel the excess air. Tim couldn't see it, but every movement seemed amplified.

Then he smelled the pungent odor of alcohol. That was the first warning, followed by the cold cotton ball drawing small circles on the skin of his buttock, marking the spot. Tim held his breath. Every muscle in his body tensed, and that initial erection was still there.

Then he heard the doctor's voice, just above the rustling of the cotton: “Breathe slowly. Now.”

A moment later, the needle pierced the young man's muscular buttock. It wasn't a sharp pain, but a distinct, deep pressure that burned slightly.

Then the liquid, a deep burning sensation that radiated inside the muscle, as if something were inflaming the tissue from within.

The doctor slowly pressed the plunger, injecting the painful medicine.

He couldn't help himself. He let out his first moan, which gradually increased as the man continued to inject the medicine.

The doctor continued to inject calmly, ignoring the protests, waiting, without speeding up. The burning lasted a couple of seconds that seemed endless.

Tim felt his muscles contract in pain, then relax again.

The moan faded as the liquid finished entering. The burning sensation persisted, milder but throbbing.

“You did very well, Tim,”

the doctor said as he slowly withdrew the long needle and then began massaging his buttock again.

Tim lay on his side for a few seconds, his skin burning slightly where the medication had entered. But what really shook him was not the pain.

It was that reaction.

Despite everything, despite the burning sensation of the injection, the tension of the moment, and the coldness of the room... the erection had not disappeared. An embarrassing presence, which seemed to resist even the will to disappear. Unintentional. But real.

“You can get dressed, Tim. The injection is done. The drug will start to take effect shortly.”

The doctor said as he approached the door of the office to call the boy's mother back in.

Those words sounded like music. He could get dressed. He could leave.

The doctor knew that the injection would not be enough, but he preferred to discuss it directly with the boy's mother.

Tim nodded quickly. “Thank you,” he whispered, his voice still a little slurred. He tried to move slowly, without drawing attention to himself, but his heart was beating as if he had run a marathon.

With some awkwardness, he pulled up his swimsuit, being careful not to show his still slightly hard penis.

He put on his T-shirt and sneaked out of the doctor's office just as his mother was entering.

The doctor reassured the woman that it was nothing to worry about, but that the boy had to stay in his room for the day.

He would visit him in the late afternoon.

Then he explained to Timothy's mother what treatment the boy would need.

The mother left the doctor's office knowing that her son would not be at all happy to hear the doctor's plans.

That injection had not been enough.

She simply told him that he would have to stay in his room for the afternoon and that the doctor would come by later...

The afternoon passed slowly. The hours seemed sticky, like the humidity seeping through the shutters. The television was on low volume, filling the room with indistinct sounds. Tim dozed, waking up from time to time, occasionally glancing listlessly at his cell phone.

When his mother returned around six o'clock, she brought some shopping bags with her. Fresh fruit, water, a couple of light snacks. Tim didn't pay much attention; he was more focused on the feeling of tiredness weighing on his shoulders.

She approached him, placed a hand on his forehead in a motherly gesture, then sat down on the edge of the bed.

“The doctor is on his way,” she said. Her tone was gentle but firm.

Tim looked up, annoyed, as if he sensed the beginning of something he would not like at all.

Tim was not at all enthusiastic about seeing the doctor again, but he knew he didn't have much room to protest. After all, he still felt a little weak and didn't have the strength—or the desire—to argue. Besides, what else could the doctor do to him? Nothing worse than what he had already endured that morning, he hoped.

Barely ten minutes had passed since his mother had announced the doctor's imminent arrival when someone knocked twice on the door. His mother got up immediately. “All right,” she said simply, and went to open the door.

Tim heard his mother's low, friendly voice, then a warm, deep Spanish accent responding, followed by the sound of the door closing behind them.

The resort room consisted of two separate rooms, and Tim had stayed in his room, lying on the bed with the covers loosely tucked in. He tried to listen, but the walls muffled the voices: he could barely make out his mother speaking in a civil and controlled tone. Then silence, and a few moments later the handle turned slowly.

The doctor entered.

He was wearing the same light-colored polo shirt as in the morning and had a brown leather bag typical of a doctor. He greeted him with a nod and a measured smile.

“Hello, Timothy. How are you feeling now?”

“A little better, I think...” replied the boy, without much conviction.

The doctor approached with a calm step, placing his bag on a small armchair. “Good. I'd like to check your temperature again, just to be on the safe side.” His tone was gentle but professional.

Tim stiffened slightly, struck by an uncomfortable memory: that morning's measurement. The doctor's voice was calm, but a hint of unease rekindled inside him. He couldn't help thinking about how he had taken his temperature a few hours earlier.

The doctor paused for a moment, looking at Tim with a gentle but firm expression.

He already knew how he would react.

“I know you don't like it, and I understand. But if I want to be sure you're really improving, I need comparable data. To get an accurate comparison with this morning's measurement, I have to do it the same way,” he explained calmly.

Tim stiffened. “No, not again, please... but... can't you do it under my armpit or something? I'm better, I swear.”

The doctor shook his head with an understanding half-smile, as if he had dealt with that same reaction dozens of times before, especially with boys.

Tim was still looking for a way—any way—to avoid it when he heard the door open. His mother had come in without knocking, drawn by her son's protesting voice.

“What's going on?” she asked, looking first at the doctor, then at Tim, with a look that promised nothing good, and that look left no room for further discussion.

“Mom... Taking my temperature that way again...” he said, almost whimpering.

“Timothy, stop fussing. You have to cooperate. The doctor knows what he's doing.”

“But Mom...” protested the boy, in a lower tone, almost embarrassed, looking at the floor.

She crossed her arms. “I don't care if you feel uncomfortable. This is no time to be childish. It's a matter of health. If you don't want to feel worse tomorrow, do what you're asked. And do it now, unless you want to discuss it with your father.”

He said nothing. He looked at the doctor, then at his mother. Then, finally, he sighed softly and let himself fall back onto the bed, covering his face with his arm.

“Okay... fine...” he muttered, more to himself than to them.

After seeing that Tim had finally agreed, albeit reluctantly, his mother nodded with a sigh and left the room again, leaving her son some privacy.

The doctor, who had remained by the bed, waited a moment in silence, then bent down slightly to take gloves and lubricant from his bag. Just like that morning.

Then, in a calm and professional tone, he said, “All right, Timothy. I'm going to ask you to pull down your pants and underwear and lie down on your stomach, please. I'll be quick.”

Tim swallowed hard, his throat dry. His heart was beating faster, even though he knew there was no way out. He turned slowly as instructed, pulling down the elastic of his pants and underwear with slow, awkward movements until his bottom was completely exposed again.

What frightened him most, however, was the fear of getting aroused again, just as he had a few hours earlier in the doctor's office.

At least lying on his stomach, the doctor wouldn't see any embarrassing erections.

Tim, lying on the bed, felt the cool air on his exposed skin. The area where he had been pricked that morning was still slightly sore, a small reminder of what had happened. He wanted to be anywhere but there, but there was no turning back now.

The doctor prepared himself with methodical gestures, the latex gloves crackling as he put them on his large hands, and just like a few hours earlier, he took the thermometer and lubricant and approached the boy.

“Relax,” he said reassuringly. Tim felt the man's hand between his thighs. He spread them slightly for better access, exposing the boy's testicles. Then, with two fingers, he uncovered the small hole.

A slight cold touch and then that massage again.

The man went back to making small circles around the young man's orifice, lingering with mischievous delicacy on the wrinkles of the little hole. It was so delicate, even though it was done by a man, relaxing, exciting.

Just a few seconds, and it was the turn of the tip of the thermometer, which made its way into his buttocks with controlled pressure.

He bit his lip and tried to squeeze his buttocks a little. But the doctor continued pushing it deep inside until he was sure it wouldn't slip out.

It was a strange sensation, of course, but more because of the emotional discomfort than the physical pain. He tried to distract himself by staring at the spot on the wall in front of him where the afternoon light drew a bright strip between the half-closed curtains.

But that sensation returned.

His slightly widened buttocks, that massage, that thermometer inside him.

He felt his penis swelling against the sheet.

If the situation was already very embarrassing in itself, this erection certainly didn't improve it.

And unfortunately for Tim, the surprises weren't over yet.

As the thermometer silently did its job, Tim tried to remain still, but every second seemed to last twice as long. Every slight movement turned into a small rub between the sheets and his genitals.

The room was silent, broken only by a faint sound of water running from the bathroom tap, which he paid no attention to.

It was the doctor's voice that brought him back to reality.

“After vomiting this morning,” he said in a calm, almost thoughtful tone, "you may have lost more salts and vitamins than expected. We may need to give you some restorative injections for three or four days. It will help you recover sooner."

Tim turned his head sharply toward the man. He was about to respond, to protest, to say that he was feeling better and that there was no need... but then he remembered the situation he was in and the fear of punishment from his father...

What's more, the thermometer was still there, and in such an embarrassing position that any attempt to resist would have seemed ridiculous. Or, worse, pointless.

“We'll start today, right after this measurement,” added the doctor, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Her heart began to beat fast. Another painful injection like this morning? She wanted to cry.

She didn't even have time to process the news before the doctor approached her bag and, with the same methodical calm, took out a thin glass vial and held it up to the light.

He took a syringe and everything else he needed.

With professional skill, he drew up the contents, filling almost the entire syringe. The liquid was bright red, thick, almost ruby-colored.

The doctor checked his watch, then leaned toward him again. “Okay, we can remove the thermometer.”

He lay still as he felt the doctor's gloved hands gently spread his buttocks and grasp him delicately. A brief, unpleasant moment, then it was over. The doctor glanced quickly at the temperature. “You still have a slight fever. Nothing serious, but you'd better get some rest.”

Tim didn't answer. He turned just enough to see the doctor take a swab and a small bottle. Again, that smell of disinfectant in the air. Then he felt the cold touch on his bare skin. He instinctively recoiled.

“Don't worry, it's just to disinfect,” said the doctor as he gently rubbed the young man's white buttocks. Slightly muscular and completely hairless.

The boy felt his stomach tighten. The idea of the injection made him more nervous than he should have been. He had already had another injection that morning and had no desire to repeat the experience.

But even though fear was now taking over, that feeling of excitement showed no sign of going away.

The doctor firmly grasped the syringe and with a decisive stroke inserted the needle into the young man's buttocks again.

A pinch on the skin... a moan... and pain.

The injection was deep, and the liquid burned like hell as it was injected. Tim bit his lip, closing his eyes tightly. Another moan escaped him involuntarily, louder than before. He didn't want to, but he couldn't help himself.

“AAAHHH stop, doctor, it burns!”

“You're almost there,” said the doctor in a low voice.

He knew that this mix of vitamins was particularly painful, especially when injected into a young, thin butt like his.

Tim didn't answer. His leg muscles were tense, and his hands clenched the sheet.

The liquid finally finished.

And it was only then, while the needle was still inside, that he heard a slight creak: the door to the room opening slowly.

His mother had returned.

Just as the doctor began to massage the spot where he had just removed the needle, Tim managed to focus on the sound of footsteps approaching.

He turned his head and looked at her.

She was holding a basin containing something. Tim, lying down as he was, struggled to see.

Then his mother placed it on the bedside table next to the bed. As if it were the most normal thing in the world.

He still had the cotton ball on the painful injection site when he realized what it was.

On the bedside table next to him was a basin filled with whitish water and a large black enema bulb with a long curved spout, at least six inches long.

He didn't even have time to say a word before the doctor, in a reassuring tone, explained that an enema would be the ideal remedy to rid his body of all the accumulated toxins.

He, however, barely knew what an enema was.

But he knew that it was a practice famous for being very embarrassing and that the long cannula had to be inserted into his buttocks.

His mother and the doctor had decided that morning at the clinic not to inform the boy about the procedure he was to undergo, so as not to upset him unnecessarily.

Immediately after the visit, while Tim was waiting for his mother after receiving his first injection, the doctor asked her to get an enema kit, specifying, however, that he did not want to use the ready-made ones, preferring a more ‘traditional’ and natural solution.

Unfortunately, in the small town where they were, the only thing available at the pharmacy was an old black bulb syringe with a long curved spout. It was almost a leftover from the warehouse, which the pharmacist took some time to find.

Without anyone having started to explain, he began to protest, his voice trembling, almost on the verge of tears.

"No, no... I don't want to, you're crazy!"

But neither his mother nor the doctor showed the slightest sign of giving in. The decision had been made, and nothing would change it.

Desperate, he turned to his mother and asked her where on earth she had found that contraption.

“Where did you find that thing?”

She explained it to him again in a calm but firm tone: the doctor had asked her for an enema bag, but the only thing available at the pharmacy was that black bulb.

It probably wasn't even a real enema—more likely it was a vaginal douche.

In fact, the woman had used it for that purpose many years earlier.

When she saw it, she felt a slight shiver at the thought that that cannula would have to go into her son's young bottom.

The boy, unable to turn around without exposing his genitals to his mother, lay there looking at the two adults with a desperate look on his face.

An enema at his age? He wasn't a child anymore!

At that point, the doctor intervened in the discussion between mother and son, in a firm tone.

He wanted to end the discussion and do what was best for the boy.

And that would be the enema.

“Tim, it's the best thing, really. After what you had this morning, it's important that your intestines are clean. You'll feel better.”

“But you're joking, right? First the fever, then the shot... and now this?”

“I know you don't like it, Tim,” his mother continued, carefully arranging the towels on the bed, “but it's for your own good. It's very simple, and it'll be over in a few minutes.”

The boy didn't answer. He remained silent, still lying down, feeling only his heart beating faster. The mere sight of the large bulb syringe was enough to make him want to sink into the mattress.

Yet, deep down, he knew that protesting would be useless.

In fact, in a totally inexplicable way, the sight of that object had once again aroused a slight excitement in him.

The doctor knew how embarrassing this procedure could be for a boy of that age, who, despite looking like a child, was in fact in the midst of sexual development.

He therefore kindly asked the woman to leave them alone, just as she had done in the clinic.

She understood perfectly and left the room. She also knew from personal experience how important privacy was for a procedure like this.

Now Tim was alone with that man: a kind doctor, yes, but with such authority that it was difficult to resist.

There were no more excuses, no escape. He had to follow the instructions.

He would receive that enema.

He was afraid, of course... but it wasn't just fear he felt.

The doctor looked at Tim, noting his thin, hairless physique.

He was lying on the bed with his bottom exposed and his shorts pulled down to his knees, the pale skin of his buttocks still bearing the marks of those injections.

Now came another very difficult part for the boy to swallow.

In a firm but gentle tone, the doctor told him to take off his tracksuit and underwear completely, leaving him naked from the waist down, then asked him to lift his pelvis.

The young Englishman's eyes widened, now he was really embarrassed.

The doctor had just ordered him to assume the knee-chest position, thus raising and exposing his buttocks. He had only seen women in that position in certain videos!

Tim, in a last attempt, begged him to allow him to receive the enema in another position.

“Doctor, please... couldn't we do it in another position? I'm too embarrassed to be exposed like this.” But the doctor replied calmly: he knew how vulnerable that position could make him feel.

“Don't worry, son, I'm here to help you. I'll explain exactly what we're going to do.”

Understanding the situation, the man wanted to explain the situation clearly and what would happen shortly.

If he wanted to avoid receiving 5 or 6 of those enemas, he would do better to trust his experience and let gravity help him by raising his buttocks. By doing so, he would get away with just a couple.

Tim appreciated the doctor's professionalism and the way he treated him with respect, like an adult. However, his anxiety did not leave him: what was about to happen made him deeply uncomfortable.

With some reluctance, he took off his clothes and got into the required position, and now he felt even more mortified—it was no longer just his buttocks that were exposed, now open in such an obscene manner, but also his genitals, testicles, and penis hanging between his thighs.

Perhaps it was the position, perhaps the cool air on his skin, or more likely the idea that this man would once again touch him in such an intimate way, but his penis began to swell again.

He could see the doctor standing next to the bed.

While he reluctantly positioned himself ready to receive the enema, the doctor calmly and precisely went about his preparations.

He took the 50 cc bulb syringe and immersed the cannula in hot, soapy water. A slight sucking sound accompanied the slow filling of the device. Once ready, he placed it upright on the bedside table, with the long cannula pointing upwards, wet and clearly visible.

The boy knelt on the bed and stared at it for a moment. It was really long. And he thought... Does it really have to go all the way in?

A shiver ran down his spine: he was intimidated, almost more by the sight of the cannula than by the entire procedure. He was a virgin back there, how could he possibly receive that object?

The discomfort became closer, more real, but at the same time he felt warmth in his private parts and his testicles contract slightly...

The doctor casually put on a pair of latex gloves and picked up the tube of lubricant again.

Tim noticed his hands—large, with stubby but steady fingers. Hands accustomed to moving with confidence, even in situations like this. Yet, for him, every gesture seemed to amplify the tension.

The doctor approached with the ointment in his hands.

He squeezed a small amount of clear gel directly onto his glove, carefully spreading it along the entire length of his finger. The gesture was calm, methodical.

Tim felt him approach from behind. His heart was pounding, and despite his efforts to remain still, his body responded with small involuntary tremors.

Then he felt the doctor's finger touch his anal opening again. The cold gel made his buttocks contract again.

The doctor knew that this was probably Tim's first experience with this type of procedure. It wasn't just a physical issue—there was also an emotional component to deal with, consisting of modesty, inexperience, and tension.

But given the size of the cannula, he thought that internal lubrication was not only advisable but necessary to ensure that the nozzle was inserted as gently as possible.

“Breathe slowly, Tim,” he said calmly. “I'm just preparing you, I won't force anything.”

Then, with a slow and steady movement, he inserted his large finger into the boy's buttocks, encountering considerable resistance.

Tim groaned in pain, begging the doctor to stop.

“UUUUU Doctor, please... Take it out!”

The pain wasn't excruciating, it was perhaps more the shame. That finger was really big for a virgin butt like his, but the doctor knew what he was doing.

The man, in fact, had no qualms and continued the slow preparation.

That finger moved gently inside him. It was a clinical procedure, yet incredibly personal.

Tim kept his eyes closed. He tried not to think too much, but it was impossible to ignore everything he was feeling: discomfort, embarrassment, but also a sense of submission to that man.

The doctor sensed, with the experience of someone who had performed this procedure many times, that Tim was beginning to relax.

The boy's breathing was still uncertain, but his body was slowly giving in to trust. The sphincter muscles now accepted the finger; in fact, it almost seemed as if the boy was slightly spreading his buttocks to facilitate the procedure.

Without saying anything, only with measured gestures, the doctor gently withdrew his finger.

Tim felt a sudden small emptiness, just a moment's pause. But it wasn't over.

The doctor took the bulb syringe from the bedside table.

With the same meticulous calm as before, he grasped the water-filled device, then leaned slightly toward Tim.

“Now I'm going to insert the nozzle,” he said in a low, reassuring tone.

Tim nodded slightly, his face hidden between his arms, his breath still suspended between fear and excitement.

The doctor carefully guided the cannula toward the orifice, gently pressing it against the already lubricated skin.

Tim held his breath for a moment and the cannula began to enter.

The sensation was different than before. Less invasive, in fact, the lubrication had done its job and the doctor encountered no particular resistance.

Tim felt every millimeter of the passage, trying to remain still. The doctor was almost amazed at how this young boy accepted all 15 cm of the cannula without fuss.

With the nozzle now positioned inside his buttocks, the doctor slowly began to squeeze the bulb.

A thin stream of warm liquid began to enter his intestine. The sensation was immediate and incredible.

At first, he tensed up, holding his breath, convinced that he would feel pain or at least severe discomfort.

But instead... no.

The warmth of the soapy water took him by surprise. It was a new sensation, yes, but not unpleasant—on the contrary, this new and invasive practice was arousing him greatly, and his penis became rock hard in an uncontrollable manner.

The shame was just as instantaneous. The thought that the doctor might notice or misinterpret it overwhelmed him.

The man immediately noticed the reaction, the penis so visible, hard and eager, and the scrotum retracted toward the foreskin, a clear sign of strong arousal. No words were needed. With years of experience, he was familiar with that reaction — and above all, he knew how significant it could be for a young patient who was already struggling.

He paused for a moment and, in a calm, nonjudgmental voice, simply said:

“Tim, listen. What's happening is completely normal. It's just a physiological response. It doesn't mean anything strange or wrong.”

Tim, red-faced, didn't answer, but bit his lip.

He was completely mortified, especially thinking that he would have to receive another enema, but also because he thought about how much he wanted to masturbate.

Once all the liquid was inside the boy, the doctor gently removed the cannula.

“Now we'll do another one, as I explained,” he said calmly as he approached the solution prepared by his mother.

Tim nodded slightly, still tense, but he was learning to trust.

Half naked, with his butt exposed and his penis harder than it had ever been before. He no longer knew if he wanted the procedure to last forever or to end instantly.

The doctor refilled the device with liquid, then approached the boy again. Without rushing, he took some lubricating gel and spoke kindly:

“I'm lubricating again, just to be on the safe side. I don't want you to feel any discomfort.”

But in reality, that man knew exactly what Tim wanted.

He slipped his big index finger back into the boy's ass, who began to moan. He was no longer just lubricating or dilating him to get the big cannula in. He was penetrating him to push his desire to the limit.

With a touch of sadism and a lot of experience, he began to gently stimulate his prostate. Tim was literally out of control.

It was a new sensation, one he had never experienced before. It was like an orgasm but deeper and more widespread. It wasn't just localized in his penis, but involved his entire pelvis, back, and legs.

He massaged that fantastic part a little, probably still unknown to Tim. His touch, delicate and expert, generated something completely new and fantastic for the young boy.

What he thought was painful had actually been a pleasure so far, and he could no longer hide it from the man.

Without any hurry, the doctor removed his finger. There was still an enema to be done, and Tim would get what he wanted.

Freed for a moment, the now eager orifice quickly filled up again with the black rubber tube, which this time found no obstacle as it entered all the way to the base.

The hot water filled the young man's bowels even more.

The sensation was even more incredible, and Tim now craved an orgasm, feeling warmth and pleasure inside him.

Like all his peers, Tim used to masturbate a lot, imagining spicy situations with his friends or while watching porn movies, but he never, ever imagined he would experience such pleasure from being penetrated anally!

It seemed that the man, at least thirty years older than him, could read his mind, understand his thoughts and desires.

So much so that once the second and last bulb syringe had been squeezed, the doctor, without saying anything to the boy, began to slowly move the cannula inside his buttocks, trying to stimulate the prostate muscle again.

This erotic torture was literally driving him crazy, and his body reacted almost independently to the stimuli. As if wanting to enjoy this situation even more, he opened his buttocks further, arching his back and pushing his butt higher, now exposing his genitals obscenely and losing all sense of shyness.

The man was now certain of what Tim wanted, and once he had pushed the cannula of the now empty bulb syringe all the way in, he left it there so that he could use his hands for other purposes.

The room was bathed in warm, soft light. The doctor looked at the young boy, a calm and reassuring smile on his lips.

He placed his right hand on Tim's testicles and caressed them.

This gesture made the young patient jump, and he instinctively said, “Doctor...”

“Shhhh,” replied the man to reassure him. “Everything's fine.”

And with that, he continued the gentle massage, now forming a soft ring at the base of the scrotum. The pressure was calibrated to intensify sensitivity without ever being invasive. Each slight squeeze made Tim tremble, his breathing becoming deeper.

Then, almost with his fingertips, the doctor began to touch the penis as if it were another part of the examination, exploring the now rock-hard shaft with care and attention. The air in the room seemed to become denser, charged with anticipation.

Tim was going crazy with pleasure, he wanted to beg the doctor to masturbate him, but the shame was already too much.

With measured movements, the man then began to focus on the frenulum, moving the skin slightly up and down, modulating the rhythm according to Tim's small moans and heavy breathing.

He completely exposed the glans and, with his gloves still covered in gel, began to touch the young man's frenulum. When he saw the muscles in his thighs contract and his toes curl, he knew the moment had come. He increased the rhythm, letting himself be guided by the language of that immature body.

His right hand held the enema cannula firmly inside the thin buttocks, while his left hand skillfully masturbated the young patient.

Twenty seconds of that stimulation were enough, and Tim surrendered to pleasure with an overwhelming wave. A strangled moan and then an intense and copious jet of semen on the white sheets of the bed, which were shamelessly stained. The cannula, which continued to sodomize him, prevented the sphincter muscles from contracting, amplifying each wave of pleasure until it became almost unbearable, leaving him vulnerable, distraught, and deeply satisfied.

The doctor remained beside him, his hands still caressing, cherishing that moment of intimacy.

Calmly, only when he was sure that all the pleasure had been released, he withdrew the cannula from his buttocks, leaving the small hole slightly dilated and reddened. Tim let out a slight sigh, almost a restrained moan, and then collapsed on his side, exhausted, still wet with pleasure, his buttocks shiny with lubricant.

Only now did he begin to feel the need to get rid of that purifying liquid.

His body was satisfied, but something more complex lingered in his mind: a sense of confusion. He had never been with a man before and never imagined he would experience such pleasure.

The doctor did not speak respectfully of the boy's feelings. He professionally put away the instruments he had used.

Tim, his legs still weak and full of shame, slowly got up from the bed to reach the bathroom where he would finally be able to relieve himself.

He didn't even look at the man.

He walked quickly with his eyes down, not bothering to get dressed, but only covering his penis, which had returned to its flaccid state but was still dripping with the little semen left in his urethra.

Once on the toilet, he began to release the liquid.

However, he couldn't get rid of that thought, that doubt. Was he gay? Those sensations, those invasive medical procedures, those stimulations had driven him crazy with pleasure, so much so that just thinking about it made his penis swell again.

About ten minutes had passed when he came out of the bathroom.

His mother was waiting for him, smiling. The room had been cleaned up and there was no trace of the doctor.

“The doctor just left. He said everything went very well.”

Tim looked at her with an air of fear and suspicion. Fear that she knew what had just happened in that room.

"Eh... Didn't he say anything else?" he asked timidly.

His mother shrugged, aware that she had to give her son some bad news.

“He also said he'll be waiting for you tomorrow morning at the clinic for the third injection.”

Tim didn't answer, he looked out the window and thought.

Would he only get one injection?

He couldn't wait to find out....