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"We're here!" His owner said cheerfully, as if this wasn't absolute torture.
The vet.
He was getting anxious just thinking about it. Fucking vet. Always stabbing him, prodding at him, Frankie fucking hates it. A whine left his mouth, as he sat down on the examination table.
"Hey," His owner grabbed his chin and forced eye contact, "be a good boy! Maybe I'll get you a treat after, alright?"
Treat?!
Fuck yeah, he wants a treat!
He nodded obediently, watching him walk away and leave him by himself. As one does, he started looking around. White. So much white. You'd think these people were allergic to colour, my god! The table he was sitting on was covered in a sterile drape, crinkling with every movement he made. He saw a stethoscope hanging on the wall, a box of gloves, syringes, needles... Frankie already got queasy just looking at them.
"Aw, hello there!" His ears immediately perked up in respons to the sweet, loving voice. The doctor reached out to pet him, running his fingers through Frankie's hair so gently. He turned around to desinfect his hands, before grabbing a pair of gloves. As he's putting them on, he smiles at Frankie, "I'm doctor Armstrong, i'm gonna be giving you a quick exam, okay pup?"
Frankie winced softly, and looked down at the floor.
"Now, don't be like that," Armstrong pleaded, squatting in front of him. He looked up at Frankie, who tried to avoid eye contact.
Billie sighed as he rose to his feet again, his hands on his knees for support. He stepped closer to the pup, and leaned in, "Remember what your owner told you?"
Right. Be a good boy. He can do that!
His body language shifted, immediately sitting up straighter and looking doctor Armstrong in his eyes.
"Good. We're gonna start by weighing you. Come on, boy," He hit his leg, an invitation to get up off the table, and snapped his fingers above the scale.
Frankie got up at lightning speed and followed doctor Armstrong's instructions to a T.
He looked over Frankie's shoulder, and grabbed his clipboard, "Mhm," he noted, as he started scribbling something down. Billie held his pen in his mouth, as he gestured to the pup to get back on the bad, "Cahm ahn," he said slightly unintelligibly.
The silence was deafening, only interrupted by doctor Armstrong putting down his clipboard and opening a drawer. He fetched a thermometer, and stepped towards Frankie again.
"Normally," he started, tapping the thermometer against his hand, "we take temperature through the rectum. However, since you've been such a good doggie," Frankie immediately started smiling, sitting up proud, "I'm gonna do it orally. But no biting!"
The doctor looked him sternly in the eyes, with the thermometer held out in front of him. Frankie nodded feverishly, and opened his mouth.
"Wow, I don't even have to tell you," He inserts the thermometer into his mouth, as a chuckle escapes his mouth, "I guess you just got a bunch of experience, huh?" His tone was almost condescending, which was doing some weird shit to Frankies insides. He could feel the blood surge to his cock, and a shiver travelling up his back.
He leaned back against the wall, checking his watch. The silence was deafening. With innocent eyes, Frankie looked at doctor Armstrong, who had a small smirk growing on his face.
Beep
"Ah," the doctor said, "let's see!". He approached Frankie again, who almost seemed to be wagging his tail at him, and retrieved the thermometer. 91 degrees it said. "It's a little high, but nothing to be too concerned about."
Frankie nodded, and held his hands in his lap, conveniently hiding the erection he had gotten from this whole ordeal.
"So, Frankie, what do you eat and drink in a day?" Armstrong grabbed his wrist and looked at his watch, keeping count of his pulse.
His eyes looked up at doctor Armstrong's, his eyebrow slightly furrowed in thought, "Nothing special, really. Just cereal for breakfast, sandwich for lunch, and for dinner... I mean, it obviously changes day by day, but most often it's just meat with potatoes and shit,"
"M'kay," He muttered, as he jotted something down on his clipboard again, and used his hands to travel down Frankie's body, "Do you go outside a lot, get enough exercise?"
He nodded proudly, "Yeah, I need my daily outing or I go insane,"
Doctor Armstrong prodded his sides gently, feeling up his ribs, "Can you breathe in and out for me, please?"
Frankie obeyed.
"Good."
He tried to stay as still as possible, but being ticklish, Frankie was obviously struggling. A smile threatened to form on his lips, as he breathed shakily, trying to compose himself. He felt the goosebumps forming on his skin, as the doctor kept his hands on his ribs, and his heart felt like it was going a million miles an hour. The smell of tobacco and vanilla filled his nose, as doctor Armstrong bent over to listen to his breathing. Frankie had to physically refrain himself from burying his nose in there, because god it smelled too good.
All of a sudden, the doctor felt a hand touching his hair. He turned his head to face Frankie, as he stood up straight again, "Pup, what are you doing?"
His hand retreated, and he bowed his head, looking at the floor immediately.
"No, no, no," he said sternly, grabbing his hair and forcing eye contact, "no touching." Doctor Armstrong let him go roughly, making him lean back on impact. He kept his hands near the pup's face, and forced his mouth open. He took a quick look, noted it down on his clipboard, before once again turning around to fetch something new.
"One last thing," The drawer opened, as Frankie followed the doctor with his eyes, unsure of what was going to happen next, "I need to make sure your oral functions are working properly." He turned around holding a gag with a red bone.
Frankie raised his eyebrow, seemingly skeptical. This didn't seem to bother doctor Armstrong, as he wasted no time putting the gag on him. It was slightly uncomfortable, holding his mouth open forcibly. He shook his head, trying to get it off.
"No, bad dog. This is a test, be good. After all," He got down on his knees, "you don't want to risk having poor oral function, now do you?"
He sighed and shook his head.
"That's what I thought," As these words rolled off of his tongue, he unbuckled Frankie's belt and started inching down his pants. After another stern look, he aided him by lifting his hips off the examination table. Doctor Armstrong seemed to prefer efficiency, as he took down his pants and underwear in one go.
As he laid on the table, Frankie closed his eyes in anticipation. What is there to insp- OH.
He felt the doctor's mouth on his dick. The nice, warm, wet senstation tickled his nerves. He tried to speak, but the gag effectively stopped him; only gibberish left his mouth.
"Wow," He pulled off, producing a wet 'pop' noise, "I thought puppies didn't talk," the doctor said, a stern look consuming his face.
Frankie felt like he shrunk 3 sizes, and bowed his head.
Armstrong hummed, before going back in. His strategy was of a teasing nature, going slow and tedious. He suckled at the tip, which already blew Frankie's mind, before fully taking him in his mouth. He sucked like there was no tomorrow, like there was fucking gold in his balls or something.
"Fack," Frankie moaned, constrained by his gag.
This earned him a slap on his thigh, resulting in a wince.
"What did I say?"
Frankie didn't answer.
"Exactly, silence. You are a dog. Dogs don't talk or moan," Armstrong gritted through his teeth, and grabbed him by his hair, "at best, they just whine."
This time he didn't put his mouth back on his dick. No, he wrapped his gloved hand around it, and started jerking teasingly slow. Frankie's breath hitched, as he tried to stay quiet. He opted to mouthing words over saying them.
'Oh my god' he mouthed, as doctor Armstrong continued a slow pace, thumbing the slit softly.
Following Frankie's reaction, he smirked and started picking up the pace slightly. He wanted to see this mutt fall apart in his hands, show him who's boss.
As time passed, he got more on edge. Sweat formed on his skin, his back arched off the table as the doctor licked a fat stripe along the length of his dick. He could feel the goosebumps on his skin, reacting to every single touch of doctor Armstrong. He pointed his toes, and whined when the vet slowed his pumps.
"Now, now, don't be like that." He inched closer to Frankie's face, "I need you to stay quiet until I say you can speak, okay?"
He nodded feverishly, as he continued stimulating his dick while he spoke. After having received this response, Armstrong picked up the pace quick, making Frankie tense up and arch. His head rested on the table, and started moving around in a restrained matter. Keeping in the noise he is so desperate to make. This got even worse when he felt his dick being surrounded by a wet warmth, and a tongue stroking his length.
A whine escaped his mouth, while internally praying this didn't count as speaking.
He waited a beat, his fingers grasping at the blue drape on the table, as he noticed the vet wasn't stopping at all. Good. He could whine.
His breathing became more shallow by the second. His skin felt like it was on fire. Like someone had come along and rubbed fucking wasabi on it or something, but it was a good burn. An amazing burn. Fuck. His spine felt like exploding, with sprinkles of pleasure travelling up and down, left and right, breaking dimensions. Fuck, his mouth was good.
Doctor Armstrong noticed Frankie was not holding on much longer, with the whines under his breath, the slight tremble in his legs, and the way his muscles were tensing up.
He pulled of briefly, but made up for the lack of mouth by jerking him faster, "You can speak, pup, you've been so good!" he cooed, before diving back in.
Frankie's eyes widened at the news, as a moan left his mouth, "Oh my god, fuck,"
His back arched of the table again, as his head fell back. The drape had torn at this point, from feverish, grabby fingers holding it tight in desperation.
"Ah fuck,"
It was undeniable. He was nearing his climax. Especially after the vet used his other hand to reach for and play with his balls. His heels dug into the table, as he felt his muscles tense.
"Please- fuck," he moaned desperately, "can I?" Frankie looked for approval in the vets eyes.
Armstrong closed his eyes and nodded approvingly, with a smile on his face, before setting the intensity of his mouth-action to a trillion, so it seemed.
"Holy fuck, I'm gonna-" He took a deep breath as he was speaking.
"FUCK"
His body spasmed as he blew his load into doctor Armstrong's mouth. He didn't stop, he kept sucking and sucking until Frankie was twitching in overstimulation.
As he laid on the table, motionless and exhausted, the vet rose back on his feet, and removed his gloves, "Well, I think your oral functions are impeccable. That concludes your visit, Frankie,"
He reached out to pet his head, as he used his other hand to grab a treat, "Here you go, I'll go grab your owner."
Frankie was too exhausted to even chew right now, so he just held his treat in his mouth, enjoying the afterglow. God, he needs to start heading to the vet more often.