I’d barely finished logging Rico’s massive one-balled release when Troy slid in with the next chart, trying (and failing) to keep a straight face.
“Boss… your 4:30 just showed up. Pastor Caleb. 40 years old, burly as hell—big bearded bear of a man, married with two little kids, works part-time at Walmart to help the family. Straight as they come, or at least that’s what he keeps telling himself. First prostate exam ever. Doesn’t trim a single hair anywhere. He’s nervous as hell, wearing a flannel shirt stretched tight over that big gut and hairy chest, work jeans, and scuffed boots. Keeps saying it’s ‘just routine’ but I can already smell the repression from here.”
I smirked, rolling my shoulders. “Send him back. Let’s see how ‘routine’ this gets for the good pastor.”
Caleb ducked through the door, every inch the masculine, salt-of-the-earth type: 6’2”, broad and thick with a solid dad belly, heavy shoulders, and arms like tree trunks from stacking boxes and wrestling with life. Thick brown beard shot through with a little gray, friendly but guarded brown eyes, and a receding hairline he tried to hide under a Walmart cap he quickly removed. His flannel was unbuttoned at the top, dark curly chest hair exploding out like it had been trapped for years. The jeans hugged thick thighs and a heavy, low-hanging bulge that screamed natural and untouched.
“Dr. Don,” he rumbled, voice deep and rough as we shook hands. His palm was calloused. “Wife said I should get the full check-up now that I’m 40. Never had one of these… prostate things before. Just make it quick, alright? I ain’t used to… this.”
I gave him my warmest, most commanding alpha smile and patted the table. “No rush, Pastor. I’ve done hundreds of these. Drop the jeans and underwear, bend over the table or get on all fours if that’s more comfortable. We’ll go slow. You’re safe here—no judgment, no gossip. Just me taking care of you.”
He hesitated, cheeks flushing under the beard, but eventually shucked his jeans and boxers. Holy fuck… the man was a hairy beast. Thick, dark fur covered his ass cheeks, crack, and balls like a damn forest. His cock—thick and already half-chubbed from nerves—hung heavy over a massive pair of low-hanging, hairy balls. A wild bush spilled out everywhere, trailing up his soft belly and meeting the explosion of chest hair when he pulled his flannel open.
Caleb climbed onto the table on all fours, big hairy ass presented, gripping the edge like it was a pulpit. “Just… be gentle, Doc. I’m a married man. This ain’t somethin’ I do.”
“I know, big guy,” I murmured, gloving up and slicking two fingers with plenty of lube. I rested one warm hand on his furry lower back to steady him. “Deep breaths. You’ll feel some pressure, maybe some fullness. That’s normal.”
I circled his tight, hairy hole first, then slowly pressed one thick finger inside. The second I brushed his prostate, Caleb let out a deep, shocked grunt that turned into a low moan he tried to swallow.
“what the devil?”
“That’s your prostate, Pastor,” I said, voice low and dominant, gently massaging the swollen gland with slow, firm circles. “Feels intense, doesn’t it? Just relax and let it happen.”
His thick body shuddered. That hairy ass clenched around my finger, then started pushing back on its own. “Doc… that ain’t right… I shouldn’t…”
But he didn’t stop. Instead, his hips rocked, sliding back and forth, riding my gloved finger like he was chasing something he’d never felt before. His thick cock swung heavy between his legs, rapidly hardening until it was throbbing and leaking onto the table in thick strings.
I added a second finger, curling them just right against his prostate while my other hand reached under to cradle his heavy, hairy balls. “That’s it, Caleb. Don’t fight it. Feels good, doesn’t it? Let the good feelings win for once.”
Caleb’s breathing turned ragged, beard brushing the table as he gripped the edges harder. “Oh Lord… I’m— I can’t— Doc, I’m gonna—”
His whole burly body tensed. The first orgasm hit him like a freight train—thick, white ropes shooting out hands-free, splattering the table and his own hairy thighs while he groaned deep and guttural, ass clenching rhythmically around my fingers. He didn’t stop riding though. Seconds later another wave crashed over him, even stronger, more cum pulsing out as he fucked himself back onto my hand with shameless, desperate strokes.
“Again… Jesus, it won’t stop,” he panted, voice broken, sweat dripping down his hairy back.
I kept working his prostate steady and firm, milking every drop while my free hand stroked his throbbing cock through the mess. “Cum for me again, Pastor. Let it all out. Nobody has to know how much you needed this.”
Caleb let out a long, broken moan and came a third time—weaker but longer, his heavy body shaking as the last spurts dribbled into the thick bush at the base of his cock. He collapsed forward onto his forearms, panting hard, beard wet with sweat, ass still twitching around my fingers.
I slowly withdrew, peeled off the gloves, and grabbed warm towels. I cleaned him up thorough and gentle—wiping every streak of cum off his hairy ass, balls, and thick thighs, then helping him sit up on the edge of the table. His face was flushed deep red under the beard, eyes glassy with shame and raw satisfaction.
“I… I ain’t never felt nothin’ like that,” he admitted quietly, voice rough. “Didn’t know a man could… enjoy it that much. Wife don’t know nothin’ about this. I ain’t even sure what to think right now.”
I rested a big, steady hand on his hairy thigh, dominant but sweet, looking him right in the eye. “You enjoyed it because your body needed it, Caleb. Prostate pleasure is real, and it don’t make you less of a man, less of a husband, or less of a pastor. It’s just biology. You’re allowed to feel good. If you ever need to come back for another ‘check-up’… my door’s open. No one has to know. We can keep it between us.”
He nodded slowly, pulling his jeans back up with shaky hands, that heavy bulge still half-hard even after three loads. “Maybe… maybe I will. Thank you, Doc. For not makin’ me feel dirty.”
I helped him with his flannel, giving his broad, hairy shoulder a firm squeeze. “You’re never dirty here, big man. Just a man who needed release. Take care of yourself… and come see me anytime that ache comes back.”
Caleb left walking a little bow-legged, beard still flushed, but with a quiet, stunned look like his whole world had just shifted.
Troy slipped in after, eyebrows raised. “Boss… I heard some serious preaching turn into moaning in there. You just turned a straight married pastor into a prostate slut in one visit.”
I just grinned, washing my hands slow. “Just doing my job, Troy. Helping a man find out what his body can really do.”
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