“Dr. Don, honey, your 4:00 just arrived. And let me tell you… this one’s a whole snack. Name’s Jax. 20-year-old college wrestler, redshirt freshman on the team. Built like a goddamn Greek statue that got shrunk to 5’8” but forgot to lose any muscle. Compact, dense, all power. He’s here because he tweaked his groin during practice yesterday—said it ‘burns like hell’ when he bridges or shoots. Also mentioned some weird chafing from his singlet. Oh, and he’s got that wrestler swagger… but I clocked the nerves the second he walked in.”
I rolled my shoulders, already feeling that protective-alpha energy humming. “Send him back. Let’s see what this little tank’s packing.”
The door opened and in stepped Jax—fuck, the kid was a walking advertisement for what hard wrestling does to a body. Short but thick as hell: wide neck, boulder shoulders, thick traps, a chest that stretched his team hoodie tight, and arms that looked like they could suplex a truck. His legs were tree-trunk quads and hamstrings bulging under loose gray sweatpants, and even from across the room I could see the faint outline of a solid bulge. Shaggy dark hair still damp from the shower, a light scruff on his jaw, and intense hazel eyes that flicked around the room like he was scouting an opponent.
He gave me a quick, cocky nod, but I caught the slight wince when he shifted his weight. “Sup, Doc. Jax. Groin’s fucked from yesterday’s live go. Burns deep when I move wrong.”
“Alright, Jax,” I said, voice low and commanding as I motioned to the table. “Let’s get you up here. Shorts and underwear off, hoodie too if you’re comfortable. I need to see exactly where it’s hurting.”
He didn’t hesitate much—wrestlers never do. Peeled the hoodie off first, revealing a ripped torso covered in a light layer of dark chest hair that trailed down into a thick, happy trail. Then the sweatpants and boxer-briefs dropped, and holy shit… the kid was a natural stud. Heavy, low-hanging balls, a thick uncut cock that swung soft but already looked like it had some weight to it, and a dense bush of dark pubes that framed everything perfectly. His inner thighs and groin were red and raw from singlet friction, and there was a clear strain in the adductor area on his right side.
I gloved up, warmed the lamp, and had him lie back. “Spread your legs a little for me, big man. Gonna palpate the groin and check for any tears or strains.”
The second my fingers pressed into the warm, muscular crease where his thigh met his pelvis, Jax sucked in a sharp breath. “Fuck… right there.”
I worked slow and thorough, fingers sliding through that thick bush, gently rolling his balls to make sure nothing was swollen or out of place. His cock started filling out almost immediately—thickening, lifting, the foreskin peeling back as it hardened against his abs. The head flushed dark, a bead of precum already forming at the slit.
“Easy, wrestler boy,” I murmured, dominant but soothing, one hand still examining while the other steadied his thigh. “Happens all the time in here. Just breathe through it.”
Jax’s chest heaved, abs flexing hard under that light pelt of hair. “Doc… shit, I’m real sensitive after practice. Didn’t jerk off last night ‘cause I was sore…”
I kept the pressure firm on the strained muscle, but my thumb accidentally brushed right along the underside of his now rock-hard cock. That was all it took.
Jax’s hazel eyes snapped wide. “Oh fuck—Doc, I can’t—!”
His compact, powerful body locked up. That thick wrestler cock throbbed violently in the air and started erupting—long, forceful ropes of cum shooting straight up and splattering across his hairy chest and abs. One shot even hit the underside of his own chin. He groaned deep and guttural, hips bucking once, twice, while his balls pulsed in my palm. The room filled with that raw, post-practice musk mixed with fresh cum.
I didn’t pull away until the last weak spurt dribbled down his shaft. Then I just grabbed the warm towels, cleaning him up slow and deliberate, letting my bare hand rest on his heaving chest for a second while he caught his breath.
“Goddamn… sorry, man,” Jax panted, face flushed under the scruff. “That came out of nowhere.”
I smirked, wiping a thick streak off his pec. “No apology needed, stud. You’re wound tight from practice, plus the pain’s got everything on high alert. That load actually tells me your system’s healthy as hell. Groin strain’s mild—no tear, just overuse and bad singlet chafing. Ice, rest for a few days, and no live wrestling till next week. I’ll write you a note for coach.”
He sat up on his elbows, still half-hard and glistening, looking up at me with a mix of embarrassment and that wrestler cockiness creeping back in. “You always this good at making guys… unload their problems?”
I gave him a slow, dominant wink, towering over his compact frame even while he was on the table. “Only the ones who need it. Come back in ten days so I can recheck that groin… and make sure you’re not holding anything else in.”
Jax pulled his clothes back on, moving a little easier already. Before he ducked out the door, he shot me one last heated look over his shoulder. “Bet. See you soon, Doc.”
The second he was gone, Troy slid in, fanning himself. “Jesus, Dr. Don. That boy sounded like he just pinned somebody in here. You collecting the whole athletic department or what?”
I laughed low, tossing the towels and washing up again, already thinking about how that dense, hairy little wrestler body felt under my hands. “Just doing my job, Troy… just doing my job.”
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