I'm fairly sure this premise has been used as much as a 19-year old hooker in Nevada, but as with my previous story, we are in desperate need of more demo. I know it's not much, but let me know what you guys think, ok?

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It was just a routine physical. Demoman made his way up to Medic’s office, slightly tipsy from drinking his cheap ale all morning. The day had been unusually quiet, with only a few minor skirmishes punctuating the otherwise uneventful morning and afternoon. It had been like this for a couple days, probably because both teams were busy making repairs to their defenses and preparing new battle plans. Taking advantage of the recent lull in fighting, Medic had been doing checkups on the rest of the team, going down as they were listed on the roster each day, from Scout to Soldier to Pyro and now to Demo. The first three had made it out with no serious medical problems, but they were all shaky and unwilling to talk about their exams. Scout, in particular, had hardly eaten or slept since. Demoman, now making his way to what could very possibly be something awful, was uneasy and anxious. What kind of check-up did Medic have in mind? The man was quite brutal, not even bothering to assuage his patients with anything as he stitched them back up like rag dolls. Having experienced his fair share of scrapes and injuries with explosives, the black Scottish Cyclops was pretty resistant to pain, but this did not ease him as he stepped in the office. Ah well, though. He is a Doctor. He’ll know what he’s doing.

“Ah, Demoman!” Medic said amicably as he threw a pair of gloves into a stainless steel garbage can. “I haff been vaiting for you. Sit down, und do put your alcohol aside. It ist bad for your liver.” Demoman, only vaguely knowing what a liver was, placed the bottle by the sink and sat down on the Doctor’s examination table, the translucent cellophane sheet crinkling under his rear.

“What ar’ yoo checkin up on, doc?” Demoman said with a slight slur, his single eye focusing on Medic now washing his hands under the sink.

“Ah, just zee usual sort of zhings,” Medic said nonchalantly, retrieving a new pair of gloves from a dispenser above his face. “I vill be checking for ear infections, problems vith sight, checking your reflexes, taking your height und veight, checking your physical form, giving you vaccinations, und checking for diseases Zis is just a routine physical, nozzing to vorry about.” But the smile with which the German said it was neither innocuous nor relaxing. On the contrary, it made the Demo more uncomfortable. He’d always dislike doctors, ever since he was little and they were incapable of giving him a new eye, and even as a grown man, he found working with them exceeding unpleasant. And medic was so damn creepy…but ah well. He was a doctor. He knew what he was doing.

“Now, take off your clozhes,” Medic said, picking up a clipboard and turning to make some marks on it. Demo’s one eye widened in surprise.

“Wha?” he said. “Take off me clothes?”

“Ja,” Medic said, nodding with his head turned away. “Zis is a physical. I vill need to examine your full physical form. Now, strip, bitte.” Demoman gave him a glare behind his back but reluctantly complied. First, he shed his vest, placing it gently on the table so that its grenade duds would not activate, and then his boots and socks, followed by his woolen shirt and pants, the smiley face note he kept there coming off with them. He was reduced to his undershirt and boxers, his dark, muscular arms and thighs visible for all to see and his face visibly uncomfortable. Medic turned around, and saw him before, “And zhose too, herr demo.”

“Must ah?” Demo asked, feeling suddenly bashful.

“Es tut mir leid, but ja,” Medic said, not sounding sorry at all. “I muss have access to all of your body.” Maybe it was just the Scot’s imagination, but those last words didn’t sound like they were spoken in a medical context. Medic gave him a short smile and politely turned away. So, Demoman shed his boxers and his shirt, so that his large, muscular and cocoa body was totally naked. He shielded his manhood with his hands as Medic turned around again.

“Ah, sehr, gut. Now, let’s see how you are doing…” He picked up a pair of black and silver instruments and walked up to Demoman, a look of focus and concentration now on his countenance. He used a flashlight and looked into Demo’s ears and eyes, studying them before moving on to the rest of his face. He tapped lightly on various parts of his face, his gloves sometimes trailing softly down the Scotsman’s bristly black beard. Demoman was nervous, but not totally unnerved. He took Demo to a scale, which he stood upon, clocking in at 89 Kg. Then, he spread a thin tape measurer out by his side, taking his height. He was 1.9 meters tall.

Medic looked over his medical records and gave him two injections in the shoulder, which he bore with a blank expression and without flinching. He wasn’t a wimp. “You are strong, Herr Demo,” Medic noted as he lingered over the man’s burly shoulder.

“Ahm a demoman,” he replied, looking forward. “We’re the strongest.” Medic gave him a satisfied look, and continued. There was something strange about his movements, about the way he touched and examined Demoman’s body. Most doctors were cold, indifferent, and mechanical, like machinery. But Medic’s touch was soft and warm, even lingering, as he felt his patient’s muscular form. It wasn’t exactly normal, but it did ease him up.

“You are quite impressive, physically,” Medic said, now feeling his neck and working his way down to the chest. He lingered on his pectorals, feeling the nipples as if to see that they were healthy. It sent a shiver through the Demo, that went from his spine to his crotch below…

“Wha’ are you doin?” he asked, backing up slightly only to bump into the wall.

“Checking for breast cancer,” he said, still feeling. “Men can have it as vell as vomen, you know. Now, I must feel your chest for…chest cancer.”

“Chest cancer?” It didn’t sound familiar, but Demoman knew he was no expert on things medical, and let Medic continue feeling him. He was a Doctor, after all. The Doctor lightly felt his stomach and well-defined abdominals, looking at them as if they were bon-bons and feeling them almost salaciously. Demoman gave a shiver and edged away slightly.

“You have a wunderbar form, herr demo,” Medic said softly, as he worked his way lower. “Beautiful,” he said in a low susurration that sounded like a quiet breath to the Scot. He felt his pelvis and waist, narrower than his chest, and made his way to the penis and balls, still guarded by Demo’s wary hands.

“I muss check,” Medic said, attempting to lift a hand away. “I vill be gentle…” He moved forward, and Demo moved back, hitting the wall again as he did.

“Ah, Doc, I’d know you’re the expert, but ah’d prefer if you didn’…” But nothing he said stopped Medic from lifting his hands away and roughly grasping his member.

“I vill check if all is vell,” he said, beginning to rub the cock with a single finger. “Vorry not. I am an expert.” Demo gave a shallow, uneasy breath, but did not protest as Medic began to rub his shaft up and down. It was very disconcerting, but Medic was a doctor, so surely he knew what he was doing…

Medic brought four fingers to his shaft and stroked it, making thoughtful hmms and ahhs as he did. He took a finger and brought to the tip of Demo‘s penis, then spread his fingers all around its length and renewed rubbing with light, rapid strokes. Demo’s knees became wobbly as he stood there, waves of pleasure coursing through him, sending shivers like shockwaves through his body. What the hell was medic doing? Checking if he could be aroused? Well, If he really needed to check that, couldn’t he do something less…empirical? Now, he had coaxed him into an embarrassingly hard erection, and showed no signs of stopping this fondling. “Doc,” Demoman said weakly, “Do you have to do tha’…”

“Shoosh,” Medic said, wrapping his whole hand around his shaft. “I know vat I am doing. Now, turn around und bend over.” Demoman complied with a mumble, turning 180 degrees and bending over so his rear was in full view. “Now, I vill haff to check your anus, so do not move, bitte.” His left hand still around Demo’s cock, the doctor secured the glove on his other hand and stuck out a single finger. Demo gave a cry of surprise as he felt that one digit entering his anus, which became a groan as he felt it stretching him and moving inward. Medic continued stroking his aroused penis, his full hand moving up and down it firmly as he made his way towards Demoman’s prostate. Then, as he reached, he curved his finger upwards in a ‘come hither’ motion, brushing it with a wide smile that Demo couldn’t see.

“Ah!” Demo said with a fast breath as Medic did this while gave his shaft a hard pump. He felt himself coming dangerously close to orgasm, and tried to move away, but Medic held him agonizingly still as he continued his “examination.”

“If you have a pleasurable reaction, do not vorry,” Medic said softly, feeling the prostate again. “It is part of zhe procedure.”

“Reaction?!” Demoman breathed. “You’re gonna make me-” but he was cut short as Medic gave him a few long, hard last rubs that pushed him over the edge. With a sudden moan, he felt himself ejaculating against the Doctor’s glove, his face flushing red and his whole body quivering his pleasure. Again and again, he came, his lacquered white semen falling about the floor and the examination table, still moaning and furious with embarrassment. Medic gave a slight smile, rubbing a bulge in his own pants as he watched the large, naked black man before him writhe with such pleasure. When he was done, he collapsed onto the table, and Medic stepped away, removing his hands and handing him a towel. Demo took it and wiped himself, scowling at the German before him and still panting. Medic had taken a clipboard and feigned taking notes on it, to the obliviousness of the Demoman he had just molested.

“Ah, sehr gut, sehr gut…” He put the clipboard down and took off his gloves. “You are in gut shape, herr demo, very gut shape. But I fear zhat, unfortunately, zhis vill not be our last metting. I vill haff to see you again quite soon, for some more physical therapy.”

“Physical therapy?” Demoman said, putting his shirt back on and now understanding why those who’d gone before him had come out so uncomfortable. “For wha‘?”

“To keep you in tip-top shape, of course!” Medic said. “It ist imperative vie do zhis again. It is sehr gut for you. Be here zhis time tomorrow, Herr Demo. Vie haff much to vork on…” Demoman put on the rest of his uniform and began to step out. Had he just been molested? And what kind of physical therapy did Medic need him for? As he turned around, he saw the doctor making notes, humming Heigh Ho to himself as he worked. Ah, the Scotsman thought, he should have at least a little more faith. He was a doctor after all, so surely he knew what he was doing…