Concerns

You sit once again on the crinkling paper of the exam table, naked from the waist down, legs slightly spread. The past month has been a whirlwind of reclaimed drive and obsessive indulgence. Cathy LeBlanc flips through your new labs, her expression a blend of professional interest and subtle amusement as she glances at your exposed groin.Your mind drifts while she works.

Every single day. That’s how it felt. The testosterone injections hit hard and fast. By week two you were waking up with urgent, throbbing morning wood thicker, heavier erections that demanded attention. You regained your passion for the gym with a vengeance. You pushed weights you hadn’t touched in years, sweat pouring down your back, muscles burning in the best way. Your shoulders feel broader, your chest tighter. Small but noticeable gains in your arms and legs. You catch yourself flexing in the mirror after every workout, cock half-hard at the sight of your own reflection.

But the real obsession was the porn and the stroking.Night after night you’d come home, strip, and lose yourself in solo female masturbation videos. You’d edge for hours to women fingering their dripping pussies—close-ups of slick fingers plunging deep, stretching puffy lips, rubbing swollen clits until they squirted. One favorite still makes your cock twitch even now: a thick-thighed brunette on her back, legs pinned back, three fingers buried knuckle-deep in her creamy cunt while she rubbed her clit in fast circles. The wet schlick-schlick-schlick sounds, her **** moans, the way her pussy clenched and gushed… you’d pump your own modestly improved dick furiously, matching her rhythm until you exploded across your chest in stronger, fuller loads than before.You masturbated four or five times daily some days. Always to women pleasing themselves. The humiliation of your renewed masculinity still orbiting around their pleasure never failed to push you over the edge.

Cathy clears her throat, bringing you back. “Let’s repeat the measurements and ultrasound.”

The calipers come out. Your balls measure noticeably smaller—nearly two-thirds the volume they were at your last visit. Cathy’s gloved fingers roll them gently, clinical yet teasing. “Interesting. Even on exogenous testosterone, your endogenous production is suppressed. Your free T is only up to 225 ng/dL. Still quite low, but better than 185.”Your cock, measured flaccid, appears bigger by comparison. With your shrunken testicles drawn up tight, the shaft looks longer, more prominent. When they measure you erect after some humiliating stroking under their watchful eyes, it reaches a firmer 4.1 inches. The visual contrast makes it look more impressive than it is.

“See how your penis looks bigger now?” Cathy murmurs, her thumb tracing the underside of your shaft. “Smaller balls create that illusion. It’s actually a common side effect when we push external T.”

The emotional wave hits hard; your body is trying to be more male, yet even your balls are shrinking in protest. Still, the stronger erections and gym gains make you throb with conflicted pride and shame. You leave the clinic half-hard, already fantasizing about tonight’s marathon edging session to another woman finger-fucking her tight, juicy cunt until she screams.