Urine trouble but it'll pass
~*~
“You have kidney stones.”
This wasn’t at all what you were hoping to hear. You’d noticed a few sudden stabs of pain in your lower midsection before, especially when you needed to pee, and that your urine was slightly brownish, but you’d hoped beyond hope it was just an STD again. At least those had been cured with a little old-fashioned penicillin and cranberry juice. This, on the other hand, was something you knew would come with a great deal more pain than you’d yet experienced.
“Well. That’s not good.” you say with a groan.
“No, it’s not. It’s very treatable,” the doctor went on, folding back the next page of his chart. “But the problem is… well, you have a lot of them.”
You blink in dismal disbelief.
“…a lot of them.”
The doctor nods at you.
“We couldn’t even count them all on the abdominal x-ray. I don’t know what you’ve been doing to cause all of those, but it’s pretty severe. Tell me, do you drink enough daily?”
“Oh, for sure! I hit the bar every afternoon, though i have dialed it back to maybe five beers, which is less than usual, so maybe I should-”
“Water. Do you drink water.”
“Oh… no.”
The doctor rolls his eyes as if he’s seen this sort of response a million times before, but you can’t make yourself feel sorry for the guy, even if he does look pretty tired. After all, you have kidney stones! You’re the real victim here! And, okay, maybe also your liver.
“Well,” the doctor says. “We have a few options here, given the severity.”
You swallow hard. You know that none of these are going to be pretty or pain free, and that unlike severe depression, this is something you can’t just give into. You straighten up and prepare yourself to be strong, steadfast, and brave through all this going forward.
“Okay,” you squeak out.
“First, we could go the surgical route. This would mean having to physically open you up to remove the stones manually. It would be a small incision, and the recovery would be…”
But you’re already shaking your head hard.
“Hey, no way are you getting a scalpel anywhere NEAR my balls. I’ll pass on that option.”
The doctor stares at you a moment in open disbelief.
“W-wait… why would we… why do you believe we’d be cutting open your testicles?”
You shrug.
“Well, because these stones are messing with my pee, right? And everyone knows that pee is stored in the balls. So…”
“What… that… that’s not… you… it’s…” the doctor tries for a few moments, then just gives up, massages his temple, clears his throat, and moves on. “Normally, the other option would be that you just take some painkillers, drink lots of water, and do your best to urinate them out. It’s the far more painful option here, but it would not involve surgery. There’s a small issue there as well, though.”
What did you ever do to deserve this? You never had sex with the family dog, you never peeped on your older sisters best friends when they were changing, you never masturbated to that GILF porn… well, not more than once. Why has god seen fit to curse your penis so? You nod your consent for him to go on.
“You see, several of the stones have migrated to part of your urethra, and they have now become lodged there by the looks of it. It might be that you’ve noticed you’re having trouble peeing at all?”
“Yeah, but I thought that was just because I was saving it all up for a special occasion.”
“…ANYway, what that means is you’ll have to get the stones to come out manually.”
Your ape brain moves slowly. Manual. Like… with your hands. Hands… penis. Hand and penis…
“Oh, I need to masturbate them out?” you say, instantly relaxing.
“Well, you could just try to feel along the shaft and push them out, but again that would be very painful. Masturbation might help, but I don’t know, we’ve never really had anyone try to do it that way. I can’t say medically I recommend it.”
“But it might work.”
“I mean… it could?”
“Sounds good, let me try it.”
“Wait, what?”
Before the doctor can protest, you unzip your pants and fish out your poor, suffering dick. You’re already a little hard just from hearing the word masturbate, and lucky for you being watched is your fetish, and the ol’ doc right here is giving you the exact medicine you need to get a stiffy. He starts to protest, but you’re already starting to stroke it, trying to find that sweet spot when…
“…ow OW WAIT WHY DOES IT HURT!?” you say, letting go of your dick.
It manages to stay hard somehow, the little trooper, but the sudden pain you felt by the base of your dick was way worse than expected. You press hard against the spot, hoping pressure will relieve it, but it just makes the ache sharper. You look at the doc, your eyes demanding answers. The bastard almost looks smug.
“First of all,” he says slowly and calmly. “This is something I would have told you to try doing at home. Away from me. Far away from me. Second of all, it could be quite painful. Even maintaining an erection might be difficult.”
You manage a laugh through the budding tears in your eyes.
“Doc, you underestimate my powers.”
“Please do not demonstrate. And… put that away, I see enough of those in the urology office.”
Grumbling, you put your still chubbed dick back into your pants.
“Look,” you say gruffly. “If I can blast those little bastards out, I want to try to do it. But I can’t cause my mini bro more harm like that! I just… don’t have it in me!”
“Then surgery might be the only option.”
You again swallow very hard. The idea of someone slicing open your boys is none too pleasant, but how are you going to bust a nut hard enough to become a human plink canon? You scratch your chin.
“Maybe… if someone else did it for me,” you say haltingly. “Hey doc, would you happen to-”
“No.”
“I wasn’t going to ask you to do it, you’re not my type,” you snap, trying very hard to be convincing and downplay your hurt feelings. “I was going to say, do you know any really sleazy strip joints in the area? You know… where the girls might be open to a little… back room partying?”
The doctor looks at you with a deeply disappointed expression, the kind the kindergarten teacher gave you when you told her you couldn’t focus because you were ‘artistic.’ Then with a deep sigh weighed down by the ignorance of anti-vax moms and essential oil enthusiast, he closes his eyes and speaks.
“If it means I never have to see your penis again, then yes, I might know a place.”
The Western Pleasure Saddle is a small place, and looks from the outside like it could be a farm supply shop. Inside, though, it has large plush couches, surrounding thrust runways and stripper poles. There are two side stages with small platforms, and it is by one of those that you seat yourself. A few other uneasy looking ponies, and one very enthusiastic mare, sit by the main stage, occasionally tossing bits at an orange mare who is currently lying on her back pulling her back hooves up over her head.
Honestly, if you weren’t on a mission, you’d probably go watch whatever she is doing, but you have a goal in life. And if you want to get some back room action, you know a side stage is a better bet at communication.
As you sit down, as if waiting for that moment, a gray pony wish a shimmering silver and red mane climbs atop the stage in front of you. She’s wearing a thin red sequined gown with a slit in the side all the way up past her hips, and you can see her cutie mark is four cards, all splayed out revealing an ace of spades on top. She smiles at you, and you do your best to smile back and not think about the tiny invaders clogging up your man-pipes. You just hope this pony can get a rise out of you, and that she’s willing to make a few extra bits.
“Hey there gorgeous,” she purrs as she puts her front hooves agains the pole, then shimmies her flanks slowly towards the stage. “How are you today?”
“Well, I could be better,” you say honestly.
“Hmmmmmm,” she says, in an almost moan. “Well maybe I can help with that a little.”
As you watch, she brings her hips forward and grinds against the pole, then raises a back leg to wrap around it, managing to suspend herself off the ground all while undulating her body in time with the soft, jazzy music. She makes direct eye contact with you, and licks her lips.
To your dick’s credit, it may be in dire straights, but it responds to her movements just as readily as a child told that there’s candy in that stranger’s trunk.
“M-maybe you can,” you stutter out.
You’ve never really done this sort of thing before, and you’re not sure if there’s protocol here. But you know that, for the sake of your genitals, you need to be bold and forward about this. You extend a hand and open it, to show a large bag of bits, far more than any of the other patrons are laying down. The ponies eyes light up, glittering like the gold in your hand, and she looks to you with an even wider smile.
“What did you have in mind, sugar?” she says in a low, suggestive voice.
“Do you do back room shows?”
“For you? Anything.”
She climbs off of the pole and steps down off of the stage. She grabs the hem of your shirt and, with a soft giggle and twitch of one eyebrow, pulls you towards a curtain at the back of the room. You willingly follow her, guided by your penis like it’s a divining rod.
As you step beyond the curtain, you find a cozy room with an armchair, a small wooden table, a bottle of champagne, and even a fireplace. You watch as the pony lights the fire, then turns to you, rolling her shoulders a little. It may have looked shabby on the outside, but this place has class. You might even have to return here, even after you’re on the mend.
“So,” she says, pushing you gently back into the armchair. “What would you like to have me do? I have some limits but… not many.”
“W-well,” you find yourself unable to keep your tone steady. “What I really need is… a hoof job.”
She pouts her lower lip in mock disappointment. You know it’s a calculated move, but it’s still damn cute.
“Oh, is that all? I’m great at that, but would you like something more…” she glances at the bag of bits in your hand. “…involved?”
“N-no. That’s okay. Believe me, I’ll pay you double anyway. I’m pretty hard to get off though,” you lie. “I might look like I’m straining, or in pain or…”
She holds a hoof to your lips and smiles mischievously.
“Don’t you even worry,” she says. “I can get you off, or your money back. My name is Royal, by the way.”
“I’m… Anon.”
“Well, Anon, why don’t we give you the royal treatment,” she says softly, then lowers her head and, with her teeth, unzips the front of your pants.
You watch, both impressed and nervous, as she coaxes your already hard dick out your pants and, bless her, gives the entire shaft a long lick to wet it down. She even flicks the tip of her tongue against the underside of your head for a moment, teasing you. Okay, if there is ever a next time, you’re definitely getting a blowjob. But then, she brings her hooves to your penis and begins to move, and you forget all about any future blowjobs.
You suck in air sharply as pain shoots along your groin at even her first movement. You grit your teeth and hold back a cry of agony, instead letting it out like a pained moan. She looks up as she continues to move and offers you a knowing smile.
“Oh, you like that?” she croons.
“Y-yes,” you hiss out like a tire leaking air. “Good. Yes. Keep going.”
She giggles and you try not to hate her for the pain she’s causing you as she picks up her pace a little. You can feel a weird mixture of pain and pleasure erupting with each stroke, and like the doc warned you, it’s a wonder you manage to stay hard at all. She makes soft moaning noises as if enjoying what she’s doing, and in your head it makes her seem like some kind of sadist, enjoying this weird cock-torture that she doesn’t even know she’s performing.
Still, you can feel your cock twitch with enjoyment on occasion, and know that, whatever she’s doing, she’s incredibly good at it. She might, in fact, actually be able to get you off so you can skip surgery! You focus on that fact as motivation as she continues.
“Oh baby, you’re so hard,” she moans.
“Yes,” you wheeze. “Stone hard.”
“You mean rock hard?”
“Nope.”
She giggles to placate you, and again increases her pace. My god, it’s like there are razor blades moving up and down inside your dick! You open your mouth and allow yourself to groan in pain, clutching the arms of the chair so hard you’re afraid your nails are ripping the fabric.
“That’s it, let it out for me,” she whimpers. “Cum for me, Anon.”
“Trying,” you also whimper.
“Yes, just like that, relax. Let it come,” she says.
Believe it or not, this little pep-talk is actually kinda doing it for you. It’s soothing, like someone patting your forehead while you’re trying to get through a particularly solid poop. You relax as best you can, and now you feel a rolling surge of pleasure budding through all the pain. It’s true! She is getting you close! Her money back guarantee was no joke!
“I…. I think I’m going to…” you say in rushed, desperate whispers.
“Give it to me, baby,” she says.
“Oh god, yes…”
“Cum for me.”
The pain shoots through you harder, like someone stabbing you down there with an ice pick. But something is coming. Something is happening. Tears stream freely down your face.
“I… I…”
“Yes, Anon. Let me have it all!”
“I… I…. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUUGH!”
With a sudden release of pain and pressure, you let out a primal scream. Like a BB gun, you ejaculate. Several tiny little balls of what look like yellowed rock shoot out of you with the force of a .22, nailing the other pony right between her eyes. She also screams, clutching at her face where a small trickle of blood suddenly springs fresh. She stands up and stumbles backwards, crashing into the table and falling to the floor. Your dick birdshot though flies off of her face, ricochets off a lamp with a loud “PING” and then topples the bottle of champagne. As it hits the table on its side, the cork erupts out of it with a sound like a firework, and careens directly into the side of Royal’s head. The force of it is enough that, as you look on in horror, her eyes dilate, then shut, and she falls to the ground unconscious.
You sit there, cum dribbling from your now stone-free dick all over your pants and the armchair. Breathing hard, you look from the still glugging spilt bottle of champagne, the scattered fragments of your kidney stones sitting on the carpet like broken glass, and the unconscious, still slightly bleeding stripper strewn across the carpet. For a moment, you’re caught in time there, just taking in everything that has somehow happened. Then, hands shaking, you put your dick back in its hidey hole and zip your fly.
“So…” you say to the room as you stand up. “I’m… gonna go. I’ll just leave the bits on the table here and… you know what, keep them all. I’ll just… yep…”
Having said all this which obviously has made the situation no better, you nod and decide you are done here. You slowly back out of the room, then turn, and without looking up from the ground, walk as fast as you can out of the club, likely never to return.
When some people go to a strip club, they make it rain. You made it hail.
-END-
Author's Note
THIS IS NOT HOW KIDNEY STONES WORK. THIS IS NOT HOW ANY OF THIS WORKS. PLEASE DO NOT TRY TO JACK OFF TO GET RID OF KIDNEY STONES.
Also, my compliments to Starstorm for inspiring this tale with his own IRL suffering. Love you bby.
-pencil 
