Chapter 2

“Can I help you with something, ma’am?” The voice was warm, friendly, and unmistakably male. Tall, young, and handsome, the shop assistant looked like he’d stepped straight out of a college catalog—confident, clean-cut, and toned in all the right places.

“Oh ... thanks. No, I’m just looking for now. Maybe shortly,” Zoe replied, a flicker of embarrassment colouring her cheeks as she drifted through the men’s underwear section. She’d spent the better part of last night, and much of today between patients, lost in a spiral of online searches—underwear for well-hung men. Every click had led to tighter briefs, bigger bulges, and more images of lean, muscled bodies. But no matter how sculpted or well-endowed the models were, none of them quite measured up to Nate. Not even close.

She meandered slowly through the racks, pretending to browse, fingers grazing the odd pair here and there. But uncertainty nagged at her. What exactly would work for someone like Nate? What would offer support for something that big? She wasn’t sure. Still, her curiosity was piqued, and as the last few other shoppers cleared out, leaving only her and the shop assistant, she knew it was time to ask.

“Hi,” she began hesitantly, approaching the counter, her expression half-apologetic, half-amused. “I think I might need some assistance...”

“Absolutely, ma’am. That’s what I’m here for,” he replied with effortless confidence, stepping out from behind the counter. He had that unmistakable student vibe—maybe early twenties, around six-foot-two, with an athletic build and the easy, flirtatious energy of someone who knew he looked good. “What are you looking for?”

“Well ... this is a little awkward,” Zoe said, laughing nervously, eyes darting toward the nearest display. “I’m looking for some men’s underwear. That would ... how can I put this...”

He jumped in helpfully, trying to ease her tension. “It’s okay, ma’am. We get wives in here all the time looking to buy their husbands something a little more appealing.”

“Well, actually ... he’s not—” she began, before quickly rethinking her response. Telling this handsome young stranger that she was shopping for a patient? Not exactly something that would come across well. Better to let him assume.

“Not my husband yet. Perhaps one day...” she said instead, letting the innuendo linger just long enough before moving on. “But really, it’s not about the underwear being sexy. It’s more that we need something ... practical. You see, he has a bit of a problem.”

The assistant cocked his head slightly. “A problem?”

Zoe smiled—confident now, almost enjoying the direction this was taking. “Well, to be more accurate, it’s a large problem. If you catch my drift.”

The young man blinked, then grinned. “Ah.”

“His package,” she said, dropping her voice to a conspiratorial murmur, “is significantly more ... substantial than average. So we’re looking for something that’ll keep his, let’s say, ‘jewels’ more secure.”

The words tasted a little wicked on her tongue, and the amused flicker in his eyes told her he enjoyed hearing them just as much as she enjoyed saying them. There was something oddly satisfying in the implication—that she belonged to someone impossibly big. And the way she said it? Like she was proud of it.

“Ahhh, haha, I got ya,” the kid laughed, catching on. “We actually do have a brand that specialises in underwear for gentlemen with ... larger packages.” He delivered the words with a flirtatious smirk, puffing up slightly as if he were one of those ‘gentlemen’ himself. “I actually wear some of these myself,” he added with a cocky confidence as he gestured for Zoe to follow him to a different section.

“Hung,” she read aloud, arching a brow at the bold branding and the photo of a barely-contained crotch stretched tight across the packaging. She couldn’t help but smile. Fitting name.

“They’ve got all kinds,” Brad continued, clearly enjoying the conversation. “Briefs, boxers, Y-fronts—whatever you’re after. Some of them even have a special pouch. You can slide your dick—sorry, your penis—into it and it keeps everything snug, stops it bouncing around or getting in the way.”

“Wow,” Zoe murmured, a touch of genuine intrigue in her voice. “They actually sound ... pretty perfect.”

“Here,” he said, handing her a pack of briefs with the built-in support pouch. “The pouch sizes come in ‘Big,’ ‘Large Package,’ and ‘Mega Hung.’ So just make sure you get the right fit.”

Zoe studied the options, biting her lip as her eyes moved from one size to the next. She had no way of knowing which would be best—not without a measuring tape and a few medical gloves—but one thing was certain: Nate wasn’t a ‘Big’ or even just ‘Large Package.’ He was ... beyond. It was hard to imagine anything short of ‘Mega Hung’ standing a chance of containing him.

“Thanks for your help ... Brad,” she said, glancing down at the name on his badge, her voice a little warmer now. “I’m just not sure how these would fit—or which ones would actually work best.”

Brad smiled with a little too much self-assurance. “I can always try some on for you, if you want an idea of what they look like.”

“Oh—I’m not sure that would be appropriate,” Zoe replied quickly, eyes darting around. “The other customers...”

“The store closes in five minutes,” Brad said with a wink. “Just hang around a little, and I’ll try on a couple for you. That way, you’ll know exactly what you’re getting.”

Zoe hesitated. The truth was, after nearly a full day fantasising about Nate’s monstrous cock, imagining it swelling in tight briefs, examining online photos of every variation of bulge and pouch and fit—well, part of her did want to see something real again. Just not too real.

“Alright then,” she said, her lips curling into a polite, measured smile. “If you’re sure it’s okay. Thank you, Brad.”

Moments later, the changing room door opened with a quiet squeak. “Alright, ma’am—first one’s up: the regular boxers.”

Brad stepped forward, proudly on display in nothing but his chosen pair. He made a show of it, clearly hoping to impress her, strutting with just enough swagger to make it clear this was part striptease, part seduction. Zoe, seated on the bench just outside the changing area, let her eyes roam. His body was, undeniably, athletic. Maybe not quite as statuesque as Nate’s, but well-built—tight chest, solid arms, and a sculpted torso that narrowed into lean, muscular hips. Her eyes moved lower, trailing past his six-pack and down to the boxer shorts.

There wasn’t much of a bulge—at least, not one worth writing home about—but she had to admit the shorts clung nicely to his toned, slightly hairy legs. He looked good. Not intimidating. Not overwhelming. Just ... nice.

“They’re nice,” she said honestly, nodding. “But they seem too baggy for what he needs them for. He’d need more support.”

“Alright, let’s try the briefs,” Brad said, already sounding like he was gearing up for a performance.

“With the pouch?” Zoe asked, her tone neutral but her curiosity piqued.

“Sure,” he replied smoothly, hiding the smug satisfaction curling at the corners of his mouth. He was convinced now—this hot, classy older woman was definitely asking to see his bulge. And he was more than ready to deliver.

He closed the door to the changing room and quickly stripped out of the boxers. His hand immediately went to his cock, tugging on it with practiced discretion, coaxing a little extra length and thickness without letting it go fully hard. Just enough to show off. Then he stepped into the briefs, guiding himself carefully into the specialised pouch like it was a suit of armour meant to enhance his masculinity.

“Ready?” he called, and without waiting, opened the door and strutted forward.

He stopped right in front of Zoe, close enough that she didn’t have to do much work to get a very good look. It was obvious he wanted her to stare. And Zoe? Well, she did.

Brad was objectively attractive. Broad shoulders. Tight core. A body honed from sports or gym selfies—or maybe both. His bulge was considerably more noticeable in the briefs now, the pouch doing exactly what it was designed to do: frame the goods, lift them, shape them into something visually ... bold.

Zoe allowed herself a moment of honest appraisal. He looked good. The bulge was certainly bigger than Barry’s, no contest there. Her husband’s dick barely moved the fabric most days. But even as she observed Brad, her brain kept circling back to Nate—unconsciously measuring this neatly packaged mound against the impossibly thick slab she’d held in her gloved hands just yesterday. And no matter how nicely Brad filled out his briefs, he still fell dramatically short.

“Well?” Brad asked with a triumphant grin, clearly savouring the way she hadn’t looked away. “What do you think?”

“Are these the largest of the pouches?” she asked, raising her gaze at last.

He blinked. “Well, no. These are the ‘Big’ pouch ones. Nobody really needs the ‘Mega Hung.’ Those are mostly gag gifts—or for strippers who stuff their crotches,” he said with a chuckle, though a bit of irritation flickered beneath his easy tone.

Zoe looked back down. The pouch was full—stretching and rounded with meat. But in her mind, she was picturing Nate’s cock, heavy and unrestrained. She couldn’t help but wonder if his thickness would even fit in the damn thing. More likely, he’d need a custom order.

“Do they feel snug?” she asked, bringing the conversation back to something slightly more clinical. “If you were, let’s say, playing football or sprinting ... would ‘things’ stay in place? No bouncing?”

Brad bounced on his heels a few times for effect. “I play sports all the time in these. Trust me—nothing’s moving around. See?” He exaggerated the movement a little, the bulge jostling gently in response.

Zoe tilted her head, keeping her expression thoughtful. “Brad ... I know this is probably inappropriate. But I honestly don’t know if this is the right fit for my guy or not.” She paused, knowing full well what she was about to ask. “Do you think you could show me your penis, so I can compare the two of you and figure out which size to buy?”

Brad practically lit up, eyes gleaming like he’d just hit the jackpot. She was into it. No question now. “Fuck yeah, babe,” he said without hesitation, hooking his thumbs into the waistband and slowly, deliberately peeling the briefs down his thighs.

His cock sprang free—not hard, but plump and thick enough to bounce slightly as it was released. He let it sway, shifting his hips just a little to put on a show.

“Well, what do you think, babe?” he asked, smug and fully expecting praise.

Zoe stared, impassive. There was nothing wrong with what she saw—he was bigger than Barry, for sure. Probably a good inch or two longer, and thicker too. But even as she assessed him clinically, she felt the shadow of Nate looming large in her thoughts.

That wasn’t a cock, she thought. That was a penis. This here? This was ... well, cute.

“I think I’ll take three pairs of the briefs,” she said coolly, “with the ‘Mega Hung’ pouch, please. And ... put that thing away.”

Brad’s smile faltered, the air leaking out of his swagger just a little. “Right.”

She turned back toward the display, casually picking up a few other options while her thoughts swirled around the image of Nate’s massive dark shaft. Even now, that memory dwarfed everything else—every man, every bulge, every cock.

“Do you have a smart card?” Brad snapped as he rang up the purchase, his earlier charm replaced with a bite of petulance.

“No, sorry ... can I sign up for one?” Zoe asked, keeping her tone pleasant, if a little weary. She figured she might as well save a few dollars. Maybe even come back another time and pick out something more appropriate—for her husband, of course.

“Fill out the form. Name, address, number. Etc.”

She took the clipboard and quickly scrawled in her details. When she handed it back, she offered a polite smile. “Well, thanks a lot for your help, Brad. You’ve been a star.”

But as she turned to leave, his muttered insult slipped out, low but sharp enough to cut.

“Fucking cock tease.”

Zoe froze mid-step. Her heel tapped once on the tile as she turned her head slowly over her shoulder, meeting his eyes with a calmness far more devastating than fury.

“Honey,” she said, holding up the briefs with a deliberate flick of her wrist, “that ain’t a cock you’ve got. That’s just a regular penis.”

Her smile didn’t reach her eyes.

“These?” she added, giving the ‘Mega Hung’ pouch briefs a little shake, “These were made for a cock.”

And with that, she turned and walked out of the shop, hips swaying just enough to let him know exactly who’d won that exchange.

The next day dragged in slow motion. Zoe moved through her work on autopilot, ticking through patients, nodding through conversations, but always checking the time. Her thoughts kept circling back to the shopping bag tucked discreetly under her desk.

I really hope he fits into these, she thought, her gaze flicking toward the drawer where she’d stashed the briefs. I wonder what that pouch will look like when it’s fully stuffed with ... it.

A warm hum stirred between her thighs. She crossed her legs, trying not to think about it. About him.

Maybe he’ll show me. I should check. It’s only right—it’s for his own good, she reasoned with herself, knowing full well it was more than that. So much more.

When the clock finally hit 4:15, her heart beat just a little faster.

And then there he was—Nate Jones. Towering, broad-shouldered, filling the doorframe like some carved monument to temptation. She smiled, genuinely.

“Hi, Nate. It’s great to see you again,” she said, and meant it.

“You too, Doctor.”

“How have things been ... you know ... with your problem?” she asked, voice dropping just slightly on the last word. Her eyes flicked to his crotch—briefly, instinctively—before returning to his face.

“No change,” Nate said with a hint of disappointment. “I still need the reduction.”

Zoe gave a small shake of her head. “Well, as we discussed, it’s still too early to decide on that. We’re going to explore other options first. A penis reduction should be an absolute last resort—only if we exhaust all other ways of making your ... condition easier to manage.”

As she spoke, she reached beneath her desk and pulled the shopping bag onto the table, the soft rustle of tissue paper punctuating her words.

“I did a little research. And some shopping.”

“Now, one of your main issues,” Zoe began, her voice back in doctor mode—mostly, “was the lack of support while playing sports. So, I did a little research. I looked into what other athletes in ... your situation do. Men who are well-endowed and still need performance-level stability.”

She stood and moved toward the desk, retrieving the bag she’d been waiting all day to reveal. “There are a few companies that specialise in designing underwear specifically for, let’s say ... generously proportioned customers.”

She pulled out the first item with a light rustle of packaging.

“You bought me underwear?” Nate asked, surprised but clearly amused.

“I told you I was going to help you, didn’t I?” she said, flashing him a grin. “Now I just hope one of these pieces actually does the job.”

“Hung,” Nate read aloud, chuckling at the bold label.

Zoe laughed too, loosening visibly in his presence. “Yeah ... not exactly subtle branding, huh? But hey, they know their target audience.”

She handed him the bag, the air between them more relaxed now—though still charged with something unspoken. “Why don’t you head behind the curtain and try a few of them on?”

“Sure thing,” Nate said, taking the bag and disappearing behind the divider. “Thanks, Doc. I really appreciate you going to all this trouble.”

“It was no trouble, Nate. Actually...” she paused, catching herself as the words tumbled out, “It was kind of fun.”

The moment the phrase escaped her lips, she realised how it might sound.

“I mean—I love shopping,” she added quickly, waving it off with a flustered smile. “Any excuse. And besides, it got me out of the office.”

“Mmmmmm,” came Nate’s voice from behind the curtain. “I’m not sure these ones are any good.”

“Oh? Which ones did you try first?” Zoe asked, her mind already conjuring images she shouldn’t have been letting in.

“The boxers,” he replied.

Zoe swallowed. Of course the boxers. The mental image of him standing there, barely contained, made her cross her legs beneath the desk.

“They fit a little better than what I’m used to, but they still don’t feel ... secure enough.”

“Well, how do they hold up when you move around? Try running, or side-stepping, like you’re on the field.”