Fertility Doctors’ Breeding Protocol

I pressed the buzzer outside the elegant brownstone with the bronze plaque that read Dr. Andrew H. Slater, OB-GYN, Center for Physiological and Human Fertility Research. My palms were slick with sweat. I had no idea why my heart hammered so hard against my ribs. Rocco had sworn this place would change everything for me, that the doctors here could give a girl like me a real future if I was willing to be open and cooperative. At twenty-two, broke, couch-surfing, and still carrying the faint bruises of the life I’d left behind at the Satin Lounge, I didn’t have many options left.

The door clicked open. A deep, calm male voice invited me inside. The hallway smelled of polished wood and something clean, almost clinical underneath. I followed it into a sitting room that looked more like a private club than a waiting area: heavy velvet chairs, a fireplace, soft lamps. No receptionist. No other patients. Just me and the quiet tick of an antique clock.

“Mary?”

I looked up. The man standing in the doorway was older, maybe late forties, lean and silver-flecked at the temples, with warm blue eyes that crinkled when he smiled. His white coat was open over a crisp shirt. Behind him stood a younger man, broader in the shoulders, sandy hair falling into steely gray eyes, the kind of body that suggested he spent serious time in a gym.

“I’m Dr. Slater. This is Dr. Rowan. He’s assisting today. Come with us.”

They led me down a short corridor into Exam Room One. The table was already raised, stirrups folded against the sides, a tray of instruments gleaming under the bright overhead light.

“You can undress completely,” Dr. Slater said, voice gentle but absolute. “Clothes on the chair. We don’t use gowns here. They only get in the way.”

I hesitated only a second. Then I stripped. Blouse, skirt, bra, panties, everything. The air kissed my bare skin. My nipples tightened instantly. I climbed onto the table and crossed my arms over my breasts, feeling small and exposed.

Dr. Slater’s hands were warm when he took my wrist. “Pulse is elevated. That’s normal. First visits always are.” He pressed the cold stethoscope between my breasts, then warmed it with his palm and listened again while I breathed in and out. My chest rose and fell under his gaze. Dr. Rowan watched, clipboard ready, eyes drifting over the curve of my tits, the way my nipples stood out hard and pink.

“Lie back for the breast exam.”

I lay down. Dr. Slater’s fingers kneaded each breast thoroughly, circling, pressing, rolling my nipples between thumb and forefinger until they ached. Then he stepped aside.

“Your turn, Dr. Rowan. Feel the tissue. Note the responsiveness.”

Dr. Rowan’s hands were larger, stronger. He cupped my left breast, thumb brushing the stiff peak. A soft sound escaped me. He smiled faintly and moved to the other side, squeezing, testing, lingering. By the time he finished, my pussy was already starting to throb.

“Panties off,” Dr. Slater said, though I was already naked. Dr. Rowan helped me lift my hips and slid the last scrap of cotton down my legs himself. His fingers brushed the soft skin of my inner thighs.

“Open your legs for us, Mary. Wider. Good girl.”

I spread. Cool air touched my bare cunt. I had waxed the day before, leaving myself smooth and pink. Dr. Slater snapped on a latex glove. He parted my outer lips with two fingers and simply looked.

“Notice the natural lubrication already present,” he murmured to Dr. Rowan. “Minimal stimulation and she’s glistening. Healthy response.”

His gloved finger traced up and down my slit, collecting the wetness, then circled my clit once, twice. My hips jerked. He slid two fingers into me slowly, curling them, feeling the walls of my pussy clench around the intrusion.

“Tight. Strong pelvic floor. Sexually active?”

“Yes,” I whispered.

“Last intercourse?”

“A few days ago.”

He pumped his fingers gently, watching my face. “Vaginal muscles contracting nicely. Very responsive tissue.” He withdrew, wiped his glove, and nodded to Dr. Rowan. “Stirrups.”

Metal cold against my ankles. My legs were lifted and spread wide, knees bent, everything on display. Dr. Slater coated the speculum with a thin layer of lube even though I was already soaked. The blunt nose pressed against my entrance.

“Relax and breathe.”

He pushed. The metal opened me, spreading my cunt wider than anything I’d ever taken. I gasped. He cranked it open further until I felt stretched and helpless. Both doctors leaned in, penlight shining deep inside me.

“Cervix is healthy. Clear cervical mucus consistent with ovulation. Perfect timing.”

They left the speculum in place while they discussed my fertility window in quiet, clinical tones. My clit throbbed in the open air. Juice trickled down toward my asshole. I could feel myself getting wetter by the second, the shame only making it worse.

When the speculum finally came out, Dr. Slater wiped me carefully. “Turn over. On your stomach. Pillow under the hips.”

I rolled. My ass lifted. Dr. Rowan parted my cheeks with gloved hands.

“Rectal temperature is the most accurate,” he said softly. A thick glass thermometer, tip glistening with vaseline, pressed against my tight rosebud. “Push out just a little.”

I did. The thermometer slid in deep, filling me. They left it there while they rubbed my lower back, waiting. When it came out, the reading confirmed what they already suspected. I was ovulating.

“Hands and knees now. Head down, bottom high.”

I assumed the position. Cool lube dripped between my cheeks. Dr. Slater’s gloved finger circled my asshole, then pressed inside. One finger, then two, stretching, exploring.

“Sphincter tone is excellent. No scarring. Good elasticity.” He fucked his fingers in and out slowly while Dr. Rowan held my hips steady. I moaned into the paper covering the table, ashamed and dripping.

They cleaned me, then moved me onto my side for the enema. The nozzle was thicker than I expected. Warm water flooded my bowels in a steady stream. Cramping built quickly. I clenched around the tube, sweating, while Dr. Slater asked quiet questions about my history—parents gone, uncle who had hurt me, years at the lounge, the men who paid for more than dances. Every answer came out shaky as my belly swelled.

When the bag was empty they made me hold it. Dr. Rowan’s hand massaged my distended abdomen while Dr. Slater watched the clock. Finally they let me empty into the bucket behind the screen. The relief was almost orgasmic. I cleaned myself with the wet cloth they provided, slipped on the thin cotton robe, and followed them to the office for more questions.

By the time they led me back to the examination room, the atmosphere had shifted. The machine waiting for me looked like something out of a fever dream—padded restraints, electrodes, sensors, a seat with the center cut out so my ass and cunt would hang open and accessible.

They strapped me in. Arms, thighs, ankles. The seat cushion was removed. My legs were forced wide in the stirrups. Dr. Rowan attached suction cups to my nipples. The gentle pull made me whimper. Another suction cup sealed over my clit. Wires trailed everywhere. Then the probes: a thick, ribbed dildo slid deep into my soaked pussy, a smaller but still substantial plug eased into my ass after I was ordered to push out. Both locked in place, connected to the monitoring board.

“We’re going to measure your sexual response under controlled stimuli,” Dr. Slater explained. “Answer the questions honestly. The machine will record everything.”

Pictures flashed on the wall—hard cocks, women being fucked, mouths stretched around thick shafts, creampies dripping from used holes. The probes began to pulse. The suction on my clit intensified. Electricity teased my nipples in soft waves. I came hard the first time while staring at a close-up of a thick cock stretching a tight pink cunt, my own holes spasming around the invading shafts, juice running down the metal frame.

They didn’t stop. More questions. More images. The intensity increased. The dildo in my pussy started thrusting in shallow, mechanical strokes. The anal plug vibrated. I came again, screaming, then a third time until my vision blurred.

When they finally unhooked me I was shaking, dripping, half-delirious. Dr. Slater wiped my cunt and ass clean with practiced strokes.

“You’re an exceptional candidate, Mary. Peak fertility, high responsiveness, strong physical health. We have a unique protocol for women like you. Natural insemination under laboratory conditions yields the highest success rates in our studies. Are you willing to proceed?”

I nodded. At that point I would have agreed to anything if it meant staying in this warm, safe place and feeling those hands on me again.

They moved me to the laboratory. The apparatus in the center of the room was larger—leather bolsters, straps, a hydraulic mechanism that could lift and angle a body any way they wanted. They stripped the robe off me and positioned me on all fours on the padded surface, hips elevated, knees spread, head resting on a soft support. Straps secured my wrists and ankles. A broad belt went around my waist, locking me in place.

Dr. Rowan coated his cock with a thin layer of medical-grade lubricant while Dr. Slater checked my cervix one last time with two fingers.

“Still open and receptive. Perfect.”

I felt the blunt head of Dr. Rowan’s thick cock nudge my dripping entrance. He was bigger than the machine probe, hot and alive. He pushed in slowly, inch by inch, until his balls pressed against my clit and I was stuffed fuller than I’d ever been.

“Christ, she’s tight,” he muttered.

Dr. Slater stood to the side, watching, stroking his own heavy cock. “Breed her properly. Deep strokes. We want every drop as close to the cervix as possible.”

Dr. Rowan started fucking me in long, powerful thrusts. The machine under me adjusted, tilting my hips higher so every stroke drove straight into my core. Wet sounds filled the room. My tits swung with each impact. I moaned continuously, the stretch and friction lighting up every nerve.

“Talk to her,” Dr. Slater ordered. “Keep her engaged. High arousal increases uterine receptivity.”

“Your cunt is gripping me like it never wants to let go,” Dr. Rowan growled, hands locked on my hips. “So fucking wet and hot. I’m going to fill this pretty little pussy until it’s overflowing.”

He fucked harder. The slap of skin on skin grew louder. I came around him with a broken cry, walls fluttering, and he didn’t slow. He kept pounding through the orgasm until I was sobbing with overstimulation.

Dr. Slater moved in front of me, cock heavy and flushed, the head already leaking. “Open your mouth, Mary. Good research subjects take everything they’re given.”

I opened. He slid between my lips, salty and thick. I sucked while Dr. Rowan reamed my cunt from behind. The dual penetration scrambled my thoughts. Drool ran down my chin. My ass clenched around the residual stretch from the earlier plug.

Dr. Rowan pulled out suddenly. A moment later I felt the slick head of his cock pressing against my asshole.

“Push out,” he ordered.

I did. He sank into my ass in one continuous thrust, burying himself to the root. The burn and fullness dragged another orgasm out of me instantly. He fucked my ass with the same deep, steady rhythm while Dr. Slater used my mouth, both of them talking over me in low, clinical voices about cervical position, sperm motility, the ideal angle for deposition.

They switched. Dr. Slater took my cunt next, longer and slightly thinner but curved perfectly to grind against the front wall. He fucked me with precise, powerful strokes while Dr. Rowan recovered and then fed his cock back into my mouth, still tasting of my own juices and the faint musk of my ass.

They used every hole. They rotated positions—me on my back with legs forced wide in the air, me straddling one while the other stood behind and filled my ass, me bent over the bolster while they took turns pounding whichever hole they wanted. Every time one of them came, they pushed deep and held, flooding me. Creamy cum leaked from my cunt and ass in thick ropes, only to be fucked back in by the next cock.

Dr. Slater came first inside my pussy, groaning as he pumped jet after jet against my cervix. Dr. Rowan followed in my ass, filling me until I felt the excess slide down my thighs. They cleaned me with warm cloths, then started again. Second round. Third. My belly felt heavy with their loads. My holes were swollen and used, still greedy for more.

Between rounds they massaged my clit, sucked my nipples, praised how well I took them, how fertile and responsive my body was. They inserted a wide, flared plug into my cum-filled ass to keep everything inside. They spread my pussy lips and photographed the way their combined seed leaked from my stretched hole. They made me hold still while they milked another orgasm out of me with fingers and tongues, then fucked me through it again.

Hours passed. The light outside the high windows faded. My voice was hoarse from moaning and begging. My body trembled constantly. When they finally unstrapped me I could barely stand. Dr. Rowan carried me upstairs to the soft bed in the private room that was now mine. He laid me on my back, slipped a pillow under my hips to keep the semen deep, and wiped the sweat and fluids from my skin with gentle strokes.

Dr. Slater stood in the doorway, still half-hard, watching.

“Rest now, Mary. We’ll check your levels in the morning. If the first cycle takes, you’ll stay with us through the pregnancy. Full support, private care, everything you need. If not, we’ll simply repeat the protocol until it does.”

I nodded weakly, legs still open, their cum slowly seeping out onto the sheets despite the pillow. Dr. Rowan leaned down and kissed my forehead, then lower, brushing his lips over each nipple, then lower still to lick the excess from my swollen cunt in long, slow strokes that made me whimper.