DNI : actual pedophiles, transphobes, queerphobes, homophobes etc.
I love talking to people on tumblr but please ask if dirty talk/rp is okay PRIOR to assuming what I'm okay with please. DMs open
Reminder: these are just kinks, and I'm mentally ill so you're gonna find tons of shit on this blog including cnc, CONSENT IS EVERYTHING, this is just all my horny thoughts in a super condensed space, if you ever wanna DM and be like 'look at my cat' i will be thrilled
You jolt awake with a sharp gasp, heart pounding violently in your chest. Thick padded straps pin your arms firmly to the sides of the medical chair, while your legs are locked high and obscenely wide in cold metal stirrups. You're completely naked, the sterile chill of the brightly lit exam room raising goosebumps across your flushed skin, your chest, belly, and most shamefully, your fully exposed cunt on blatant display.
“What the fuck?! Let me go!” you shout, voice cracking with panic as you yank hard against the unyielding restraints. “Where am I?!”
Several figures in white coats turn toward you at once.
“Subject 347 is awake—”
“—heart rate spiking—”
“—respiratory distress—”
A kind-faced nurse leans in close. “Shh, it’s alright. Just breathe for me.” She gently presses the clear nitrous mask over your nose and mouth, sealing it snugly. Cool, sweet gas begins to flow.
You try to twist away at first, but the effects hit fast. The sharp terror softens into a warm, heavy haze. Your thoughts grow slow, floaty, and loopy. The room sways gently around you.
Doctor Crowe steps between your spread thighs, clipboard in hand, his expression cold and utterly detached. His voice is flat, clinical, and professional.
“Subject 347. You are now conscious. We will begin preparation by thoroughly cleaning your vulva for detailed inspection.”
The first touch is the warm, dripping rag. You inhale sharply as the thick, wet heat drags slowly across your puffy outer lips. Doctor Crowe wipes with precise, methodical strokes, carefully folding back your labia to clean every slick, sensitive crease and fold. The warm fabric glides over your clit again and again, sending unwanted sparks of pleasure through your nitrous-dazed body.
“Labia majora: symmetrical and plump. Light natural moisture present,” he dictates in a cold monotone. “Labia minora: deeply flushed, highly vascularized. Clitoris: already erect and protruding from the hood. Subject is producing noticeable lubrication.”
The warm rag continues its slow, thorough strokes, the wet heat and gentle friction making your hips twitch faintly against the straps. Every pass over your clit sends a fresh wave of slick warmth through your core.
Then comes the sharp hiss of the showerhead. Warm water sprays out in a fine mist at first.
“We are now rinsing the area,” Doctor Crowe states coldly. “You may experience considerable stimulation. React in whatever way feels natural, 347.”
The stream shifts, and suddenly a strong, pulsing jet of warm water is beating directly onto your swollen clit. The sensation is intense, pressure hammering your most sensitive spot without mercy. A shaky, loopy moan escapes you through the mask.
They begin testing. Different modes: soft rain, strong pulsing massage, oscillating jets. Temperatures from soothingly warm to almost too hot. Your reactions grow louder and more desperate. When they find the perfect setting, firm, rapid pulses of perfectly hot water pounding right against your throbbing clit, your body jerks hard in the stirrups.
“Ah—! Fuck…” you whimper, voice floaty and broken from the nitrous.
“Optimal response with pulsed mode at 40°C,” Doctor Crowe notes without emotion. “Significant clitoral engorgement. Vaginal secretions increasing rapidly.”
The nurse turns the nitrous flow higher. The gas floods you deeper, turning the world soft and dreamy. Your head feels heavy and light at the same time, every sensation amplified and distant.
Doctor Crowe’s voice remains ice-cold. “Breathe deeply, Subject 347. Just relax.”
The water pressure increases, pounding harder against your clit. Then you feel the thick, smooth head of a dildo pressing against your slick entrance. It slides in slowly, stretching your hot, velvety walls with a wet, obscene squelch that echoes in the room. Doctor Crowe begins a steady, deep thrusting while the showerhead continues its relentless assault.
“Vaginal canal: warm, slick, and tightly gripping the instrument. Depth achieved: 14 centimeters,” he dictates clinically. “Cervix soft. Subject’s internal muscular contractions are strong and rhythmic.”
The combination is almost too much, the hot, pounding water hammering your clit, the thick dildo stroking deep inside your cunt, the heavy nitrous making everything feel floaty, overwhelming, and impossibly intense. Your moans grow louder, more desperate, turning into broken, loopy cries.
“Subject 347 is approaching orgasm,” Doctor Crowe states flatly. “Vaginal walls spasming. Increasing thrust depth and water pressure for complete assessment.”
The water pounds mercilessly. The dildo fucks you faster, harder. Your entire body tenses, thighs trembling violently in the stirrups. A long, shattered moan tears from your throat as you cum hard, your cunt clenching around the thrusting dildo, clit throbbing wildly under the hot spray, waves of blinding pleasure crashing through your nitrous-drunk mind.
Doctor Crowe keeps the stimulation going through every powerful spasm, observing with clinical detachment until your body finally goes limp, twitching and spent.
“Orgasm achieved. Strong stimuli response recorded. Subject 347 is now properly cleaned and sensitized.”
He turns off the water and slowly withdraws the dripping dildo with a wet pop. A soft, warm towel gently pats your oversensitive, puffy cunt dry, stroking carefully over your still-twitching folds.
“Preparation complete,” he announces in the same cold tone. “Subject 347’s vulva and vaginal canal is clean, flushed, and optimally prepared for the full examination.”
Doctor Crowe looks down at your blissed-out, floaty face, the mask still sealed over your mouth, eyes glassy.
You jolt awake with a sharp gasp, heart pounding violently in your chest. Thick padded straps pin your arms firmly to the sides of the medical chair, while your legs are locked high and obscenely wide in cold metal stirrups. You're completely naked, the sterile chill of the brightly lit exam room raising goosebumps across your flushed skin, your chest, belly, and most shamefully, your fully exposed cunt on blatant display.
“What the fuck?! Let me go!” you shout, voice cracking with panic as you yank hard against the unyielding restraints. “Where am I?!”
Several figures in white coats turn toward you at once.
“Subject 347 is awake—”
“—heart rate spiking—”
“—respiratory distress—”
A kind-faced nurse leans in close. “Shh, it’s alright. Just breathe for me.” She gently presses the clear nitrous mask over your nose and mouth, sealing it snugly. Cool, sweet gas begins to flow.
You try to twist away at first, but the effects hit fast. The sharp terror softens into a warm, heavy haze. Your thoughts grow slow, floaty, and loopy. The room sways gently around you.
Doctor Crowe steps between your spread thighs, clipboard in hand, his expression cold and utterly detached. His voice is flat, clinical, and professional.
“Subject 347. You are now conscious. We will begin preparation by thoroughly cleaning your vulva for detailed inspection.”
The first touch is the warm, dripping rag. You inhale sharply as the thick, wet heat drags slowly across your puffy outer lips. Doctor Crowe wipes with precise, methodical strokes, carefully folding back your labia to clean every slick, sensitive crease and fold. The warm fabric glides over your clit again and again, sending unwanted sparks of pleasure through your nitrous-dazed body.
“Labia majora: symmetrical and plump. Light natural moisture present,” he dictates in a cold monotone. “Labia minora: deeply flushed, highly vascularized. Clitoris: already erect and protruding from the hood. Subject is producing noticeable lubrication.”
The warm rag continues its slow, thorough strokes, the wet heat and gentle friction making your hips twitch faintly against the straps. Every pass over your clit sends a fresh wave of slick warmth through your core.
Then comes the sharp hiss of the showerhead. Warm water sprays out in a fine mist at first.
“We are now rinsing the area,” Doctor Crowe states coldly. “You may experience considerable stimulation. React in whatever way feels natural, 347.”
The stream shifts, and suddenly a strong, pulsing jet of warm water is beating directly onto your swollen clit. The sensation is intense, pressure hammering your most sensitive spot without mercy. A shaky, loopy moan escapes you through the mask.
They begin testing. Different modes: soft rain, strong pulsing massage, oscillating jets. Temperatures from soothingly warm to almost too hot. Your reactions grow louder and more desperate. When they find the perfect setting, firm, rapid pulses of perfectly hot water pounding right against your throbbing clit, your body jerks hard in the stirrups.
“Ah—! Fuck…” you whimper, voice floaty and broken from the nitrous.
“Optimal response with pulsed mode at 40°C,” Doctor Crowe notes without emotion. “Significant clitoral engorgement. Vaginal secretions increasing rapidly.”
The nurse turns the nitrous flow higher. The gas floods you deeper, turning the world soft and dreamy. Your head feels heavy and light at the same time, every sensation amplified and distant.
Doctor Crowe’s voice remains ice-cold. “Breathe deeply, Subject 347. Just relax.”
The water pressure increases, pounding harder against your clit. Then you feel the thick, smooth head of a dildo pressing against your slick entrance. It slides in slowly, stretching your hot, velvety walls with a wet, obscene squelch that echoes in the room. Doctor Crowe begins a steady, deep thrusting while the showerhead continues its relentless assault.
“Vaginal canal: warm, slick, and tightly gripping the instrument. Depth achieved: 14 centimeters,” he dictates clinically. “Cervix soft. Subject’s internal muscular contractions are strong and rhythmic.”
The combination is almost too much, the hot, pounding water hammering your clit, the thick dildo stroking deep inside your cunt, the heavy nitrous making everything feel floaty, overwhelming, and impossibly intense. Your moans grow louder, more desperate, turning into broken, loopy cries.
“Subject 347 is approaching orgasm,” Doctor Crowe states flatly. “Vaginal walls spasming. Increasing thrust depth and water pressure for complete assessment.”
The water pounds mercilessly. The dildo fucks you faster, harder. Your entire body tenses, thighs trembling violently in the stirrups. A long, shattered moan tears from your throat as you cum hard, your cunt clenching around the thrusting dildo, clit throbbing wildly under the hot spray, waves of blinding pleasure crashing through your nitrous-drunk mind.
Doctor Crowe keeps the stimulation going through every powerful spasm, observing with clinical detachment until your body finally goes limp, twitching and spent.
“Orgasm achieved. Strong stimuli response recorded. Subject 347 is now properly cleaned and sensitized.”
He turns off the water and slowly withdraws the dripping dildo with a wet pop. A soft, warm towel gently pats your oversensitive, puffy cunt dry, stroking carefully over your still-twitching folds.
“Preparation complete,” he announces in the same cold tone. “Subject 347’s vulva and vaginal canal is clean, flushed, and optimally prepared for the full examination.”
Doctor Crowe looks down at your blissed-out, floaty face, the mask still sealed over your mouth, eyes glassy.
Taking a pup in heat out of his crate. He's desperate to hump something but I won't let him. He whines as I put him on the table, strapping his arms down so he can't touch himself. Pulling his pants and underwear off and putting his legs in the stirrups, strapping them down tight. He's whining and desperate. I can see his slick beginning to pool on the table so I tease him about it. I start touching him ever so lightly with my gloved hands while he whimpers and begs me to do more. Instead I take my now slick covered fingers and put them in his mouth. Slowly fucking his mouth with my hand and watching him gag, listening to him whine around my glove.
I finally take my hand out of his mouth and move back to his waiting hole. I start slowly playing with his tdick while he moans and whimpers. I stick a few fingers inside him to loosen him up but it's not really necessary. He tries to buck against my hand but the restraints won't let him. I inspect his hole for a while longer without really giving him any release. Then I pull my hand away leaving him to whine about the emptiness.
Now I pull over the fucking machine and turn it on. The settings are low so it just barely goes in and comes out ever so slowly. I start adjusting the stroke length until the whole toy is being buried in his hole. He whimpers something about it being too big as if I haven't calculated how much he can take. When he does take it I tell him how good he's being. I walk over to his head and stick my hand back in his mouth while adjusting the speed till it's pumping into him steadily. He moans around my gloved hand and I finger fuck his throat.
I pull my hand out again and turn up the speed. He's incoherently babbling now, mostly cries of "oh god" or "fuck". Eventually he starts to cum. I note it down but we aren't finished. I tell him he's a good boy and that I just need to run some more tests. I grab a vibrator and stick it against his tdick before turning it on. After that I turn up the speed on the fucking machine again. He's whimpering and whining about it being too much and how he's cumming again but I don't care. We're going until he passes out.
After he does I turn the machines off and note his final time. I unstrap the restraints and call in my assistants to take him back to his kennel. He'll be fed as soon as he wakes up.
the thing is if you’re shy it’s much easier to be embarrassed, especially if you know the doctor’s being very patient with you while you make it hard for them to do their job. changing into the hospital gown, tying it in the front, but keeping on your underwear. hoping maybe this time will be different. laying down on the table and shaking with nerves. doctor squeezing your hand as they pull open the gown, pressing down on your stomach gently. touching up near your chest, and then slowly moving down towards your belly button, until they have to slide two fingers under the band of your underwear. they tell you they’re very sorry, and it’ll just take a second, but your stomach is doing flips as they feel over your bladder, folding the cloth down to assess the skin there. “relax, it’s not going to hurt”, but your stomach’s just so tense they tell you they’re a little worried about your pelvic floor, so they’re just going to feel a little lower. their hands are gentle, almost cautious, as they slide under the fabric of your underwear. they softly press at your skin, feeling out the shape of your inner labia. just checking for tension. finally they touch you where you’ve gotten so wet from the embarrassment. they ask you if this discharge is normal for you, and blushing, you shake your head no. their hands come out & they slowly pull your underwear the rest of the way down. it looks like you’ll need an internal exam.
The first thing I notice is the sterile scent of antiseptic. My head throbs as consciousness seeps back in, a dull ache pulsing behind my temples. My body feels heavy, limbs sluggish.
Cold metal cuffs bite into my wrists and ankles, securing me to a padded examination table. My breath hitches as I realize my nudity and panic claws up my throat. I jerk against the restraints, but they don’t budge. My pulse hammers beneath my skin, a frantic rhythm that only grows louder when I hear the quiet hum of machinery and the methodical click of footsteps approaching.
A figure looms over me, his eyes sharp behind thin-framed glasses. He’s dressed in a pristine white lab coat, holding a tablet.
"Subject 48," he murmurs, voice low and smooth, like a scientist observing an interesting specimen. "Awake at last. Excellent."
I swallow hard. "Wh-what do you want?"
He looks me over and makes an amused sound. "Curious. Elevated heart rate, dilated pupils, increased respiratory frequency. A classic fear response." He taps a gloved finger against his tablet, recording the data. "Fascinating. But unnecessary. You won’t be harmed. Merely... studied."
I let out a shuddering breath at his statement, feeling my heart start to pound faster. He speaks again before I can protest.
"Today’s experiment," he says, "will focus on the physiological and neurological response to prolonged overstimulation, with particular attention to the erogenous zones." His gaze flicks to me, analytical, detached. "You will assist in the collection of vital data."
A shiver wracks through me. "No, please, I don’t want this, there must be a mistake—"
He silences me with a raised hand. "Silence is preferable. Vocalizations will be recorded, but unnecessary pleading is irrelevant to the results."
I let out a soft whimper at his words.
"First, baseline sensitivity readings," He murmurs, sliding a finger against my skin. I jerk as his touch glides up my thigh, slow, methodical. "Muscle tension elevated. Pulse rapid. Adrenaline response expected."
His fingers part my folds with clinical precision, and my face burns with shame as he hums, jotting notes. "Clitoral sensitivity appears heightened under stress. Fascinating."
Then, something cold and smooth presses against my clit. My body jerks as it emits a low, pulsing vibration.
"Initial stimulation: 20Hz." His grey eyes flick to a monitor displaying waveforms, my reactions, my pleasure, rendered into data. "Subject exhibits reflexive pelvic tilt. Pupillary dilation noted."
The vibration intensifies. My hips buck involuntarily, but the straps hold me firm. "P-please—"
"Quiet," he murmurs. "I require accuracy."
The sensor pulses faster. My thighs tremble. A whimper claws up my throat as heat coils low in my stomach.
I squeeze my eyes shut, but it doesn’t stop the sensations. I flinch, but there’s nowhere to go. The vibrations intensify, sending jolts of electricity straight to my core. My thighs twitch involuntarily as heat floods through me, sharp, relentless pleasure that coils tighter with every second.
He watches with a satisfied gleam in his eyes, glancing between my trembling body and the data scrolling across his screen. "Heart rate elevated. Further pupillary dilation observed. Adrenaline and endorphin levels rising." He adjusts the intensity, and my back arches off the table as a choked cry tears from my lips.
"Fascinating," he murmurs. "Subject displays involuntary contractions at 65Hz. Clitoral tissue appears highly reactive to sustained high-frequency stimulation."
I’m panting now, sweat beading along my skin as pleasure crests, teetering on the edge—
And then, suddenly, it stops.
I gasp at the loss, my body trembling with unfinished tension.
He makes a small note. "First edging interval successful. Moving to g-spot examination."
He doesn’t give me time to recover. A slick, tapered device presses against my entrance, and I bite my lip hard as it pushes inside, filling me with slow, deliberate pressure.
I clench instinctively, but he tuts. "Relaxation will yield better results."
With a slow, deliberate push, the device slides fully inside me. I choke back a moan as it curls just right, pressing against that sweet, hidden spot.
"Ah! N-no, please—"
"Fascinating," He murmurs, eyes locked on the screen displaying my internal reactions. "Immediate muscular contractions. Cervical dilation noted. And now..."
The device pulses.
My vision whites out.
"G-spot sensitivity confirmed," He murmurs. "Notable increase in lubrication and muscular spasms at targeted stimulation."
Wave after wave of pleasure wrack my body, my thighs shaking, back arching off the table. I sob, overwhelmed, but he doesn’t stop.
"Prolonged stimulation induces sensory overload," he muses, watching me writhe. "Yet the body continues to respond. How remarkable."
The device shifts, angling deeper, and I choke on a sob as the tip brushes my cervix. A shockwave of sensation ricochets through me, sharp and almost painful in its intensity.
I’m shaking, overstimulated, overwhelmed, but he doesn’t stop.
Nimble fingers pinch my nipple, rolling the sensitive bud between his gloved fingertips. I jerk with a gasp, the dual assault of penetration and nipple play sending my mind spiraling.
"Areolar tissue exhibits notable responsiveness," he muses. "Secondary stimulation appears to amplify primary reactions."
I’m panting, shaking, every nerve in my body alight. Just when I think I can’t take anymore, he withdraws the device, leaving me hollow and aching.
But it’s not over.
Cold lubricant drips over my skin, followed by the press of something thicker, more insistent, this time at a different entrance than before. I whimper as pressure builds, my body resisting before yielding, stretching around the intrusion.
"Anal sensitivity testing underway," He says, his voice steady. "Subject displays significant reflexive tightening, though sphincter relaxation occurs with persistent stimulation."
I bite back a moan as the device pulses inside me, filling me in ways I’ve never felt before. My clit throbs, neglected and hypersensitive, begging for relief.
I feel him fill my pussy with another probe, the dual sensation making me whine, leaving me stuffed full in both holes.
He watches the data with rapt attention. "Remarkable. Simultaneous anal and vaginal stimulation induces near-immediate escalation in arousal."
He brings the clit probe back and lets it make contact with my skin. I arch into it, desperation filling my every cell.
He presses a button, and suddenly, all three zones are assaulted at once: the vibrator against my clit, the deep thrusting inside me, the unrelenting fullness in my ass. My vision whites out as pleasure crashes over me, but he doesn’t let me cum.
Just before the peak, he stops.
I nearly scream in frustration, tears spilling down my cheeks.
"Edging protocol maintained," he murmurs, jotting down notes. "Subject now on the verge of orgasm for the seventh time without release. Psychological distress evident but secondary to physiological data."
I sob, trembling, my body strung tight with need.
He tilts his head, studying me like a puzzle. "Final phase: total sensory overload."
Before I can process his words, the devices ramp up to unfathomable intensities, my clit, pussy, and ass all under assault. My back arches violently as agony and ecstasy fuse into one unbearable wave. I shatter, screaming as the orgasm rips through me, unending, merciless.
Wave after wave crashes through me, unrelenting, as he watches with detached fascination.
"Orgasm achieved," he murmurs, scribbling notes as I convulse beneath him. "Duration: 47 seconds. Intensity level unprecedented. Subject’s capacity for sensory overload confirmed."
I’m sobbing now, oversensitive, trembling as the devices continue their merciless assault even after I’ve peaked. My body jerks, overwhelmed, but he doesn’t stop. My body is thrown into another orgasm.
"Secondary climax induced within 90 seconds," he observes. "Diminished intensity but prolonged state. Fascinating."
Tears stream down my face. My body convulses, overstimulated, oversensitive, but he doesn’t care. His eyes gleam with scientific hunger.
"Again."
And again.
And again.
By the seventh orgasm, I’m sobbing and babbling, my voice hoarse from screaming. My body is limp, trembling, but he’s relentless.
"Subject exhibits significant exhaustion," he murmurs. "But refractory period appears shortened under forced stimulation.”
He doesn’t stop. My body belongs to him, my every reaction a data point for his studies, nothing matters expect his work. His voice is the last thing I hear before another orgasm slams through me and my mind shatters into the abyss.
"Shh. This is for science."
Data Log – Final Entry:
Subject 48 has proven exceptionally receptive to multi-zonal stimulation. Key findings include:
Clitoral sensitivity peaks at 65Hz vibration frequency.
G-spot responsiveness increases with simultaneous anal penetration.
Cervical contact induces intense vocalization but delays climax, suggesting a pain-pleasure overlap.
Nipple stimulation enhances overall arousal by 37%.
Subject reached orgasmic threshold nine times before losing consciousness.
Peak orgasmic intensity achieved at 98.7% of theorized maximum.
Further testing required, will resume after recovery period.
laying naked on an examination table, hooked up to multiple machines that monitor my heart, blood pressure and brain activity
researchers standing between my propped-up legs with a sole objective - to assess my viability for an experiment they're planning to run in upcoming days - mid-cycle, not on any form of birth control, orgasm length of 30 seconds minimum, around a minute ideal for the "process" - whatever that may entail - to work
with a snap of latex and a pop of a lubricant bottle cap, an ultrasound probe is pushed deep inside me with no warning, pressed firmly against my cervix
my half-pained half-pleasured whimper is ignored for the sake of obtaining data, as the researchers watch the screen and nod in agreement - fertile window, confirmed
the researcher operating the ultrasound flips a switch on the board and it's like a jolt of electricity runs through my entire body - the ECG monitor is beeping frantically as the rod inside me starts to vibrate directly against my uterus
my heart is about to jump out of my chest when the probe is slowly pulled back and then pushed back in, the angle adjusted ever so sligtly so the vibrating handle rubs against my clit on its way back
all researchers' eyes are fixed on the ultrasound screen, watching my inner walls pulsate with every slow thrust of the probe delivered with clinical precision
my upcoming orgasm needs to be monitored just as closely as the rest of my body - and I don't think conclusive data are going to be obtained just from one
Legs secured in stirrups, ultrasound probe pressed against my lower stomach, a thin tube of endo camera in my pussy sitting positioned just right to give a perfect view of my cervix. And a half dozen researchers in the room standing by my legs, ready to take notes on every little thing that may happen. I heard them talking among themselves this morning. They waited months for this moment.
"We can begin. Release the specimen."
Something cold and wet glides between my sensitive folds - the speculum they used for the initial examination was removed for the experiment itself, but the sensation of being stretched quickly comes back when something slimy swirls around my hole and easily slips inside.
I don't see between my legs through the sheet that was put over them but the ultrasound image and the endo camera feed on the screen let me know exactly what is happening. This "specimen", a living, moving mass is making its way through my pussy, expanding and contracting on its way deeper. I gasp from the stretching sensation and the skin of my stomach mirrors its movements, bulging under the probe the researcher is pressing down on a little too hard.
"We have a visual."
A dark, rippling mass fills the screen, leaving the cervix visible just barely enough, but from the overwhelming pressure alone I know exactly what's going to happen. The tentacle changes shape into a pointed, needle-like tip and without any warning strikes the entrance of my uterus. I cry out and feel my eyes burn.
"Secretion of analgesic pre-seminal fluids. Hormonal and physical stimulation of the test subject began."
The excrutiating pain and pressure of having my cervix stretched quickly dissolves into feeling of pleasant warmth. The tentacle inside me starts moving again, slowly and rythmically filling my pussy and womb with whatever aphrodisiac it produces to make its victim all relaxed and docile. Mere seconds later my entire body is tingling in hot static and when more tendrils start lapping at my clit now covered in the creature's fluids, my legs cramp and I let out the most obscene moan I would be ashamed of in any other situation.
"Orgasm confirmed," the ultrasound tech presses down even harder in attempt to keep my pelvis in place, but the only thing I feel is my pussy and the entire lower half contracting in synch with the frantic ECG monitor I am hooked up to.
"Cervix dilation?"
"Sufficient. Egg deposition begins. Readjust the camera."
My vision is blurry and mind pleasantly unfocused from whatever hormones the creature pumped my system full of, but I'm aware enough to give the screen a passing look. The tentacle is semi-translucent now, buried and anchored long past my cervix, somewhere in my womb. And as the translucent tentacle starts filling with round, marble-like objects, I understand why the experiment called for the subject to be mid-cycle and not on any birth control. I breathe heavily as I watch the creature's eggs slip past my numb cervix, one by one.
All researchers' eyes are glued the screen as they watch the creature breed in real time. This is it, this is the moment they put endless hours of preparations into. A conception of something new, something out of this world. They needed to make sure it will work. And that every moment of it will be recorded and catalogued, so it can be repeated again.
I won't be leaving the research facility for quite some time.
it feels like I've been trapped here for years, on this table. Limbs spread out and secured tightly with straps. I've tried and tried again to free myself, to no avail. he keeps me chemically restrained too, IV pumping unknown drugs into my body that keep me floaty and disoriented. I don't know how I got here. the doctor said I was one of the first transmasculine patients he's had, and asked me to help him with a research opportunity. he made me sign papers, told me I didn't have to worry about the fine print. I was a fool to trust him, even after I was skeptical about it.
Now I'm trapped here, as he pumps testosterone into me, tells me he's gonna turn me into a real man. He massages and uses suction on my tdick to make it grow. He tells me it worked on himself, he even showed me once, stroking himself while I watched. I couldn't help but get worked up watching him, and I especially couldn't help how good it felt when he rubbed his dick against mine. He tells me it's all for science. I'm being the perfect test subject, I'm gonna help so many people. I can only hope it's true.
The doctor said I need all of your attention 24/7. Yeah, that’s what they said, that I don’t get enough attention. They said I have “attention deficit”.
Having a crush on someone when you have fucked up kinks is so embarrassing bc you’re just like “wow they’re so cute I want them to get off on the way I cry while they fuck me”
Also highly recommend looking thru the reblogs on this one cause so many people add their own versions, and the dom / sadist versions especially just fuckin tickle me. I love y’all bunch of perverts
"it hurts... 🥺" – yeah, and? what do you expect me to say? i know it hurts. i'm making it hurt on purpose. it's supposed to fucking hurt. now what? do you think your stupid whining is going to stop me?
oh it hurts, it hurts, doesn't it? poor little thing. now shut the fuck up already and take it like a good girl.
Every single week I’m back in that freezing cold doctor’s office, shivering as he locks the door behind me with a calm click. “Strip. Everything off,” he orders without even looking up from his chart. The room is always ice-cold, my nipples hardening instantly the second the air hits my skin. I fold my clothes neatly on the chair like he expects, then stand there naked and exposed while he circles me slowly.
He starts with my breasts. Rough, gloved hands grope and squeeze them, lifting and pressing, pinching my sensitive nipples until I whimper. “Still too sensitive here,” he mutters clinically, twisting one harder just to watch me squirm. He comments on my weight, my posture, how soft my belly is, slapping my abdomen lightly to watch it jiggle. Every little flaw is noted out loud in that detached, professional tone that makes me feel like a piece of meat being examined.
Then comes the worst part.
He guides me onto the table, forces my legs up into the cold metal stirrups, spreading me obscenely wide. Thick leather restraints buckle tightly around my wrists and thighs, pinning me completely. I can’t close my legs. I can’t even shift away. I’m completely helpless, cunt on full display under the harsh lights.
The doctor sits between my spread legs and begins the pelvic exam. His gloved fingers probe roughly around my entrance, spreading my lips apart without any gentleness. He slides two thick fingers deep inside me, scissoring and stretching me open while he measures and inspects. The speculum comes next — ice-cold metal that he forces into my tight hole without warming it. He cranks it open wide, stretching my walls painfully as he shines a light inside me, commenting on how wet I’m already getting.
“Patient is exhibiting clear signs of arousal again,” he says flatly, like I’m not even there.
His fingers find my swollen clit and start rubbing — firm, clinical, merciless circles. No matter how much I struggle against the restraints or beg him to stop, he doesn’t. He just keeps rubbing faster, occasionally slapping my exposed cunt when I squirm too much. The wet, filthy sounds of his gloved fingers pumping in and out of my dripping pussy echo in the quiet room. He adds a third finger, stretching me brutally while his thumb grinds hard on my clit until my thighs are shaking uncontrollably.
I fight it. I really do. But I always end up cumming hard around his fingers like a pathetic, restrained little slut — walls clenching and gushing all over his hand while he watches with cold professional interest.
By the time he’s done, I’m a dripping, trembling mess. He finally removes the speculum and restraints, hands me a single thin wipe like it’s nothing, and says, “Clean yourself up. Same time next week.”
I know I should stop going. But I’ll be back. Naked. Shivering. Restrained. Until he finally says I’m “cured”… even though we both know I never will be.
I'm sure that it's your first time being touched this way, but it must be done. You need this examination. Remember to keep your knees apart, or I'll need to restrain you.
When examining the pelvic floor of the patient, one thing I often ask is that she squeeze my fingers while they are inserted in her vaginal canal. This is especially useful in inducing orgasms as well, as I find a bit of muscle tension helps the patient along. It is also worth noting that this helps the patient with compliance and acceptance techniques for future examinations. When I ask her to do something, it's important that she does it.
