Underrated thing. When you're sitting on the exam table and it reclines slowl. You lose sight of what's going on and have to stare at the ceiling. Bonus points for a drape to block your view or a restraint of some sort to keep the head from moving too much
inject me with paralyzing drugs n do whatever you want to me while i am still conscious n awake… but be creepy n weird about it, like ur talking me through everything ur doin even though u know i cant respond to you ♡
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.
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.
pixelskylines
2087
tangentwithtanner
s-u-f-j-a-n-s-t-e-v-e-n-s
blakekathryn
