She had asked, but he hadn’t told her why he was taking her to the clinic.  She knew then not to ask again - if he didn’t want her to know then repeated questioning wasn’t going to get the answer from him.  So she sat in the passenger seat, sweet and quiet.
Anonymous in a business park, the clinic looked exactly the same as six months ago -  blank silvered windows on the outside, signage beside the door that didn’t give any real indication of the specialty of the professionals who worked inside. It was a Saturday afternoon and the lot was nearly empty of cars.
He buzzed reception, and they were let in immediately. Â Expensive blonde wood and leather chairs, and the faintest antiseptic in the air.
‘Mr Monroe, Elizabeth welcome,’ said the same warm brunette that had greeted them last time. ‘It’s so nice to see you again. Dr Smith is ready for you.’
She led them through a heavy door locked with a keycard and a numberpad into a short corridor. It was carpeted and densely quiet. Â Elizabeth knew that it was soundproofed. Knew from her last visit that she would not be able to get through those doors no matter how hard she tried.
The receptionist held a door open for them, and they entered a room that she remembered from her last visit - Dr Smith’s office.  All blonde wood again, gleaming in the sunlight streaming through the windows. There was a nurse in white scrubs standing in the corner, beside what Elizabeth knew to be an examination room. She couldn’t help but shiver at the memories: the fear, the pleasure she had felt in there.
Dr Smith stood up to greet them, shook her husband’s hand and nodded at her.
‘Elizabeth, my nurse will take you next door while your husband and I discuss your management.  We will both be with you shortly.’ His voice was deeper than she even remembered, brokered no dissent.
Elizabeth nodded. Â She knew not to argue.
The nurse opened the door beside her, and ushered Elizabeth through. Â Her heart was thudding in her chest, she could hear the blood in her ears. Her vision felt a little dim around the edges.
There was no natural light in this room, no windows at all. The floor and walls were tiled, the examination couch chrome and cream leather. There was a monitor and probes in the corner, anonymous cupboards holding equipment that she didn’t even want to think about.
‘Undress please,’ the nurse said. She was holding a cotton gown. Her tone suggested she wouldn’t tolerate resistance either.
Slightly tremulous, Elizabeth did as she was told. Â As quickly as she was able, she took off her sundress, her knickers. Â When she was totally naked, the nurse helped her into the gown and tied it at the back of her neck. Â Elizabeth knew that the nurse could feel the pulse of her carotid.
‘Lie on the bed please,’ the nurse said.
The leather was supple and warm against her back as she lay down, legs together. Not saying another thing, the nurse affixed a blood pressure cuff around her arm, an oxygen monitor to a finger, the wires leading off behind her  She slipped a thermometer into her ear, not gently, and held it there until it beeped.  Elizabeth felt the cuff go tighter and tighter on her arm, until it was painful and her fingertips were tingling, then release.
Above her were theatre lights, switched off. But she could see her distorted reflection in them. Â Hated this, and loved it. Â Loved the palpitations, the lightheadedness of anticipation.
The nurse leant over her and undid the tie of her gown, folded it down to reveal her bare breasts.  Elizabeth was almost ashamed of how erect her nipples were, but the nurse’s expression was totally neutral. Without a word, the nurse stuck electrodes onto her chest, her shoulders, her wrists and connected her to a machine beside her.  After a few seconds, Elizabeth heard the whirr of printing paper, and the nurse disconnected her and peeled off the electrodes.  She didn’t bother to replace the gown, and Elizabeth knew not to do so herself.
The nurse turned away and there was a ripping sound of paper being torn down perforations.  The sound of a trolley being wheeled closer to her, and her arm was straightened fully at the elbow.  A cold wipe, and a sting, and before she knew it there was an intravenous cannula in her forearm being stuck down under a dressing.
She heard the door to the office open as the nurse turned back  to her.
‘Ah, excellent,’ Dr Smith said. ‘Just the cardiac monitor please, nurse, and then we’ll be ready to begin.’
Dr Smith came to stand over her as the nurse affixed three paper electrodes onto her chest, the wires going off behind her. Â There were suddenly beeps in time with her pulse, and then silence.
‘Elizabeth,’ Dr Smith said, ‘your husband feels that it is time you were impregnated, and that is what will be occurring today,’
Elizabeth jerked in shock, alarm. Nearly sat up and tried to get off the table, but Dr Smith’s hands were on her shoulders, the nurse’s hands around her ankles.
‘You’re going to be impregnated today,’ Dr Smith continued, looming over her. ‘As your submission is not yet perfect we will restrain you while I examine you and ensure that you are ready for the procedure.’
She felt cuffs go around her ankles, her wrists, buttery leather like the couch. There was another nurse she hadn’t even seen. Her husband was there in the periphery, allowing these people to  restrain her.  She knew he liked it.
Dr Smith stepped away when she was immobilised, and her husband came to sit by her head.  He didn’t say anything, but his eyes were glittering with pleasure.
Then Dr Smith was on the other side of her, pressing a probe onto her chest, cold jelly raising goosebumps on her skin.  She couldn’t help but jerk away.
‘If you aren’t still, Elizabeth,’ he warned, not looking at her but at his screen ‘I will have no other option but to sedate you for the duration of these investigations and the procedure.’
She didn’t want that.  Didn’t want that.  Didn’t want that.
She gritted her teeth and made herself be still.
The jelly was cold, and Dr Smith wasn’t kind with the probe, pushing deeply into her chest wall. It went on and on. It hurt.
There were other things going on in the room, she could hear the nurses moving about, things on wheels being moved, cupboards being opened.  She didn’t dare move her head to look, just focused on the lights above her.
Dr Smith removed the probe after what felt like an eternity, and the nurse wiped the sticky jelly off her chest, her breasts.
‘Her echo is fine, Mr Monroe,’ Dr Smith said to her husband. ‘We’ll proceed with the ultrasound and then if all is as we expect, the fertilisation.’
A click of metal and in the peripheries of her vision she could see stirrups being extended. Firm hands undid the cuffs around her ankles and lifted her feet into them, secured them tightly again. Â With motorised smoothness, her legs were pulled high and wide, cool air hitting the wetness between.
Dr Smith stepped between her knees.
‘Yes, she is still extraordinarily aroused by this situation, Mr Monroe.  We’ll be able to manage that  here throughout the pregnancy, I would think.’  Gloved hands briskly palpated her labia, her mons. Lingered on her clitoris, stroking. Hot excitement ran up her spine… and Dr Smith removed his hand.
Without warning, something firm and cold was pushed inside her, deep and deeper.  She couldn’t help whimpering.
The probe was moved around inside her with no regard for her comfort. Â She felt ache in inside her, pleasant and unpleasant. Â Her husband was avidly watching the doctor when she glanced over at him.
Like the heart scan, the ultrasound felt like it went on forever.
‘It all looks satisfactory,’ Dr Smith said as he removed the probe from her. ‘We’ll proceed.’
Elizabeth just saw the monitor being wheeled away from the examination couch, before she was blinded with the lights overhead being switched on. Â She saw stars, saw nothing else.
Hands were on her head, lifting it and placing an oxygen mask tightly over her nose and mouth.  Hands were on her arm, affixing something to the IV. Dr Smith’s hands were on her, stroking her clitoris, his fingers slipping inside her. It was all too much.  She could feel an orgasm building, she couldn’t help it.
Before she exploded, Dr Smith removed his hand from her, and there was something thin and plastic inserted instead, just for seconds. Then suddenly the entire bed was tilting and her head was going down down down. Â
But then there was vibration on her clitoris and the orgasm she had been denied moments before hit her, heavy and unexpected.
‘You’ll be having orgasms for the next few hours, Elizabeth,’ Dr Smith said from what felt like a very far away place. ‘We find that it greatly aids the success rate of fertilisation.  I’ll leave you with my nurses, and I’ll see you again in a few weeks.’
andulkaphoto
origamiaround
theartofmadeline
jbbartram-illu
tangentwithtanner
germansingergirl
