the basement laboratory

Brightly lit and bleach white, the room smells harshly of cleaning chemicals. You can just barely see up near the head of the table is a cart of metal tools. There are windows near the top of the room and you can see the silhouettes of an audience looking down at you.

You were so grateful when your roommates showed you the flyer looking for medical research subjects. You should maybe have been suspicious as to just how much was being offered. Usually it's a voucher for pizza or something, but rent was coming up and you were apparently Exactly the kind of person the researchers were looking for. 

Your roommates, a nice couple that you always were a little into, even offered to go with you for support. 

When you get to the intake interview the doctor says the research is for improving sexual responses in trans men. You feel a little odd that the doctor is talking to your roommates and not to you, but you need the money and you quickly sign on the last page.

You are instantly taken to an exam room where a nurse gives you a quick checkup before handing you a couple of pills and a cup of water.

You're not totally sure how long you were alone in the little exam room but you start feeling like you could use a nap.

When your eyes snap open you feel dizzy and it takes you a moment to become aware of your situation. You are on a cold table with your legs spread, raised and strapped into stirrups. A mask is over your mouth. Your arms are strapped down as well and there is even a band across your chest and your hips. You look around and see your roommates talking with a doctor. 

Behind them are probably 30 people in lab coats taking notes.You try to say something but it's muffled by the mask. 

The doctor approaches you, roughly grabs your chin, and shines a light in your eyes. 

"Subject 7B is fully awake. We can begin procedures." 

There is a sudden swarm or orderlies in blue gloves. The first one straps some sort of thick collar around your neck and you begin to hear the beep of a heart monitor. A collection of pads are quickly stuck onto your pecs. You raise your head just in time to see them put something that looks like little glass jars over your nipples. 

You try to shake your head but there is a hiss and you suddenly feel floaty. 

"Previous tests have shown that multiple small doses of serum M have been less effective than intended. Subject 7B will receive the full course and related treatments simultaneously. We do require the subject be awake in order to judge reactions, however as it is distressing to some we will keep 7B mildly sedated."

You try to focus on the words but nothing quite makes sense. 

You look up again and see the doctor between your legs. You close your eyes and wince a little as the speculum is first inserted then slowly cranked open. A minute later you feel something pressed into your ass, just as cold and hard. There is the clacking sound as it it opens up your ass as well. 

You glance between your legs to see all the researchers and your roommates. 

"Size six vaginal, stim. Size 8 anal."

Even with the sedatives you gasp as the speculums are removed and replaced with large, cold plugs.

You try to say something but the doctor nods to an orderly. A strap is put across your forehead and now all you can see is the white ceiling. There is a cold swab on your arm and you know what's coming. What you don't expect is for the mask to be removed and quickly replaced with a panel plug gag. The orderly pats your head. "Just suck on it," he says.

You feel something else between your legs. A cold hard tube, you think, around your t-dick.

"As you can see," the doctor says. "Even with several years of conventional therapies the proposed genital flesh is considered insufficient." You wanted to be offended but you had marked that you wanted a bit more down there on the entry questionnaire. You miss whatever else the doctor said. 

The sedation is wearing off and you are aware that you're being hooked up to an IV and lots and lots of wires.

"We will now begin introducing serum M part A into the subject's system."

At first there is nothing then you take a sharp breath through your nose as you begin to feel heat between your legs. That seemed to be a cue of some sort. Jolts begin going through the pads in your chest forcing the muscles to flex. The cups over your nipples begin sucking and shocking simultaneously. Jolts are alternately sent through the plugs in your ass and cunt, forcing them to squeeze tight, and making you feel like you're getting fucked between two people. And the thing over your clit is sucking so hard you want to scream in pain but there is something in your mind that is telling you this is the best thing you've ever felt. 

You try to thrust your hips against the straps but it's impossible. You can hear your heart racing. Behind the gag you are begging to be let out but also to stay where you are. You can't help the violent thrashing as the shocks and the serum has taken you right to the edge and yet no matter how hard you squeeze or try to thrust your orgasm seems just out of reach. 

Parts of your body are screaming in pain but you will take more if it gets you to the end.

"We will now introduce part B of the serum." 

For a second your body is on fire. And then you cum. You scream into the gag as every muscle tightens and goes limp. But that's not the end. Nothing stops, no machine is turned off. If anything it feels like they turn it up. Within seconds you are cumming again, and again. Your vision begins to go dark around the edges and you black out.

When you come to you are still strapped down but it feels like the machines are turned off. The doctor shines a light in your eyes before turning away.

"7B has regained consciousness. Administer part C of the serum."

You brace yourself but nothing happens right away. Then a warmth starts to grow. You try to thrust your hips and squeeze down on the plugs still in you. You can hear your heart racing. 

There is the sting of a hard slap with a gloved hand on your inner thigh and a small orgasm runs through you.

You hear polite applause but even with that orgasm you still want to be fucked.

The orderlies descend again. The plugs are yanked from your body leaving you feeling empty, and all the pads and wires are removed. 

Then the gag is slowly taken from your mouth. You want to curse at the doctor but the words that come out of your mouth are "Fuck me. Please."

There is more polite applause.

Finally the straps are removed. Before you can sit up a hose of warmish water is turned on you like you're a bit of equipment.  Everything aches but you do finally manage to sit up enough to look over yourself. Your pecs look like you've been doing pushups but your nipples are long and fat. The doctor, still gloved up, gives one a hard twist, and you cum gushing fluids onto the metal table.

Between your legs is, somehow far more meat than you had before, sticking out, fully engorged. The doctor jacks it a few times without a drop of lube and you cum one more time. You still want to be fucked. 

"Subject 7B will need full monitoring for the next month and weekly exams and should not be out in public. If the neurochemicals settle down correctly in about four months it should manage six to eight hours a day without offering itself to someone for sexual use." The doctor is talking to your roommates again. They're smiling. 

"Don't worry, we'll document everything 7B does and bring it for its checkups."

You are put into some loose clothes and half limping taken from the lab. You are still hard and wet. You haven't said a word. You also didn't notice that the collar wasn't taken off. 

When you get home your roommates take you right to their bedroom. You notice the cameras in each corner.

"Go ahead," one says. "Do whatever feels right."

You hardly pause for a second before you are naked and on all fours on their bed begging to be fucked. 

"Legs up." Dr. Blair instructs, and his patient complies. His legs are tense as they slowly lift into the stirrups. The doctor helps guide his knees into the rests. From there, the white-coated man clicked on a light overhead. It focused right on his vagina. "Unshaven, I see. We'll need to take care of that."

He steps away, to the sink, and begins to wash his hands. Afterwards, Dr. Blair sets out an array of different instruments, including a shaving kit. "Nothing to be a shamed of. I'll have you cleaned up in no time." Before the patient could speak, the doctor took a seat between his legs. He snapped on a pair of white gloves on, the material stretching over his strong hands with a snap. He first coated the other's labia with shaving cream, and lathered it across his mound, and down all the way to his anus.

"Doctor, I--" the patient starts to protest, shifting on the table, but Dr. Blair looks up with a stern expression. "Stop moving. You'll need to be still, or I risk injuring you." He lowers the razor, and carefully begins to shave the patient. He can feel Dr. Blair's steady fingers pull his folds and glide the blade across them. "I'll have you restrained if that happens again. For your safety, you understand." He sounds almost bored, almost certainly detached. His free hand aids his move lower, and lower, swiping passes between his buttocks.

Dr. Blair looked up from his work to question his now freshly shaven patient. He set the razor down in a basin with a soft clink, and then began to wipe the excess shaving cream. "How long have you been on testosterone?" He questions, dragging the stiff paper wipe across his newly exposed flesh. Listening to his patient's answer, he peels off his gloves. "One year. I see... in that case, I'll warn you now, this examination will be fairly invasive. I'll need to take some measurements to make sure you're on-track with development down there."

The doctor put on a new pair of gloves, the snap just as loud as the first time. He sat back down between his patient's legs, one gloved hand resting on his thigh. "Any concerns you'd like to go over? Pain, stiffness or discomfort during urination or intercourse?" He was certainly unabashed when it came to the asking. "How about sensitivity? Have your masturbation habits changed at all?"

observing everything. watching you get wet from being exposed. sliding my fingers through to assess. “look at how responsive you are for me, baby.”

watching you get more aroused from me pointing it out. “this is from being examined, isn’t it? from my hands on you like this?” you nodding. embarrassed. can’t meet my eyes yet. “use your words, sweetheart. tell me why you’re getting wet.” fingers still touching you.

“because… you’re looking at me…” voice almost inaudible. me continuing the inspection. “i’m looking at you? that’s all it takes?” spreading you wider. observing closely. “or is it more specific than that, baby?”

you squirming. “because… you’re inspecting me…” “there it is.” fingers sliding through again. more wetness. “you like being examined like this, don’t you?”

touching your clit now. light pressure. checking your sensitivity. you gasping. “very responsive here.” circling it slowly. watching your reaction. “and getting wetter the more i assess you.”

pulling my hand back. looking at my fingers. glistening. “see this, baby? all from inspection.” showing you the evidence. watching you blush. “your body’s very honest about what it wants.”

going back to touching. more thorough now. one finger sliding inside. just to check. “taking one finger easily.” adding a second. “two as well.” watching you respond. hips shifting. seeking more.

“stay still, sweetheart. this is just an inspection.” pulling my fingers out. spreading you open again.

touching everywhere. your clit. your hole. “you’re getting wetter every time i touch. every time i look.” you whimpering. “tell me what you’re feeling, baby. need verbal feedback for my assessment.”

“it feels… good…” you managing. “good how? be specific, sweetheart. i need details.” fingers circling your clit again. you gasping. “feels good when you touch me… when you look at me like that…”

“like what?” making you explain. fingers still moving. still watching your reactions. “like… like i’m something to study… something you’re assessing…” “exactly right, baby.”

sliding two fingers inside again. pumping slowly. watching your face. your breathing. “you’re getting close just from this inspection, aren’t you?”

you nodding. “words, baby.” “yes… i’m close…” “from all of it?” you nodding eagerly. “yes…”

continuing to touch you. watching your body’s responses. getting you right there. right on the edge. “tell me one more time. why are you about to cum?” fingers not stopping. you struggling to answer. “because… because you’re examining me… because i like being inspected…”

“good girl.” pumping faster. thumb on your clit. “cum for me, baby. show me how your body responds to a thorough examination.”

your body giving in. cumming around my fingers. me watching everything. every twitch. every clench. documenting it all. working you through it.

slowing as you finish. pulling out carefully. “very responsive. excellent data.” you lying there. dazed. breathless. “we’ll need to repeat this inspection regularly, baby. for consistency.”

The examination room was sterile, cold, and smelled of antiseptic. She sat on the edge of the paper-covered table, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, the flimsy cotton gown doing little to ward off the chill. She was shy, her eyes downcast, focusing on a scuff mark on the linoleum floor. She’d been having trouble, she’d told the receptionist. Trouble sleeping, a persistent low-grade anxiety. A referral from her GP had brought her here, to this specialist, this man with a calm, reassuring voice and eyes that seemed to see everything.

He entered without a sound, closing the door with a soft click. He was older, his movements precise, his demeanor one of detached professionalism. "Good afternoon," he said, his voice a low, soothing baritone. "I'm Doctor Miller. I've read your file. It sounds like you've been under a great deal of stress."

She just nodded, not trusting her voice.

"It's quite common," he continued, making notes on his tablet. "The body often holds tension in ways we don't consciously recognize. A thorough physical examination can help us pinpoint the source. I need you to be completely open with me, and to trust my process. Can you do that for me?"

"Yes," she whispered.

"Excellent." He put the tablet down and approached her, his presence filling the small room. "Let's start with the basics. Please stand up and let me have a look at you."

She complied, her movements stiff and self-conscious. He walked around her slowly, his gaze analytical, like a connoisseur assessing a sculpture. "You have excellent posture," he noted, his voice calm and clinical. "And very delicate bone structure in your shoulders and clavicle." He reached out and, with the backs of his fingers, traced the line of her collarbone. His touch was light, impersonal, yet it sent a shiver through her. "Very nice."

He moved to stand in front of her. "Your skin has a lovely, even tone. Minimal blemishes. A very healthy pallor." He gently tilted her chin up, forcing her to meet his eyes. "And you have remarkable eyes. The color is quite striking. A unique shade of hazel, almost amber in this light. Very expressive."

The compliments were strange, clinical yet intimate, and they made her blush. She felt like a specimen, but a prized one.

"Now, I need to conduct a more… detailed inspection," he said, his tone unwavering. "The source of your tension is likely deeper, muscular. I'll need you to remove the gown, please. It's for the benefit of the examination, I assure you. I am a doctor. This is to help you."

His logic was sound, his authority absolute. She hesitated for only a moment before untying the flimsy string and letting the gown pool at her feet. She stood before him, naked and trembling, fighting the instinct to cover herself.

"Arms at your sides," he commanded softly. "Don't be shy. There's nothing to be ashamed of. You have a very well-proportioned physique." He began to palpate her shoulders, his thumbs pressing firmly into the muscle. "You're quite tense here, as I suspected." His hands moved down her back, his touch methodical, pressing and prodding. "Your latissimus dorsi are tight. We'll need to work on that."

He moved to her front, his hands circling her waist. "A very narrow waist. And your breasts," he said, his hands moving up to cup them, his thumbs brushing over her nipples, which instantly hardened. "They're perfectly shaped. A beautiful, natural teardrop. The areolas are a lovely color, and they respond very well to stimulus. This is a good sign. It shows your circulatory system is responsive."

His clinical assessment of her most private features was dizzying. It was wrong, but he was a doctor. This was an examination. He was helping her.

"Bend over the table, please," he instructed. "Hands on the paper, feet apart. I need to check your alignment."

She did as she was told, her face burning with humiliation. He ran a hand down her spine, his touch leaving a trail of fire. "Excellent curvature. Your lumbar spine is perfect." His hands moved down to her buttocks, squeezing them, kneading the flesh. "And you have a very well-shaped posterior. The gluteal muscles are firm. It's a very pleasing aesthetic."

Then his fingers moved into the cleft of her ass, probing, circling her tight hole. She flinched. "Relax," he commanded, his voice firm. "I need to assess muscle tone here as well. You're clenching. This is a key area of tension." He pressed a finger against her anus, and she whimpered. "Shhh. It's just a finger. I'm a doctor. This is purely diagnostic."

He moved to stand between her spread legs. "And now for the primary source of the issue," he said, his voice dropping slightly. "The pelvic floor." His fingers found her folds, already slick with a confusing, traitorous wetness. "Ah. You're producing a healthy amount of lubrication. That's very good. It indicates a high level of arousal, which can be a contributing factor to your anxiety. Your body is ready for… therapeutic intervention."

She folded. Her mind, overwhelmed by his authority and the clinical degradation, simply shut down. She was a body being examined. A patient being treated. She stopped fighting it, stopped thinking, and just felt.

He unzipped his trousers. "The most effective method for releasing this specific type of muscular tension is through direct, deep-tissue penetration," he explained, his voice a reasonable, soothing monotone. "It allows me to massage the internal muscles from the inside. It's a revolutionary technique, but it requires complete trust. Do you trust me to heal you?"

She nodded against the paper, a single tear tracing a path down her cheek.

"Good girl."

He positioned himself at her entrance and pushed inside in one slow, steady thrust. She was tight, and he groaned softly. "Yes... excellent muscle tone. Very tight. We'll need to work on loosening you up."

He began to fuck her. It wasn't passionate or violent; it was methodical, patient. A long, deep, rhythmic stroking, each thrust designed to 'massage' her internal walls. He was breeding her, but he called it therapy. "Can you feel that?" he grunted, his pace never faltering. "I'm reaching the deep pelvic muscles now. This is where your stress is stored. We need to release it."

His hands gripped her hips, holding her in place as he drove into her, over and over. The room was filled only with the slick sound of their bodies and his calm, instructional voice. "You're doing very well. You're taking the treatment beautifully. Your body is responding perfectly."

He reached around and began to rub her clit in tight, expert circles. "This will help with the release," he explained. "It's a necessary part of the procedure to ensure full muscular relaxation."

The stimulation was too much. Her body, a traitor to her mind, arched, and a powerful, shattering orgasm ripped through her. A loud, guttural cry escaped her lips as her cunt clenched around his cock, a wave of pleasure so intense it was painful.

"Excellent," he grunted, his rhythm finally breaking. "A full release. Perfect." He drove into her one last time, burying himself deep as he came, his hot seed flooding her insides. He was marking his territory, completing the 'treatment'.

He stayed inside her for a moment, his breathing heavy. Then he slowly pulled out. He used a warm, damp cloth to gently clean her, his touch once again impersonal, professional.

He helped her off the table and handed her the gown. "You can get dressed now," he said, as if nothing had happened. He picked up his tablet and made a few notes. "I'd like to schedule you for a follow-up session in two days," he said, his voice once again the calm, reassuring tone of a trusted physician. "We've made excellent progress today, but this is a condition that requires consistent, intensive treatment to fully resolve. I'll need to breed you— I mean, treat you— regularly to ensure you're completely healed."

he’s talking about you, you’re sure. you don’t quite understand through the haze but he points to parts of you fondles rhem before noting something out loud. then his hands drift over an erogenous zone and you squirm and moan a little and he begins furious typing, pushing harder and rubbing for more reactions. you’re not sure what he’s trying to find out but you’re too pleased by the feeling to be completely concerned .

then his hand drifts down lower, and you realise with a sinking feeling what this examination was testing. you fight your restraints a little but can’t help but sigh with content when he finally touches you, stroking so perfectly you almost miss him say “candidate extremely receptive. enlist for more.. extensive trials.”