The Doctor At The Clinic

Although she only owns a small clinic in Central City, she's still a well-known doctor in her field of Obstetrics and Gynecology (OB-GYN)—a specialist in both women's reproductive health and pregnancy.

It wasn't as if she came from a famous family of doctors. In fact, the thought of becoming a doctor never even crossed her mind when she was a child. She had little to no interest in medicine—much less science—during her middle school years.

However, everything changed during high school, when her best friend almost died giving birth.

Her best friend's family was said to have a lineage of women with weak wombs.

Getting pregnant wasn't the problem. The real issue was keeping the baby alive inside the womb. To make matters worse, childbirth for them was almost a choice between the mother's or the child's life.

It's not like her best friend couldn't bear a child with such a weak womb. All she had to do was wait a few years—maybe until she was 30—so that her body would mature enough to carry a pregnancy safely.

However, that best friend of hers was a lewd and naughty girl who got pregnant at the age of 16.

Back then, she wanted to slap her best friend for so many reasons—mainly fear and stupidity—even though she had just miraculously survived childbirth. But when she saw her friend's newborn daughter, her priorities changed.

She vowed to make sure her best friend's daughter—her niece—would one day safely give birth.

And now, that very niece of hers had grown up to be just as lewd and naughty as her mother.

"That girl really hit the jackpot," she said, scrolling through her niece's social media and seeing photos of her with her boyfriend.

Good-looking, tall, and muscular. He had the size, the stamina, and most of all, an incredibly potent and vicious release.

"I want a man like that for myself!"

Maybe it was because she had been too focused on her studies that she never got married, even at 36. But that didn't mean she had no experience with men—or that she'd never had one before. After all, she was beautiful enough to rival her best friend.

It's just that she couldn't find anyone who could satisfy her—both romantically and intimately.

Maybe her standards were too high. But that didn't mean she'd never met men who matched her niece's boyfriend's qualities.

The only problem was that all those men were already taken. And unlike her best friend, she didn't have the guts to steal someone else's man.

Setting aside her growing frustration, her niece came to her clinic today for a check-up—and even brought a sample of her boyfriend's semen for analysis.

As she suspected, her niece shared the same condition as her best friend. Not only the weak womb—but also the lewdness and impulsiveness.

"What do you mean you forgot to use protection because it felt so good when your boyfriend cum inside you?!" she exclaimed, remembering how her best friend once gave her the exact same stupid excuse years ago.

Setting aside her growing jealousy, there was another problem. Aside from the danger of her niece—who completely believed her boyfriend's ridiculous "perfect compatibility" theory—getting pregnant, the equipment for semen analysis still wasn't fixed. And she couldn't bring herself to tell her niece, who was already worried about her boyfriend's results.

With her best friend and niece out for a mother-daughter date until the afternoon, she only had a few hours to figure out what to do.

"I haven't done this in such a long time… but I guess we're going manual."

It was a skill she had perfected during her studies—the very skill that became the foundation of her reputation in her field.

Opening the container filled with an incredible amount of semen, its strong scent immediately engulfed the room.

The sight and smell alone were already enough for her to gauge how potent it was. But she wouldn't be able to write—or rather fabricate—a complete report without tasting it.

Or perhaps that was her intention from the start, the moment she saw the sample her niece brought. That's why she hadn't mentioned that the analysis machine was broken—so she could have a taste and fulfill, even a little, her growing arousal.

But just as she was about to take a sip—perhaps needing a spoon given how thick it was—

"Heh—still into that perverted fetish, huh?"

Her best friend suddenly appeared behind her in the examination room, slowly walking toward her before snatching away the treat she was about to savor.

"Give it back!"

"Shut it!—If you want a man's semen, go get a man for yourself!"

---

The Woman At The Apartment

"Good evening, ladies," said the woman on the computer screen, wearing a black bunny cosplay that complemented her short black hair. A black blindfold covered her eyes, making her viewers wonder if she could actually see—or how she was seeing at all.

Yet, it wasn't the blindfold, nor her erotic and seductive figure in the bunny outfit, that excited and aroused the viewers—who, as the woman mentioned, were all women.

What truly held their attention was the naked man tied to a chair, blindfolded and gagged, illuminated by a single spotlight in the middle of the dark room.

"Today, we have a special guest," said the woman in a cheerful, excited voice before continuing with the introduction of the said guest.

He was a food delivery worker—or rather, the son of a restaurant owner—a college student who helped with his parents' business by making deliveries.

But in truth, behind his polite demeanor, he was a pervert who enjoyed being invited in by the lone women he delivered food to—and being eaten together with the food he brought.

"Ladies—I give to you... Mr. Snack!"

Whether that was the nickname he gave himself, one bestowed upon him by his loyal customers, or simply something the woman in the black bunny cosplay came up with on the spot, the truth was that he had caught her attention.

She had ordered food from him—not through the restaurant, but through his personal "business" number.

When he arrived at her apartment and stepped inside upon her invitation, she tasered him until he fell unconscious.

When he awoke to the sound of a cheerful, excited female voice, a sudden realization struck him—just as sharply as the cold air against his naked body:

Perhaps his little hobby of getting invited in to be "eaten" along with the food he delivered was far more dangerous than he had ever imagined.

"Place your bets, ladies… How many rounds do you think Mr. Snack will last?"

That question sent a flood of numbers pouring across the computer screen—guesses on how many rounds he would endure before he could never have an erection again, along with the ridiculous amounts wagered on each prediction.

Hearing that made him truly afraid of what was about to happen to him. But that was only the beginning, as another question came from the woman in the black bunny cosplay.

"For the first round… how many minutes do you think it'll take before I can make his scared, shrunken rod go fully erect?"

Of course, he was terrified—tied to a chair, naked, unable to see anything or even scream for help. He had no reason to be aroused.

At least, not until he felt a single finger gliding across his skin—from his neck, down his chest and abs, tracing along his legs until it reached his feet.

That single touch alone was enough to awaken his arousal, bringing him to a throbbing erection.

"And the answer is… thirty seconds! To those who bet one minute—congratulations, you've won the first round!"

Was that really less than a minute? he thought, struggling now to hold back his climax.

"For the second round… how many minutes do you think it'll take before I can make Mr. Snack reach his climax?"

At that remark, he felt something familiar touch his throbbing erection—a condom.

Why is she making me wear a condom? he wondered. But before he could form any guesses—

"Ehh?!" The woman in the black bunny cosplay grumbled in disappointment as the man reached his climax the moment she managed to roll the condom onto him.

What should I do now? she thought to herself, trying to figure out how to salvage the situation and continue with the second round. Then, a sudden idea came to her.

"We're changing the second round, ladies! Whoever guesses how much cum Mr. Snack releases will win this round!"

He could feel the woman's fingers carefully removing the condom from his still-erect, sensitive rod. Then came a few moments of terrifying silence that made him shrink again—until her voice broke the tension.

"For the third round… how much time do you think Mr. Snack will need before he can get hard again?"

From there, he was subjected to various kinds of sexual stimulation, making him climax again and again, as if his ros had developed a will of its own—completely submitting to the voice and touch of the woman who had captured him. Eventually, he lost consciousness to the overwhelming sexual pleasure.

The following day, an intriguing rumor spread through Central City like wildfire: a young man had been found unconscious in the downtown park at dawn.

Although he showed no signs of physical injury—his clothes even remained perfectly intact—the moment he regained consciousness and saw the beautiful woman in a revealing jogging outfit who had discovered him, he began screaming in terror and ran away from the scene.

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