Chapter 3: The Follow-Up Assessment
The municipal building smelled like lemon polish and recycled air. Mia shuffled through the corridor with the other women, her paper slippers whispering against the linoleum, her brain still sloshing pleasantly from the morning's lecture on "Optimal Arousal Intervals." She'd tried to take notes. The words had blurred. She'd ended up drawing spirals in the margins instead, then touching herself under the desk until the woman beside her coughed pointedly.
Her shift was damp. Again. It was always damp now.
The medical wing was at the end of the hall, past the waiting area with its muted television and stacks of year-old magazines. Mia had been here before—she remembered the antiseptic sting of it, the cold stainless steel, the way Doctor Elaine's hands had felt so warm against her skin. That memory sat in her body like a stone in a stream, worn smooth by the current of everything that had happened since.
She knocked on the familiar door. Three-oh-four.
"Come in."
Doctor Elaine was at her desk, typing something into a tablet. She looked up as Mia entered, and her face softened into that particular smile—clinical but kind, the smile of someone who genuinely enjoyed her work.
"Mia. Right on time." She gestured to the examination chair. "Have a seat. How are you feeling?"
Mia sat. The chair was the same one from before—angled slightly back, padded with a fresh disposable liner that crinkled under her thighs. "Good," she said. Then, because that felt incomplete: "Fuzzy. But good."
"Fuzzy how?"
"Like... like my thoughts are wrapped in cotton." She frowned, trying to find better words. They were there somewhere, she knew they were, but reaching for them felt like grabbing at smoke. "I keep forgetting stuff. Little stuff. And sometimes I say things wrong."
Doctor Elaine nodded, typing something into her tablet. "That's expected. Your IQ was at 103 at the end of your last class session. We'll measure again today."
Mia's stomach did a little flip. Not fear, exactly. Something closer to excitement. The number had become a kind of scoreboard, a way of tracking her progress through the Course. Lower was better. Lower meant she was doing well.
"How low will it go?" she asked.
"That depends on a number of factors. Your genetics, your hormone levels, how many sessions you complete." Doctor Elaine set the tablet aside and stood. "The program's target range for optimal receptivity is between 85 and 95. You're well on your way."
Eighty-five. The number sounded impossibly small. Mia tried to imagine what it would feel like to be that... simple. To have thoughts that were only about sensation, about pleasure, about the next orgasm. The idea should have frightened her.
It made her wet instead.
"Let's get you set up." Doctor Elaine pulled on a pair of nitrile gloves, the snap of them against her wrists familiar now. "Same as last time—sensors on the temples, chest, and pelvic floor. I'll be monitoring your heart rate, blood pressure, brain activity, and orgasmic intensity."
Mia undid the ties of her shift and let it fall. The room was cool, the air raising goosebumps on her arms and legs. Her nipples tightened into hard points, and she felt a trickle of slickness escape down her inner thigh.
"Relax," Doctor Elaine murmured, though Mia wasn't tense. She was the opposite of tense. She was melting into the chair, her limbs heavy, her cunt already aching with anticipation.
The sensors went on one by one. Temple, temple. Chest. Pelvic floor—that one required Doctor Elaine to part Mia's folds, pressing the small adhesive disc just above her clitoris. Mia gasped at the contact, her hips jerking involuntarily.
"Sorry," she breathed. "Sensitive."
"That's a good sign." Doctor Elaine adjusted something on the monitor. "Your baseline sensitivity has increased since your last visit. The drugs are working."
The fertility drugs. Mia had almost forgotten about them—the slow-release implant in her arm, the steady drip of hormones that had been reshaping her body and mind for weeks now. They made everything feel more intense. Colors were brighter. Sounds were louder. Her own skin felt like a live wire, every touch a spark.
"Today's session will be a bit different from your initial assessment," Doctor Elaine said, returning to her stool. "We're going to measure your current orgasmic threshold—how much stimulation you need to reach climax. We'll also track your cognitive response in real time, so we can calibrate the rest of your Course schedule."
"Okay." Mia's voice came out breathy. She didn't entirely understand what she was agreeing to, but she trusted Doctor Elaine. The woman had gentle hands and a kind smile. She knew what she was doing.
"Let's start with some baseline questions." Doctor Elaine picked up her tablet again. "Can you tell me your full name?"
"Mia Rose Caldwell."
"Your age?"
"Twenty-two."
"What day of the week is it?"
Mia paused. The days had been blurring together lately, one long stretch of classes and naps and classes again. "Wednesday?"
"That's right. Now, can you count backwards from twenty by twos?"
"Twenty, eighteen, sixteen..." Mia faltered. "Fourteen. Twelve. Ten." She knew what came next, but the number wouldn't come. "Eight?"
"Good. And can you name the last three books you read?"
Books. Books were... words on paper. Stories. Mia hadn't read a book in weeks. She'd tried, in the beginning, but the words kept sliding off the page, and she'd end up staring at the same paragraph for twenty minutes without understanding any of it.
"I don't... I don't remember."
"That's alright." Doctor Elaine typed something. "Your verbal recall is already showing signs of decline. That's perfectly normal at this stage."
Normal. Mia clung to the word. She was normal. This was all normal.
"Now, let's begin the stimulation portion." Doctor Elaine set the tablet aside and picked up a small remote. "I'll be using a combination of mechanical and manual techniques. Let me know if anything feels uncomfortable."
Mia nodded. She was already slick, already open, her body primed for whatever was coming. She felt like a fruit that had been ripening for weeks, soft and heavy and ready to burst.
The bed hummed. Something shifted beneath her, a mechanical arm rising from the side of the examination table. The tip was smooth silicone, warmed to body temperature, and it glistened with lubricant.
"Here we go," Doctor Elaine said.
The first touch was gentle—barely a whisper against Mia's folds. She sighed, her hips tilting upward, seeking more. The silicone slid through her slickness, spreading it around, teasing her entrance without entering.
"That's it. Let your body respond."
Mia's hands gripped the edges of the chair. The sensation was maddening—so close to what she wanted, but not quite there. Her clit throbbed, desperate for attention, but the mechanical arm kept circling her entrance, dipping just inside before retreating.
"Please," she heard herself say.
"Please what?"
"I don't... I don't know." She did know, somewhere, but the words wouldn't come. "More. Please. More."
Doctor Elaine adjusted something on the remote. The arm slid deeper—one inch, then two, then three. Not enough to fill her completely, but enough to make her gasp, her back arching off the chair.
"Good," Doctor Elaine murmured. "Your receptivity is excellent. Now let's see how quickly you escalate."
The arm began to move. Slow strokes at first, shallow and steady. Mia's breath came in short, sharp bursts. The sensors on her temples were recording her brain activity, she knew, but she couldn't think about that now. She couldn't think about anything except the pressure building inside her, the heat spreading through her pelvis, the way her cunt was starting to clench around the silicone.
"Describe what you're feeling," Doctor Elaine said.
Mia tried. "It's... it's like... warm. And... and tight." She struggled for more. "Like something's building. Like I'm gonna... gonna..."
"Come?"
"Yeah." The word exploded out of her. "Yeah, that. Gonna come."
"Not yet." Doctor Elaine's voice was calm, unhurried. "Let's see how long you can hold it."
The arm sped up. Deeper, faster, hitting the mouth of her cervix with each thrust. Mia bit her lip so hard she tasted copper. She was going to come. She was going to come so hard she'd break apart—
The arm stopped.
Mia screamed. Not in pain, but in frustration, her body bucking against the restraints she hadn't even noticed being applied. She was tied down—wrists, ankles, thighs—and the silicone was still inside her, still stretching her open, but it wasn't moving.
"No," she gasped. "No, please, I need—"
"Patience." Doctor Elaine walked around the chair, checking the sensors, making notes. "You're at an eight on the intensity scale. That's high for a first plateau. Let's see if we can push you to ten."
She pressed a button on the remote.
The arm began to vibrate—not thrusting, just pulsing, a deep, thrumming sensation that resonated through Mia's entire body. It hit something deep inside her, some bundle of nerves she didn't even know she had, and she felt herself start to come—
"Not yet."
The vibration stopped. Mia sobbed.
"Please," she begged. "Please, I'll do anything, just let me—"
"Let you what?"
"Come. Please. I need to come."
"Good girl." Doctor Elaine smiled, and it was a warm smile, a proud smile. "You're doing so well."
She pressed another button, and this time the arm didn't stop. It pounded into Mia with a rhythm that was almost brutal, deep and hard and relentless, and Mia screamed as the first orgasm ripped through her. It wasn't like the assessment—that had been a surprise, a sudden detonation. This was a wave that kept cresting, kept building, each thrust pushing her higher until she couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't remember her own name.
The monitor beside her flashed. Numbers scrolled across the screen. Mia couldn't read them, couldn't process anything except the pleasure that was tearing her apart.
"Verbal fluency declining," Doctor Elaine said, her voice calm and clinical. "Cognitive function dropping. IQ now at 94."
Ninety-four. Mia heard the number, understood it on some basic level. She was getting dumber. Every orgasm was making her dumber.
The thought sent her spiraling into another climax.
Words fell out of her—words that didn't make sense, words that weren't even words, just sounds, desperate and raw. She was trying to say something, she didn't know what, but it didn't matter because the machine kept fucking her, kept driving her toward some impossible peak.
"Ninety-one," Doctor Elaine said. "Eighty-nine. Eighty-seven."
Mia's eyes rolled back. Her body arched off the chair, every muscle rigid, every nerve firing. She was coming, she was always coming, there was no before and no after, only the endless now of pure, uncomplicated pleasure.
"Eighty-five."
The number was a whisper in the dark. Mia felt it settle into her bones like a promise. Eighty-five. She'd made it. She'd reached the target.
"Beautiful," Doctor Elaine said. "Absolutely beautiful."
The machine slowed. Stopped. Mia lay there, trembling, her cunt still clenching around the silicone, her mind a blank white space where thoughts used to live.
She tried to speak.
"I... that was..."
Words failed. They were gone, all of them, scattered like leaves in a windstorm. She had the shapes of them in her mouth, the feel of them on her tongue, but the meanings had slipped away.
"That was good?" she tried.
"Incredible," Doctor Elaine corrected gently. "You were incredible."
Mia giggled. It was a silly sound, a simple sound, and she liked how it felt in her throat. "Incredible," she repeated, savoring the word. She wasn't sure what it meant, but she knew it was good. She knew she'd done well.
Doctor Elaine helped her sit up. The restraints fell away, and Mia's limbs flopped like a rag doll's. She felt loose. Empty. Wonderful.
"Your IQ is now at 87," Doctor Elaine said, handing her a cup of water. "That's within the optimal range for your Course level. How do you feel?"
Mia sipped the water. Thought about the question. "Happy," she said finally. "I feel happy."
"That's what matters."
It was, wasn't it? Mia smiled, and the smile felt easier than any smile she'd ever smiled before. She didn't have to think about anything now. She didn't have to worry about words or numbers or what came next. She could just... feel. And feeling was good.
"Same time next week?" she asked.
"Same time next week."
Mia slid off the chair, her legs wobbly, her shift sticking to her sweat-soaked skin. She felt like she was floating. Like the ground was somewhere far below her, and if she wasn't careful, she'd drift right up into the sky.
Doctor Elaine walked her to the door. "You're doing very well, Mia. Your progress is remarkable."
Progress. Yes. That's what this was. She was making progress.
She stepped into the corridor and the door clicked shut behind her. The hall was empty now, the other women gone back to their classes or their rooms. Mia leaned against the wall for a moment, catching her breath, feeling the dampness between her thighs and the pleasant ache in her cunt.
Eighty-seven. She didn't know what that number meant before, not really, but she knew it now. It meant she was good. It meant she was doing what she was supposed to do.
She pushed off the wall and started walking. Her shift was loose, her hair was a mess, and she couldn't remember how to get back to the classroom. But that was alright. Someone would help her. Someone always helped.
She wandered down the hallway, past closed doors and muted voices, until she found herself in the lobby. The woman at the front desk looked up as she approached.
"Can I help you?"
Mia thought about it. "I'm... I'm supposed to be somewhere."
"Name?"
"Mia." She frowned. There was more to it. She knew there was more. "Um. Mia... Rose? Mia Rose... something."
The woman checked a list. "Mia Caldwell? Vaginal Breeding Techniques with Instructor Danielle?"
"Yeah." Mia's face lit up. "Yeah, that."
"Room B-12. Take a left at the end of the hall, then your second right."
Mia nodded, even though she knew she'd forget the directions the second she walked away. "Thank you."
"No problem, sweetie."
Sweetie. Mia liked that. It felt warm, like a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. She was sweet. She was sweet and she was doing well and her IQ was 87 and everything was exactly as it should be.
She walked down the hallway, following the directions she couldn't remember, until she found herself in front of a door marked B-12.
The room smelled like lavender.
Instructor Danielle was inside, arranging something on the stage. She looked up as Mia entered, and her face broke into that same crinkly smile from before.
"Mia. I was wondering where you'd gotten to."
"I got lost," Mia admitted. "I get lost a lot now."
"That's alright." Danielle gestured to the benches. "Come sit down. We were just about to start the next module."
Mia took her seat—second row, aisle seat, just like before. The padding was warm beneath her, still holding the heat of whoever had sat there last. She ran her fingers over the upholstery, feeling the slight give of the foam.
"So," she said. "What are we doing today?"
Danielle smiled. "Today we're going to learn about endurance."