Chapter 1: The Orgasmic Brain Scan
The chair smelled like lavender and something else, something clean and metallic. Annie liked it. She traced the soft, buttery fabric of the armrest with her finger, her wide hazel eyes wandering to the posters on the peach-colored walls. Smiling women, their bellies round, their heads thrown back in ecstasy. Fertility is Joy. She read the words slowly, her lips moving silently. She felt a warm flicker of pride. She was part of that. She was doing good.
“Annie? You can get undressed, sweetie. Everything off, and then hop up here for me.”
Dr. Hewitt’s voice was like honey poured over warm biscuits. Annie looked over at her, at the doctor’s dark hair pulled into a messy-but-pretty bun, her kind smile. She wasn’t scary at all.
“Okay!” Annie said, her voice bright. She stood, her hands going to the simple hem of her cotton dress. She pulled it over her head, letting it fall to the floor with a soft whump. Her underwear followed, kicked into a little pile on top of the dress. The air in the room was cool on her skin, raising goosebumps on her arms and across her swollen belly. She cupped the curve of it with both hands, smiling down at the tight, stretched skin. Six months. It felt like a basketball, but a good one.
“That’s my girl,” Dr. Hewitt said, not looking up from the large, curved monitor she was tapping. “Now, just settle back into the chair. Feet in the stirrups, just like last time. Get nice and comfortable.”
Annie climbed onto the plush recliner, wiggling her bottom until she felt centered. The fabric was cool against her bare skin. She put her feet into the soft leather loops at the end of the long pads, letting her knees fall apart. She gazed up at the ceiling tiles, counting the little holes. She liked this part. She knew what came next.
Dr. Hewitt wheeled a small tray over. On it was a probe, longer and thicker than Annie’s finger, glistening with clear gel. It was attached to a machine by a coiled wire. “Deep breath for me, Annie. Relax your muscles.”
“I am relaxed,” Annie chimed, and she was. She was always relaxed here. This was where she got checked on, where they made sure the baby was good and she was good. Dr. Hewitt’s fingers, gentle and clinical, pressed at her entrance. There was a brief, cool pressure, then the slick, firm intrusion of the probe as it was worked inside her.
“There we go. All set. You’re taking it so well.” Dr. Hewitt patted her thigh. She moved to the machine, her fingers adjusting dials. “Now, the scanner needs to record your peak neural responses. So the sensor will help you reach that beautiful, big climax for us, okay? Just like practice. You remember what to do?”
“Just feel good,” Annie recited, nodding earnestly. “Don’t fight it. Let the happy feelings happen.”
“Perfect. You’re such a quick learner.” Dr. Hewitt smiled, a warm, approving curve of her lips. She pressed a button.
A low hum filled the room. For a second, nothing. Then, a gentle vibration started deep inside Annie, right where the probe touched a secret, sweet spot. It wasn’t sharp. It was a thrum, a pulsing echo of her own heartbeat, but warmer, more focused.
“Oh,” Annie breathed, her fingers curling into the armrests.
The vibration intensified. It began to move, the probe sliding slowly out almost all the way before pushing back in, a smooth, rhythmic glide. Out. The thrumming built, a gathering heat in her core. It felt so good. Better than when she’d been with the boys in the rec yard, all fumbling hands and quick, grunting finishes. This was… everything. It was like the machine knew exactly where to touch her, how to twist the sensation just right.
A soft, helpless whimper escaped her lips. Her back arched slightly off the chair. The posters on the wall blurred in her vision. Pleasure is Progress. She was progressing. She was doing it right.
“That’s it, Annie,” Dr. Hewitt murmured, her eyes fixed on the jumping lines and colorful waves blooming across the monitor. “Beautiful neural spikes. Just gorgeous. Let it build. Give in to it.”
The rhythm of the probe became more insistent, the vibrations coalescing into a tight, shimmering knot low in her belly. She could feel her own wetness, hear a soft, slick sound with each mechanical thrust. Heat flooded her cheeks, her chest. Her thoughts, which were never very fast to begin with, dissolved into pure sensation. There was no room for thinking. There was only the building pulse, the throbbing need, the exquisite friction.
“I’m… I’m gonna…” she gasped, her voice ragged.
“Go ahead, sweetheart. Cum your brains out. That’s what we’re here for.”
The permission was the final key. The knot burst.
A wave of pure, white-hot pleasure tore through her, obliterating everything. It wasn’t a ripple; it was a tsunami, wiping her mind utterly clean. She cried out, a sharp, high sound that didn’t even sound like her. Her body convulsed, held steady by the chair and the stirrups, muscles seizing and releasing in glorious, uncontrollable spasms. Lights danced behind her eyelids—not the room’s lights, but lights from inside, fireworks of feeling. It went on and on, the machine expertly prolonging the peak, milking every last shuddering response from her nerves.
Slowly, so slowly, the waves receded. The vibrations gentled to a quiet purr, then ceased. The probe stilled, deep inside her. Annie went boneless, sinking into the plush fabric, utterly spent. A string of saliva trickled from the corner of her mouth. She panted, trying to catch her breath that felt stolen. Her mind was a quiet, humming blank. Happy. Empty. Perfect.
Dr. Hewitt made a soft, satisfied sound as she typed. “Excellent. A textbook parasympathetic cascade. Just what we want to see.” She gently removed the probe, the action barely registering through Annie’s blissful haze. She cleaned her with a warm cloth, the touch brisk and parental. “You did so well, Annie. Really, really well. Now, rest for just a moment while the system compiles. Then we’ll talk about your results.”
“M’kay,” Annie slurred, a dopey, contented smile spreading across her soft face. She felt wonderful. Used up and wonderful. She blinked slowly at the ceiling, at the smiling women on the posters. One of them looked a bit like her, maybe. She hoped Dr. Hewitt was proud.
The doctor wheeled her stool closer to the monitor, studying the graphs that now filled the screen. Her expression was one of professional interest, a slight, thoughtful frown on her lips as she compared the data to previous sessions. She clicked a few keys, and a series of dates, percentages, and downward-sloping lines appeared.
“Alright, Annie. Feeling with us again?” Dr. Hewitt asked, her voice pulling Annie gently back from the warm, fuzzy edges of afterglow.
“Mmhmm.” Annie nodded, shifting her weight. She felt loose and heavy, like a melted candle.
“Good. Let’s have a look at how you’re developing.” Dr. Hewitt turned the monitor so Annie could see, though the graphs and numbers were just colorful blurs to her. “See this line here? That’s your cognitive function. Your smarts.” She used her pen as a pointer, tracing a gentle but undeniable downhill slope. “When you first started the Ovifem, and even when you first got pregnant, you were here.” She tapped a point near the top. “A little below average, but perfectly functional. Sweet.”
Annie smiled, pleased. Sweet was good.
“But look,” Dr. Hewitt continued, her tone calm and instructive, like a teacher explaining how a plant grows. “Each month, as the baby gets bigger and your hormones react so beautifully to the medication, and especially after our little sessions here… the line dips. See? A nice, steady decline.” Her pen traveled down the slope, stopping at the most recent point, far lower than the starting one. “This is you now.”
Annie peered at the spot. “It’s lower.”
“It is. Quite a bit lower. It means the training is working perfectly. Your brain is adapting, just like the posters say. It’s letting go of unnecessary complexities. It’s focusing its energy on your body, on your pregnancy, on feeling good.” Dr. Hewitt swiveled to face her. “Do you understand what that means, Annie?”
Annie thought hard. The question felt big. She replayed the doctor’s words. Letting go. Focusing on feeling good. A slow, proud smile dawned on her face. “It means… I’m doing it right. I’m getting dumber.”
Dr. Hewitt’s laugh was a warm, reassuring sound. “In a clinical sense, yes. But ‘dumb’ isn’t a bad word here, Annie. It’s a specialization. It means you’re too simple now for difficult jobs, or for school. Those things would just frustrate you. Your role is different. It’s important. It’s here.” She gestured to Annie’s belly, then to the room, to the posters. “This is where you shine.”
Annie’s hand rested on her stomach. A role. She had an important role. The warm pride swelled again, mixing with the last echoes of physical satisfaction. She wasn’t broken; she was specialized. The graph proved it.
“Now,” Dr. Hewitt said, her fingers hovering over the keyboard again, her gaze warm but intent. “The baseline from that first orgasm is locked in. But for the clearest picture, the protocol calls for a secondary peak. To measure consistency of neural dampening.” She looked at Annie, her expression kindly. “Are you ready to go again, sweetie? Can you give me one more?”
Annie’s body felt soft and satiated, but at the doctor’s question, a fresh, low throb of anticipation stirred deep within her. The empty, pleasant fog in her head held no hesitation, no complexity of thought to tell her no. This was her check-up. This was her part.
She nodded, her dyed red hair brushing her cheeks. She settled her feet back into the stirrups, a small, eager sigh escaping her lips.
“Yes,” she said, her voice clear and bright with trust. “I’m ready.”