Birth Of A Kink

***Exactly 750 words (by Google Doc's 'Word Count') below this line.***

Dale an' I quit doin' vaginal right before our nuptials. It wasn't some old-timey, or religious thing. We got married so'ze to not be a statistic. An' to give our baby two parents... I had stopped taking the pill. An' you're supposed to wait a few cycles to get all the hormones out of you before 'coming pregnant. We'd mixed it up in the past, Dale never shied away from anal, so we did that a lot. Right 'till the test strip said I'ze ovulating shortly af'er our honeymoon.

Months went by, an' although we had loads of fun trying, I never got pregnant. I went to my gynecologist. She had me-n-Dale do a few tests. Of course there wouldn't be a story if that had worked. It wasn't something simple, it was a hormonal issue. We had to go see a specialist in the area of Reproductive Medicine.

His tests required getting up on his table over an' over. Having a stranger putzin' around inside me, usin' an ultrasound with a big phallic head on it. He said it dialated me for a better image. He'd slater it with lube after sliping a plastic cover on it. Then up my twat it went. Sometimes he put metal sounds in my urethra an' his finger up my ass while he watched the monitor.

Eventually, he'd send me home with a prescription for a couple of medications-- thick crap suspended in heavy oil-- that had to be injected into my butt. 'Course I couldn't inject myself in my own butt, so Dale went with me to the pharmacy. It seemed like it was located a hundred miles away. The pharmacist taught him how to give me an injection in the back of the pharmacy.

I was already getting turned on by the way I was being handled like I'ze someone's science project. I got into the habit of wearing tight little dresses that I had to take off. So'ze I'd be naked-- save my pumps an' bra-- 'ever I went to see the doctor, and now the pharmacist. Doc of course had a little hospital slip thing to give me, but the pharmacist didn't.

It was a regime of shots, 12 hours apart for the foresee'ble future. Using a gold sharpie, the pharmacist drew a grid like a fucking tic-tac-toe on my butt. An' he numbered 'em like a damn calendar so Dale could stick that big-ass needle in a new spot each time. One to eighteen upper left corner, then one to eighteen lower left... 'til my ass was a red, grey, an' blue pin cushion.

But it worked. I got pregnant. Needin' those shots, it was a "high-risk pregnancy" so I had to keep going back to doc, who was constantly shoving the big ultrasound head in my cunt while manipulating my pee-hole an' ass-hole. I decided my breasts were sore, so I stopped wearing a bra. Then I told doc I'd prefer not wear the gown-- it itched.

I'd lay naked on the exam table as doc did his thing. Then I'd hot-foot it back home an' have Dale fuck me hard up the ass. 'Cause "I didn't want (his) big 'ole dick to hurt the baby." I lied. It jus' made me feel more like a baby-makin' machine.

Dale expressed some concerns over, well, a lot. So, he started coming with me to the appointments. Gave him a chance to ask a lot of pointed questions about my anatomy. I became an exhibit for the doctor to point out his vast knowledge. Dane an' I continued exclusively doin' anal. Even though doc showed him just how big the vaginal probe for the ultrasound was.

Right 'fore wrappin' it in plastic, coverin' it in goo, pushin' it inside of me, an' fingerin' my butthole as my husband watched.

Dale oft'n renewed the sharpie lines. After the baby's born, we made 'em permanent... Goin' to a tattoo parlor. I got naked on the artist's couch an' he carefully cleaned my buttocks removing the gold from 'em. Then he used a ruler an' drew new lines, filled 'em with UV ink, 'fore adding the numbers.

Now, cryptic notes-- like: 6UR / 15UR-- are written on our ever'day calendar. An' ever'day, at seven in the morn an' seven at night, the times he use'ta inject me... Dale removes a thumbtack from a baby food jar of alcohol an' pushes it into my buttocks. Securing it with tape after removing the previous pin.