Natural Insemination

Chapter 3: Second Appointment

Note the following is a work of fiction and has no basis in actual medical fact.

The same handsome hunk sits behind the counter. A sliding glass window separates him from the rest of us in the waiting room. The window stands open at the moment, or at least half of it does, but could easily be slid closed at the slightest disturbance. I suppose he shuts it to silence the petty conversations and complaints from waiting patients. It could also be so he and the doctor can have private conversations about a particular patient. Whatever the reason, it continues to stand half-open. He makes no move to close it.

The handsome young man smiled at me when I first walked up. He even remembered my name and acted pleased at my return. It gave me a thrill, this hot guy remembered little ol' me, but then I recalled the fact I did have an appointment. My name was probably displayed right in front of him on his computer screen. No wonder he knew; but still, I liked to hear him say it. Just talking to the guy gave me a thrill.

I notice he continues to glance at me every few seconds from behind the counter. Not stare, but he glances over as if checking me out. Two other people sit in the waiting room along with me, but they are men. He doesn't give them any notice. Just me, which I like! I also like the fact the doctor has a male receptionist. I think this curious, intriguing, and wonder if it has any significance.

I don't wear anything provocative to give him notice: A white blouse and mid-length skirt. It's a spring outfit, short sleeves, light fabric, and with a low neckline – but not low enough to show cleavage. The only aspect of the outfit that anyone might consider provocative is the outline of the small black bra I wear beneath. I wonder if this is what the man behind the counter sees, the outline of the bra and the knowledge of its small size. Perhaps he pictures me without the blouse when he looks up. Or maybe he tries to imagine me in even less, like topless, wearing nothing at all to cover my large chest.

"Katie!"

My lustful thoughts are interrupted by the sound of my own name. I jump in reaction, expecting to see my husband but then realize it comes from the receptionist.

"Yes," I automatically get up and go to him.

"About your husband," He starts to say and then stops in mid-sentence, as if distracted. "What I mean to say is that it's 3:15 PM. Are you sure he had the right time?"

"He has the right time," I assure him.

"Because your appointment was at 3:00 PM," He says what I already know.

I suddenly realize the reason for his distraction. I am leaning over the counter as if wanting to speak to him about some private information. In the process of doing so, he has a clear view into my open blouse, at my plunging breasts.

"I just called him before coming over myself," I tell him, not bothering to rise, pretending not to realize it, and allowing him to look. "Maybe he's stuck in traffic. Sometimes he has a last minute detail to finish up at work."

"Of course," He accepts graciously. "I just wanted to let you know if you wanted to maybe call to remind him, but if you already did so..."

I smile back with the realization of where he looks. It makes me feel naughty, even sexy, just like the way I felt at work when the male customers looked into my cleavage. His eyes seem unable to pull away. It provides me a sense of power at what I do to him.

"Or maybe he's just a little shy about coming back for a second appointment," I add in an attempt to lengthen the conversation and extend the feeling. Normally I would rise with embarrassment at the realization of a man staring down my blouse, but this handsome young receptionist proves too tempting.

"A lot of the husbands are," He leans forward in his chair and speaks in a private whisper just to me. "What I mean is, many husbands are naturally reluctant at what the doctor has planned for their wives."

I recoil back up to a standing position. He knows! Of course he knows! He knows why I am here. He probably has my medical record displayed on the computer monitor before him. He might even know more about the procedure than me, but still it embarrasses me.

"Take those two men," His eyes move past me, finally looking up out of my cleavage. He points to the only other people in the waiting room, two men who sit on either end of the gaudy-looking chase lounge. "Their wives are getting treatments right now, in back."

"Really?" I find this interesting. "Treatments?" I ask stupidly, but of course I know exactly what he means. One of the men reads a magazine. The other must be more experienced because he came prepared with a book. They sit with casual assurance, acting as if everything is normal. I wonder what they are thinking while their wives are being fucked by other men.

I can't help but think of their wives, and then I can't help but think about what it will be like for me to go through the same "treatment." Not only fucked, but fucked by a young, vibrant, handsome stud with a big cock. Again I think of Jason. I wonder if Jason will be the one to fuck me. And then I think of my husband waiting in the waiting room while Jason has his way with me.

* * * * *

Dr. Palin interrupts my pleasant thoughts when she squeezes into his small office and hands the receptionist a chart. I find myself leaning over the counter once more, not even realizing I am doing it, and then quick stand back up, embarrassed at another woman seeing me in such a provocative position. I make to sit back down. They have business to conduct, I figure, and don't want to interrupt.

"Katie?" The doctor says my name before I get back to my chair. "I am ready for you now, if you would like."

"But my husband," I turn to her. "He hasn't arrived yet. I think he's stuck in traffic or something."

Dr. Palin pauses to consider this for a moment, but then invites me to start without him. "That's all right," She disappears for a moment, and then reappears at the side door and at the entrance to the exam room. "He doesn't need to be here for the first part of the exam." Standing to the side, she beckons me to enter. "We can start with your test results, and then there's a few items I prefer to talk over with you alone. He can always join us later."

I hesitate. "An exam?" I catch one particular word. "But we haven't..."

"Don't worry," She senses my nervousness. "I know you haven't yet decided," She finishes my sentence for me. "And it's a simple exam. Nothing evasive; you might even like it."

Her positive attitude both attracts and worries me. I've had doctors say the same thing to me before, a long time ago, when I was just a little girl. They would act happy right until the point where they jabbed me with a needle. I doubt if Dr. Palin would do the same, but I still worry.

Putting my trust in the doctor, I go where she beckons. The prospect of going in to see the doctor all alone makes me nervous. I'd prefer to have my husband present to act as a shield, a type of barrier to protect me. Despite his often domineering attitude, he does have the ability to calm me. I'm naturally a tense person. He has the ability to direct the tension away. Before going in, I take a final glance out into the waiting room to check if he arrived at the last minute.

"You'll be glad to know all your test results came back negative," The doctor seems to sense my anxiety and attempts to first relax me with some good news. "The results show no evidence of any sexually transmitted diseases or conditions."

I'm glad to hear it, but then I expected to hear it. I have a difficult time imagining myself contracting anything in the long list of diseases she mentioned on my first visit. Still, there's always the possibility. I could have caught something by accident, like while giving blood; or I suppose there is always the possibility my husband might be fooling around behind my back with some prostitute, so I'm glad to hear my fears are unfounded. Her news relaxes me.

"So you appear to be the perfect candidate for the procedure," She concludes as we walk side-by-side down the hall. "You have nothing to worry about. I just have a few follow-up questions. It would be best if your husband was also present, but perhaps we can take advantage of the situation to give you a little advanced look at what you'll be in for."

Her last words leave me curious. She says them in a hushed tone, so I'm not entirely sure if I even heard her correctly. I more clearly heard her saying I have nothing to worry about, so I don't.

"Sorry about my husband," I also hear her mention my husband. "I wish I knew what is taking him so long."

"Don't worry about him," She waves my concern aside.

"It's just that he's a busy man," I attempt to apologize for him. "Sometimes he gets bogged down at work. There must have been a meeting, or maybe he simply lost track of time."

I offer several excuses, none of which I believe myself. I'm sure he didn't forget. My message on his phone would have reminded him. I also know he's not all that busy at work.

We walk slowly down the hallway as the doctor examines closed doors on both sides. Some have papers sitting in baskets along side, to which she turns, takes a quick look, and goes on. All the doors look the same to me. She appears lost as to which one to enter. I can't help but wonder which room contains the wives of the men waiting in the reception area.

At the next door, she hesitates and then swings it open.

I first hear them: the voice of a woman. It pants with desire. "You bitch!" She says just as the door closes again. The deeper voice of a male too, moaning. I also see them, but only for an instant.

"Sorry about that," The doctor apologizes. "You weren't supposed to see that," She lets out a slight laugh. "The doors of all these treatment rooms begin to look the same after awhile."

It takes a few seconds for the image to register on my mind. I saw them, or at least I thought I saw them. I'm really not sure what I saw. The wife was on top. She was positioned on her knees on top of an exam table. Below, he lay. I didn't see much of him, only his torso, but I definitely saw a body below her. She appeared to be riding the guy, humping him up and down. I had heard about such a position before, where the woman went on top, but never tried it myself. My husband always stayed on top because that was how it was supposed to work.

"Ah, this one will serve us better," Dr. Palin more carefully checks behind the next door and then enters only when she confirms the room empty.

Meanwhile, I wake up out of my stupor, realizing I have been standing in place. For how long, I am not sure. The sound and sight of what I saw put me in a state of shock. Coming back to reality, I look down the hallway to see the doctor waiting for me two doors down.

"Don't worry," She assures me. "This treatment room isn't being used." She opens the door the rest of the way as if to demonstrate.

I quickly step through, embarrassed at my reaction, still not completely sure what I just witnessed. I enter what appears to be a normal exam room in a normal doctor's office. A chair sits in the corner, a low-hanging table along the wall. Along one side is a countertop, sink, and cabinets above. The paper crunches beneath me when I sit down upon it.

"First, you need to change into this," The doctor opens one of the drawers of the cabinet, gives me a look as though to judge my size, and then pulls out a neatly folded square of wrapped white fabric. "I have one more patient to finish up on, and then I'll come right back to talk to you."

I don't bother to look at what she hands me, not at first anyway. I assume it to be a hospital gown, one of those embarrassing hospital gowns that opens down the back. My mind remains too occupied with what I briefly saw through the open door to coherently think of much anything else.

"I'll check for your husband in the reception room before I return," The doctor gives a pleasant smile at the door. "He might be out there already. Even if he's not, you have nothing to worry about. You'll be fine."

I think to ask why I need to change clothes. I suddenly realize I shouldn't need to change clothes, not to only answer a few questions, not if what she tells me is true. I think to ask, but then she leaves before I get the chance. Thoughts of needles come back to me. I hope my husband arrives soon, ideally before the doctor returns.

I take my first close look at the package only after she leaves the room. To my surprise, it isn't a gown at all. Instead, it appears to be underwear. A panty falls onto the floor. The string holding the package together is connected to the cups of a bra. Small cups too, I notice, and no hooks to fasten the strings together. These need to be tied, like those of a string bikini. In fact, the outfit looks a lot more like a two-piece bikini than underwear.

I pick the panty up off the floor not sure what to do with it. The outfit is very generic, very antiseptic, all white and looking exactly the way hospital clothing is expected to look, just a lot less than what I expected.

What to do with it should be obvious. The doctor told me. She asked me to put it on. I don't know why, but then figure the doctor must have her reasons. She is a doctor, after all. I am clearly in a doctor's office. I sit on an exam table. Perhaps the outfit serves the same purpose as a more common hospital gown, intended to allow her to examine me more easily, just different than any hospital gown I've ever seen.

I hesitate but eventually take off my own clothes to put on what she gave me. I don't want to appear afraid. I don't want to be in my own clothes when she returns. The doctor has a busy practice with a busy schedule. She doesn't have time to worry about my little concerns. Plus, she is a doctor, after all. I need to trust her.

First the bottom and then the top, I take off all my clothes and put on the strange new hospital gown. Fearful of someone walking in and seeing me, I change behind the table. I make sure to face away from the door, recalling what I mistakenly witnessed down the hall. The image comes back to me. Again I think about it. Both were naked, both the woman above and the man lying below him. I didn't see much of him, just the side of his bare thigh as she bounced up and down. I didn't see anything of importance, which makes me wish I had, especially after what the doctor told me about the men who do the impregnations. The woman riding on top lay a lot more exposed. I recall the way her breasts heaved up and down while she bounced. Her breasts weren't very big, not nearly as big as my own, which I now examine in the bra.

The outfit turns out to be even smaller than it looked. The bottom fits about right. The panty resembles any ordinary panty, very generic, nothing fancy, plain white and covering everything of importance. It looks like it might be designed for a hospital, except for the way I have to tie it around my waist.

The bra is another matter. I am surprised at the size, at how little it covers. I adjust it, attempt to stretch it, pull it one way and then the other. Still, it leaves the majority of my boobs exposed: On both sides, and then on top too. Generic and white, like the panty, but with such tiny cups. I attempt to retie the strings up around to the back of my neck to give myself more support, but the smallness of the cups severely limits how much support it can give. Briefly, I consider the possibility of searching through the drawers in the office for a larger size too. The doctor must have estimated wrong, I figure, or maybe a too-small top was packaged with a normal bottom. Yet I don't dare. I fear looking through her office, afraid what else I might all find. She probably has lots of dangerous medications lying around, not to mention all those needles. I don't want to get in trouble.

Sitting back down on the exam table, I wait for Dr. Palin to return. It feels uncomfortable wearing the suit. I feel almost naked. Anyone walking into the room would be able to see me. It would take little imagination for someone to picture me wearing no clothes at all.

While I sit and wait for the doctor, I think more about the room two doors down and what I saw. She was on top, I realize, having intercourse with a man from above. I never tried it from the top. It seems so unnatural, yet also fills me with an erotic sense of power. She also said "bitch," I recall, treating the guy she was riding like her male bitch. One of the men out in the waiting room almost certainly had to have been her husband. I wonder what he would think if he saw what I did.

Before I have a chance to think about it too much, Dr. Palin returns.

I initially jump at the sight of the open door. The door opens quickly. I stand up from the table at the sight, fearful of who it might be.

"I see you are ready," Dr. Palin expresses little emotion when she enters. "Relax," She must notice my tension, so gives a pleasant smile. "Please, stay seated. I just have a few items to discuss with you."

I automatically sit back down on the table at the command of her authoritative voice. The paper crunches below me. The door closes behind her. No one else enters, most notably not my husband.

"Any word?" I think first to ask about him. "I mean my husband?" As soon as I say it, I wonder what he might say if he saw me in my present state of dress.

"I just checked," Dr. Palin disappoints. "I'm afraid there's been no sign of him so far, which is part of what I would like to talk to you about: Your husband."

I look at her confused.

"I just have a few questions about him," She diverts the subject. "But first, let me ask if you have any questions for me?"

I am taken aback. Usually the doctor asks the first questions. That is what I'm used to. She has better bedside manners than most. It is considerate of her to first ask of me.

"Just this suit," I think the first subject to come to mind. "I was just wondering..." I start to say.

"I see it fits perfect on you," She interrupts. "You fill it out well."

"Perfect?" I look down upon myself. It fits far from perfect, but she is correct in saying I fill it out. I fill it more than I dare. "It's a little small."

"Nonsense," She dismisses my concern. "The suit is fine. The problem is with your breasts."

She finally says something that makes sense. Indeed they are a problem. They are too big. I have always been big on top. I would never wear such a small bikini in public.

"I must say, Katie, you certainly have some very large breasts," She tells much to my embarrassment. "Can I assume they are real?"

"Real?" I am confused for an instant.

"Or are they artificially enhanced?" She clarifies. "It sometimes can be difficult to tell. The quality of breast implants has improved so much over the years?"

"They're real," I almost laugh at the thought of getting my breasts enhanced. I have no need. I would never do such a thing, and my husband would never let me.

"Then they are unusually large," She tells me what I already know. "Especially for a woman of your size. It is unusual, given your short stature, to have breasts of such large size."

I glance down upon myself once again. It feels strange to hear a woman compliment me on my breasts, but then she is a doctor. I realize she is only giving a clinical opinion. It's her area of expertise.

"Yes, they are pretty big," I have to agree. "I sometimes wish they weren't so big."

They look even bigger in the small bikini. The swimsuit does an excellent job at covering just enough to show off their size.

"What about your husband?" The doctor asks next. "Does he sometimes wish they were smaller too?"

"Oh no!" I have to laugh. "He likes them big. I think most men do."