It was the professional opinion of Dr Mark Hothway that 18-year-old Grace Bloom had the gorgeous body and trusting, naïve brain of a born fuckdoll, and that it would be criminal for her to not fulfil her biological destiny.
And that was why when she came to him, in private, with the complaint of a minor rash on her breasts, he decided to have some fun with her.
He could immediately tell that the rash itself would resolve without treatment within days, and would be unlikely to return. But from the fact that she came to him in private, without telling her parents, and from the bright red blush on her face as she bared her tits to his examination, he knew that her upbringing had given her a very exploitable sense of shame about her sexuality and her anatomy.
He made her strip completely nude, of course. There was no sense wasting the opportunity. He declared that a proper examination of her pussy would require it to be shaved, and made her sit in a gynaecological chair with her legs in stirrups while he applied warm water and cream to her cunt and then shaved it nude. Afterwards, he made a great show of spreading her pussy lips, teasing her clitoris, and pushing his fingers up into her fuckhole, relishing her blushes and squirming as he did so. And he finished the examination by photographing her whole body, for his personal collection.
“I’m afraid your condition is quite serious,” he told her finally. “It’s Wynart’s Disease, a disorder of the mammaries. Left untreated, it can cause severe illness, and even death.”
Grace’s eyes widened in shock and terror.
“It’s usually caused by abnormal sexual energies in the body,” continued Dr Hothway. “It’s commonly found in women who repeatedly dwell on truly disgusting sexual fantasies. It’s worse if they masturbate to those fantasies – and if they actually achieve orgasm to those fantasies, they’re at extreme risk.”
Dr Hothway didn’t have to know anything more about Grace to be sure this would hit home than to know she was a teenage girl. Every teenaged girl had sexual fantasies, almost all of them masturbated to them, and no matter how vanilla their fantasies were, they inevitably thought of them as dirty and shameful.
Grace was blushing a deep, guilty red, and he smiled.
“Now, I suppose I should ring your parents and tell them about this…” Dr Hothway began.
“No!” yelped Grace. “Please. Can’t we keep this private?”
Dr Hothway frowned. “The treatment will require minor breast surgery, Grace. Nothing that will make you look any less pretty, but it’s not cheap. How will you pay for it?”
Grace didn’t know. She bit her lip. There was a tear forming at the corner of her eye.
“Well,” said Dr Hothway. “It’s a fairly rare condition. I suppose there could be some value in writing a paper about it. But I’d need to see you once a week, at least, and we’d need to take some fairly extensive photographic documentation of your breasts and vagina, and you’d need to sign a release allowing me to publish those photos and receive money for them.”
“Anything!” said Grace. “Yes, I’ll do that! You can… write about it for medical journals, or whatever.”
It wouldn’t be medical journals that would get her photos. Dr Hothway intended to make Grace the star of a range of porn sites – but she didn’t need to know that.
“Very well,” said Dr Hothway. “I’ll book you in for surgery immediately.”
Dr Hothway raped Grace for the first time at the private surgery he took her too, while she was unconscious from the anaesthetic. She had a warm, tight pussy, even while sleeping, and the blood tests had showed that she wasn’t on birth control, so he supposed she might get pregnant to him.
He rather liked the idea of her getting pregnant without having any memory of having had sex. She would look pretty with a round belly, and milk leaking from her tits, and she would doubtless blush prettily as she tried to explain why she didn’t know who the father was.
He liked the idea so much that he encouraged the surgeon to take a turn with her before she woke up too, and two of the ward orderlies. He supposed if she didn’t get pregnant from this, there would be more opportunities to turn her into a breeder later. She had a cunt that perfect for receiving cum, and it was a tragedy for it to not be used.
When Grace woke up, she was shocked and horrified.
It wasn’t surprising. After all, her tits were twice the size they used to be, and visibly round and fake.
“Calm down, Grace,” said Dr Hothway, when he visited her in the hospital bed. “This is what was necessary to treat your Wynart’s Disease. We needed to put some implants in each of your breasts to keep the disease cells under control.”
“But I look like a slut!” wailed Grace. “How will I explain this to my parents? To my friends?”
“Well, either you can tell them that you have Wynart’s Disease because you have abhorrent, disgusting sexual fantasies,” said Dr Hothway, “or you can just say that you like your breasts like this, and it suits you.”
A tear rolled down Grace’s pretty teenaged cheek. It made Dr Hothway want to fuck her all over again.
“Is it at least done now?” asked Grace. “Am I cured?”
Dr Hothway shook his head. “No,” he said. “I’m afraid not. The surgery prevented the immediate risk to your life, but I’m afraid your sexual deviance is fairly extreme.” He paused. “You talk in your sleep, you know. Some of the things you said were… revolting.”
She had done no such thing, but the way Grace flinched when he said this was very satisfying.
“The reality is that your Wynart’s Disease will require life-long treatment,” he told her. “First of all, you’ll need to take one of these, daily.”
He handed her a bottle filled with pills. There was no indication of what the pills were – because Grace didn’t need to know. The truth was that they were powerful aphrodisiacs, and a dose every day would soon leave her constantly horny and unable to think clearly.
“They’re incompatible with birth control, I’m afraid,” he continued. “So no contraceptives, ever.”
She nodded her head, surely thinking that as she didn’t currently take any birth control – and wasn’t (to her knowledge) having sex – that this wouldn’t be an issue.
“On top of this, your breasts will require some fairly specific treatment, at least once every two days,” Dr Hothway went on.
“What do you mean?” asked Grace.
“Well, luckily, the treatments that they need are found in nature, and you won’t need additional medication for them. They’re just going to need to be soaked in male urine, and male sperm.”
Grace was shocked. Her eyes went wide again.
“Sorry?” she asked.
“I know it’s a bit embarrassing,” said Dr Hothway, “but it’s necessary if you want to survive your disease. Just get a man to piss on your breasts, and then ejaculate on them, once every two days. It’s up to you whether you tell him it’s for your sexual disorder or not.”
Grace really was crying now. “I can’t!” she sobbed.
“Yes, you can,” said Dr Hothway. “Because if you let the disease run it’s course, it’s really quite painful – and even fatal. I know you can do it. Do you want me to give you your treatment for today?”
She didn’t answer that, unable to process what she had been told, so Dr Hothway just started helping her out of bed.
“I’m naked!” she protested.
“Well, you don’t want to get piss on your hospital gown, now, do you?” asked Dr Hothway.
He led her to the room’s bathroom cubicle, and then had her kneel in the shower space.
“Cup your breasts for me,” he told her, and Grace, still crying, obeyed.
Then he took his cock out of his pants, aimed it at her breasts, and began to piss.
He almost couldn’t empty his bladder. The look of pure shame and degradation on her face as he used her as his toilet made his cock harden, choking off his flow of urine, and he had to close his eyes and relax before he was able to finish pissing over her beautiful newly-fake breasts.
Then his cock really was hard, and he began to stroke it, aiming at her chest.
She was sobbing big, beautiful tears, and he used his free hand to reach out and stroke her hair. “There, there, Grace, don’t cry,” he told her. “You’re getting healthy now.” He paused. “Why don’t you use your mouth to help me out?”
And before she understood what he was doing, he used her hair to pull her mouth close to his cock, and when she opened her lips for a large, choking sob, he pushed his cock into her mouth.
She struggled a little, but he kept his grip on her hair, and began fucking his cock in and out of her mouth. To his delight, as soon as she realised he wouldn’t let her back away, she began to obediently suckle at his penis, displaying a natural talent for cocksucking.
He would have loved to cum right down her pretty little throat, but he had to treat her, of course. So when his orgasm approached, he pulled out of her mouth, aimed at her breasts, and spurted his cum all over her titflesh.
“Good girl,” he said. “Now, we need to leave that on you for about an hour. Let’s take you back to your bed. The last treatment you need will require you to be aroused, so I want you to play with your pussy while you lie in bed, and I’ll come back in an hour when you’re nice and wet.”
He tucked her into bed, and then deliberately watched until he could see her start to blushingly rub her cunt, her tits still wet with his sperm. Then he left her to it, attending to some other work in the hospital while he waited.
By the time he returned an hour later, Grace was visibly aroused, her cheeks and neck flushed, her nipples hard, and she was breathing heavily.
“Good girl,” he told her, and helped her up and out of bed. Then he led her out of her room, and out into the hospital hallways.
Grace’s humiliation intensified as she walked past other patients completely nude, visibly aroused, and with cum and piss drying on her breasts. She kept wanting to stop and cover herself, but Hothway had a good grip on her wrist and he dragged her on relentlessly.
Finally they came to their destination – an outdoor garden where patients could take in the sunlight, complete with benches and tables. There were several other patients already here – all of them men, and all of them unabashedly staring at Grace’s naked, aroused body.
“All right, Grace,” said Dr Hothway. “The other part of your treatment is to recharge your implants. They’re doing important medical work to treat you, but they need you to top up their energy on a regular basis. That comes in two forms – photovoltaic and kinetic.”
Grace clearly didn’t understand, which was unsurprising, because what Dr Hothway was saying was nonsense. But Grace was stupid and gullible, and it didn’t matter.
“Photovoltaic means sunlight, Grace,” said Dr Hothway. “You’ll need to expose your breasts to sunlight for half an hour a day – or you can do an hour every second day.” He paused. “Doesn’t the sun feel good on your breasts right now?”
She nodded. That, also, was unsurprising. For a girl who had never been nude outdoors in her life, the first kiss of direct sunlight on her breasts would feel enjoyable regardless of any medical condition.
“Now, why don’t you lick your cunt juices off your fingers?” said Dr Hothway.
Grace’s eyes bulged. Everyone in the garden had just heard him say that.
He had to take her hand by the wrist, and lift her fingers to her mouth, before she would lick the products of her masturbation off her fingers like a good slut.
“And now lick your breasts clean,” he ordered.
He helped her lift each of her new fake tits upwards so that she could extend her tongue and lick the piss and cum off them.
“Good girl,” he said. “The piss and cum you’re licking off your tits is good for you. It’s best to lick it off rather than wash it off.”
Everyone had heard that, too – that Grace was licking piss and cum off her breasts – and Grace looked like she wanted to die of pure shame.
“Now kneel, and rest your breasts on the table,” he told her.
She did as she was told, resting her heavy breasts on the edge of the table. She looked up at him, wondering what this was about.
He smiled at her, and picked up a long, flat length of wood from where he had placed it nearby earlier. He raised it speculatively – and then brought it down, hard, on her tits. Five times.
BANG. BANG. BANG. BANG. BANG.
When it was done she was screaming, and sobbing.
He knelt by her, took her hand, and moved it to her pussy.
“Masturbate,” he whispered in her ear. “It will help with the pain.”
She obediently began fingering her cunt as she cried.
“Your implants need kinetic energy to recharge,” he told her. “They’re quite tough, and won’t break. You can get someone to beat them, like I just did, or punch them, or whip them. Once every two days. But you may find it’s enough to just go jogging for half an hour with your tits unsupported. It will be quite painful, as big as they are, but it will recharge them nicely. Just make sure to do it outdoors. They need to be in the sun.”
He didn’t know if she was taking this in, as she sobbed, but he would tell her again later.
“Make sure to be aroused,” he told her. “Otherwise it will hurt too much.”
He sent her home with her new tits, and she returned to him once a week for her photo sessions.
It gave him an excellent chance to watch her descent into her new slutty life, as she became permanently sexually aroused, and had to find men to piss and cum on her tits, and beat them, once every two days.
She became pregnant quickly, and he neither knew nor cared who the father was. The blush on her face told him that she had had more sexual partners since her operation – probably a lot more.
He made a small fortune on the photos he took of her.
And he began to wonder – how would she react if he one day told her that there was no such thing as Wynant’s Disease, and that everything that she had done had been totally meaningless?
He decided he would love to find out.
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