My wife, in her short bathrobe, sat on the foot of the bed. Gymnast stood shirtless with his shorts down around his knees, running his cockhead around her lips like he was applying makeup for her, her tongue poked out like she was licking sticky honey off her mouth. The other two studs in line, Swimmer & Long-hair, sat watching from their chairs. And through the oval one-way mirror on the wall, I peered through, voyeuristically witnessing everything while a ministry nurse stood at my side to offer… support, I guess.

Gymnast wanted entry, and he gently placed his hand behind my wife’s head, pushing her mouth into his groin. His shaft swiped between her lips, and he placed his thumb on her chin, popping her mouth open properly. He ran the side of his cock between her lips, his dorsal vein bulging, and she looked like she was tasting the butter off a corn cob.

My fists balled up. I couldn’t stand it. I wanted to be able to stop it before it was too late. Too late for what? The crossing of yet another line. A technicality, but real. My wife had not yet been entered by another man. We still had that! But in any second, he was going to change the angle of his thrust and then… exactly as I feared it, he did it… He slipped the tip of his dick into her mouth. It was just the tip, and he pulled out as soon as he’d entered. But it had happened. Another man’s penis had crossed the threshold into my wife’s body. It had gone in. And then he poked it into her mouth again, and again.

She closed her eyes and tilted her head back, opening her mouth wider as, with each thrust, he slipped just a tiny bit deeper. She tasted the underside of his cock with the flattened surface of her tongue, and before long he felt the ridges of the roof of her mouth tickling his glans, strummed by his corona.

I turned away from the observation port and eyed the exit. I said to the nurse, “I can’t watch that. How will I ever unsee that!?”

The nurse placed her hand on my shoulder, and I pulled away. “I have to go. I need to go.”

She placed her hand on my shoulder again. “You can leave if you like. But tell me, communicate, what is it about what you’ve seen that causes you to flee?”

I felt an immature, flubbery, blubbery impulse to cry but quickly suppressed it. “That’s… those… I can’t see her lips like that and then kiss her sincerely again. I’ll always see her lips as the same lips that took another man’s dick!”

The nurse sighed with sympathy. “I understand your emotions. I do. Maybe I can help. I do have the authority to conduct, not halt, the appointment with minimal intervention orders.”

“What are you saying?” My head was spinning. All I could see was the exit.

The nurse kindly turned me back around to the viewport, guiding me by my waist and arm. “Our secret. I can let you intervene, through me, but only once per paramour so that there are no questions from higher up... if that helps you stay until the end.”

I looked back into my wife’s appointment room. She was getting absolutely face fucked. Gymnast had both hands around her head and was pulling and pushing and pulling and pushing, using her mouth like she wasn’t even a person… just a fuck doll with a wet hole in the face! Drool was running down and off her chin in threads. Fuck it all!

I seized the nurse’s offer. “Tell him to take his dick out of her mouth!”

The nurse put her finger over my lips to hush me, tapped her touchscreen tablet, and spoke into it. “Discontinue fellatio.”

Gymnast heard it and obeyed without hesitation. He released my wife’s head and pulled his dick from her mouth. She opened her eyes, pink, and, catching her breath, looked around, looking into the mirror.

That I could interrupt the tragedy gave me a sense of agency and duty to stay. But I couldn’t undo that she’d just gotten her mouth stuffed with another man’s dick. And worse, I couldn’t do anything to stop what was coming next.

With his dick bobbing this way and that, Gymnast knelt on one knee, almost like he was going to propose. He peeled my wife’s bathrobe down her shoulders and tugged it lower and lower until only her folded-over arms kept her breasts concealed. He climbed forward and began kissing her neck, then mouthed her collarbones, sucked on her shoulder, and then kissed down her sternum. He pressed her back as he devoured all over until she was lying flat, her legs folded against her butt and her ankles cross-locked together. With her hands now covering her face, he opened her bathrobe, revealing her tits to all. My wife had tits almost beyond words: symmetrical, soft-firm, formed, balanced to her proportions, and much else I can’t express. Her breasts lent her a countenance both youthful and matronly, domestic but also… feral. And knowing it was her biometrics that tipped her off to the ministry, it was her tits I suspected that made her a must-have subject for the breeding program. Those tits! If she wasn't so blessed with those tits, we probably wouldn't be here!

Gymnast took a moment and marveled. Swimmer and Long-hair leaned forward to see, and the nurse let out a coo of appreciation. “She’s made for reproduction.”

I hated everything about this DIC appointment up until that second. For the first time, I felt a bizarre kind of pride in her.

And then Gymnast peeled the blanket back further to reveal the tuft of her pubic hair. She raised up on her elbows, chin to her chest, and looked down her nose to watch him pet her fur patch like a kitten he’d discovered hiding, running the back of his fingers over it. He lowered his face into her ruffled wires and sniffed so deeply I watched his rib cage expand to maximum capacity. He exhaled, long and with appreciation for her aroma, then exhaling his breath breezed over her pubes like grass in the wind.

I wanted to pound on the viewport glass. I turned to the nurse. “I said no giving head!”

The nurse nodded. “You said to take his dick out of her mouth.”

I argued, “And you told them, ‘Discontinue fellatio!’ I heard you!”

She knit her brow. “Correct. Now he commences cunnilingus.”

“It’s the same, it’s head!” I reached.

The nurse gave me a sad smile. “Please observe.”

I turned to see Gymnast bury his mouth in my wife’s crotch. She knotted her fingers into a tangle and held them to her mouth, not to shout, and she surrendered her pussy to his invading tongue. He worked his neck into it, his jaw articulated and rolled more than if he were having a full-course meal. And then he got sloppy! He lapped at her clit with his flat-flicking tongue, and she lay back, taking it. I thought, the stupid bastard was supposed to be an experienced ministry stud, and yet he doesn’t know how to eat pussy?! Lucky for me. But then my wife started reacting differently to it than she’d ever reacted to getting oral from me. She began touching her face, hair, and breasts in a rapid turnover of shifting, self-grabbing gropes: cupping her own boobs, biting her own fingertip, messing with her own hair, and she was turning red from her face to her sternum. Her knees wobbled as Gymnast’s sloppy tongue work accelerated, but as shitty as I thought he was doing it, my wife’s body language told a different story. She was beginning to… was she? She was. She was beginning to cum! And there it went. She squealed so loud that the nurse and I heard her through the soundproof viewport glass. She shook and shivered. She rolled over onto her stomach and moaned into the blanket. And there it was. She had orgasmed with another man.

I softly planted my forehead against the viewport glass. I hadn’t felt betrayed by my wife’s decision to comply with the DIC appointment order. I was understanding. I hadn’t felt betrayed to see her in the room or on the bed. I understood why she was there. But for her to climax with another man. She didn’t have to do that! She didn’t have to enjoy it, not that much!

Gymnast climbed onto the bed beside her, his massive lats and delts flexing and rolling as he crawled beside her and flopped down on his back. He wiped my wife’s pussy juice off his cheeks with the back of his hand like he’d finished eating watermelon and smiled. My wife let her little bathrobe slip off now, not that she had much of it on anyway, because of course. They were talking, and though I couldn’t transcribe them, I could see him point to her legs and make little arches in the air; he was instructing her to squat-saddle him. And she did, placing one foot on either side of his hips. She lowered herself, and he guided his cock in line with her groin until she had lowered enough that they docked. He stirred his dick around in her labia until… at last… my wife felt the second penis ever to enter her pussy in her life. He was in, and she hung her head down, hair over her face and sweeping Gymnast’s pecs, to look below and self-inspect how she was penetrated.

I pressed my forehead to the glass so hard that it hurt, as if I might crack it and bust through. No chance.

And then Gymnast did his worst trick yet. He seized my wife under her ass cheeks and began lifting and dropping her onto his cock. His fingers buried themselves in the abundant flesh of her ass, and then… her feet came dangling off the mattress. Yes, he was suspending her over himself, holding her only by her ass. Hoisting her. Defying gravity. His arms were that powerful, his movements so controlled. My wife is not obese, but she’s no waif either. She has a body to her, a feminine kind of distributed weight in the right places that a healthy mom like her might be expected to have. Her weight was nothing for Gymnast to handle; he handled her like a fuck doll. He treated fucking her like doing reps in the gym, up and down, up and down, slow, deliberate, isometric time under tension. She was an easy workout for him! Sliding her up and down on his cock was, for him, a breezy warm-up! I hated him. I hated myself. And watching her face, the expressions she made, her lips puckering out on the out-stroke and her eyes widening on the descents, being slid up and down on his pole, I almost hated her too.

Gymnast began lifting and dropping her on himself with speed, harder drops, faster and faster. Her tits jiggled with each drop, shockwaves. His chest expanded with the effort; my wife’s feet jiggled freely in circles. And then he thrust upward into her, a kind of back bridge propelling himself into her, his glutes flexed tight. And then they melted on top of one another.

I had nearly forgotten the nurse watching over my shoulder. She let out a sick giggle. “It’s beautiful every time I see it. A hundred times, a thousand times. Congratulations, your wife has been inseminated. You should be proud.”

I had nothing to say. My wife rolled to the side of the bed and sat up. She spread her legs at an angle where I could see her pussy clearly. She spread her labia with two fingers and… a gob of white sperm slipped out onto the floor between her ankles. My heart skipped a beat.

Gymnast was back on his feet in one swift movement, and with his cock hanging, coated in my wife's Skene's juices, he ruffled Long-hair's hair and fist-bumped Swimmer, walking his meaty ass out.

Swimmer and Long-hair had begun a match: rock-paper-scissors. My wife watched their hands forming and reforming, up-down-up-down in a blur. Swimmer won, then Long-hair won. A game!