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“It's alright,” Dr. Blackwood says. “You can tell me anything.”

His voice is so kind; it has been kind from the day Jon met him. The day Jon told him, as blunt as he could to overcome the nerves eating away at him, “I want you to get me pregnant.”

*

“... I'm sorry?” Dr. Blackwood had said, blinking, and Jon flushed, tripping over his words in his rush to restate them. He had a round, open sort of face, with ginger curls and freckles and warm hazel eyes behind round-rimmed glasses, and he was bigger than Jon expected. Big and broad and slightly hunched in on himself in his office chair, like he was used to making himself look smaller. He seemed amused with Jon's backtracking, after an initial flustered pause, and he'd said, as easy as anything, “Go ahead and sit down? We can talk you through it.” And they did. Jon showed up alone, without a partner or a donor beyond a website to order from, determined that he was going to go through with this no matter what, and he wasn't turned away.

“What do you know about your donor?” Dr. Blackwood asked once, as he took Jon's temperature, and Jon looked at the ground instead of at his doctor. He didn't know anything. Not really. Knew the man was someone who was labeled as smart, educated, and into books, whatever that actually meant, and it was the best he could do with the options he had available. He had a baby picture. The man looked a little like Dr. Blackwood, or at least had the same hair color, but past that, he could walk up to him on the street and never know it.

“Very little,” Jon admitted. He could have paid extra for a full profile, but on the forums he'd found, he'd not heard that they ended up being helpful enough to justify the cost. So he went in blind. As he grew, as the ever-present swell of his belly became large enough to be a constant reminder of what he'd done, he found that it was Dr. Blackwood he thought of more than the man he had never met. Dr. Blackwood, who worked him open with thick gloved fingers, murmuring, “It's alright, I'll be quick, I promise” as Jon tried not to shiver at the cold. Dr. Blackwood who ran a soothing hand down his thigh and then inserted the catheter, giving his skin a quick pinch to distract him from the pinch further inside as it pushed through his cervix. It took only a few minutes. Three minutes that felt like a century to Jon, knowing what was happening to him. That he was doing this, no backing out now, and Dr. Blackwood took his hand when it started shaking and he had to close his eyes. He's getting me pregnant, Jon thought over and over in those three minutes, a wild, feverish idea that made his heart beat faster and his mouth go dry.

*

Four months in, and when he looks down at his growing belly, he still thinks of Dr. Blackwood. It makes what is happening now all the more embarrassing.

“Jon?” Dr. Blackwood prompts, smiling at him in an easy, unassuming sort of way, and some distant part of Jon wonders why Dr. Blackwood didn't become a therapist instead. He has the sort of face to spill secrets to. Because the thing is—in the past few weeks, he has gone from being nauseous and tired all the time to dealing with a constant simmering arousal so strong he cannot think past it. Every part of him feels over-sensitized. He bumps against someone on the tube and the sensation of bare skin brushing against his makes him want to cry out. But more than that, what he wants is something inside him. His fingers aren't enough; they're long and slim and do nothing to take the edge off and tear his thoughts away from the constant chorus of take me take me take me his hormones are screaming. He wants to be held down and filled up, wants a cock inside him so deep it aches, or maybe two, wants someone to come inside him as though they could get him more pregnant than he already is. He aches with it constantly.

“I--” Jon takes a shuddering breath and shifts in place, shivering as the cool air creeps in around his hospital gown. “How, uh. How much... sensitivity is normal?” he asks finally, and Dr. Blackwood smiles again.

“Sensitivity's perfectly normal in this part of pregnancy, Jon,” he says, and leans over to his computer for a moment to type something in. Jon doesn't know how he words it, but just the thought of it, of having that recorded in his chart, makes his face flame. “Is it distressing you?”

“Yes,” Jon blurts without meaning to, and then his mouth just keeps going, a train that has left the station with no brakes, and he desperately tries to get himself to shut up. “I can't—I need to be able to focus at work and not, not think about, ah. Sex. Things like that. That isn't—it's not typical for me at all. Normally I have very little interest in that area, but everything is so sensitive right now and I just want to be...” He cannot say fucked. It's true, but he cannot tell his doctor that. He cannot. “I am...” He takes a shuddering breath. “I suppose I am feeling rather... empty at the moment, which would be fine for someone with a partner, but I am... not that.”

Dr. Blackwood had been so careful about that topic with him at the start. He'd admitted he was doing this alone, wanted to do this alone, because if he waited to get pregnant until he found someone who could tolerate him he's quite sure he'd be waiting until it was no longer biologically possible, and Dr. Blackwood hadn't told him, I won't help you. He'd just nodded and made a note of it and asked if Jon had a support structure in place for when the baby was born.

“Oh,” Dr. Blackwood says after a moment, and his cheeks are ever so faintly pink, which Jon feels is really very reasonable for the enormously embarrassing thing he has just been told by his patient. “Well! It's not unheard of, don't worry about that.” He makes another note. “We'll still be going through your regular checkup today, but I'll want to take some blood to send to the lab—just to check how your hormones and blood sugar are doing, I promise I'll only take a little. And I'll have some... recommendations for you after.” He reaches over to the wall for the blood pressure cuff and Jon holds out his arm obediently, trying not to shiver at the feel of Dr. Blackwood's gloved hands against his skin. The way his fingers wrap around Jon's arm so easily.

“Recommendations?” Jon asks as Dr. Blackwood adjusts the cuff, looking down at it intently, and when it starts to inflate Jon has to take a deep breath, even this pressure distracting with his whole body singing with nerves as it is.

“I have some ideas,” Dr. Blackwood confirms, a little smile on his face that Jon can't quite make sense of. “Good, still looking healthy there.” The cuff slowly deflates and Jon relaxes with it. “Any other concerns on your mind?”

“That's... that's the main one, I suppose,” Jon says, holding out his finger for Dr. Blackwood to clip on so that he can record his pulse. “Do you think it will... how long is it like that?”

“It can vary,” Dr. Blackwood says, hmming under his breath. “Your pulse is a bit fast.” He reaches out and encircles Jon's wrist in a gloved hand, his fingers to Jon's pulse point, and slowly strokes his thumb along the vein on the underside before pressing down. His hands are so strong. Jon's pulse kicks up further, a low curl of arousal in his gut at the motion, and he tries to keep his breathing steady. “Sometimes it's only a few months. Sometimes it can... linger, a little? Usually by the time the baby is born it'll be over with at least,” he says, and grins at Jon, and Jon nods, feeling like a mess of hormones and sweat and praying it doesn't show.

“Nearly done,” Dr. Blackwood says brightly. “You've been so good for me.” He sounds proud, prouder still when Jon barely flinches as he takes his blood and lets it fill up the little vial. Jon wants so badly to be good for him. He's never been very good being good for anyone, but something about Dr. Blackwood makes him want to try. Makes his thoughts linger in a way that they normally don't do with other people.

“Well,” Dr. Blackwood says finally, sitting back in his chair and looking Jon over. “We'll see what the lab says, but you seem to be in good health so far? I assume that means you've been following my advice about sleeping.” Trying to, Jon doesn't say, because he has been trying, but more often than not these days he has to get himself off three or four times before sleep can be so much as a possibility, until his hands shake with it and his sheets are a slick mess and his wrist is starting to cramp. “Now, about that recommendation.”

“Hm?” Jon asks, and is not expecting what is pulled up on Dr. Blackwood's computer when he looks up again. On the screen are—dildos. The sizes go from small to one so big that he aches just looking at it, all styled to look more humanoid than not, and Dr. Blackwood watches him carefully as he takes them in. “I—I'm. I.” He can feel his face going red again.

“I think they'd be good for you,” Dr. Blackwood says, his voice low and soothing, and Jon finds himself nodding without even meaning to. “You need something to fill you up, and if your own hands aren't enough, there's nothing wrong with needing a little help. I'll send you the link – start small so that you don't strain yourself, but I think you'll work up to the bigger ones in no time.” He smiles, and Jon looks at the smallest of the toys and already knows that it will not be enough, and when Dr. Blackwood rests a gentle hand on his shoulder it's all he can do to not think about Dr. Blackwood using one of those toys on him.

“Right, I'll. Thank you,” Jon stutters out.

“Tell me if it helps,” Dr. Blackwood says, squeezing his shoulder. “I'll call you about the lab results if we find anything abnormal, okay?”

“Right,” Jon says, and walks out of the office in a daze.

*

The toy arrives three days later. On impulse, Jon had ordered the one in the middle of the range, seven inches long and thicker than his fingers, and he'd had to stop midway through imagining what each of them might feel like in turn--how full he would feel, how they would finally, finally give him what his body is crying out for--to slip a hand down into his loose trousers and fuck himself with his fingers, panting and shaking his way through it.

He'd had to stop and wash his hands before he could come back and click order, and it was partly that that made him stop and look to see what else the website had. The gloves were as much of an impulse buy as the dildo. Blue nitrile, single-use, easier for cleanup, he told himself, and tried not to think of who else wore gloves like that.

It's bigger than he expected, in person. Thick all around and faintly textured, a realistic curve to it, and when he sets it down on the bed and strips out of his clothes, it's all he can do not to keep staring, but when he opens the box of gloves, he has to take a moment to close his eyes and breathe. The smell is overwhelmingly familiar, like he's back in Dr. Blackwood's office and his doctor's hands are gentle on his belly, feeling the curve of it and asking him how he's feeling, if he's in any pain, if he's been being good. Jon presses his thighs together hard at the twist of arousal in his gut. This isn't going to take long.

He slips on the gloves and presses one finger inside himself, slow enough to ache, hissing at the slight stretch, and remembers the wild, dazed thoughts of he's getting me pregnant right now as Dr. Blackwood opened him up to implant a stranger's sperm inside him. Remembers his low, gentle voice, the way he soothed Jon through it as he opened up, and Jon has to tuck a second finger inside his cunt alongside the first, his whole body aching and empty. It feels so good. So close to what he needs, but not enough—but this time, he has something that will be. He tips his head back against the pillow and moans, curling his fingers inside himself and starting to fuck them in and out slowly, his other hand sliding across his chest to pinch at a nipple.

They're bigger than they used to be, over-sensitized not to the point of soreness but just enough that when he tugs at the little nub of it, a lance of heat goes through him at the motion. He takes a shaky breath and does it again, needing to feel it, needing more, needing Dr. B—he shakes his head. Tries to focus. Slides his fingers out of his cunt and winces at how wet the sound is, the way he's already leaking all over the sheets. The dildo is beside him on the bed, a solid weight as he closes his hand around it, and at first he needs both hands for this, trying to spread his legs and steady himself as the head teases across his entrance and then slips to the side.

“Fuck,” he says, gripping it tighter and giving it a push, and all at once it's slipped into him halfway and his breath is punched out of him. It hurts in a distant way, but below that, it just feels good, the stinging pressure of it exactly what he's needed all along, and he takes a moment to clutch at the sheets with his free hand and pant as he lets his body adjust. He wishes he had another set of hands for this. Wishes someone could hold him down and make him take it, not letting him pause to adjust, just fuck all the way into him at once and make him struggle and squirm on their cock, and it's the smell of nitrile in the air, the cold, impersonal weight of the dildo that makes him think of Dr. Blackwood again, but then all he can imagine is Dr. Blackwood making him take this. Fucking him slow and confident, his hands so much steadier than Jon's as Jon starts to slowly press the dildo in further inside him, telling him good boy and I knew you could take it, I knew you needed it. He squirms and clenches down around the toy and it feels so good he can't help the cry that rips out of him.

“Call me Martin,” Dr. Blackwood had told him once, and that is the name on his lips as he comes, the heavy weight of the dildo tucked inside him as far as it will go, his thighs shaking.

He lets himself run his tongue along his gloved fingers when he finally draws the dildo out, tasting the lingering remnants of himself and imagining someone else's fingers entirely, until he has come down enough to take stock of how ridiculous the situation feels and strips the glove off, scowling at himself and stumbling off to the bathroom on shaking legs to go brush his teeth.

*

“Good to see you, Jon,” Dr. Blackwood says at the next appointment, cheery as always, and takes a moment to look him over. “Feeling any better?”

“... Mostly,” Jon says, and he can feel the redness in his face. “Did, ah. The lab results.” He clings to that desperately, a safe topic of conversation that is not related to him fucking himself. “Did they find anything?”

“Nothing to be worried about,” Dr. Blackwood says. “Let's look you over. Any new sensitivity? Soreness? You said mostly--is it helping?”

Jon swallows. “It is,” he says, because in the moments where he's full, clenching desperately around the toy as he tries to keep it deep with a shaking hand, he does feel better, but he needs it so much still. Every morning when he wakes up, every night before he goes to bed. He feels utterly unmoored, set adrift in a messy sea of feeling, desperate for the hours when he can be alone in bed as he goes throughout his day. “Nothing new. More tired than I was, I suppose, but I imagine that's to be expected?”

Dr. Blackwood nods. “If it, well. If it starts interfering with your day we'll look into it more, but otherwise, just keep making sure you get enough sleep. Open for me?”

Jon opens his mouth and sticks out his tongue, feeling faintly ridiculous as Dr. Blackwood looks into his mouth, and then Dr. Blackwood reaches out, resting his gloved fingers on Jon's tongue, and entirely without meaning to Jon closes his mouth around them. His eyes go wide. Dr. Blackwood is still for a moment and then makes to pull his fingers out, and Jon lets himself suck on them for just a second, just to feel the pressure of them and the stretch of his lips, and he can feel his pulse ringing in his ears. He runs his tongue along the underside of Dr. Blackwood's fingers, feeling out the shape of them.

“Jon?” Dr. Blackwood asks, and his eyes seem darker than Jon remembers. “I--Are you alright?”

All at once, Jon realizes where he is and what he is doing, and he opens his mouth. “I am so sorry,” he manages, his face burning. “I don't—I.”

“It's alright,” Dr. Blackwood says after a long moment, his gloved hand gently cupping Jon's jaw. “Are you, uh. Are you having trouble keeping your mouth open?”

“... No,” Jon says, and looks over at the diagram on the wall that shows fetal development because he cannot meet Dr. Blackwood's eyes right now. “No, I.” He squeezes his eyes shut and opens his mouth again, and holds very still as Dr. Blackwood examines him.

“There we go. Good,” Dr. Blackwood says, and when Jon can feel the heat of him moving away he finally, finally allows himself to open his eyes. Dr. Blackwood is back at his computer, entering in notes, and only looks back up at Jon when he hears the crinkling of the paper on the exam bed as Jon shifts.

“You mentioned you're leaving the country soon?” he asks, lowering his glasses to squint a bit at the screen. Part of Jon very much wants to ask him if he needs reading glasses and won't admit it, and even past the haze of embarrassment he can't help but feel a bit fond at the thought. “It's still early enough that it's safe for you to fly, as long as you're careful, but I wanted to talk about that a little, if that's okay?”

“O-of course,” Jon says, straightening up. “Yes. It's for work; our sister institute in America needs additional help for a month or so. I'm helping organize the, uh. They've come across a discovery of quite a lot of old records, some of which we want in our collection, so. I volunteered.”

Dr. Blackwood nods. “Mostly I wanted to bring it up because I still want to make sure you're getting care while you're there,” he says, leaning back in his chair a bit. “Would you be comfortable with a phone visit?”

Jon blinks. “I... suppose? You can't very well take my temperature through a phone,” he says, and it's sharper than he intends. He winces at himself. Still too flustered to not be a bit rude; the others are forever trying to train him out of that reflex. “I mean, yes. Of course.”

“You can say no, you know,” Dr. Blackwood says mildly, in the sort of way he does when he is giving Jon a suggestion he very much wants Jon to take. “But I'd like to see how you're doing with my suggestion.”

For a moment, Jon entirely forgets to breathe. “Oh,” he says.

“It'll help me better care for you,” Dr. Blackwood says, and his voice is lower, gentler. “If I understand what you're feeling better. The ways it's helping. Make sure you pack everything you need.”

“I will,” Jon says, and closes his eyes again.

*

It's been a long day. They don't have him doing anything physical, but there are five more employees in the American institute than he's used to dealing with on his own team, and everything seems to move at breakneck speed; maybe, he thinks ruefully, collapsing onto the hotel bed with a sigh, it's that he's not quite managed to deal with the jetlag just yet. He's not been so grateful to be done with a work day in so long he can hardly remember it.

The alarm on his phone chirps, and he sits up all at once. “Appointment with Dr. Blackwood in 15 minutes,” the screen informs him, and he sucks in a deep breath. He brought the toy with him as he'd promised; even without the call, he wouldn't be able to make it through a month here without it, and he digs it out of his suitcase with shaking hands and goes to find a towel to lay down over the sheets.

Dr. Blackwood calls him on the hour precisely. His voice is tinnier over the phone, and a little higher, and Jon is so glad to hear an accent that feels like home he finds a lump rising to his throat for a moment. It's been a long week. “Hi, Jon,” he says, his voice cheery. “How are you feeling? Working hard there?”

“Very,” Jon sighs, putting his phone on speaker so he can relax back against the pillow. “It's been a long week. I feel—alright, though, I think the fatigue is primarily jetlag at this point.”

“Good,” Dr. Blackwood says, and he can hear the rustle of papers and fabric. “You remember why I wanted to set this up, right?”

“I remember,” Jon says.

“Good.” Just that one word and Jon's body is already starting to respond, and he shifts in place, the low simmer of arousal in him beginning to heat him all over. “Tell me how you're feeling. Honestly. I'm your doctor, I won't be embarrassed.”

“... Hot,” Jon says, closing his eyes, even though Dr. Blackwood can't see him. “Like my skin is buzzing with it. I'm.”

“Are you aroused?” Dr. Blackwood asks, and it's so bluntly clinical that it makes Jon shiver. He squeezes his eyes shut tighter.

“Yes,” he says, his voice breaking with it.

“Tell me what you've been doing to help with that,” Dr. Blackwood says. “I want to make sure you're getting what you need. Talk me through it. It's okay, Jon.”

“I'm...” Jon takes a deep breath. “I don't need much to take it anymore. It's easier now. I think my body is... used to the stretch. Do you want me to—to tell you what I'm doing?”

“Yes please,” Dr. Blackwood says, and there's a rustle again. “I'll be taking some notes, if that's alright?”

“Mm,” Jon says, slipping his hand between his legs. “I've found that my—clitoris is much more sensitive than it used to be, so I sometimes touch that first. I think it might be... bigger? I don't know if that's normal.”

“There's increased blood flow to it during pregnancy,” Dr. Blackwood says. “You said you were feeling empty, right? Tell me how you're managing that.”

“Just—one of my fingers at first, usually. I wear gloves for it. It's cleaner, and, ah. They... remind me of being in your office. I'll push it inside and just let myself feel the pressure for a moment, and then if I can, add another.”

“Is your body used to penetration enough that you can start with two?” Dr. Blackwood asks, and Jon takes a shaky breath. “Try it for me, Jon.”

Jon nods and tucks two of his gloved fingers together, his hips lifting as he pushes them inside his cunt at once. It's more of a stretch, a faint ache underneath the sudden fullness and pressure, and a shaky little noise slips out of his mouth. “I—did it,” he says.

“Good,” Dr. Blackwood says. “Make sure you're ready to take more—I don't want you to strain yourself. Is it helping?”

“Yes,” Jon says, pulling his fingers out partway and then pushing them deep inside himself. “It's never quite deep enough for my body, but it helps. It makes it easier to deal with.”

“You've been struggling,” Dr. Blackwood says softly. “I'm here to help you, Jon, okay? Take it as slowly as you need to. Deep breaths.”

Jon breathes slowly in, out, imagines that he has a stethoscope to his chest as he does, that Dr. Blackwood is there with a hand on his back as he tells him to breathe, and his fingers curl inside himself faster, the slick sounds audible in the quiet room. “I think I may be able to—take more in a moment,” he says, his words breaking on a moan. “I still need more than this, usually. The toy—helps, but even it's not always enough right now.”

“Which one did you get?” Dr. Blackwood asks.

“The medium,” Jon says, sucking in a sharp breath. “I just... slide it over my, ah. Clitoris at first. Working myself up to it.” He describes it as clinically as he can as he presses up into the pressure of the toy against him, the way it slips between his folds and then the tip presses into him all at once, his cunt so slick it takes no pressure at all to start taking it in. “It's... nearly inside me now.”

“Go ahead and push it deeper, Jon,” Dr. Blackwood says, and his voice catches just a little. “Give your body what it needs.”

Jon obeys; he can do nothing but obey. He moans, his thighs shaking as he pushes the toy deep, filling him up all at once, and his voice shakes as he says, “It's in.”

“That wasn't so bad, right?” Dr. Blackwood says, and there's another rustle on the other end. “The medium is seven inches, it says. I'll make sure I make a note that that's what you've worked up to. Do you think it's enough?”

“I don't know,” Jon says, his voice quivering, pressing against the base of the toy to make sure it's as deep as it can go. “I think—I need—”

“The human body can take a lot,” Dr. Blackwood says gently. “It's alright if you need more. If you can take this one so easily, we'll want to discuss getting you a bigger size when you get back.”

Jon whines softly at the thought of Dr. Blackwood prescribing him something bigger. Knowing this toy isn't enough to fill his greedy cunt up. He starts working the toy slowly in and out of himself, keeping it as deep as he can, and as he angles it it presses against a spot inside him that makes his vision go white. A loud, plaintive noise is ripped out of him as he angles the toy and fucks in again at the same angle, and he knows he's panting, knows Dr. Blackwood can hear all of this, is taking notes on all of this, listening for his reactions.

“I--” He gives up trying to describe what he's doing entirely, lost in it, fucking himself harder and faster with the toy, and through the blood rushing in his ears he can hear Dr. Blackwood on the other end, still talking him through it, reassuring him that he can take it, and then Dr. Blackwood says, “That's it. You can let go, Jon,” and he grinds the heel of his hand hard against his clit and comes, just like that, the toy pressed deep inside him.

“Jon,” Dr. Blackwood says after a long moment, when Jon is still getting his breath back, nearly dizzy with the force of his orgasm, “how do you feel?”

“Better,” Jon pants out, loose-limbed and pliant on the hotel bed. “Much better.”

“Good. Can you take your pulse for me? Just put your finger to your wrist and count when I say start.”

Jon's pulse is still beating wildly when he starts, but by the time Dr. Blackwood says, “Stop,” it has calmed to a slow, steady thump. He can hear the scratch of a pen on paper as it's recorded. He can't take his temperature, or check anything else, but at least that Dr. Blackwood has for his records. Knowing what Jon can take.

“How much longer are you in America?” Dr. Blackwood asks for a moment. “I think we said it was a month at first, I don't know if that's changed for you at this point.”

“Still three more weeks,” Jon says, wincing slightly as he slides the toy out of himself and sets it aside. He rests a hand over his belly, taking a long, deep breath. When he holds very still, he's started to feel movement sometimes. Just tiny little flutters. He hasn't told Dr. Blackwood yet; he wants to wait so he can feel it in person.

“We could set up a video call before you get back,” Dr. Blackwood says. “This gave me a lot of great data, but it would be easier to—observe you properly if I wasn't just reliant on audio. I'm going to send you a few things as well to help things along. Anything else you want to make sure we cover before I let you go for the night?”

“A few things?”

“I'd like to see if working up to a bigger size would help you,” Dr. Blackwood says, “like I said. I don't, I don't think we have to wait until you get back to London for that. I'd like to see on our next call how something—more substantial helps you if you're not sure this one is enough anymore.”

Jon thinks of the other toys on the site; the large sizes went up past twelve inches, and he wonders just how much he will need before it actually is enough. “How—how big?” he asks, looking down at himself. He's not a large man.

“Jon,” Dr. Blackwood says, faintly chiding. “I have done exams on you. It won't be anything you can't take.”

Jon swallows. “Alright. I'll send you a time for the next call,” he says, and tries very hard to not let the arousal that's already building at the thought overwhelm him.

*

The bigger toy arrives two days before the next appointment. Dr. Blackwood sent along a note with his appointment asking him to wait to try it, and so it sits in the corner of Jon's hotel room, occupying all his thoughts at night as he desperately fucks himself with its smaller counterpart. Other than size, it does look identical. The larger toy isn't significantly longer—an inch, maybe inch and a half, but it is much thicker, and Jon aches to have it inside him.

It's a long two days.

The appointment is eleven at night for Jon, which means it's first thing in the morning for Dr. Blackwood and then some, and he can't help but smile as he sees Dr. Blackwood's slightly bleary eyes and the cup of tea he holds when the video connects. “Sorry,” he says, as though he has any power to shift how time zones work, and Dr. Blackwood just waves a hand and smiles.

“Really, it's not any trouble,” he says, and his accent is thicker first thing in the morning, his vowels more rounded. Jon finds that he likes it. “I'm always happy to help you. Did you get the package?”

Jon nods and holds the new toy up to the camera for inspection. It feels so much weightier in his hands than the other one, and he holds it up against himself for comparison for a moment, seeing how much of his abdomen it takes up. “It's going to be... quite a bit to take,” he says, his breath already coming short. He's been wet for the past hour in anticipation, and the simmering heat in his bones that is a constant distraction as he tries to work is so strong now as to be nearly a fever. “I... do need it, though.”

“You do,” Dr. Blackwood agrees, and he leans over to the side for a moment. “I'm going to be taking notes again, if that's okay? I want to make sure I'm getting all the details we need here.” He smiles, leaning a bit closer to the camera. “You're already flushed.”

“I've been waiting,” Jon admits. “I didn't want to—use the other one when I knew we had a call later.”

Dr. Blackwood nods. It's so much more overwhelming, and so much better, to be able to see him this time. “Go ahead and get undressed for me,” he says, and jots down another quick note. “I'll make sure we remember that you've been having difficulty getting through the day without penetration.”

Jon's face flames, but he starts to work at the buttons of his shirt, unbuttoning it with fumbling, shaky fingers. “Do you think it's going to start getting any easier?” he asks, his fingers instinctively coming to cup the swell of his belly as he sheds his shirt. Dr. Blackwood's eyes on him are wide and darkening, watching intently as Jon slides his trousers and pants off and sets them neatly to the side.

“Some of this is pretty individual, unfortunately,” he says, biting his lip. “It's hard to say. You look like you're still gaining weight well, though! Any new changes?”

“My, ah. Chest is more sensitive,” Jon says, and reaches up to cup the swell of it, running a thumb along a nipple already pebbled in the cold air. He hisses out a breath, the sensation running through him, and he presses his thighs together. “I think it may be getting bigger.”

“Does that bother you?” Dr. Blackwood asks.

Jon shakes his head. “It's getting bigger for—a good reason, and so it's easier to appreciate it, I suppose?” He shifts closer to the camera, giving Dr. Blackwood a better look, and as he pinches his nipple again, he can feel a tiny droplet of liquid streak across his fingers. “Oh. I.”

“Oh, your milk's coming in,” Dr. Blackwood says, soft and almost reverent, and Jon squirms at it even as he holds still to let himself be inspected. “We'll definitely want to take a better look at that when you get back. But go ahead and sit back for me for now.” He leans over to scribble down more notes and then tucks his pen behind his ear. “We still need to get to your treatment for today. Start with your fingers.”

Jon nods, sitting back on the bed and spreading his legs wider, and he's so wet he's sure Dr. Blackwood can see it, shining in the low light of the hotel room, and just the thought of it, of being on display, sends fresh heat through him. He slips on the gloves he has sitting on the bed beside the toy and slowly runs a finger along his slit, a small sigh slipping out of him at the sensation, and waits for Dr. Blackwood's encouraging nod before slowly starting to press two fingers inside himself. The slide is slow and easy, and he spreads his legs wider still, making sure Dr. Blackwood still has a good view of them tucked up inside himself.

“Good,” Dr. Blackwood says, smiling at him. “Everything looks pink and healthy, and you're taking those very well. Has it gotten easier?”

Jon nods, slowly curling his fingers inside himself. It's hardly a stretch at all now, not when he takes something twice their size every morning, and he can slip another finger inside himself with the slightest push. “It's not enough,” he says, working his hips down onto his fingers slowly, his legs spread so wide it makes his hips ache with it.

“Yeah, you need more,” Dr. Blackwood agrees, moving to the side like he's taking another note. “This new toy is eight and a half inches. You've been doing so well with your treatment so far; I think taking more shouldn't be too much of a problem for you. Keep your fingers inside yourself for a moment.”

It takes a moment to stop himself, but Jon lets his hand still, his fingers pressed as deep inside as they will go, and he squirms, wanting the movement, the friction. “I know,” Dr. Blackwood says, his voice low and sympathetic. “Just a moment. Can you tilt your hips up towards me a bit more?”

The angle is a little awkward, but Jon does, leaning more onto his back and bracing himself with his other arm so he's properly on display. So Dr. Blackwood can see the sheen of Jon's slick on the nitrile gloves, see the way his cunt stretches around his fingers, see the way the flush on his skin has spread all the way down his chest, a faint pink.

“Good,” Dr. Blackwood says. “I think you're ready for it now.”

Jon slides his fingers out of himself and shudders at how empty he feels. On impulse, he reaches up and tilts the webcam down, zooming it in so that Dr. Blackwood will have a closer look as the toy slides inside him. So he will see the way Jon stretches around it. He's not sure he can take it without a struggle, but he has promised that he will take it.

“Thank you, Jon,” Dr. Blackwood says, and from somewhere out of frame, Jon can hear the sound of fabric moving. His face flushes a deeper red, imagining. “Go ahead.”

The toy feels huge against him, and he rubs the head of it against his cunt slow and teasing for a moment, trying to work up the courage to push it inside himself. It's going to be so much. He tenses without meaning to, and the first push hurts more than he expects; he stops, wincing.

“Relax,” Dr. Blackwood says gently. “Spread your legs a little wider, okay? You can do it. You just have to relax and remember that this is what your body needs right now. It needs to feel full. You've been doing so well.”

“Okay,” Jon manages, his voice a wreck, and between two deep breaths, he manages to push the head of it inside. It's thick, thicker than anything he's ever taken, and as he slowly, so slowly, pushes it deeper, he can hear the little noises of desperation he is making, every breath a whine as his body stretches to try and fit what it is being given. His whole body sings with the fullness of it, how right it feels, how much it is what he's been looking for this whole time, and when he's gotten it halfway, he has to stop, letting go to clutch at the sheets and shake as the feeling of it nearly overwhelms him.

“That's it,” Dr. Blackwood says. “It'll be just a pinch. Just a little deeper now.” His eyes are so dark, and he's watching Jon so closely, and Jon wants so badly to be good for him. He takes the toy in hand again and presses it deeper, and as he does, it hits a spot inside of him that makes him cry out so loudly his voice cracks with it.

Dr. Blackwood leans closer to the camera still, until all Jon can see is his face. “Does that feel good?” he asks, and Jon nods, because he can't seem to form words at all right now. “Angle it like that again.”

With shaking hands, Jon obeys, slowly working the toy deep inside him, angling it just right over and over until his whole body quivers with it, and it's so much, it's too much, he can't, he's so full and it feels so good that he could come like this, just from this. “I can't,” he manages to gasp out, squirming on the toy he's stuck on, and Dr. Blackwood smiles at him again and shakes his head.

“You can,” he says. “I know you can. Do it again.”

Every inch of Jon is vibrating with overstimulation, and it feels so good that it nearly hurts, but he obeys, fucking himself slow and steady over and over until his eyes bead with tears, and he's making so much noise he's sure that someone will hear, will hear and know exactly what he's doing, but he can't bite it back, can't think of anything but his stuffed-full cunt and Dr. Blackwood's eyes on him, drinking him in. “Please,” he says finally, the beading tears spilling over and running down his cheeks. He's been so close for so long but it's too much like this, too much sensation, and his hand stills, keeping the toy deep inside himself.

Dr. Blackwood nods, and Jon fucks the toy into himself more shallowly once, twice, and then shakes apart entirely, his chest heaving and his ears buzzing with the force of it. He puts a hand to the side of his neck, and Dr. Blackwood has him count as they take his pulse again as it rabbits in his chest. He feels entirely wrung out. Satisfied on a bone-deep level that he hasn't felt in days.

“Feel better?” Dr. Blackwood asks, and his voice is ragged. Jon nods, almost too tired to pull the dildo out of himself. “Get some rest, Jon. I'll see you back in London in a few weeks, okay?”

“Thanks,” Jon says, his eyes heavy with sleep. He's barely managed cleanup before he drifts off, sleeping so deep and dreamless that he nearly dozes past his alarm in the morning.

*

It's strange to be back in London. Jon has almost forgotten, after a month away, what it's like to hear accents he recognizes when he goes into work, or how much more comfortable his own bed is than the strange sterility of a hotel room. His belly has grown heavier than the last time he was here, and the movement inside him is more pronounced than it's ever been. The heat in his bones has gentled, a little, but it still thrums through him with the slightest contact, and his nipples are more sensitive than ever, making him clench and hiss as they brush against his shirts.

“Are they painful?” Dr. Blackwood asks, before even beginning his usual line of questions. The hospital gown Jon wears is a rougher fabric than the shirts he has taken to these past few weeks, and every movement sends new sensation skittering through him. He shifts back and forth on the exam table.

“Just—sensitive,” Jon says, because they don't hurt, not exactly, not unless he's been wearing a shirt that's too rough for too long. “I'm starting to feel movement too.”

“Can I feel?” Dr. Blackwood asks, and Jon shrugs out of the gown, letting the top fall to expose his chest and belly; it feels easier that way, and Dr. Blackwood's eyes are dark and intent as he steps close. He rests his hands on the curving swell of Jon's belly and waits, and Jon watches the slow smile spread across his face as they both feel the movement. “Only a few more months now,” he says. His hand shifts higher to Jon's chest, and he leans closer. Inspects Jon's nipples, his fingers brushing them so lightly as he cups Jon's chest, and it takes nothing at all to coax a tiny droplet of milk from the tip. Dr. Blackwood brushes it away with a gloved thumb, and the movement makes Jon shudder. His fingers slowly coax another droplet free, and then another, until Jon's nipples are reddening, and he tries and fails to bite back the little moan in his throat.

“Please,” he says, finally breaking with it. “Please touch me.” He wants Dr. Blackwood's hands on him. Wants his mouth on him. Wants to see if he's as big as one of the toys that he took inside himself under Dr. Blackwood's direction.

“Jon,” Dr. Blackwood says, his eyes going wide, and Jon is about to open his mouth to beg again when Dr. Blackwood leans in and replaces his fingers with his mouth, his tongue curling around Jon's nipple and making him cry out. It feels so good. He threads his fingers in Dr. Blackwood's hair and keeps him there, slowly working over one nipple and then the other, the heat of his mouth and the faintest graze of his teeth as Jon shakes beneath him. “Do you--” Dr. Blackwood hesitates as he pulls back, licking his lips. “I know we've been doing your treatment remotely? But if you need--”

“I need it,” Jon confirms, reaching for him, and Dr. Blackwood nods. He takes a step back and Jon could nearly cry with it, except that he's going into his cabinet for supplies, and there are all manners of promise there. Does he keep a toy in the cabinet for patients? Does he—Jon is cut off from the rest of his thoughts when he sees what Dr. Blackwood has.

“Sit down for me for a sec,” Dr. Blackwood says, smiling, and Jon folds himself into the chair beside Dr. Blackwood's desk with shaking legs and watches as Dr. Blackwood sets up the stirrups. Vividly, Jon remembers Dr. Blackwood opening him up, so many months ago, the gentle pressure of his fingers as he worked between Jon's legs to get him ready for insemination. Remembers how soft his voice was. How sure he was that Jon could handle it. When he gestures Jon forward again, Jon lets the rest of the hospital gown fall. He leaves it in a puddle on the floor as he clambers back up onto the table, and Dr. Blackwood arranges him with careful hands as he leaves him spread open. He can see everything like this. See how flushed and ready Jon is for him, see the slickness between his thighs, and Jon holds onto the sides of the table as Dr. Blackwood comes closer.

“Please,” Jon says again, tipping his head back, and he doesn't have to wait for long. He can hear the sounds of shifting fabric, the tug of a zipper, and he knows that there will not be a toy in Dr. Blackwood's hands when he looks down. He doesn't want there to be. He wants Dr. Blackwood to fuck him, to make him forget entirely that a toy could be enough, wants Dr. Blackwood to come in him, wishes, on some level that they could have done this at first, that he could be swelling full and heavy because Dr. Blackwood fucked him well enough for it to take.

Dr. Blackwood moves closer and Jon is kept spread and open from the stirrups, and so he can do nothing but take it when Dr. Blackwood's cock slowly, slowly slides inside him, working deeper with little thrusts as he fills Jon's cunt up so full he aches with it. Dr. Blackwood is bigger than either of the toys, and thicker, and it feels so good inside him Jon can do nothing but hold onto the exam table and moan as he is utterly overwhelmed with it.

It's so much. He closes his eyes and lets himself sink into the feeling, lets himself be used, his whole body singing with the rightness of it. Of finally, finally, getting exactly what he needs.

“Good boy,” Dr. Blackwood says, in precisely the same tone he uses when he praises Jon for following his treatment instructions, and Jon squirms under him, wishing he could close his legs around him but loving, too, how he has no choice but to be spread like this. “Is this what you need?”

“Yes,” Jon cries, trying to push back into his thrusts and take him deeper, and all at once the angle is perfect, so painfully good he loses all higher thought entirely, and it feels like it goes on forever, until Jon's voice begins to break with his moans, his whole body pliant underneath Dr. Blackwood's, made for nothing but this. He can hear on some level that he's babbling, curses and pleas for more and harder as the rhythm of Dr. Blackwood's hips grows harsher.

“Should I pull out?” Dr. Blackwood asks, reaching down to rub hard at Jon's clit, and Jon shakes his head. He wants to feel it. Wants to be full, wants to keep something of Dr. Blackwood inside himself. He comes all at once, Dr. Blackwood's fingers rubbing sure and perfect over him as he fucks him, and he has barely come down from that when Dr. Blackwood presses deep and his hips stutter, and Jon can feel a faint, spreading warmth inside him.

He can feel it slowly beginning to trickle out of him as Dr. Blackwood pulls out, but then the thought of it is driven out of his head entirely as Dr. Blackwood leans down, bracing himself on the table, and puts his mouth on Jon's clit. All Jon can do is focus on the burning heat of his mouth, the agonizingly good slide of his tongue, and he's tumbling over the edge again.

Martin,” he says, head thrown back, and Dr. Blackwood makes a deeply contented noise against Jon's clit and flicks his tongue against it again.

By the time Jon is allowed out of the stirrups, he has come two more times, and he's not entirely sure he will be able to walk out of the office. He smiles, pleased and shaky and a little shy, and Dr. Blackwood smiles back, something like awe on his face. He licks his lips and Jon flushes.

“I'll see you at your next appointment,” Dr. Blackwood says, his hands coming up to cup the swell of Jon's belly for just a moment, and Jon takes a long, shaky breath.

“Do you make house calls?” he asks.