Ivana

**Side Story: Observation Corridor – Coxville Breeding Farm**

September 26, 2009 – Mid-Morning (Expanded)

Harold had been released from Veronica’s bay with orders to walk the supervised corridor for “circulation and residual drainage monitoring.” The thin paper gown was gone; he wore only the standard farm-issue drawstring pants that did nothing to hide the soft outline of his unlocked cock. Secondary stock were allowed the relative freedom of the open halls now, as long as they stayed inside the facility and did not touch themselves.

He turned the corner and stopped.

Ivana Swallows was walking toward him.

She looked exactly as she had at every school function and book-club meeting: dark brunette hair pulled into a severe, glossy ponytail, green eyes sharp, body poured into a tight white nurse’s uniform that strained across her firm GG breasts. The fabric was stretched so taut that the outline of her nipples was clearly visible under the thin material. A clipboard was tucked under one arm. Beside her walked her husband, George.

George Swallows had not aged well. The former high-school basketball captain was now soft and heavy, a large beer gut pushing against a too-small polo shirt. His receding brown hair was damp with sweat. A government chastity cage—one of the heavier models—bulged obviously under his khaki shorts. He kept his eyes on the floor like a man who had already lost the argument.

Ivana saw Harold first. Her mouth curved into a slow, satisfied smile.

“Well, well. Harold Summers. I heard they unlocked the secondary white stock this week. How’s the new protocol treating you?”

Harold’s face went hot. “Ivana. I didn’t know you were working extraction shifts.”

“I requested the transfer after the penis-size study data came in.” She stopped in front of him, close enough that he could smell her clean, sharp perfume mixed with the faint scent of latex. “Turns out the county needed more nurses who already knew how small the local white men were. I was uniquely qualified.”

George cleared his throat. “Ivy, we should keep moving. My next collection is in twenty minutes—”

Ivana didn’t look at him. “Quiet, George. Adult conversation.”

She reached out without asking and tugged the waistband of Harold’s pants down just far enough to free his soft cock. The corridor was not empty—two other secondary donors and a junior nurse were visible at the far end—but Ivana handled him with the same clinical ownership she had once used during her “study.”

“Still the same,” she murmured, rolling him between two fingers. “Five inches on a good day, soft as dough the rest of the time. I measured you in ‘09 during the Halloween costume exams, remember? You were so nervous you barely got to three and a half. I had to put on the sexy nurse outfit just to get any response at all.”

Harold tried to step back. She followed, keeping her grip, thumb rubbing slowly over the head.

“Ivana—Christ—there are people—”

“There are always people. That’s the point of an open facility.” She gave him a slow, deliberate stroke that made his cock twitch and begin to firm. “George, tell Harold what your last yield was.”

George’s ears turned red. “Two point one milliliters. Low motility.”

“And what did Nurse Veronica write on your chart?”

“…Secondary stock, emotional response useful, recommend increased prostate focus.”

Ivana smiled at Harold as if George had just recited a compliment. “See? We’re all in the same boat now. White birth rates are collapsing, the Act was updated, and every soft little cock in Coxville is government property. The difference is some of us already knew the measurements.”

She released Harold just long enough to wipe her fingers on the front of George’s polo shirt, leaving a faint smear. Then she reached for her husband’s cage. The heavy metal was warm from his body. She unlocked it with a key on her lanyard and let the device drop into her palm with a solid clank. George’s soft, very hairy 5.7-inch cock flopped out, already half-hard from the public exposure.

“Look at that,” Ivana said brightly. “My husband. Captain of the basketball team. Now he leaks every time I open the cage in a hallway.” She wrapped her hand around him and stroked once, hard. A clear bead appeared at the tip and stretched downward. “Harold, be a dear and hold the clipboard.”

Harold took it automatically. Ivana dropped to a half-crouch right there in the corridor, still fully clothed, and took George into her mouth with practiced, almost bored efficiency. The wet sound of her lips and tongue filled the hallway. George made a strangled noise and braced one hand against the wall, beer gut shifting.

She sucked him with short, wet strokes, cheeks hollowing, then pulled off with a loud pop. A thick string of saliva connected her glossy lips to the head of his cock.

“Still tastes the same. Bland. I used to pretend it was enough when we were first married.” She stood, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and looked at Harold. Her green eyes were bright. “You want a turn? Secondary stock are encouraged to observe successful collection techniques. It’s in the new guidelines.”

Harold’s own cock was fully hard now, standing out from the open waistband of his pants, the head already shiny. Ivana noticed and laughed—a short, sharp sound that made George flinch.

“Of course you do. Come here.”

She pushed Harold back against the opposite wall hard enough that his shoulders hit the painted cinderblock. With both hands she yanked his pants lower until they sat around mid-thigh, then took both cocks at once—George’s thick, hairy shaft in her left hand, Harold’s shorter, smoother one in her right. She stroked them in matching rhythm, clinical and relentless, while her heavy breasts rose and fell under the tight uniform with every movement.

“This is what the study was really about,” she said, voice low and almost conversational, as if she were still presenting data to the school board. “Proving how little difference there was between any of you. Jenny kept talking about black cock like it was magic. I measured every white man I could get my hands on to show her the baseline. Turns out the baseline is this.” She squeezed both shafts for emphasis, drawing twin groans. “Soft. Eager. Easy to milk. I even wore that stupid Halloween costume—little white dress, red cross, the whole thing—just to get better readings. You remember, Harold? You stared at my tits the entire time and still only managed three and a half inches.”

George was already close; his hips jerked forward. Ivana tightened her grip on him and slowed to an almost cruel crawl, denying the finish.

“Not yet. Harold first. He’s had a lighter morning. Veronica only did the basic drain.”

She dropped to her knees again, this time directly in front of Harold, and swallowed him to the root in one smooth motion. Her tongue worked the underside while her left hand kept George on the edge with short, mean strokes and occasional squeezes to the head. Harold’s head thunked back against the wall. The wet heat of her mouth, the public corridor, the sight of George’s red, humiliated face, the soft sounds of other donors walking past at the far end—everything stacked at once.

Ivana pulled off just long enough to speak, lips shiny with spit and Harold’s precum.

“Cum in my mouth. Secondary stock doesn’t get to waste it on the floor. That’s a write-up now.”

She went back down and sucked hard, cheeks hollowing, one hand reaching up to tug lightly on his balls. Harold lasted less than twenty seconds. He came with a broken, bitten-off sound, pulsing across her tongue in short, sharp spurts. Ivana swallowed once, twice, then pulled off and turned her head to show George the residual white smear on her lower lip.

“Your turn. Same place. Same rules.”

She took her husband into her mouth and finished him with the same efficient, almost impatient suction. George’s orgasm was quieter, almost apologetic; his gut trembled as he emptied onto her tongue. Ivana swallowed that load too, then stood, straightened her uniform with both hands, and locked the heavy chastity cage back onto him with a decisive click. The metal settled against his soft cock with a finality that made him wince.

She looked at Harold, still leaning against the wall with his pants around his thighs and his cock softening in the open air, a thin strand of saliva still connecting him to the memory of her mouth.

“Next time you see Jenny,” Ivana said, voice calm again, “tell her the study was right. The numbers don’t lie. And neither do the yields.” She glanced down at the front of his pants. “You’re still leaking a little. Secondary stock always does after a public collection. Don’t touch it. Let it dry. The nurses like to see the evidence.”

She tucked the clipboard back under her arm, hooked two fingers in the waistband of George’s shorts like he was a slow child, and walked on down the corridor as if she had simply stopped to check a chart. George followed, cage already darkening the front of his khakis again, eyes fixed on the floor.

Harold stayed where he was for a long moment, pants still down, the taste of institutional air and the memory of Ivana’s mouth thick in his head. Two junior nurses passed, glanced at his exposed, wet cock, made a quiet note on a tablet, and continued without comment. The Breeding Farm’s fluorescent lights hummed overhead. Somewhere deeper in the facility a mechanical pump started its steady rhythm.

Harold finally pulled his pants up with unsteady hands. The fabric clung damply. He started walking again, the corridor stretching ahead of him, every step reminding him that the cage was gone but the ownership was not.