Ivana 2

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

September 26, 2009 – Mid-Morning (Continued)

Ivana did not slow down after leaving Harold against the wall. She kept two fingers hooked in the waistband of George’s shorts and steered him through the next set of double doors into Examination Room 4. The door hissed shut behind them. The room was small, brightly lit, and smelled of disinfectant and warm plastic. A padded table with stirrups occupied the center. A metal tray already waited with gloves, lube, a collection dish, a small ruler, and a digital scale.

George stood just inside the door, chastity cage still locked, face flushed. Ivana locked the door with a deliberate click and turned to him.

“Pants and shorts off. All the way. Socks too. I want you bare for the full exam.”

“Ivy, the schedule said basic collection only—”

“The schedule says what I write on the chart.” She snapped on a fresh pair of blue gloves. “Secondary stock, low motility, emotional response useful. That means I get to take my time. Clothes. Now.”

George stripped in awkward silence. The heavy cage came off last; Ivana unlocked it and set it on the counter with a solid clank. His soft, very hairy 5.7-inch cock and full, low-hanging balls were suddenly free under the fluorescent lights. The shaft was thickest in the middle and tapered to a modest head, the skin darker than the rest of him and heavily veined. A fine pelt of brown hair covered the base and continued down over his sac.

Ivana stepped in close and lifted the soft cock with two gloved fingers, turning it left and right like a piece of fruit she was considering at the market.

“Five point seven on a good day,” she said, almost to herself. “I measured you again last month. Still the same. Never got past six even when you were captain of the team and thought you were something special.” She gave the shaft a slow, assessing stroke until it began to firm, then let it drop. It bounced once against his thigh. “Balls next.”

She cupped his sac in one palm, rolling each testicle with practiced pressure. George’s breath hitched.

“Full. Warm. You’ve been locked for four days so the volume should be decent even if the motility is trash.” She squeezed a little firmer. “Sensitive, though. You always were. Remember how you’d jump every time I touched them during the study? I had to note ‘hyper-responsive scrotum’ on half the white subjects.”

She released him and pointed at the table. “Up. On your back. Legs open. Stirrups if you need them.”

George climbed onto the padded surface. Ivana adjusted the stirrups herself, spreading his thighs wide and locking them in place so his soft cock, balls, and hole were completely exposed. She pulled the rolling stool between his legs and sat, eye-level with his groin.

“Visual inspection first.” She used both hands to lift and separate his balls, examining the skin, the seam, the way they rested. “No lesions. Good color. Hair density normal for secondary stock.” She let them settle, then wrapped her fingers around the shaft again and stroked it to full hardness with short, efficient pumps. The 5.7 inches stood up, slightly curved, the head already glistening.

“Still gets hard for the exam. That’s something, I suppose.” She took the small plastic ruler from the tray and laid it along the top of his cock, pressing the base firmly against his pubic bone. “Five and three-quarters. Same as always. Girth…” She closed her thumb and forefinger around the thickest part. “About four and a half inches around. Average for the declining population. Nothing that would make the breeding charts happy on its own.”

George’s voice was tight. “You don’t have to say it out loud every time.”

“Yes I do. It’s part of the protocol now. Verbal confirmation of measurements for the recording.” She glanced at the small camera in the corner. “And for me.”

She squeezed a generous amount of lube onto her fingers and reached beneath his balls. One gloved finger circled his hole, then pressed inside without further warning. George’s hips jerked; the stirrups held him open.

“Prostate check.” She curled the finger and found the gland immediately, pressing in firm, rhythmic circles. Almost at once a clear bead of fluid welled at the tip of his cock and rolled down the shaft. “There it is. Responsive as ever. The study data said white donors with lower sperm counts often show stronger prostatic leakage. You’re textbook.”

She added a second finger, scissoring gently, then resumed the steady pressure on the prostate. More fluid dripped onto the paper sheet beneath him. Ivana watched it with calm interest, her free hand occasionally stroking the shaft or giving his balls a proprietary squeeze.

“I’m going to drain the prostatic fluid first,” she said. “Then we collect a full ejaculation for the motility test. After that I’ll decide whether you get the cage back on or stay unlocked for afternoon overflow.”

George’s breathing had gone shallow. His cock twitched with every press of her fingers. Ivana kept the massage going for a full two minutes, until the clear fluid slowed and his shaft was shiny and wet.

She withdrew her fingers, wiped them on a gauze pad, and immediately wrapped her slick glove around his cock. The stroke was firm, twisting over the head on every upstroke.

“Look at me while you cum,” she ordered. “I want the camera to see your face when secondary stock empties for the farm.”

George’s eyes met hers. His gut trembled. Ivana sped up, thumb grinding across the sensitive ridge under the head. He lasted less than a minute. The orgasm hit him in short, almost apologetic pulses; thick white ropes spurted into the collection dish she had positioned just in time. She kept stroking through it, milking every spurt, then slowed to a gentle squeeze that forced out the last few drops.

She held the dish up to the light, swirling the cloudy fluid.

“Two point four milliliters. Slight improvement from yesterday. Still low motility on the preliminary look, but the volume is better when you’re publicly handled first.” She set the dish on the digital scale, noted the weight, and then looked back down at her husband’s spent cock, still twitching in the open air.

“Balls feel lighter now.” She cupped them again, rolling gently. “Good. That’s what we want. Empty secondary stock is cooperative secondary stock.”

Ivana stood, stripped the gloves, and made several neat notes on her clipboard. Then she looked at George, still locked in the stirrups, soft cock and wet balls on full display under the bright lights.

“I’m leaving the cage off for the next three hours. You’ll stay in the open observation area so any nurse who needs a quick secondary sample can take one. If your yield stays above two milliliters I’ll consider keeping you unlocked for the rest of the week. If it drops, the heavy cage goes back on and stays on.”

She patted his inner thigh once, almost affectionately.

“You did fine, George. Textbook secondary. Now stay there until the junior nurse comes to clean you up. I have another white donor in Bay 6 who needs the same full exam.”

Ivana picked up the collection dish, the clipboard, and the still-warm chastity cage, and left the room without looking back. The door hissed shut. George remained in the stirrups, legs spread, cock soft and shining, the fluorescent lights humming overhead while the Breeding Farm continued its quiet, relentless work.