Chapter 4: Day 4 Escalation

By Day 4, the ritual had settled into a relentless rhythm: mechanical, like the glacier outside grinding against the valley walls.

Fifty-six men had already taken their turn. They queued in the heated corridor beyond the chamber door, robes tented or limp according to their recent release, breath fogging briefly in the colder air before the vents warmed it away. Pilgrims at a forbidden shrine yet the shrine devoured them one by one.

Victoria remained strapped to the OBGYN chair, legs locked wide in the stirrups. Her wrists and ankles restrained, black silk blindfold absolute. Her body bore the excess: centre swollen and flushed deep crimson, inner lips puffy and glistening, constantly leaking warm trails that cooled quickly in the tray below. Skin shone with a faint sheen of sweat despite the controlled temperature; breasts heavier now, nipples dark and peaked from constant arousal. The air around her thickened with layered warmth: faint resin fighting the heavier note of spent seed.

The internal camera captured everything in unsparing detail. The feed played on the massive gallery screen where the waiting men watched in masked silence. Some shifted imperceptibly; others stood rigid, hands clenched at sides. Occasional low grunts escaped modulators: involuntary sounds of need, shame, or rage.

Number 57: Dr. Julian Harrow

The door opened with its familiar hydraulic sigh.

“Number 57, enter. Twenty minutes.”

Dr. Julian Harrow — fifty-nine, silver-haired fertility legend, hands that had delivered thousands — stepped in. Breathing already ragged behind the modulator.

Victoria’s briefing flashed across her blindfold display:

Dr. Julian Harrow. Delivered subject at birth. Long-term obsession with former patients. Pronounced upward curve confirmed. Insecure about declining seminal volume with age.

She smiled beneath the silk.

“Doctor Harrow,” she purred, voice intimate, carrying through the speakers into the gallery. “The man who first held me naked. Fate placed you mid-week, exactly when I ovulate. How poetic.”

He approached slowly with trembling hands and freed himself. The cock she remembered: elongated, thick at the base, pronounced upward curve that had once pressed against her mother’s cervix during delivery. Now it strained toward her, head dark and leaking.

He entered her in one deep push. Groaned at the slick, overflowing heat already full of fifty-six loads.

Victoria clenched deliberately.

“That curve. I felt it against my mother’s cervix while you delivered me. Now feel mine, Doctor. Breed the girl you brought into the world.”

Julian’s rhythm was frantic from the start. Guilt and obsession exploded in every stroke.

“I ... I shouldn’t ... but you were perfect ... from the moment I held you...” he whispered, voice cracked behind the modulator.