In the Rays of the Star of Life: Order Chronicles
Copyright© 2026 by GAUMER
Chapter 2: It’s Personal
BDSM Sex Story: Chapter 2: It’s Personal - Dear reader, Step into the world of medical femdom, CFNM, and dystopian female domination under the Red Star of Life. In this chapter I share the brief history (Andro-9 virus leak, societal collapse, Order's rise), main terms (collars, Satara, N.U.R.S.A., purification rituals), and unbreakable rules of male submission. Expect forced milking, sterile exams, chastity enforcement, and absolute control. All characters 18+. Introductory lore only — heavy dark fantasy/erotica with femdom, medical feti
Caution: This BDSM Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Coercion NonConsensual Reluctant Heterosexual Fiction Alternate History Post Apocalypse FemaleDom Humiliation Spanking Anal Sex Enema Exhibitionism Masturbation Oral Sex Pegging Petting Sex Toys Voyeurism Doctor/Nurse
N.U.R.S.A. is not just an artificial intelligence controlling the inhabitants of the Order’s Centers.
It is also a vast archive of the world living in the rays of the Star of Life.
In it, one can find much from those times that are now spoken of only in whispers. The exact date is unknown, but it was the first years after the world began to recover from the ashes of the virus. The Order was not yet the official name — just a community of female doctors who had seized power in their hands. N.U.R.S.A. was not as omnipotent and omnipresent as it is now — more like a database assistant, tracking hormonal spikes and issuing recommendations. But even then, power over men firmly lay in the hands of those who wore white coats.
One of those women — Klavdia, a candidate of medical sciences, 45 years old, a mature, graceful MILF with chestnut spiral curls down to her shoulders, dark-brown eyes, and a small mole on her neck — was sitting in her office in a building that was then still called the “Male Health Center”.
She was scrolling through data on the monitor: men admitted today for examination and registration in the organization’s database.
Click. Next file.
Another one.
Several files in a row — routine cases.
And suddenly she froze.
Her eyes locked on the screen.
Open the highlighted file.
Her hands reached for the internal phone.
Registration button.
“Hello, sunshine,” Klavdia’s voice was calm, but with a slight rasp. “Tell me the status of object 778.”
“Awaiting examination and registration,” came the young voice on the other end.
“Mmm ... Listen, do we have any free procedure rooms? The gynecological cabinet, you say?”
A predatory smile slowly spread across her face.
“Sweetie, you can’t imagine how grateful I’ll be if in about fifteen minutes this object is waiting for me there — undressed and strapped down. Will you do it?”
Pause.
“Thank you so much. No, no need to assist — you have enough work already. And this ... it’s personal.”
The receiver clicked back into place.
And Klavdia’s raspy, excited voice added into the empty office:
“This is very personal.”
Klavdia sat motionless for another minute, staring at the screen where the file photo froze. The corners of her mouth twitched in anticipation. Then she rose, walked to the wardrobe. She flipped through several hangers — ordinary coats, strict blouses — and pulled out it: the white short dress-shirt, custom-tailored back in that other world, the one that had already vanished into the past. She held it up against herself without removing it from the hanger, nodded — perfect.
She began to undress. The strict blouse flew onto the wardrobe shelf, followed by the narrow pencil skirt, the thin black lace lingerie (bra and panties she had worn today for that extra confidence). For a moment, Klavdia froze, gazing at her naked reflection in the wardrobe mirror: perfect, flawless, with the mole on her neck and a faint sheen of skin from the day’s tension. She whispered to herself:
“I’m beautiful, smart, and a talented bitch.”
She slipped on the dress-shirt — it fit like a glove, just above the knees, accentuating her graceful hips and breasts. She tightened the belt firmly, the neckline deep but professional. One more look in the mirror, her hand touched the frame of her glasses, sliding them down to the tip of her nose. Out loud, with a predatory smile:
“And also very cunning and vengeful.”
Smiling at her reflection, she left the office, locking the door behind her. She walked down the corridor, passed the registration desk. The girl behind the counter silently slid the procedure room key across the table. Klavdia caught it mid-air, nodded. In pursuit, she heard:
“I turned off the light in there out of habit.”
Reaching the door, she sighed, fully suppressing the slight tremble of excitement inside her. The key turned in the lock already inserted by a professional medic — cold, precise, merciless.
She entered.
Click — the massive surgical lamp above the chair blazed on, flooding everything with bright white light.
The man, laid out in the gynecological chair, instinctively squinted from the flash. His body was fully secured: legs raised and widely spread in the adjustable stirrups, bent at the knees, straps of soft but strong leather tightly encircling ankles and thighs, leaving no room for movement. Arms stretched upward and outward, secured by wide cuffs to the armrests, wrists and forearms locked firmly. A broad strap across the chest and waist pressed the torso to the backrest, providing full access to everything. He was completely naked, aroused, skin glistening with light sweat from anticipation and the drugs.
Before his eyes adjusted to the light, he heard the voice — painfully familiar, low with a slight rasp:
“Hello, Leshik.”
When his vision cleared, he saw her — standing between his spread legs, hands resting on his knees.
Klavdia in her short white dress-shirt looked like the embodiment of power and temptation: the fabric hugged her graceful yet mature figure, accentuating full breasts and slim waist, the belt pulled tight, the neckline revealing just enough to tease. Nothing underneath — visible in the way the material draped over her hips. The mole on her neck drew the eye, the thin chain with the badge (red ambulance emblem) lay between her breasts, swaying slightly. Glasses in gold frames pushed down to the tip of her nose, one hand touching the frame, the other on his knee — warm, confident. Chestnut spiral curls fell freely over her shoulders, dark-brown eyes looked at him with a cold, vengeful smile.
The man finally managed to part his lips.
“Klav ... you...” he breathed out, his voice trembling with a mix of shock and memories.
A heavy pause hung in the air. He frantically searched for words that could save the situation. Klavdia simply looked down at him, savoring his helplessness — spread legs, fixed arms, naked body already reacting to her presence against his will. Her eyes gleamed behind the glasses pushed down to the tip of her nose, her lips touched by a light, almost tender smile.
Finally, he gathered his courage:
“Klav, you know I’m healthy, everything’s fine with me. Just enter the data and let me go...”
She smiled slightly — warmly, professionally, as if he were an ordinary patient, not the man she had lived with for years until he left, throwing at her on parting: “You’re as cold as the surgical instruments you work with.”
Klavdia’s tone became official, cold as a scalpel:
“You see, Alexey, my name is Klavdia. I am a senior medic. You are in the Male Health Center for examination and registration as an object of care in our healthcare organization.”
Having said that, she leaned over him to reach the tablet lying at the head of the chair. She paused for a few seconds — her body almost touching his, her breasts in the deep neckline of the dress-shirt at his eye level, chestnut curls lightly brushing his cheek. She let him inhale her scent — light medical antiseptic mixed with the warm, feminine aroma of her skin. Gave him time to appreciate all the charms: the curve of her hips, the warmth of her body, the mole on her neck, the chain with the badge lying between her breasts.
Then she straightened up, face to face, and added quietly, with the same professional smile, but with a spark in her eyes:
“And what happens to you ... I’ll decide as we go. I will definitely get pleasure from my work.”
She began entering data into the tablet, not taking her eyes off the screen, but the corners of her mouth still held that predatory smile.
“I know your height ... your weight too...” she said calmly, professionally. “But this needs to be checked.”
Klavdia took a pair of light-blue nitrile gloves from the holder and began putting them on — slowly, demonstratively, stretching the fabric over each finger, as if it were a ritual. The light snap of elastic against skin echoed in the room.
With her foot, she pulled a rolling stool closer, sat between his spread legs, her hands resting on the inner sides of his thighs — warm, confident, through the gloves. Her eyes locked on the aroused penis and the swollen, heavy scrotum. She moved closer, so she could look him straight in the face, and her voice became tender, almost affectionate:
“Tell me, Leshenka, when was the last time...”
She snapped her finger against the head — lightly, but precisely. A few drops of clear pre-cum immediately beaded out.
“Uh...” he faltered, blushing.
Klavdia instantly switched to a strictly professional, cold tone:
“How long ago was the last orgasm? How much semen was released? Was there anything unusual — blood, impurities?”
“T-three weeks ago ... everything was normal,” he squeezed out.
And again that same tender, velvety voice, with a light mockery:
“Masturbating in the bathroom? Or did you find someone?”
“Yes ... just...” he swallowed hard, “masturbating, of course.”
“Fine, we’ll sort that out,” she nodded, entering the data into the tablet. “You’re a strong guy, good material. We’ll need ... I’ll write you a referral. You’ll be donating regularly.”
She looked up over her glasses, her smile widening:
“Imagine: no more jerking off alone. Instead, beautiful women will extract your semen from you. True, cold and professional ones.”
“Listen, why are you trembling? Maybe you have a fever?”
Klavdia looked down at him, her lips spreading in a beautiful, almost caring smile.
“It needs to be measured anyway. With the method you really hate.”
She pronounced it syllable by syllable, savoring each one:
“Rec-tal-ly.”
“Yes, I remember how you squirmed your little ass. ‘I’m a man, no one dares touch me there.’ You men are all so ... independent on the outside. But in reality, controlling you doesn’t take much: just one lever...”
She took his cock in her hand — confidently, like a gearshift knob — and moved it from side to side, as if demonstrating.
“ ... and one button.”
Without releasing it, she dipped a finger from her other hand in the jar of lubricant and slid between his buttocks, pressing precisely on the prostate.
The man howled, growled, his body arched — as much as the straps allowed.
Klavdia released the cock, withdrew her finger, dipped the thermometer in lubricant, and inserted it.
“While the temperature is being taken,” she said calmly, “so you understand what awaits you if you start acting up here...”
She discarded the gloves, took the tablet, made a few taps, and turned the screen toward him.
The image from the surveillance camera showed a small ward. Beds without mattresses, without anything. Several men tied to them by arms and legs. Breathing heavy, cocks standing rigid, bodies glistening with sweat.
“These men are violators. They cursed and struggled during examination. Now they’ve been lying like this since morning. Every hour one of the girls comes in and makes sure the arousal keeps building and doesn’t fade. And it will continue until they realize they should be grateful to us for our care, not growl and swear.”
She removed the thermometer, glanced at the reading.
“Temperature slightly above normal.”
Klavdia entered the data into the tablet and added quietly, with the same smile:
“So, darling, let’s make a deal: one sound, one sigh without my approval — and you’ll join those gentlemen for company.”
Klavdia set the thermometer aside and sat closer on the stool, her hands resting on his thighs — warm through the gloves, but with a firm pressure that made him feel the control.
She looked him straight in the eyes, smiled — that same smile he knew from the past, but now it held steel.
“I see your body remembers me better than you do,” she said quietly, her gaze sliding down to his arousal. “Look how hard it is. Just like old times...”
A pause. She leaned closer, her voice dropping to almost a whisper, laced with light mockery:
“Remember how we loved this position? You on top, me underneath ... And now we’ve switched places. Only now, I decide when and how.”
He jerked, his eyes widening with horror and memories. Klavdia saw it — and savored it.
She picked up a strap-on from the tray (or simply held it up — depending on her mood), bringing it closer so he could see it clearly:
“Imagine ... I could stimulate your ‘plum’ for real right now. Enter you the way you loved entering me. Waiting for it?”
He shook his head frantically, panic in his eyes.
She laughed softly, set the instrument aside.
“Fine, live. I won’t. Today I’m just evaluating and examining. But remember this feeling.”
Klavdia set the strap-on aside and turned to the instrument table. Her movements were slow, deliberate — like a surgeon preparing for a complex procedure. She picked up the Wartenberg wheel — a small metal device with rows of sharp but safe pins, cold from sterilization. The overhead lamp reflected off its chrome surface, and for a moment it gleamed like a tiny star.
She sat closer, between his spread legs, and placed her free hand on the inner side of his thigh — warm, seemingly reassuring ... at first glance.
“Now let’s check the sensitivity of the nerve endings,” she said professionally, but a note of pleasure slipped into her voice. “Don’t twitch. It’s just an instrument.”
The wheel touched his skin just above the knee — cold, alien. Slowly, with light pressure, she rolled it upward along the inner thigh. The pins left a trail of goosebumps, Lesha’s body tensed involuntarily, muscles trembling. He bit his lip, trying to hold back the reaction, but his breathing betrayed him — ragged, heavy.
Klavdia watched him, her eyes gleaming behind the lowered glasses. The wheel continued its path — around the scrotum, carefully, without scratching, but close enough for each pin to remind him of itself with a faint prickle. He jerked in the straps, his cock hardened even more, a drop of pre-cum beading at the tip.
“See?” she said quietly, never taking her eyes off his face. “A cold instrument ... and your body is already responding. Trembling, covered in goosebumps. Remember when you said I was just as icy?”
She rolled the wheel across his stomach, upward to the nipples — slow circular motions, savoring every convulsive breath. His skin erupted in goosebumps, veins on his neck bulging.
Then Klavdia set the wheel aside. She removed one glove — slowly, with the fingers of her other hand. Her bare palm settled on the same spot on his thigh where the cold wheel had just passed. Warm, alive, carrying the faint scent of her skin.
“And here I am,” she whispered, running her fingers along the same path — but now gently, almost tenderly. “Warm. Alive. And you’re trembling even harder, aren’t you?”
Her hand slid higher, wrapping around the base of his cock — not stroking, just holding, feeling the pulse.
“Instruments are cold, like you said. But I ... I can be whatever I want. Today, though, you’ll feel only what I allow.”
She smiled — predatory, satisfied — and continued the “check,” alternating the cold metal with the warmth of her skin, edging him to the brink without letting him cross it.
Klavdia set the thermometer aside and rose from the stool. She circled the chair slowly, deliberately, so he could hear every click of her heels on the linoleum. Lesha turned his head as far as the restraints allowed, but the straps held firm.
She leaned over him, the stethoscope already hanging around her neck, the cold metal disk swaying slightly. Klavdia took it in her hand and smiled — that same smile that once made his heart skip a beat, now making it pound with fear and arousal.
“Now let’s listen to your heartbeat,” she said calmly, professionally. “It’s probably racing pretty loud.”
She leaned lower — intentionally, calculated. Her breasts in the deep neckline of the dress-shirt were right in front of his face: warm, close, almost brushing his cheek and lips. The scent of her skin — light, feminine, with a hint of antiseptic — filled everything. He felt the heat, saw the mole on her neck, the chain with the badge resting between her breasts. Klavdia’s breathing was steady, his — ragged, hot against her skin.
The cold disk of the stethoscope she pressed first to his chest — right over the heart. The metal burned the skin, Lesha flinched.
“I hear it,” she whispered, her gaze locked on his eyes over the top of her glasses. “Pounding ... from what? Fear? Or desire?”
She moved the stethoscope lower — to the abdomen, then even lower, to the base of his cock, but not touching it directly. The cold metal contrasted with the heat of her body, still so close — her breasts almost pressing against his face, curls lightly tickling his cheek.
“And now without the instrument,” she said, setting the stethoscope aside and placing her bare palm (she had removed the glove earlier) on the same spot on his chest. Warm, alive skin. “Feel the difference? The instrument is cold ... but I can be hot. And you still pound harder when I’m close.”
She lingered for another second — letting him inhale her scent, feel the warmth, realize his helplessness: face in her breasts, body fixed, arousal at its peak. Then she straightened up, smiled.
Klavdia crouched beside the chair, her face level with his ear. Warm breath brushed his skin, lips almost touching the lobe — light, teasing contact.
“Soon I’ll end your three-week marathon,” she whispered, voice low, velvety, with a slight rasp. “But first, to make the material more abundant ... and the quality better ... I need to prepare you.”
Her lips slid higher, brushing his temple — tenderly, like a kiss from the past, but with cold calculation. Lesha shuddered, his body betraying him even more intensely.
Klavdia rose gracefully, walked to the instrument table. The clink of metal on metal echoed in his ears — sharp, ominous. She took the ring — smooth titanium with a light internal mechanism for fixation, cold from sterilization. In her hands, it looked like a simple medical device, but he knew exactly what it was for.
“This, Leshik,” she said, returning and sitting between his legs again, “is because I know how quick you are on the trigger.”
She ran a gloved finger over the head — lightly, in a circular motion, squeezing out another drop of pre-cum.
“But now, not a single drop will escape until I allow it.”
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