The Doctor's Prescription

"Come on, why the long face? It's just a checkup," Lena said, touching his shoulder in the clinic parking lot. "Ira's my best friend, and she's a fantastic gynecologist. She'll take a look at us, tell us everything's fine, and we'll head home."

He sighed. Getting tested alongside his wife wasn't exactly his idea of a good time, but he loved her and trusted her judgment. They stepped into the cool lobby, which smelled of bleach and something else distinctly medical. Ira met them in her office—a tall, statuesque woman with a short haircut and a confident gaze.

"Well, well, you two lovebirds," she smiled. "Make yourselves comfortable. Let's take a look at your results."

He sat down on a chair, Lena settling in beside him. Ira flipped through papers, jotting notes on a tablet. Then she lifted her eyes to him.

"Sergei, I need to discuss something with both of you. Lena's test results... they're not great."

"Something serious?" He tensed up.

"An allergic reaction. To sperm. Specifically, to your sperm," Ira said evenly, holding his gaze. "It's disrupting her vaginal flora, causing chronic inflammation. And there's also a latex allergy. To condoms."

He felt the ground drop out from under him. His sperm—an allergen to the woman he loved? How was that even possible?

"Is... is it treatable?" He choked out.

"There's a method," Ira leaned back in her chair. "But it requires a serious commitment. Tell me, Sergei, do you love your wife?"

"Of course I do," he said, squeezing Lena's hand.

"Would you do anything for her?"

"Yes. Anything."

Ira nodded, as if she'd expected that answer.

"To normalize her vaginal flora, she needs sperm from different men. The more variety, the better. Different compositions, different microorganisms. It's like a vaccine—gradually her body adapts, and her flora becomes resilient. And your sperm... it needs to be completely eliminated."

He sat in silence, processing. Another man's sperm? Inside his wife? He felt something tighten in his gut.

"And me?" He asked quietly. "What about me?"

"And you, Sergei," Ira smiled, "need to become a real man. A real man can bring a woman to orgasm with his tongue. His hands. His lips. Without his cock."

He looked at Lena. She was watching him, and in her eyes he saw... hope? A plea?

"You'll do this for me?" She whispered. "I don't want to live with constant inflammation. I want to be healthy. For you."

"Of course," he swallowed hard. "Of course I will."

Lena pecked him on the cheek, and he felt her exhale with relief. Ira handed him a list.

"Here are the contacts. We'll start with three. You come here, I'll handle all the arrangements. And you, Sergei, will wait in the next room. Like a real husband."

He took the piece of paper without looking at it. His head was spinning.

---

A week later, he sat in the clinic's staff lounge. Muffled sounds came through the wall. A woman's laugh. Ira's voice. Lena's moan. He gripped the armrests of his chair, listening as those two—strangers he'd never even seen—fucked his wife. He heard her cry out, heard her whimper. Ira said something in a low voice, encouraging.

Then the door opened. Lena came out, flushed, her hair damp. She smiled at him.

"Well, my love," she walked over and stroked his cheek. "Will you help me?"

He dropped to his knees in front of her. She pulled down her panties—they were soaked. He caught the scent—foreign, sharp, mixed with her own. She pulled his head toward her.

"Suck," she whispered. "Lick it all up. You want me to be healthy, don't you?"

He closed his eyes and pressed his lips to her slick flesh. It tasted salty and bitter on his tongue. He swallowed, and she moaned, stroking his hair.

"Good boy," she breathed. "Such a good boy."

He hated himself for getting hard from this. But his cock was rock solid, and she could feel it.

"I see you like it," she smirked. "Well, you'll have to get used to it. This is just the beginning."

---

Two months passed. He'd lost count of how many men had come through that room. Ira always gave him names—Maxim, Denis, Artyom, some Viktor... He waited in the chair, listening through the wall as his wife screamed with pleasure. Then she'd come in—satisfied, relaxed, eyes shining—and he'd kneel and lick her clean. She said he was the best husband, that she couldn't have done it without him.

Today he waited longer than usual. From the other room came loud moans, a woman's shriek, laughter. Ira came out, smiling.

"Well, Sergei," she handed him a disposable cup. "Missed her?"

"Missed her," he said, his throat tightening.

"Lena really outdid herself today. Three men, each better than the last. Are you proud of her?"

"Proud," he forced out.

"Good. Now go help your wife. She's waiting for you."

He walked into the room. Lena lay on the examination table, legs spread wide. Between her thighs everything glistened with someone else's cum. She smiled at him, beckoning with one finger.

"Come here, my sweet man. You're my main man, right? The one who gets me off with his tongue?"

He knelt before her. Inhaled. The smell was strong, pungent. He pressed his mouth to her, and she arched her back, moaning.

"That's it," she whispered. "Lick it all up. Every last drop. You love me, don't you?"

"I love you," he whispered, and got to work.

She came three times while he licked her clean. And him—he came in his pants without even touching himself. When she finally pushed his head away, he stood up, embarrassed, lips wet.

"Good boy," she stroked his hair. "Now let's go home. We have another appointment tomorrow."

He nodded, feeling everything inside him tremble. He hated this. And he craved it again. And she knew it.