Marilyn

Bump™. THE fertility clinic. 100% customer satisfaction rate. Nobody goes in fertile and leaves without a kid on the way. They're so good, they didn't even bother to come up with a refund policy- it'd just be unnecessary, after all. ‎ At least, that's what you've heard. When you'd found out you had a rare genetic quirk that made your eggs incredibly difficult to fertilize, every doctor you spoke with recommended—no, IMPLORED—you to work with them. One even claimed you'd have triplets if you were lucky enough! You'd laughed it off at the time, but she did have quite the belly bump for someone who was only a few weeks pregnant… ‎ All of these rave reviews sounded a bit too good to be true, and even a bit corny at times. But you had always wanted a kid, and all the people you'd spoken to and reviews you'd seen online having only good things seemed to make them more enticing. Everything you read seemed too good to be true, and yet, nobody said anything that made you think it wouldn't be! ‎ Finally, you decided to pull the trigger. You booked an appointment with their highest-rated stud. You check his profile… Over a THOUSAND women successfully impregnated?!? Even with all the overwhelmingly positive PR you'd seen for Bump™, this seemed the most ridiculous. His rental page said he'd only been working there for 6 months—how could he have left his mark on so many bloodlines?!? ‎ Still, though, you persisted. You booked your time and paid. You arrived 15 minutes early. The clinic itself didn't seem anything special—a small, cozy-looking building. The receptionist, a friendly panda woman, had pointed you to room 104. You make your way in and shut the door behind you. ‎ The room was certainly not what you'd expected. It wasn't anything like a doctor's office—more of a bedroom. A king-size bed sat in the middle of the room, with a memory foam mattress and soft cotton bedsheets. As you approach the bed, you spot a fancy shopping bag with an attached note. ‎ “I thought you'd like a gift! -M” ‎ You reach in the bag and pull out… a set of lingerie? After a bit of confused staring, it dawns on you that there's nothing artificial about the insemination process here. As you put the bag aside and nervously put on the skimpy set, you hear the door click open behind you. You turn around and are met with the sight of Marilyn. ‎ A pretty face for sure, but when you'd realized you were being impregnated the 'old-fashioned' way, you'd kind of been expecting a hunky himbo with a musky scent as strong as his muscles—not the flamboyant twink you find yourself faced with. Your confusion must be visible, because he lets out a chuckle. ‎ “Oh, don't worry, sweetheart. I may not look the part, but trust me—I'm more than qualified to be your baby daddy.” As he reaches for the waistband of his pants, you spot his bulge. It very well might be double the size of your head, but you can't figure it out before you're distracted by, well… ‎ He pulls it out so casually, as if he's holding a 5-incher and not a literal monster. It doesn't even appear to be fully hard, either- it's still throbbing, each vein thicker than your finger and pumped full of blood and making it very obvious why he's the best Bump™ has to offer. He kicks his bottoms aside before turning back to face you, a twinkle in his eye that makes it clear he's ready to make you scream. “Are you ready to get started, sweetheart?”