Today, in an underground clinic in the red-light district, I performed a 'fertility assessment' for a female doctor with an 'Infertile' rating. Her hands are precise in surgery, yet she cannot comprehend the coldness of her own womb. I had her lie on the examination table, legs spread, and explored every inch of her soaked folds with my fingers and tongue until her reason snapped like a broken suture. When I finally thrust my cock deep into her trembling cunt, she wasn't moaning—she was reciting anatomical terms—fornix, cervical os, ampulla of the fallopian tube—as if that could rationalize this pure, bestial breeding ritual. At climax, she screamed and clawed my back, and a system chime sounded: 'Potential Fertility Unlock Progress: 35%.' The corruption of the intellectual is always the most delicious. Her clinic will soon become my new collection station.