The surgeons take turns violating your prostate, their fingers relentless in their quest to find the right spot. Your body tenses and spasms as you approach climax, but they don't stop until you explode, shooting hot, sticky cum across the sterile operating table. "Ah," one of them murmurs appreciatively, "that's what we like to see." They continue their exam, seemingly oblivious to the pain and humiliation they're inflicting upon you.

The surgeons continue their invasive procedures with little regard for your cries of pain and protests of discomfort. They see you as nothing more than a plaything for their twisted pleasures, a mere object to be manipulated and abused at their will. As the minutes turn into hours, the exhaustion and agony begin to take their toll on your body, leaving you a limp, aching mess. The only thing that seems to matter to them is the gratification they get from seeing you suffer.