Fertility Clinic Pt. 05: Attraction

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PT 5 Fertility Clinic: Nature of the Attraction

In my senior year in college, I worked several hours in the early morning before classes in a fertility clinic. It was part of my internship toward my degree in Industrial Psychology. In my rotation as a student intern in the clinic, I, through study and practical training, had earned a promotion out of maintenance into the Nursing Department as an assistant.

Smart in her white lab coat and dark dress, Dr Velour introduced the study to three nursing assistant candidates gathered in her office.

“We start our study with the male body because it is less complex, designed for an important, but momentary role in reproduction,” Dr Velour’s word brought a ripple of giggling to the motley group of prospective nursing assistants.

“This is a business,” Dr Velour expounded, “We have to recruit livestock, groom their bodies, generate interest in purchasers, draw and refine the product and sell it. Initially, our question in dealing with the men, is what makes a man want to `bind his loins’ in a cock – blocker, hitch his penis to a machine and discharge his seed into a hitching post? The answer at least initially is curiosity.”

I chuckled. Ever since I obtained this internship, my husband Jerry has beseeched me to sneak him in to test his equipment. Didn’t I put out enough? I lay crunched up like a pretzel, hands bound behind my back with my bra, complaints squelched with panties in my mouth too often to think differently.

It was hard to think of Jerry tied docilely to a hitching post at the Clinic to be jerked off. For foreplay, Jerry preferred wrestling me to the ground. Taken by surprise, forced face down, with Jerry strong hands tugging at the waistband of my jeans, I’d spur Jerry on by pleading, “Don’t rip my clothes, Jerry. I don’t get paid till next week.”

Was Jerry jealous or afraid my job involved physical contact with other men? No, Jerry was so curious so much so he wanted me to reenact the protocols in sperm extraction.

“You come to the clinic through different pathways, bringing different experiences to the study. Dr Velour looked from student to student, “we have Amy, here, a student in Industrial Psychology at the local college. Perhaps with Amy’s background in Industrial Psychology, she will develop a clearer idea the motivation of the persons involved in the people involved in the donation process. Amy?”

“My ugh-experience tells me curiosity is a good hypothesis,” I replied. The room filled with chuckling, “Men are always looking for a new spot to anchor their spar in.”

When the laughter subsided, Dr Velour pointed out a girl with muscular forearms and legs, “Next, we have Cassie. She’s a gymnast who has been working in the gym; Pat,” Dr Velour pointed out a college girl like me, “a participant in our experiment in inducing the mammary glands to produce milk; and Beth,” Dr Velour pointed to a woman in her mid – thirties, “a surrogate.”

“Regardless of sex, however,” Dr Velour continued, “the brain is the largest sex organ. Oh, the body reacts to physical stimulation and once aroused can control the mind, but the mind creates the expectations in given situations.”

“Thus, because male body’s function in reproduction is limited,” Dr Velour explained, “each of you will begin your study there.”

In the male donor section, I started as a “warden.” A warden was our in – group term for the nursing assistant who received male donors and released them from the “cock blocker” the opaque inverted triangle covering their loins and screwing the cock blocker on when the male departs the facility.

“Bear in mind, each and every task in – processing our donors, filing in, to have their genitalia disencumbered,” Dr Velour stressed, “are in more than one sense our livestock. We may own a few ccs—cubic centimeters of their refined output, but their physical appearance is critical to stirring interest into purchase of their genetic material for insemination.”

On the home front with my husband Jerry, the exotic aspects of my internship stimulated Jerry’s interest, stirred Jerry’s curiosity and spurred Jerry’s libido. That the internship required intimate physical contact with other men did not concern Jerry. He never failed to enjoy my accounts of in – processing male donors in the male donor’s locker.

Dr Velour might have approved of Jerry’s insistence on authenticity in the re – enactment in our bedroom. Like the donors in the locker, Jerry presented himself naked, before me, hands on his head to simulate the process. Likewise, Jerry demanded I don an improvised nursing whites, fashioned out of a Jerry’s short sleeve white shirt and pajama bottoms.

“The brain interprets the stimulus presented to the senses,” Dr Velour explained, “in a certain context, presenting naked is an invitation to intercourse. However, the indicia of a medical status, güvenilir bahis a white lab coat, scrubs, stethoscope and a plastic name tag cause the brain to interpret the intended nature of physical contact differently.”

“Good morning,” I, reprising my approach to Jerry, playing the role of donor, in my improvised nurse’s outfit, asked, “what brings you in today, a quick shower on your way to work, a visit to the gym, a donation or perhaps all three?” Commencing my examination of Jerry’s genitalia, I teased Jerry with a glimpse at my boobs through the armholes of Jerry’s loosely fitting white shirt.

I chuckled when I thought of the words of Dr Velour on clothing. “Why do nursing assistants wear scrubs? Among the purposes clothing serves,” Dr Velour continued her exposition, “is to suggest the appearance of the unclothed body, to protect the body from injury, or to indicate status and authority and the right to make personal contact. One of the first social taboos, a nursing assistant must overcome is intimate contact with a person of the opposite sex. Contact reserved for an intimate partner in the boudoir is the subject of the consultation room.”

“In the clinic,” I thought aloud as I held Jerry’s penis in my hand, “a penis, freshly released from the cock – blocker, must be inspected for signs of normal arousal. The primary purpose of male livestock in the fertility clinic is the production of ejaculate with a sufficiently high sperm count for economical distribution.”

“Those of you in a relationship with a man,” Dr Velour discussed male anatomy, “understand the expression, `thinking with the wrong head.’ Now let me explain why.” Giggling filled the room. The course ways of the branches of the dorsal nerve of the penis through the spongy tissue of the penis make the penis extremely sensitive to touch.”

“Hmm,” I’d be busy palpating the Jerry’s testes, spermatic cord and the ducts. “In the fertility clinic, the cock works as a pump which expels spermatozoa from the male apparatus into the fireplug shaped hitching post.”

Jerry’s pliancy standing with hands clasped on his head as I manipulated him into an erection stood in marked contrast to the energy with which, holding me face ground, tickled me until I lifted my butt so that he could whip off my dungarees. Lifting me up, Jerry yanked my blouse and bra over my head. Naked, hands secured behind my back with my bra, I felt my heart thumping out a steady beat in my chest.

Jerry broke the mood with a question. “How do I compare to donors at the clinic?” Jerry would often ask the same question as we reenacted handling a donor in the Fertility Clinic.

I paused to think before I responded. “You’re more at ease. When most donors first came to the clinic, they are so shy. But once, the donor settles in here, the exam is just part of the fun.”

Noting Jerry’s increasing rigidity, I pronounced Jerry ready for the next step, the anti – bacterial shower. Staff called this phase in the process: `delousing.’

Naturally, always with an eye toward realism in the re – enactment, Jerry wanted me to don a white two piece for an authentic demonstration of my work as the lifeguard, the girl who worked the shower.

If we wanted the game to continue, I knew I would have to leave the room, undress and don, out of Jerry’s sight, of course, the two – piece white bathing suits the lifeguards wear. Jerry’d ask, “Amy, why are you leaving?”

“I have to change,” I looked down at the rags I was wearing, “out of this eh – uniform to put on the white two – piece the shower girls wear.” I shook my head. “You wanted to proceed to the next level. I can’t undress with you glaring at me, like a predator ready to pounce.”

“Like clothing, lack of it,” Dr Velour lectured, “or nudity comes in three distinct purposes: social nudity as in a place where people simply go about daily life naked, functional nudity for a shower or physical examination or sexual nudity to attain coitus. Simple nudity is a natural state, without romantic implications. However, transitioning between a clothed and unclosed state may in some circumstances be considered an invitation.”

Jerry laughed, “I’ve seen you naked before. You’ve been busy tantalizing me swinging those tits. What’s more to see, besides rounded hips and a fuzzy pussy. So?”

“Jerry,” I reminded him, “you’re already into pillow talk,” I shook my head. “With stimulation of an ungelded male into a state of rigidity, the temptation of stripping in front of you would be far too great. In order for the game to continue, I have to leave the room to change.”

Returning to the bedroom, in a white two – piece to re – enact my work in the shower. Honoring Jerry’s preference for realism. I’d require Jerry plant a real bill in my cup. “Once you drop the tip, we can proceed.”

“Drop the tip and feel the tit,” Jerry exclaimed.

“While clothing’s türkçe bahis suggestion of status is important to define the socially acceptable extent of contact, clothing still must be functional,” Dr Velour quipped, “it would be impossible to wear starched whites in the shower. Beach wear might invite notice, but it furnishes enough cover to inspire a measure of self – restraint. Besides, where would the donor leave the tips?”

Self – restraint only worked so far with Jerry. While leaving the tip, Jerry, always ready to test his limits, allowed his fingers lingered too long feeling my tits.

Grabbing his hand and pulling it away, I’d remind him, “A tip is a measure of good will, I appreciate the gratuity, but my tits can only allow a quick thrill.”

On more than one occasion, Jerry, yanking the cups off my breasts, left my boobs bobbing; his eyes were fixed on my nips; his projectile shot skyward; his breath deepened. So, did mine.

Hands on my hips, gently swaying side – to – side, I stood studying Jerry’s physique, estimating the potential orgasmic energy about to be unleashed. Silently looking at each other, we panted in unison for a full minute. Just as I was sure the moment of lightheaded euphoria would end in an orgasmic éclat, Jerry broke the mood with his wit quipping, “To get the tips, I unveiled the tits.” I leaned into Jerry as we rocked to – and – fro together in gentle laughter.

It was a magic moment I wanted to last forever. My skin quivered at his touch. Why doesn’t he sweep my bottom away?

Breaking the embrace, I stepped back to deliberately pull the straps up on my shoulder and cover my boobs with the cups. “Shall we continue?” I asked. With a damp washcloth, I lathered his underarms.

“The lifeguard, the shower – girl in a white two – piece may give the donor a cheap thrill,” Dr Velour advised, “but she servers an important function in assaying the curb appeal of our livestock. Does he need to be prettied up, are his teeth polished, nails clipped, haircut, excess body hair removed, stud book photo updated?” After a pause, Dr Velour exclaimed, “you’ll never cease being amazed at how easily men become addicted to the attention!”

Commenting on Jerry’s hair, “Soon,” I promised, “I’ll send a donor through to surgical prep eh – I mean, grooming -to clear up uncomfortable bristle.” With a laugh, I added, “In your case to get rid of the tangle.”

“Whether the customer picks the donor from a gallery photo in our stud book or from inspection in the meat market, the physical appearance of our livestock, not intelligence, not sperm count,” Dr Velour instructed, “is a determinate factor in choice of the sperm. Even lesbian couples seeking a sperm donor will make their choice on the basis of physique, height, muscular structure, grooming, complexion and skin texture.”

Working my way up the inside of Jerry’s legs to his scrotum, I checked his pubes. “The clinic requires clean pubes, Jerry. How can I sneak you in?” I asked as I left a thin coat of sudsy foam around his sack which had tightened flush to his body.

“Rinse off,” I ordered, “Time to towel you down to get you ready for the Third Stage the Harvest.”

In the Clinic, after the subject rinses off soapy film, the shower girl would pass the donor to the Towel Girl. “Towel girl wears a black two piece; top is optional. I told Jerry parenthetically, “some donors may request a bare chested. towel girl.”

“And you?” Jerry asked.

“Depends on the tip,” I noted, “how close to the edge I take the patient.” Looking at the dollar bill Jerry had planted against my right tit, I smirked, “Hmm, I guess I come cheap. Let me step out and change.”

“Change? Again?” Jerry questioned. “Why do you need to change out of my sight. All you have to do is slip off your bra and allow me to drool.”

“Partial nudity is a condition. Undressing is a temptation,” was my repartee. “Face the wall.”

Out of Jerry’s sight, I stepped out of my two – piece white bathing suit and pulled up a black thong. Looking over my shoulder, I thought, not much cover.

Responding to questioning about the professionalism of wearing a thong to perform the toweling down procedure, Dr Velour clarified, “A male rinsing off will likely find he’s lost a budding erection. We need to stimulate the male to draw the product we’re purchasing, his ejaculate. Of course, doffing or donning the top is at the nurse’s discretion.”

Reentering the bedroom, I reached for a bath towel. “In the Clinic, I use a warm bath towel to I wipe the little droplets of water dripping off the donor’s shoulders.” My circular blotting movements left Jerry’s shoulders to reach down his back to the half – moons of his butt. “I wouldn’t want to leave you with wet, cold feet,” I quipped as I continued to dab from his legs to his feet.

Nudging his legs apart, and bending Jerry at the waist, I güvenilir bahis siteleri wisecracked, “Now for your cheap thrill,” as I buried my bare breasts into his back as I muttered, “you rate.” My arms wrapped around Jerry’s body to dry his chest and pubic area. I dropped the towel to use a washcloth to dry Jerry’s inner thighs, perineum, pelvic crease, and ball sack. Feeling Jerry’s loins beginning to stir, I declared, “This brings us to the third stage in the donation, the Harvest.”

Placing pillow case over Jerry’s head, I whispered. “This step takes some imagination. You’ll have to imagine you were received by a nursing assistant in scrubs and that she has placed a visor over your head.”

I knelt in front of Jerry, moistening the pads of my fingers with my saliva, I slid my fingers along either side of his erection. I noted the bulging blue artery. Too much more foreplay would cause an ejaculation.

“Men are very visual,” Dr Velour taught, “however when the visor deprives the donor of sight. His sensitivity to touch and smell are increased 100 – fold. The visor will draw on the subject` imagination to portray images to him. These images may or may not correspond to the contact the subject is experiencing.” Smiling, Dr Velour added, “The visor magnifies the deceptive power of feminine wiles.”

“In the Clinic,” I told Jerry, “the visor covering the donor’s face projects an alluring, seductive message, contributing the mental dimension to physical arousal.”

“Imagination is the engine which runs our visor,” Dr Velour taught, “In a manner of speaking the message from the visor comes from fantasies floating in the subject’s mind and broadcasts them back to the subject.”

Lowering Jerry to the ground to take him like a wild cowgirl was a thrilling experience for me.

This was very different from our usual wrangling. Only occasionally in our grappling did I end up on top. After being wrung out of my clothes, I found my hands bound with my bra. My protests were squelched when Jerry stuffed my panties in my mouth.

Jerry controlled our usually jousts. Positioning himself behind me and lifting my hips, Jerry used his feet to stretch my legs as far apart as they would go. Guiding his penis with his hands, he brushed it against my vaginal lips. Then with a powerful thrust, Jerry was inside.

With Jerry prevailing in our usual tussling, I meet Jerry’s thrust, by bucking my butt up against the insertion forcing him in deeper. Regrettably, Jerry would come too soon.

However, I maintained control most of the time when we reenacted the procedures at the Fertility Clinic. As I lowered Jerry to the ground, I continued the narration of the extraction procedure. “Today, the hitching post will simulate a cow – girl style penetration for sperm extraction. This position is one of minimal bodily contact.”

Dr Velour instructed, “The cow – girl hitch is a simple joinder which plugs the glans penis into the hitching post channel which simulates the warmth and pulsations of the female orifice to draw off the product, the male sperm. How many of you girls prefer playing the cow – girl.” Looking at me, Dr Velour prompted me to explain, “Amy tell us why.”

“I’m in control. I determine how deep,” I replied, “Jerry penetrates and how long we remain – eh coupled.”

In our re – enactment of the drawing off of sperm, I whipped off my black thong. Placing it over Jerry’s nose, I quipped under my breath, “Quite an aphrodisiac, so you say.” I spread my legs and squatted. I descended until I was in position. “Contact between the patient’s nozzle and the hitching post’s warm tubing,” I recalled Dr Velour’s instructions, “is all that’s required.”

Once in position, I gabbed Jerry’s penis and rubbed the head against my vaginal lips. My breathing deepened. “A warm body with a real throbbing gateway suctioning your man sap into its depths has to be more fun,” I screamed, “than allowing yourself to be jerked off into a machine.”

As I crammed Jerry’s glans in my orifice, I reflected Dr Velour’s warning, “Many men get so entranced by the fantasy that after awhile, encumbering their genitalia upon the patient’s departure is more ritual than necessary to preserve the product.”

Breathing heavily in synch with Jerry’s ascending chest, I slowly slid down Jerry’s penis until our pubes met. Then I raised myself until his glans was just inside my aperture, before I crashed down until I absorbed his penis up to its root. I lifted myself up, tantalizing Jerry’s erection on the up – swing with the possibility of breaking off the connection before I dropped down suddenly upon the full length of the penis.

Rising up once again upon the erection until only the very tip rested against my where I deliberately paused, I felt Jerry’s strong hands on my hips pulling me down to force his penis back in. Inside my body, Jerry hyperextended signalling an immanent discharge. When the surge of Jerry’s emissions abated, I leaned forward to tease his chest with my nips. Kissing him, I assured him two people working together can have more fun than one man jerked off hitched to a post.

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