The PeterFiles: A (fictional) clinical study chronicling the activities of Peter, a lifelong habitual masturbator. Copyright 1995-2017 by Onania.Org/asm. Click to Read All Stories in the PeterFiles.
PeterFiles #02: Overdrawn at the Sperm Bank
(Editor’s Note: Modern techniques of clinical sperm extraction are remarkably effective, but the more powerful physical gratification produced can prove addictive to some men. Here the experience unfortunately exacerbates Peter’s pre-existing tendencies. – Dr. Margaret Wilson, Registered Genital Therapist)
Lucy was seated beside me on the couch as she studied, wearing a blue denim work shirt and cutoffs. We had been seeing each other casually for a few weekends, on “study dates”, as I helped her with freshman calculus. I had always been numbingly shy around girls, but Lucy was two years my junior, with an easy, friendly manner that made me feel comfortable. I still could not muster the nerve to make a non-platonic move, but lately we had been joking a lot about sex, as we both began to feel the potential growing in the friendship. I was hoping that Lucy might finally be the girl to introduce me to the as yet unknown mysteries of sex.
But tonight I was staring at the wall of the small college dorm room, ignoring both the book in my lap and the nearness of her sexy body. Occasionally she glanced sideways at me, wondering why I seemed so preoccupied. At last she could stand it no longer.
“You’re really down tonight, Peter. What’s the matter?”
“Oh, it’s just… I’m just worried about my finances. I’m carrying a heavy load this semester, and I had to give up my part-time job. Now I’ve got to find some way to earn a little money, something that doesn’t take much time. I just can’t make it on what I saved over the summer.”
She put her book down and looked thoughtful. “Maybe I can help. There’s got to be a way. Let’s see, have you thought about tutoring?”
“No, that takes too much time. I’d fall behind in my studies.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right. Well, what about this: I heard some of the other kids pick up extra money by selling blood to the blood bank.”
The idea made me shiver. “I, uh, don’t care for needles, much. I nearly faint when I get a shot.”
She laughed. “Don’t be such a sissy. I’ve given blood, and it doesn’t hurt a bit.” But I would have none of it. After several more suggestions were tried and found wanting, she began to take on some of my gloom.
But a new idea suddenly occurred to her, and she looked up devilishly. “I know! You could donate sperm! You know, to a sperm bank. I mean sell it, actually. There’s a new clinic that pays $45 per sample. Linda told me her boyfriend tried it.” Then in a tease, “Of course, you know what you’d have to do for it, don’t you? I’ll bet it’s real embarrassing.”
Hiding my total lack of sexual sophistication, I nonchalantly said, “Hell, everybody masturbates. I don’t see what’s so hard about jacking off into a bottle. It’s no more embarrassing than taking a urine sample.”
“Well, I hate to do that, too. Besides, it’s not just masturbating. Linda said it was really weird what they made him do. You sure it wouldn’t bother you? I bet it would.”
I was hardly wild about the idea, but Lucy, without meaning to, was calling my bluff. With more confidence than I felt, I said, “Nothing to it. In fact, I’ll give it a try.”
The next morning I called the clinic and made an appointment. They gave me little information except to request that I abstain from sex or masturbation until my appointment. There was little danger of sex in the interim, but refraining from my usual and frequent manual releases was difficult. Two days later I entered a door bearing the sign “WORTHAM FERTILITY CLINIC”. The receptionist checked my name and said, “Oh yes, Mr. Stroker. Dr. Wortham will see you now.”
She led me into an office, and I was not at all prepared for what I saw. Seated behind a large mahogany desk was a smartly-dressed attractive woman in her late thirties. Her dark blond hair was tied back in a professional but becoming style. I sneaked a glance at her shapely figure as she rose to greet me. “How do you do? I’m Gloria Wortham. Won’t you have a seat?”
Face to face with the very womanly doctor, I was seized with sudden shyness about the business I had come for. She understood and took the initiative. “Now, Peter, I understand you wish to donate sperm. I know you may be a little anxious during your first visit, but there is no need to be embarrassed in the least. But before I explain the procedure, I’ll need some information about your medical history.”
She began a long series of questions about the state of my health and of my family. Finally she said, “Well, that all seems in order. But now I must ask some rather personal questions pertaining to your emotional health. Do you consider your sex life satisfactory?”
“Yes..uh…I think so…”
“You have a girl friend, I suppose?” She began probing in detail my sex life and private relations with Lucy. I was embarrassed to admit to my lack of experience, and pretended to rather more than I had. At last she seemed satisfied.
“I hope you will forgive me for being so inquisitive, but I must understand your motives for being here. For young men of a certain character, our procedure can have unfortunate side effects.”
I was becoming increasingly uneasy. “Side effects? But I thought I was just supposed to… you know…”
“In conventional clinics, the donor is placed in a private room and instructed to masturbate into a specimen bottle. But here at the Wortham Clinic we employ a highly advanced technique to extract semen. A technique,” she continued with pride, “I myself have developed. The specimens we obtain are far larger and more potent.”
I was thoroughly worried now. “You don’t use needles, do you?”
She laughed. “Oh heavens, no. Your semen will be obtained through a process of masturbation, but in a novel manner. Our procedure is most pleasant, I promise. In fact, the donor experiences a very powerful sexual gratification, even more gratifying than during normal masturbation. Does it embarrass you to discuss this?”
I was shifting nervously in my chair. “N…no, not at all.”
“Good. I think it best if we are quite frank about it. Sexual sensations are an essential part of the method, and we want you to experience them to the fullest. The side effects I mentioned are emotional in nature: For some men, the intense sexual gratification of the method may be… habit forming. I will explain more as we go along. Are you still willing to proceed?”
I was more than willing. Her calm, professional promise of extraordinary sexual pleasure was unbelievably exciting. Trying to hide my eagerness, I agreed.
“Just one more question, Peter. There will be technicians present during the procedure, and it will be necessary for them to handle your genitals extensively. Do you object to this?”
“Well… who would it be?” I had the unpleasant vision of a burly male nurse.
She smiled and spoke into the intercom. “Debbie, we’re ready for you now.” The door opened and a girl about my age entered. She was dressed as a nurse, but not in the usual starched sexless armor of the healthcare professional. Her white blouse and skirt were cut tightly, revealing her figure. And what a figure! Enormous breasts billowed beneath her blouse, arresting my eyes for several seconds. Large firm hips and well-turned calves supported a pleasing plumpness; and an open, cheerful face crowned her earthy body. I couldn’t have been happier when Dr. Wortham said, “Debbie will assist in taking your sample today.”
Debbie gave me a broad smile and said, in a charming southern drawl, “Howdy, Peter. You just come along with me now, an’ I’ll fix you up.” I smiled back shyly, and followed her down the hall.
She led me into a small room which looked like a doctor’s examination room, with the unusual exception of full-length mirrors on two walls. There was a sink in one corner, and in the center of the room there was a padded bench of strange design. Otherwise the room contained only an armless straight-backed chair and a low stool.
“OK, Peter, step out of your pants and under shorts. You can leave your shirt on, if you want.” I undressed and stood shyly before her, naked from the waist down, conscious of the rising erection ballooning my shirt tails. “Now over the bench with you,” she commanded, indicating the mysterious furniture in the center of the room. It was similar to a low piano bench, though not quite as long. Under her instructions, I kneeled down and stretched out across it, lying on my stomach. Debbie positioned my arms and legs along side the four legs of the bench, and to my surprise, bound my wrist to the bench leg with a wide leather strap. She reached for my other wrist, but I jerked it free.
“Here now, Peter. Don’t squirm around so. I got to git you tied down.”
“Wait! I don’t understand. Why are you tying me?”
“Don’t you worry,” she soothed me. “Dr. Wortham will be along directly to explain. This here is necessary. If you want us to take your sperm sample, you got to be tied down. Besides,” she added in a teasing voice, “if you’re a good boy, I’ll show you somethin’ you’ll like.”
Grinning broadly, she began unbuttoning her blouse. I could see part of a sheer white bra and an incredibly deep cleavage beckoning me. “Now just let me get this other wrist strapped down and I’ll show you some more.” Mesmerized, I allowed her to finish her task and soon found myself bound by wrist and thigh to the four legs of the bench.
She then stood in front of me and fulfilled her promise. Slowly parting the blouse, she wriggled out of it and stood before me nude from the waist up except for the sheer bra. Tan skin showed through the gauzy cups, and brown nipples made dark circles at the tips. “That’s enough for now. Don’t want to get you too worked up just yet. Are you comfortable?”
Glancing at my reflection in the mirrors, I saw what a ridiculous sight I presented stretched over the bench. I lay on the soft padding which supported my weight. My shirt tails had ridden up, exposing my naked buttocks as if I were a small boy awaiting a spanking. My knees were spread apart by the bindings, and, dropping my head, I could look back between my thighs at the delicate genitals dangling unprotected. The straps were tight but not uncomfortably constricting. In fact, as I tugged gently against the bonds, I began to feel strangely content, even excited by my absolute helplessness before the beautiful captor. Whatever was going to happen, it was beyond my control or responsibility. I could only relax and let it happen.
Just then the door opened behind me, and in the mirror I saw Dr. Wortham enter. “Excellent, Debbie, I see he is ready. Let’s begin.” Taking the chair, she sat in front of me and smiled reassuringly. “You must have many questions, Peter. Let me explain what is happening to you. As I said, we will obtain your semen by a process of masturbation, but we will not have you manipulate yourself. The reason is that when a man masturbates himself, he loses all self-control in the rush to achieve his climax. It’s just ‘Wham, bam, thank you, hand’.” She and Debbie chuckled at what must have been a standard joke. “That is quite to be expected, of course, but it does not allow his testicles time to release the optimal quantity of sperm.”
Meanwhile Debbie had drawn up the stool behind my upraised posterior and sat down. In the mirror I saw her hands reaching between my thighs for my vulnerable organs. Her fingers lightly grasped my sack and began a heavenly scratching. I moaned involuntarily with pleasure.
“But I have found (through extensive tests) that larger and more potent samples are obtained when the whole matter is, shall we say, taken out of the donor’s hands. The goal is to prolong the release, so the subject has time to develop a good strong pre-ejaculatory tension. The climax is like a fruit, Peter: it must not be taken before it is ripe. And we are very patient gardeners.”
The soft tickling on my tender glands was casting me into a trance. My voice was barely audible. “But… why did you… mmm… tie me up?”
“Well, Peter, we have found it necessary to restrain the donor during the session. I think you will see why later.”
Debbie extended her delicate tickling to the sensitive underside of my shaft, which jutted poker-stiff between my legs. The excitement caused my limb to drip its clear lubricant, and, catching one of these drops, she spread it over the tuck of skin just below the head. I began straining against the bonds, not for freedom but to savor the delightful feeling of captivity.
“He’s drippin’ pretty good now, Dr. Wortham. Should I milk him some?”
“Yes, I think he is ready for Phase Two. You’ll like this, Peter.”
The buxom girl reached for a bottle of baby oil and doused her left hand liberally. Then grasping my sack firmly with her right, she squeezed her slippery fingers over my shaft with a motion exactly like that of milking a cow. Waves of pleasure inundated me. Soon I was issuing soft moans, sounding for all the world like the lowing of a cow with her full udders in the hands of a country maid. Debbie’s firm grip on my glands filled me with a warm, secure feeling. I was completely under her control.
After a few moments, Dr. Wortham interrupted. “How do his testicles feel, Debbie?”
“They’re pretty tight, Doctor.”
“Then let’s go on to Phase Three.”
Debbie released my private parts suddenly. The abandonment was nearly as cruel as a blow. I groaned in complaint.
“Don’t worry, Peter, we’re merely changing places. On a donor’s first visit, I always like to take the specimen myself. Besides, Debbie has another treat for you.”
Debbie now sat in front of me and to my great delight reached behind her back and unfastened her bra. Her magnificent breasts fell forward into my view. Each was perfectly shaped: full and round, jutting in a graceful curve, and decorated by a wide brown aureole tipped by a large pink nipple. They swayed slightly as she tossed the bra into a corner.
On the stool behind me Dr. Wortham explained, “As I mentioned earlier, Peter, sexual arousal is an important factor in our collection process. Part of Debbie’s job is to provide the donor with visual stimulation. I think she does that admirably, don’t you?”
I was fascinated by the sight, and emboldened enough to ask, “Please, Dr. Wortham, would it be all right, could I… just… kiss them?”
“Well! I don’t know, Peter. It is highly irregular! Besides, Debbie might not wish to let you…”
“Oh, I don’t mind, Doctor. I let some of the other donors do it.”
“Well, all right then. But just a little.” Debbie knelt before me and, placing her hand beneath her left breast, lifted it into my lips. I drew the prominent nipple into my mouth and tasted a rapture undreamed of. After a few minutes, Dr. Wortham coughed. “Ahem. I think that is enough, Debbie. Let’s proceed.”
“Yes, Doctor.” She drew back to her chair. Her cheeks were pink and the nipple was stiffly erect.
Dr. Wortham now began a light tickling on the swell of my manhood, as Debbie had done. But I soon realized that there was a great difference in the abilities of the two women. Where Debbie was skilled, Dr. Wortham was inspired. Where the girl was forthright and simple, the woman was subtle and unpredictable. She seemed to know telepathically the most sensitive point to attack, and when to withhold attack to increase my longing unbearably. She caressed my private spaces with divine cruelty, raising me to monstrous excitement. Slowly, ever so slowly, she stroked the delicate underside of my member. Little by little she brought me to the brink of release and then — she stopped, withdrawing her hand to leave my shaft naked and quivering with longing. I groaned in an agony of disappointment.
“No, Peter, no,” she sighed. “We won’t finish just yet. I’m sorry, but we must let the pressure build a little more.” Wild with frustrated lust, I struggled against the bonds, trying to reach my organs with my own hands, but the straps held firm. “You see, Peter, the bindings are quite necessary. You could not resist the desire to masturbate now, could you?”
“No…” I moaned in misery. I looked up at Debbie, who smiled back with sympathetic understanding. The sight of her large bare breasts, hanging almost to her lap, was strangely soothing.
After a pause, the excruciating stroking began again. Time and again Dr. Wortham brought me to the brink only to withdraw, ignoring my frantic pleas for release. Finally, she held me on the edge of fulfillment for what seemed like eternity, and I dreaded the moment that she would again abandon my flesh to its lonely torment. But to my great joy I heard, “Peter, I think it’s time. I’m going to let you finish now, and I want a great big squirt.”
She stroked my penis not fast but steadily, letting my desire push me slowly over the threshold. At last I felt the flood gates opening, and in near delirium I looked back between my legs to see her cradling and massaging my member in one hand. The other hand brought a small glass specimen bottle up and pressed it to the tip, just as my grateful flesh pulsed and spurted a stream of pearly liquid. Jet after jet gushed out, in audible spurts against the glass, more than I could believe possible, filling the bottle nearly to overflowing. “That’s it, Peter, squirt for me. Don’t hold back, let me have it all,” she urged as she milked the last few drops of fluid from my loins.
Dr. Wortham patted my buttocks and left, taking her prize to the lab for analysis, and I remained slumped speechless over the bench for some time afterwards. Then Debbie untied me and helped me to dress. I was so weak I could hardly stand. After I had rested, she helped me to walk back to Dr. Wortham’s office.
As I sat down, she beamed at me across her desk. “Well done, Peter, well done. Five milliliters of semen and 98 percent potent. You certainly have earned your fee.” She began writing out a check. “Tell me, did you enjoy the session?”
I was still dazed by the experience. “I… I… didn’t know it would be so… like that. I’ve never felt like that before.”
She paused and studied me carefully. “Peter, let me give you some advice. For your own good, go home to your nice girl friend and don’t come back to donate sperm again. I think I see certain… tendencies in your character which should not be encouraged. Of course, it’s up to you. Your sperm will always be welcome.”
“No, Dr. Wortham,” I agreed. “I won’t be back.”
I took my leave and returned to the dorm. I went to bed early that night and slept deeply. I was awakened late the next morning by the ringing of the telephone.
“Hello? … Oh, hi, Lucy … Yeah. It went OK at the clinic. Like I said, no big deal…. Hmmm, tonight? That sounds nice, but I don’t think we should get together for a few days. I’ve got a big exam coming on Monday and I better cram for it … Yeah, right. Real soon. Bye.”
I sat on the edge of the bed for a few moments and then dialed a number. “Dr. Wortham? It’s Peter Stroker…. I was wondering if, could I have another appointment on Monday? … Yeah, I know, but I really want one … Great! Thanks. Thanks a lot!”
* end *