The Copulator License
by Richard Lovel – Copyright 2025 – All rights reserved
Chapter 3 – Two Roads Diverge
A door clicked open, and Trisha entered the waiting room. Her transformation was unmistakeable. It was as though a butterfly had emerged from its chrysalis. She had entered the examination room as Peter’s composed girlfriend, but now her hips moved with a fluid ease. Her blonde hair cascaded, no longer neatly styled, her breasts appeared fuller, and she carried a new confidence, more feminine and mature. Once back in street clothes, they headed to the car. Trisha walked in a rhythmic sway that embraced her sexuality. She was quiet, withdrawn, still dazed from the experience, yet clutching a freshly issued Adult Copulator License tightly in her hand.
During the drive back to his apartment, Trisha remained quiet, still absorbing what she had gone through, while Peter’s thoughts lingered on the sounds from the examination room. He gripped the steering wheel hard. Every red light seemed to increase the painful distance between them.
At last Trisha seemed to shake herself awake. “Oh my god, Peter,” Her voice vibrated with excitement. “I have to tell you about Brandon. Like, seriously, I had no idea it could be that intense. He was absolutely fire. Like, fucking was literally perfect. I came so hard I thought I was going to pass out when I came.”
Peter was as shocked by her brazen slang as by the details she shared. “And, oh my God, his dick—so thick and long,” she said, her voice dropping to a hushed tone that drew him closer into her orbit. “I knew dudes came in different packages, but Brandon? He’s unreal. He filled me up completely, hitting spots I didn’t even know existed. They say size doesn’t matter, but that’s total BS!”
Peter breathed shallowly as Trisha’s words painted vivid images in his mind. Each detail confirmed not just his own inadequacy but the magnitude of pleasure he had never been able to provide. “Wow, the way he moved,” Trisha continued, oblivious to Peter’s obvious distress. “It wasn’t like our practice sessions at all. Brandon knew exactly what he was doing, you know? Like, he’d change angles and rhythm, and every time I thought it couldn’t get better, he’d do something that made me lose my mind completely. I came like five times,” Trisha said, her voice carrying amazement. “I mean really came, like in the porn books, not just that almost-feeling in our training. Real orgasms that made my whole body shake. I had no idea that’s what I was missing.”
She remained quiet for a moment before recalling that Peter hadn’t mentioned his exam outcome. “How did your exam turn out? Did you pass? Did you get your Copulator License too?” He could sense her gaze fixed on him, anticipating his reply.
“I failed,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. Trisha was quiet for a minute, then touched Peter’s arm and said, “I’m sorry.” Her fingers lingered briefly before pulling away and rode the rest of the way in silence.
= = =
Back in Peter’s apartment, everything now felt subdued, lacking the hopeful anticipation that had defined their summer planning. Trisha relaxed on his couch, one leg tucked under her. “Tell me what happened—I want to understand where things went wrong.”
Peter haltingly recounted the dreadful events: his inability to perform, the humiliating use of a sex doll, Darlene’s hostile attitude, and his ultimate catastrophic failure to copulate.
“You know, I could hear everything from your examination … you with Brandon.”
“I guess we were pretty loud, huh? Must have been hard on you.”
“At first it made me feel bad, I couldn’t get aroused. But then … and this is the hard part to explain … that’s what finally … did it for me.” Trisha’s eyebrows raised slightly, quizzically.
“When you screamed his name, when you called out ‘Oh god, Brandon!’ like that, I got harder than I’d ever been in my life. And then the sound of you climaxing with him … triggered something in me that I don’t understand. … I’m feeling it now, too.” Trisha glanced down. His erection was clearly evident in his jeans.
Seeing his arousal, pieces of a puzzle clicked into place. “You mean hearing us fucking, and telling me about it now, is doing it for you? Getting you off? I think I understand, Peter. It was one of the perversions described in the DSS manual. (quoting) It’s when a man (the “cuckold”) gets aroused from his wife or partner having sex with other men. It usually includes elements of humiliation, submission, or power exchange, and it often is a result of prolonged chronic masturbation. Is that how you feel?”
“I … I …” Admission was difficult. “Maybe … but I don’t want it to stop at that. Trisha, now that you have your license, it’s legal if you wanted to, we could actually… I mean, we could finally have intercourse. Maybe I could redeem myself somehow.”
She shook her head with gentle but absolute certainty. “It’s different, Peter, after … today. We can’t unlearn what we know now. I learned that I’m a woman. And you learned you are not a man.” She reached down and squeezed his erection through his jeans. “We’ll always be good friends, but …,” she left it hanging.
Trisha’s phone beeped and she checked the message. “Brandon’s picking me up in twenty minutes. He asked me to join him and some friends for dinner and dancing at The Certification Room. It’s a club for licensed adults. But I’ll give you a quick handjob while we wait. Wouldn’t you like that?”
“That’s… thoughtful,” he managed, as she unbuttoned his jeans and freed his penis. “For you this is better than copulating, Peter. Masturbation is what you know, what you need, what you are.”
Her fingers wrapped around his erection with familiar skill, yet everything felt different to him now. It had once been a shared experience, but now it felt more like charity. Her condescending words should have made him feel ashamed, but instead, they heightened his arousal. Peter’s breathing grew faster as Trisha continued to stroke him. She playfully teased him, saying he is a masturbator, not a copulator, not truly a man. The mix of physical pleasure and humiliation drove him rapidly toward climax. Just as the Peter passed the point of no return, ejaculatory inevitability, eagerly sensing the impending orgasm, the doorbell rang.
“That’ll be Brandon,” Trisha said cheerfully and instantly released his penis. Wiping her hand on a tissue from his desk she headed to the door. Peter sat frozen, his jeans around his ankles, his erection abandoned just as the first spurts of semen began pulsing into thin air in unsatisfying streams. The orgasm that should have provided relief instead felt hollow and incomplete. Without a second glance at Peter’s exposed and vulnerable condition, Trisha opened the door.
Brandon stepped into the apartment. His eyes flicked from Trisha to Peter, taking in the scene with amusement. “Whoa, looks like I interrupted something,” he chuckled.
Peter scrambled to cover himself, but it was too late. The last dribbles of his ejaculation dripped pathetically onto his thigh as he sat there, face burning with humiliation.
“It’s OK. He was just finishing up,” Trisha said with a casual wave of her hand. “I’ll be ready to go in a sec.” She retrieved her purse, smoothed her hair and freshened her lipstick and started to leave. She paused, speaking to Peter.
“Don’t wait for me tonight, Peter. Hey, don’t look so sad, we’re still BFF, you know. I’ll call you tomorrow. Or the next day. We’ll do lunch or something. I’ll tell you all about the copulator party. And you can, you know…” Trisha made a subtle jerking motion with her hand, “…while I tell you all the details.”
Peter nodded, unable to form words as shame and arousal battled within him. The worst part was knowing he would absolutely masturbate to her stories later.
“Sounds like a plan,” Brandon said with an easy smile, placing his hand on the small of Trisha’s back as they left.
= = =
A few days later, in the evening, Peter was alone in his dim apartment, the only light coming from his computer screen. Trisha hadn’t called, but he was certain she would, eventually. He assumed she was just busy trying out her new Adult Copulator License, and he had his own preoccupations. On one of his familiar sex forums, he had discovered a link to leaked footage from the Department of Sexual Safety. These were government recordings of copulator exams that had somehow ended up on the dark web. The video files were recorded in high definition, captured from multiple angles.
There was one he played over and over: Trisha on the examination table, her medical gown bunched around her waist, with Brandon naked positioned between her open legs. Watching Trisha’s expression change as Brandon’s penis touched her vulva was both devastating and intensely arousing for Peter. Her gasps and moans resonated through his apartment with full fidelity. When Brandon finally entered her, Trisha’s response was instant and overwhelming. She arched her back off the table, crying out in genuine ecstasy, her hands gripping Brandon’s shoulders as he filled her completely.
Peter’s hand urgently grasped his erection, stroking it with increasing fervor as he watched Brandon penetrate and thrust and drive Trisha to multiple orgasms. Each climax was unmistakably real, her body writhing with such intense pleasure that Peter barely recognized her. The recording equipment captured everything in stark detail—the tension in her muscles, the flush spreading across her skin, and the raw abandon in her voice as she pleaded with Brandon to keep going. He repeatedly rewound the video, fixating on the most intense moments, and furiously masturbated to the sight of his ex-girlfriend experiencing ecstasies he would and could never offer. With every replay, his arousal grew, and his shame turned into a catalyst for his desire rather than a hindrance. The systematic exclusion from their pleasure became a perverse gratification in itself.
Peter orgasmed again to Trisha’s final climax, the one that drove his premature release in Darlene’s pussy. He ejaculated so forcefully that his semen splattered onto his computer screen, staining the image of Trisha’s ecstatic expression with his pathetic libation.
As he returned to awareness, Peter gazed at the new Non-Copulator ID card he had taped on his monitor. Once a symbol of failure, it now felt like a badge of fetish, a reminder of the pleasure in his own worthlessness. With sticky fingers, he touched the card, realizing his sexual life hadn’t ended but had revealed its true nature. He wasn’t meant to be a copulator; he was a chronic masturbator. Excluted from real sexual intercourse. Pussy-free for life. Now, this revelation felt like coming home.
=== end ===
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The Copulator License | by Richard Lovel | Copyright 2025 | All rights reserved
RL-2025-05-29 revised 2025-10-20