The Copulator License
by Richard Lovel – Copyright 2025 – All rights reserved
Chapter 2 – The Examination
Brandon Goodwood stood in his crisp DSS uniform, a vision of masculine competence, surveying the waiting room with authority before checking his clipboard. Peter knew him at once: two years older, the former quarterback who had captivated half the girls in their high school.
“Trisha Primly,” Brandon called. Peter saw her transform—spine straightening, shoulders back, chin lifting. Her cheeks warmed with a complex blush, lips parting slightly.
“Brandon?” she said, her composed voice cracking slightly on his name. Peter felt something twist in his chest as Trisha’s careful composure evaporate in seconds.
“Hey there, Trish.” Brandon’s smile widened, genuine pleasure replacing professional neutrality. “Thought that might be you on the roster. Small world, right?”
“Somebody said you worked here,” Trisha said and tucked a strand of blonde hair behind her ear with nervous fingers. Peter darkly recalled how Trisha had selected this DSS station for their examination.
“Hey, you’re looking good, girl.” Her medical gown had shifted during their conversation, revealing more of her thighs, but she made no effort to adjust it. “Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of you.”
The other applicants in the waiting room fell silent, sensing the dynamic at play. The blonde girl who mocked Peter now watched enviously as Trisha received the focus of Brandon’s attention. Her boyfriend slumped in his seat, conscious of his own unfavorable comparison.
“See you afterwards,” she nodded to Peter, her voice distant, distracted. “Look, don’t worry. It’s business, not personal. It’s just a procedure. Like a dental cleaning or a driver’s test.” She paused, considering. “Well, not exactly like those, but you know what I mean.” She and Brandon disappeared behind the door.
The waiting room felt different in their absence. Minutes passed in silence broken only by the hum of ventilation and the occasional rustle of someone shifting in their seat. Then he heard it—a soft gasp that carried through the thin institutional walls with perfect clarity. A moan followed, slightly louder, unmistakably feminine. Unmistakably Trisha.
The other applicants heard it too. The blonde girl’s eyes widened, and she exchanged glances with her boyfriend. The silent couple across the room looked up from their phones in fascination. Even the receptionist paused in her paperwork.
The sounds continued, more frequent and less restrained. Soft moans, punctuated by the rhythmic creaking. Peter pressed his hands against his ears, but the sounds penetrated anyway, each gasp and whimper driving deeper into his consciousness. “Ohhhh,” the single syllable carried breathless pleasure.
In the corner, a middle-aged man leaned forward. “That your girlfriend in there, buddy? First time for her, I guess. That’s rough,” he said, with gruff but genuine sympathy. “Don’t take it so hard, kid; somebody had to be the first.”
Peter’s face paled. Brandon wasn’t just examining Trisha; he was giving her the pleasure Peter couldn’t. The sounds from the wall mocked him, contrasting Brandon’s sexual prowess with Peter’s inadequacies. Peter felt completely defeated and emasculated.
Then a door opened and a dumpy middle-aged woman with brassy dyed hair stepped out, her DSS uniform snug on her substantial frame. A man whispered to his partner, “Oh god, it’s Darlene Overhill. I hope I don’t get her. I heard she gets her rocks off by failing dudes.”
Darlene scanned the applicants with the hard, tired eyes of a former truck-stop hooker and checked her clipboard. She called, a voice grating, nasal, pure New Jersey.”Peter Stroker!” Peter sat motionless, still grappling with the noises drifting through the wall from Trisha’s examination. “Hey you! Deer-in-the-headlights!” Peter stood. “This way,” turning without waiting to see if he followed.
= = =
The examination room was both clinical and faintly sordid. A medical examination table dominated the center, its paper covering wrinkled and slightly stained from previous use. Monitoring equipment blinked with digital readouts along one wall. In the corner sat a plastic sex doll, its artificial features contorted into a burlesque of pleasure.
“Okay, let’s see whatch’ya got. Take off the gown and get on the table,” Darlene instructed, settling behind a small desk cluttered with forms and clipboards. She uncapped a pen and began filling out header information without looking at Peter. “We’ll start with basic arousal response. Manual stimulation to demonstrate erectile function.”
Peter’s hands shook as he dropped the gown to the floor, leaving him naked under the harsh lighting. His penis, small and flaccid, hiding invisibly in the surrounding tangle of pubic hair. “Lie on the table, face up” Darlene repeated without looking up from her paperwork.
The paper crinkled beneath Peter as he climbed onto the examination table, his bare body feeling exposed and vulnerable under the harsh lights. Finally glancing up from her clipboard. she looked at naked form with the clinical detachment of a meat inspector. “Manual stimulation. Demonstrate a full erection. C’mon. Move this thing along; I want to get out of here before rush hour.”
Peter’s hand reluctantly moved to his penis. His fingers felt numb and clumsy, nothing like Trisha’s confident touch during their training sessions. The member in his hand remained stubbornly soft, unresponsive to his mechanical stroking.
From the adjacent room came another sound—Trisha’s voice again, but different now. More urgent. More abandoned. The wall separating the examination rooms might as well have been tissue paper. Peter could hear everything: the rhythm of movement, the catch in Trisha’s breathing, the quiet encouragement in Brandon’s deeper voice.
“Jeez, ya got a dick, or don’t ya?” Darlene asked, her pen poised over the evaluation form. “Try harder.” Peter intensified his efforts, his movements becoming more frantic and urgent. Yet, despite his growing desperation, his body remained unresponsive, stubbornly resisting her impatient and incessant hectoring.
Darlene’s pen scratched sharply in the sterile room as she noted, “Applicant unable to achieve erection. Poor response to stimulation. Significant performance anxiety.” Peter intensified his fruitless attempts, as the noises seeping through the wall made his sense of failure feel complete and irreversible.
Eventually Darlene set the clipboard aside with a sigh of exasperation and said flatly, gesturing toward the plastic sex doll in the corner, “Maybe you’ll do better with a pussy.”
Peter’s stomach knotted as he examined the synthetic figure. Artificial, shiny skin, an empty stare, and exaggerated, porn-like breasts. It was posed with legs apart and arms extended, a caricature of female accessibility.
Darlene heaved the doll onto the table beside Peter. “Go on, big boy. Mount her missionary style. Fuck sump’n besides yer hand, fer a change.”
Peter positioned himself between the doll’s spread legs, trying to ignore its lifeless gaze. The fake genitalia was realistic but unmistakably artificial—too pink, too flawless. Despite this, Peter pushed against the opening, hoping to provoke a response from his unresponsive member. The plastic gave slightly under the pressure, yet remained cold and inert. Peter closed his eyes, trying to imagine Trisha beneath him, but that only deepened his sense of shame as he heard the sounds coming through the wall. These sounds continued—soft sighs building to something more intense and uncontrolled than anything she had shared during their clinical training months.
Trisha’s voice, though muted by the flimsy wall, was unmistakable. “Oh god …,” she whispered, her tone laced with breathless awe. “… I’ve never felt … it’s so big.” Brandon’s voice followed, indistinct yet imbued with a quiet confidence. Peter could discern the deliberate, rhythmic pace of their union, a stark contrast to his own clumsy efforts.
The repeated chants of “Oh god … don’t stop … oh, Brandon!” should have tormented him, plunging him further into impotence and shame. Yet, they sparked an unexpected arousal within him. The degradation of the lifeless plastic doll beneath him, matched with Trisha’s moans beneath another man’s body, created an aphrodisiacal brew that sent blood rushing to his penis.
“About time,” Darlene muttered, noticing his body’s response as he pressed against the synthetic anatomy. Her pen recorded on the evaluation form, “Arousal achieved through auditory stimulation and tactile contact with artificial vaginal substitute.” Then she set down her clipboard.
“That’s enough of Miss Plastic Fantastic. Put this on,” she directed, giving Peter a condom from a dispenser next to the examination table. He struggled while rolling it onto his member, but his erection remained firm, fueled by Trisha’s moans and his own embarrassment.
“Get ready, stud. It’s show time.” She stood and stripped off her uniform. She unsnapped her industrial bra, revealing sagging flabby breasts, marked by the pull of gravity and the passage of years. Her belly protruded above plain utilitarian underwear, which removed exposed a bushy patch of graying hair. Darlene shoved the plastic doll off onto the floor and took its place on the examination table. The paper covering crinkled beneath her substantial frame as she lay back with legs spread, pussy gaping open and waiting for his final exam.
“Let’s get this over with. Hop on and get to work. Rush hour starts in forty minutes, and I got one more case to handle.”
Peter climbed on top of her. The smell of institutional soap didn’t mask the organic odor of her body, bearing accumulated efforts of her long day. He gripped the metal rails of the examination table and positioned his hips between her legs.
The tip of his penis brushed against her ample pubic hair. “Align yourself properly,” Darlene instructed with the same tone she might use to direct someone parking a car. “We need full penetration for a valid assessment.”
His hand shook slightly as guided his erect penis towards Darlene’s wide open vulva. As he began to enter her, it was almost too easy. Her outer lips were stretched from countless sexual penetrations, creating a clear glidepath for his penis to slide into. Even for a first-timer, it would be impossible to miss his mark.
He was erect, condom in place. He pushed harder, penetrating up to the hilt of his penis, and sighed deeply in pleasure and relief. Now if he could just thrust slowly for the required amount of time without ejaculating. He began to think, “I can do this!”.
As Peter continued his copulatory effort, a sudden cry burst from the wall nearby. “Oh god, Brandon! Do it now! Cum inside me! Yes! YES! YESSSSS…!” Trisha’s voice was filled with raw, intense pleasure. Her shout ignited something deep and overwhelming in Peter’s mind. After months of restraint, his body responded to his girlfriend’s loud climax with an instant, uncontrollable orgasm, causing his penis to spasm violently.
Darlene sensed his impending climax and tried to intervene, pushing him out of her pussy. “Not yet! Hold it back!” she urged. But it was too late. Peter erupted with the most intense orgasm of his life. He ejaculated forcefully, the semen flooding the condom which popped off his penis with the first spurts and fell between Darlene’s legs. Unfinished and unable to suppress his primal instinct, Peter continued thrusting wildly against her bare leg. Streams of semen shot across her thighs, some even reaching her stomach.
“Jesus H. Christ!” Darlene shouted in disgust, shoving him roughly off the table. She reached for a box of tissues and began wiping his ejaculate from her body like cleaning up a toxic waste spill.
She quickly dressed and grabbed her evaluation form. “Well that’s E for Effort, and a capital F for Fuck-Fail. Premature ejaculation prior to penetration. Subject lost control of genitals under standard examination conditions.”
Peter attempted to say something, to provide an explanation or beg for another opportunity, but his throat was tight with shame. His penis lay limp and ineffective against his thigh, with the remaining traces of his failure still dripping onto the linoleum.
Darlene informed him of the official consequences for not passing the copulation exam. “Premature Ejaculation results in an automatic failure. Your Copulator License application is denied. You can reapply for copulation examination in six months. Until then you will be listed in the public Registered Non-Copulator Database and you will receive your Non-Copulator ID in the mail. Any reported attempt to copulate will result in fines and possible imprisonment.” She dismissed him, already grabbing fresh paper to cover the exam table for the next candidate.
Peter hastily retrieved his discarded medical gown and dressed, eager to flee the site of his failure. Back in the waiting room, he collapsed into a chair, burying his face in his hands, overwhelmed by the ruin of his months of effort. Through the wall, came intimate sounds of Trisha and Brandon in the denouement of coupling.
= = =
(Continue to the next chapter with the link below)
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The Copulator License | by Richard Lovel | Copyright 2025 | All rights reserved
RL-2025-05-29 revised 2025-10-20