Zoe woke long before her alarm. Her body was already restless -- humming with heat and anticipation, her nerves sparking beneath her skin like static before a storm. She lay still, eyes fixed on the ceiling, one hand idly trailing the dip of her waist, fingers brushing the sash of her robe but going no further. Not yet.
Memories of the day before played in vivid, visceral flashes -- the slick slide of his length against her glove, the impossible heft of it in her grasp, the molten splash of his cum striking her skin like it belonged there. Guilt no longer weighed on her. Only hunger.
She dressed with quiet purpose. The robe she chose was blush-pink silk, whisper-light, cinched loosely at the waist, delicate enough that her breath might slip it open. Beneath it: black lace that kissed every curve -- for no one but herself. Or so she told herself.
She pinned her hair in a soft, undone twist, letting wisps fall just so. Just enough gloss to make her lips look like they'd been licked. Her cheeks were already flushed, not from blush, but from the illicit thrill coiling inside her.
Upstairs, she lit a single candle in the spare room. Vanilla and amber softened the air. She laid out new towels, placed the larger sample cup beside them like a sacred offering, and stepped back to survey the scene. Professional. Perfect.
At exactly 7:15 a.m., the doorbell rang.
Nate stood on the threshold in gym gear, hoodie unzipped to reveal a sweat-darkened t-shirt stretched tight across his chest and arms. The duffel bag slung over his shoulder looked forgotten. His eyes, however, were anything but absent. They drank her in slowly, lingering on the dip of her collarbone, the sheen of her robe, the hint of thigh that peeked from its parting like an invitation.
"Morning, Doc," he said, voice low and easy -- but the heat behind his gaze scorched.
"Come in," she said, grateful for the steadiness in her voice. "You know the way. I'll be right up."
By the time she entered the room, Nate was already naked, seated on the edge of the bed. He hadn't bothered with towels. His thick, dark length rested between his thighs, lazy and half-awake -- not yet fully roused, but already stretching with weight and promise. Like something too virile to ever go soft for long.
Zoe paused in the doorway. A pulse of arousal bloomed low in her belly.
He didn't speak. He didn't need to.
The only sound was the flicker of candlelight, and the soft, guilty thrum of her own breath catching in her throat.
Zoe snapped on a pair of gloves, the latex crackling softly in the charged silence. She drew in a steadying breath before speaking, her voice pitched low, calm, controlled.
"We'll proceed just like yesterday."
Her fingers curled around his shaft again -- thick, hot, swelling with every heartbeat like something alive in her palm. She felt him respond instantly, his girth expanding as blood surged beneath her touch. Her other hand joined in, and she began to stroke with unhurried precision, each movement deliberate, confident, reverent.
Every sensation was amplified: the map of pulsing veins beneath taut, silken skin; the impossible heat radiating from him; the sheer heft of him dragging her wrists with each pass. Her thighs instinctively drew together. She was wet already -- soaked just from holding him.
He was magnificent. Still, she couldn't quite comprehend how massive he was -- not just long, but thick in a way that defied reason. Her fingers refused to meet around him, no matter how tight she gripped. And with each stroke, a flicker of awe bloomed in her chest.
What would it taste like?
The question flashed through her mind like lightning, uninvited and yet irresistible. The thought made her fist tighten just slightly, made her breath catch.
"God... that feels incredible," Nate murmured, voice rough with tension.
Zoe didn't reply, but her lips curved into a subtle smile -- small, secretive, wicked. Her strokes gained confidence, becoming firmer, more focused. The wet, obscene sound of flesh on flesh began to fill the room, underscoring the soft stutter of his breath and the taut flex of his thighs beneath her.
His hips tensed. Her grip tightened instinctively, coaxing every drop from him like it was her craft.
"I feel... so full," he groaned. "Like my balls are gonna fucking explode."
"Then we'd better ease the pressure," Zoe whispered, her voice molten, rich with dark promise.
And then he came.
His groan broke from his throat like a growl, and the first thick jet shot into the collection cup with such force it splashed halfway up the inside in one violent surge. She barely had time to adjust before the next wave pulsed out -- and then another, heavier still, until the cup brimmed dangerously.
By the fifth spurt, it spilled over, thick white ropes splattering across the towel with a wet, lewd slap.
"Fuck... sorry," Nate breathed, chest heaving.
Zoe said nothing at first. She simply stared at the cup -- full and cloudy with his seed -- then down at his softening cock, slick and shining with cum and heat, still glorious even in retreat.
"It's fine," she murmured at last. Her voice was soft, but filled with something almost reverent. "We've got what we need."
And then, after a pause, with a glint in her eyes:
"...and then some."
The pride in her voice wasn't medical. It wasn't professional. It was
personal
. She'd pulled that release from him -- her hands, her touch, her body drawing it out of his like it had nowhere else to go. Like it had always been meant for her.
--------
Back in her home office, Zoe sat down at her desk, hands trembling ever so slightly as she pulled up the patient file. The screen glowed softly in the dim light, casting a sterile hue across her flushed skin.
She stared at the blank field marked
"Sample Notes."
Her fingers hovered above the keys, but her thoughts were anything but clinical.
Subject produced substantial semen volume.
Observation: excessive quantity. Near overflow.
She paused.
Her jaw tensed as she read the words back to herself. They were cold. Impersonal. A flat, detached translation of something that had stirred her so profoundly it still throbbed through her limbs. Her thighs squeezed together under the desk -- involuntarily at first -- but then she didn't try to stop. The heat that had been simmering inside her since Nate left hadn't dissipated. If anything, it had deepened. Settled low in her belly like a coiled ache.
She exhaled through her nose, steadying herself, and slowly pushed her chair back. The soft creak of the casters was deafening in the silence of the room. With a quiet breath, she reached down and slid open the bottom drawer of her desk -- the one she kept locked, always. Just in case.
Her fingers found it by feel: sleek, discreet, her little emergency escape. The compact vibrator fit perfectly in her palm like it belonged there, warm from the heat it had absorbed from the drawer's darkness. She turned the lock on her office door, her heart thumping now, louder than it should have been.
This wasn't about stress relief.
It wasn't even about Nate's
sample.
It was about
him.
She leaned back in her chair, eyes closing as she slid her free hand down the front of her panties. Her folds were already slick -- embarrassingly so -- her clit throbbing and tender with need. As her fingers brushed over it, her breath hitched.
"Just a quick one..." she whispered to no one.
But it wouldn't be quick. Not really. Not when the memory was still so vivid -- the sheer weight of him in her hands, the veins bulging against her gloves, the heat, the pressure, the way his voice had caught on that first groan like he was breaking apart in her grasp.
Zoe pressed the vibrator against herself with trembling fingers, muffling a gasp as the first pulse hit her.
In her mind, it wasn't her own fingers anymore.
It was his hands.
Rough. Big. Confident. She could see him -- towering over her, naked, his eyes fixed on hers with that same mix of need and danger. His cock was heavy between them, thick and slick, still glistening from her touch. He would be watching her now, like this, legs parted in the chair, her hand between her thighs, needing him.
She bit her lip hard to keep from moaning aloud, hips rocking against the toy. Her body was already spiraling -- it didn't take much. Not when every nerve was wired with memories of the way he'd erupted for her, the warmth of his cum as it spilled across her skin, the intensity in his eyes as he lost control.
The release came like a ripple first -- small, tight, shaking -- and then it shattered into a deeper pulse, gripping her from the inside. Her thighs quivered, muscles clenching as she came silently, eyes fluttering shut, mouth parted in an open gasp she didn't let escape. Her head fell back against the chair, chest rising and falling in uneven waves.
A soft, broken sound slipped from her lips -- not quite a moan. More like a name unspoken.
Her hand stilled.
She lay there for a moment, fingers still tucked between her thighs, eyes closed, face flushed, breath slowly calming. The faint buzz of the toy subsided as she clicked it off and held it limply in her lap.
And then, with a slow breath and a shiver of shame and satisfaction, she straightened in her seat, tucked the vibrator back into the drawer, and closed the file on her screen.
Sample recorded.
