Clinic Confessions: One-Off Pleasure

The fluorescent lights of the fertility clinic hummed, casting a sterile glow on the examination room. It wasn’t the most romantic setting, but the need was immediate, a primal urge that had brought Will and me here, clinging to the hope of a shared experience. The nurse, a young woman with tired eyes and a weary smile, handed us the collection cup and a small card detailing the procedure. “Just avoid any contamination,” she said, her voice devoid of emotion, “saliva, lubricant, vaginal fluids – anything that could dilute the sample. And only one ejaculation will do, aim for a concentrated release.”

We settled onto the uncomfortable plastic couch, the air thick with unspoken anticipation. Will, always a man of action, swiftly unzipped his jeans, his arousal evident in the quick rise of his member. He slid his pants down, revealing a hard, erect shaft that seemed to pulse with an insistent energy. Instinctively, I moved to meet his desire, gently pulling down my blouse to expose a breast, a silent invitation. My fingers curled around his head, feeling the heat radiating from him, the raw power contained within. It was a familiar sensation, a potent blend of pleasure and expectation. We both knew why we were here, the unspoken purpose hanging heavy in the air between us.

As we waited for the nurse, the tension built, a tangible force in the small room. He began licking my breast, a slow, deliberate rhythm that intensified my own arousal. Simultaneously, he shifted his weight, his hand reaching for my other breast, gently squeezing it as he continued his oral assault. It was a captivating dance of desire, a primal connection that bypassed words entirely. My body responded, tensing with each caress, anticipating the inevitable release.

The nurse’s approach shattered the fragile intimacy, snapping us back to reality. As she collected the sample, she casually glanced at the markings on the cup, noting the volume. “Looks like you’ve got a good one,” she commented dryly, her tone suggesting a detached professionalism. “Just write down the time, and you’ll get a report from your doctor.”

The drive home was filled with a nervous energy, a silent acknowledgment of the experience we'd just shared. The warmth of the sample jar lingered in my hand, a tangible reminder of the raw release. As we reached our apartment, we shed our clothes with a desperate urgency, eager to lose ourselves in the aftermath. Will practically collapsed onto the bed, his body still vibrating with the echoes of the encounter. I moved to his side, my own body humming with pleasure, and positioned myself astride him, claiming my rightful place.

My fingers explored the sensitive skin of his mons, a slow, deliberate massage designed to heighten his arousal. He responded with a moan, a guttural sound of pure pleasure. Simultaneously, he began licking my breasts, his tongue tracing patterns across my skin, igniting a fire within me. I shifted my weight, pressing my buttocks against his, deepening the sensation. With a surge of primal instinct, I started to manually stimulate my PC muscles, focusing my energy on maximizing the pleasure he was experiencing.

As he neared the brink of orgasm, I pressed down firmly on his member, guiding the flow, ensuring that every drop of fluid was captured. It was a moment of intense focus, a desperate attempt to control the release, to savor every sensation. The heat rose within me, building to a crescendo, and finally, I lost control, releasing my own pleasure, my body convulsing with the force of the experience.

We lay there for a few moments, catching our breath, the remnants of our shared pleasure still clinging to the air. The nurse’s words echoed in my mind – “Sometimes I just need to be laid back, with my knees on my shoulders, and on the receiving end of that handful, I could hardly keep a grip on today.” It was a potent reminder of my own power, my ability to both give and receive pleasure.

As we turned on the shower, Will leaned over to me, his voice filled with genuine admiration. “I loved that, you are so good when you’re in control,” he murmured, his eyes locked on mine. “Make love to me later. Sometimes I just need to be laid back, with my knees on my shoulders, and on the receiving end of that handful, I could hardly keep a grip on today.”

I laughed, a throaty sound of pure satisfaction. “Let’s do it,” I replied, my voice husky with desire.

The next morning, the results of the fertility test arrived, confirming what we already suspected: we were pregnant. The news filled us with a mixture of joy and trepidation, a potent blend of hope and uncertainty. As we celebrated our impending parenthood, I couldn't help but reflect on the experience in the clinic, the raw intimacy, the shared pleasure, the undeniable connection that had brought us here. It was a moment suspended in time, a stolen pleasure that had led us to this very point.

The nurse’s final words, “That story was posted on 2015/12/31 entitled ‘Getting Pregnant’,” lingered in my mind, a silent reminder of the journey we had undertaken, the desires we had unleashed, and the life we were about to create. The memory of that single, concentrated release, the warmth of the sample jar, and the feeling of power that surged through me as I controlled the flow, would forever remain etched in my mind, a testament to the primal force of human connection and the intoxicating allure of shared pleasure. It had been a perfect storm of lust, desire, and explicit content, a moment of pure, unadulterated ecstasy that had led us to this new beginning. The scent of rain hung in the air as I held Will close, feeling the gentle flutter of life within me, a tangible sign of the potent experience we had shared in that sterile examination room. The world outside faded away, replaced by the warmth of his body, the rhythm of our breathing, and the undeniable truth that we were ready to embrace the future, together.

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