I’m not usually not a speculative fiction writer, but my spouse and I were having sex before he went to donate blood. This story spun out of my head about semen donation. I didn’t mean to think it. But I write it down to share with you, dear reader.
The first scene is my spouse strapped to a table comfortably, with a pillow behind his head. He’s naked, and it’s time for his semen donation.
It starts like the usual daytime harvests–he arrives at his appointed time. The semen harvester helps him settle onto the table. He’s lying there, his dick already partly erect, ready for what will occur. They keep the room warm.
His favorite harvester is working that day. She has an easygoing manner and is kind. He smiles to see her, and she has the materials ready, to collect his semen. She knows how to get him off from hundreds of times, making him come.
He closes his eyes as she massages his balls gently, and his dick stiffens completely. She makes him wait a moment, for the relief of her touch on his stiff cock. He gasps as she rubs him with the lubricant, and he relaxes into the experience of being beaten off by her. He trusts her, as she knows how to do it so skillfully, for so long.
In this future, few people have viable sperm. So all the dicked, balled people are tested at age 13 for sperm viability. The fertile ones are sent to live in special housing, where every four hours, they’re made to ejaculate their sperm.
Sleep disorders are extremely common in this future–the norm. So he’s at risk for falling off the table, if he’s not strapped onto it. He wakes up and falls asleep over and over, during the handjobs. It’s been many years, he’s been kept as a semen donation person.
The sperm givers are milked every four hours, and they rise to the occasion. Their bodies get used to this cycle, and they grow to need it. Their large, powerful dicks are happy to do this work, and the muscles of their body for ejaculation become very strong.
back to the scene
He’s on the table, his dick being slowly, steadily rubbed. He begins to fall asleep, slipping into a dream.
He’s with a mermaid, in a sheltered cove, fucking the shit out of her on the smooth stones, as she whimpers in a pelagic language. Seaweed in her hair, the sound of the waves. He wonders if the tide is coming in and fucks the mermaid faster.
The harvester speeds up and slows down. She likes the work–it’s better than other work she’s done. It’s a strange way to know people. A good way to connect, though it has extreme limitations. The job is a CNA-like position, but friendlier. It requires a particular bedside manner.
My spouse wakes up suddenly and lets out a small groan. He twists on the table, and the harvester pauses and watches his face, as she holds his dick. He opens his eyes and sees her there, not a salty mermaid. She keeps rubbing him.
He smiles and closes his eyes again and is back on the shore, but this time, there are many mermaids. The sun is shining on them–light sparkles on their wet tits. Some mermaids are resting, and some are looking at him, wanting him. His dick throbs, wanting all of them.
This is a dream he returns to over and over, especially while his sperm is being harvested. The mermaids lost their mermen in an accident, and need this strange human for his body, so they can make merbabies and continue their way of life. He washed up on their shore like a miracle.
The harvester pats my spouse’s balls, and again rubs his dick, with more vigor. He wakes up again partly, and his balls are scrunching up. She can see he might come.
It’s almost her lunch break, and she hopes he ejaculates soon. Her tummy grumbles, and she speeds up.
His dick’s ridges become more defined, and he strains on the table, to shove his dick deeper into her hand. Yes, here it is. She catches his semen expertly and closes the container tightly. Pleasure-satisfaction floods his body, and he falls asleep again.
She puts away the materials and pats his hip. “You want to wake up?” she asks.
He looks around. “Yes,” he says.
She open the straps and lowers the table. He dresses and goes back to his day.
Night harvests are different. My spouse is interrupted in his sleep. Night harvesters are used to a different experience. Often times the semen donation person needs to pee. Then he returns to the bed, where the harvester collects the materials there in bed.
Usually it works well with this schedule for years and years. But occasionally the sleeping person cooperates less. It can be more difficult to get the semen donation. Night harvesters need to be more creative.
My spouse’s life is a blur of ejaculations. Harvesters, never the same two in a row. He spends his time caring for his health, and other work in the day times, in the garden. He has friends. But he can’t do any activity for very long, as he lives to produce sperm in his balls and give it up for the well-being of the society. He has to stay close to home for the semen donation.
The quality of my spouse’s sperm is tested weekly. Any issues are noted, and a doctor will suggest a change to his diet, if it seems like that might help.
His day work provides sunshine and movement. His health is good, and his sperm is good quality consistently. Then he turns 45.
He goes in for a usual day appointment, takes off his clothes, and rests on the table. The harvester straps him down and pats his balls.
“Oh, we’re going to try something different tomorrow. Happy birthday,” she says.
My spouse is caught off guard. “What’s happening tomorrow?” he asks.
“Prostate massage,” she says. “It’s supposed to help with the sperm production, once you’re a certain age.”
“Ok,” my spouse says. None of the other semen donation persons have mentioned it.
“We’ll see how you tolerate it,” she said.
My spouse’s dick is extra hard, as he wonders about the prostate massage, and the harvester begins to rub him. He drifts off to sleep, enjoying the rhythm of his dick being rubbed by her caring hand.
to be continued
How are you doing, reader? Is this too perverted for you? I think I will continue the story next time. Thank you for trying this out with me.