Gaia Fertility - unfinished

Gaia Fertility - unfinished (by Jim)

"We'll be the first to admit, here at the Mother Gaia Fertility Institute, that not all of our practices are completely orthodox," the smartly dressed nurse leading the young couple down the narrow hall piped over her shoulder, "but the medical establishment is always slow to catch on to new, exciting methods."

Jeremy's mind and eyes wandered off to the framed accolades ranging the wall as they shuttled past: studies published by the Institute Xerox'ed out of medical journals--totally incomprehensible to him, even if he could stop to read--one with a two-panel illustration of an ovary and a testicle inset; a blown-up technical diagram of something that looked like a cellophane pouch with a pet collar--a patent, apparently--equally cryptic; then a class graduation photo, a wall of smiling faces three risers deep, seemingly all female, for a school he'd never heard of; and finally picture after picture of other couples, the success stories, also beaming. Except that he noted a real apprehension, a pained worry on one man's face--was it on all the mens' faces?

He began to crane his head around to see if that were so, but in the process scanned across the backside of the nurse--and got stuck there. There was something distinctly 'unorthodox' about how high her lab coat ended and how her peach halves glowed through the sheerest scrubs bottoms he'd ever beheld. Amy caught his ogle and scolded him with her eyes, as if to say 'Really? Even here?'. Jeremy fell into his half-cocked-head-with-a-twist-of-smirk routine, which he was sure she found charming as hell. By now, they had reached hall's end, and their destination; the nurse was wrapping up.

"Here we are. Now, just so I don't forget, we're having the institute fumigated this coming weekend and we won't be admitting anyone, so in case you have an emergency, or an equipment, er, 'malfunction', I'm going to give you Dr. Primrose's personal number, which you shouldn't hesitate to call," using the wall as a surface, she made a highly manicured note on the back of a pile of forms. Her advisory was entirely lost on Jeremy, though, as only two forms occupied his comprehension--and those were nearing reveal as the scrub bottoms crept up like high tide with her deepening lean. Then stopped. Jeremy looked up from his daze to find the nurse turned over her shoulder, handing him the forms. "Assuming you qualify," she said with a barely perceptible wink, before holding the door open for them. Dr. Primrose was finishing an office memo as the new clients entered--and it was clear to Jeremy immediately that his almost-boner would have no respite. "Just a moment," she informed, coolly, before punctuating her quick scribbling by making two large ovals on a diagram for emphasis. Just as Jeremy was nearing an angle to make out what precisely was worth emphasizing, she pulled up the sheets, clapped them against the desk until level, and put them aside. "You must be Rebeccah and Jeremy," as she proffered her hand while coming half-way out form her chair to both acknowledge them and to induce them to sit in the plush seats before her. "So glad to finally be seeing you, or at least the outsides of you," she laughed, clicking on the lightbox on her desk. "I won't waste your time with pleasantries, both of your lab results are back, and I'm sure you're dying to know the verdict."

The two of them nodded in silent unison. "Ha, well, you'll be happy to know Jeremy's chock full o' Olympic swimmers," she handed him the results, "motility and quantity both off the charts." The pronouncement caused an involuntary widening of his legs' splay, and a slight-more-voluntary flexing of the biceps of the arm Becky was holding on to, and he squeezed her deep up her thigh. The doctor riffled through a few more forms, and then arrived at a celluloid sheet. She looked at them more soberly to catch their attention. "Unfortunately, Rebeccah's sonogram produced a potentially problematic situation," she fitted the monochrome sheet into the lightbox and a noisy array of indistinct blobs glowed out. "There, up in the top right corner, I think that may be our smoking gun. It's no wonder you've been having so much trouble."

Becky's eyes were drawn to the floor by a wave of dejection and self-loathing. "I,...oh,...I..." she stammered. "So I'm off the hook?" Jeremy trumpeted, as though getting off from a murder charge on some technicality.

Dr. Primrose regarded his thoughtlessness behind a cool, professional veneer before turning to Becky. "This is not in any way your fault, and, regardless, I have fantastic news: we think you are a perfect candidate for our treatment process."

Becky's eyes, buoyed by a new hope, and welling with gratitude, looked into the doctor's. "You can help us?" she warbled.

"We can help you, Rebeccah. But our procedure is costly and experimental, and without government funding we need to be highly discriminating about which candidates receive it. We think you are a perfect candidate," she reiterated, then looked at Jeremy tellingly, "but successful fertilization depends on both parties."

Becky, feeling cued, also turned her attention to him, and he released his hand from her thigh. "Well, don't look at me," he cried defensively, "like you said, I'm chock full of jizz, or whatever--I'm off the charts!"

Dr. Primrose let her pencil tip droop down to the desk with a light tap. "Yes, unfortunately, those are conditions that are highly variable, even hour to hour. A man's tests may come back high and tight one day," she held her hand aloft with a slight cupping action, "then droop low the next," her hand fell to sway side to side, "there are simply far too many other factors to consider..."

"Like what?!" he demanded angrily.

The doctor stopped gesturing with her hand and scanned her eyes down Jeremy, seeming to stop at about his crotch, where they sized him up through desk and fabric as if by some feminine X-ray. His knees drew together with nervous energy. Then she looked him straight in the eye. "Like: have your testicles suffered any trauma recently?"

The question caught Jeremy utterly off-guard. And his mind raced futilely to escape what he knew to be the truth; this morning alone, he'd nutted himself, first against the sharp corner of the nightstand while fumbling around half-blind, and then later, when he all but sat his full body weight on his balls at breakfast. Any further back, he dared not think. "What? Of course not! What kind of trauma could even be...I mean, even if something were almost to...my reflexes wouldn't allow it!" A bead of sweat had appeared at his temple. Dr. Primrose seemed bemused by this.

"Hmm, well, you really are the male specimen, then. I guess I'll make note of your impeccable record and we can move on. Of course, you should be aware that all these will be verified by a polygraph at a later stage," she lowered her brow at Becky, "and any less-than-accurate responses may disqualify you form the program."

Becky's feet shifted and she was holding her lower lip clamped in her teeth. She came clean: "But Remy, you sat on your balls this morning, didn't you?"

Jeremy was mortified. "H-how did you know?" She lifted his shoulders into a half-shrug. "I mean, I always know when you've hurt your balls," she said matter-of-factly, "like this morning you were basically mid-sentence when you stopped and made a little 'O' with your mouth," she made the face while hunching forward slightly for the doctor's benefit.

"So this is not the first time this has happened, then?" the doctor followed up.

Becky beat out Jeremy's attempt to respond. "Oh god no, he's always getting whacked or smushed 'down there'--doorknobs, knees--it's like every hard object at crotch-level is magnetically attracted to him," she saw that the doctor had taken up writing notes again, and was suddenly aware of the damage she might be doing to their chances, "but, you know, like, never anything serious."

"I see, so has he ever needed an ice pack after getting 'whacked'?" Becky flitted a glance at Jeremy, who was burning a death stare into her.

"Um, one time we were with friends at a bar, and I guess he was standing by the foosball table, and I guess he wasn't looking, and I guess our friend Melanie was on the other side and I guess she heard something funny, and she shot her butt out to laugh, and it pushed the foosball bar thingie straight out, and I guess the metal end...um..."

The doctor volunteered an ending. "Struck him in the testicles?"

"Yeah!" Becky laughed. "What was great was that everyone but Melanie saw what happened, and she thought they were still laughing at the joke," she said with a flushed smile.

Dr. Primrose laughed. "Oof, well at least it was a bar, so there was plenty of ice on hand."

"Or on nut!" Becky amended. Jeremy didn't know what was happening. These two women were bonding over some of the most humiliating moments of his life, gleefully. His legs finished their involuntary closing, and yet still he felt vulnerable. "And another time, when we first started dating, he wanted to show off, or whatever, and tried to walk down a hand rail, but I guess it had been raining, so..."

The doctor interrupted. "Let me guess," and she flicked the globular metal shade of her desk lamp so that it reverberated with a deep clang.

"Exactly! Haha!" Both of the women's eyes sparkled, and Becky had the erratic breathing Jeremy had only ever seen her get when she was about to...

"And you mentioned something about knees?" Dr. Primrose prodded.

Jeremy had to pull the plug. "Look, I don't see what any of this has to do with us having a baby!"

Becky and the doctor sobered up. Dr. Primrose flipped out the last page of the pile before her and began scribbling. "What it means, Mr. Achersley, is that you are what we would classify as a 'high-risk' inseminator," she said curtly, "and normally this would disqualify you from participating in the study. But we have a subject monitoring program that if you complete successfully, may, and I stress 'may', alleviate some of the Institute's doubts about your suitability." Jeremy saw Becky look at him with pleading doe eyes before returning to the expectant doctor.

"What kind of monitoring are we talking about?" ---- It looked like a pink, semi-translucent latex balloon with a dark band across the opening--he recognized it from the schematic in the hallway. Jeremy, Becky, and Dr. Primrose were stood around the nurse who had produced it form the lab bench--Jeremy recognized her, too, from the hallway. "She's been a real headache to get debugged," she was explaining, "but, given the number of features we've fitted in such a small, erm, package, that's to be expected. I mean, if you had seen the carnage of the first human trial, you would've never guessed we would have gotten-" Dr. Primrose alertly cut her off. "Yes, it's been quite the accomplishment. Maybe, Svetlana, you'd like to explain to them how this works?" "Oh, right, yes," she stooped to pick it up and the back of her negligee/scrubs pressed against her revealingly; Jeremy's cock moved to defcon 4. "We call it the SAC, or Synchronous Arousal Constrictor. It's made from an electro-active polymer attuned to the human physiology," she pressed a button on the laptop nearby and an LED embedded in the band glowed green. "As you may know, spermatogenesis is inhibited by prolonged exposure to high temperatures; the SAC can detect temperature changes as small as a tenth of a degree," here she sensuously panted a hot breath onto the deflated balloon and pointed to a spike on a data stream that appeared on the laptop screen. Jeremy was struggling to get control of his stiffening cock. "And, since taking a shot to the pills can be equally deleterious to sperm production, it will also register any blunt force trauma the testes may be the recipients of," she explained before flicking the empty sack with her fingernail. Again the laptop data spiked. Becky turned to him with a half-smiling 'ooh' on her face. "Lastly, perhaps the single leading factor in low sperm count is frequent ejaculation," with that, Jeremy found himself being stared down by all three women, "and so the SAC will be attuned to any changes in the subject's arousal. All of this data will piggyback on the wearer's cell phone wifi and be automatically uploaded via an app to your social media streams." Dr. Primrose preempted their questions. "We think it's important for family and friends to feel invested in the pregnancy, 'It takes a village...' and so forth. Think of them as Jeremy's sponsors, there to help him in case he 'relapses', and he's going to need a lot of them if he's going to get this bad habit kicked." "...bet something's going to get kicked..." Svetlana whispered under her breath. Jeremy wasn't sure how much he cared for the well-being of his junk on a 24/7 stream to everyone he knew--but something about certain females in his circle being reminded about his genitals without him so much as being in the room held a kind of exhibitionist charm--and maybe just the conversation starter he'd need to finally plow Gina in the office break room. He fantasized pulling Gina's hair back with one hand, with the other snaking up her top, as he gave Becky--her mouth quivering and eyes brimming with eternal love--a solemn nod and announced dramatically to Dr. Primrose: "Let's do this thing." "Fantastic. Now why don't you hitch yourself up to the device and the trial can begin," said Primrose, ushering him to behind the lab bench that ended just about waist-height. "Unzip," she demanded before handing him the billowy SAC and joining the girls on the opposite side. It was almost weightless--much sheerer than he expected. "Um," he held the much-too-large device besides his exposed cock and balls, and, still with Gina on the brain, saw an opportunity. "Shouldn't you come and, you know, help fit me?" he asked directly at Svetlana. His motive was utterly transparent to her, and it was with cold disgust that she cooed back, "All you need to do is take your big, fat nuts," she pantomimed holding a very flattering pair at her own crotch for him. "Ok," Jeremy obeyed, liking where this was going. "Then, making sure the light is turned outward, hang those puppies into the SAC," she obliged him by lowering her own like a forklift unloading a pallet. Jeremy drooped his real life pair into the gaping, sci-fi ziplock bag. They didn't quite hit bottom. He looked back up to Svetlana. "Yeah, now what?" "That's it," she smiled, before adding, "though you might want to clench." At just that moment, the SAC sensed its new inhabitants and sprang into action, tightening like a vacuum around his balls. Jeremy yelped like he had been blasted by freezing water, and stared down in horror as the process unfolded--much to the bemusement of the women across form him. As all of the space between the 'skin' of the device and his actual skin disappeared, he looked in panic to Dr. Primrose. "What's it doiEEE!" his words contorted into another shrill yelp as the SAC continued to closed around his nuts to the point of actual compression. "It needs to calibrate itself to your morphology--perfectly normal," she reassured. "But how-ow-ow long, s-should it take?" he cried, as another shot of pain from the vice grip went through him. Svetlana furrowed her brow. "It should be down by now. Let's see it." It did not feel 'done' to Jeremy, it felt about 2 ball sizes too small--however it is balls are sized. His fallen pants around his ankles, he hurriedly shoved his cock back into his boxers and shimmied sideways out past the end of the bench to reveal himself. "Aww! They're adorable!" Becky gushed. The SAC pulled his testicles out to jut at a 45 degree angle ahead of him. The pink of the material, coupled with his own squeezed balls glowing through, made for a highly conspicuous, rosy ornament on his body. "It's like that time you let me color them red for Valentine's," she continued, neglecting to mention how she had done the coloring with a red ball-point pen. The other women were enthusiastically tracking the device's functionality. "You've done a much better job getting the shape right this time, very flattering" Dr. Primrose said to Svetlana, "they're like Spanx for balls." "Please don't give her any ideas," Jeremy groaned with complete seriousness. The tightening process had finally stopped, but he was still being squeezed uncomfortably, and a dull ache had already taken hold. Becky couldn't restrain herself any longer. "Can I touch them?" she asked like a 10-year old with her present in someone else's lap. "Of course," Dr. Primrose replied "the material is quite robust. In fact," she made a motion to Svetlana to something on the bench, "your touch, and the touch of Jeremy's sponsors, is going to play a critical role as to whether Jeremy winds up being successful or not." A high-pitched whirling picked up behind Dr Primrose where Svetlana was working on the bench. She motioned to Jeremy to step toward her, and obliged with awkward shuffles. "I'm actually rather surprised, Jeremy, that you haven't yet asked how the SAC is charged." He looked down at the contraption; a sleek, skintight form devoid of any markings or openings besides the now-yellow LED. In fact, Jeremy wasn't sure he wanted any openings--even a microUSB port would likely skewer his nut catastrophically. He looked up, puzzled. "Now that you mention it, how do you char-" "Like this!" And Dr. Primrose's hand had already covered the distance to his ball pouch, with her index and middle finger extended in a fork straight toward his balls. Jeremy braced for impact, but instead of getting a poke, an arc of lightning bridged the last centimeter to zap him in a place he had never before had zapped. Likewise, the noise he made was exotic and unprecedented, like a goose being plucked while gargling. Becky clapped like she'd just seen magic. "Whoa! What was that?" Dr. Primrose stepped aside to reveal the Van de Graaff generator she had had her hand on. "That, besides keeping Jeremy's sperm safely concentrated in his gonads, is your most important homework--charge the SAC with static electricity whenever it begins to run down," she instructed. "You won't have the benefit of a generator, however, so you'll need to manage it the old-fashioned way--rubbing balloons or carpet or whatnot. It won't be quite as efficient, so it will likely take several zaps," she seemed to be apologizing the Becky for the inconvenience, "See?" and motioned to the LED, which was a slightly greener yellow than before. Becky seized the initiative. "Ooh, let me top you off, Remy!" and she slapped her palm atop the generator, before reaching out tentatively and stopping a foot from the SAC, uncertain. Dr. Primrose folded her arms beneath the breasts swelling from her lab coat, hiking them very nearly from out between the lapels. "Don't worry, Rebeccah, it's much worse for the person receiving it," she encouraged. "Ok...," she winced slightly and edged closer, still squeamish about committing to the act. Jeremy could not bring himself to watch. Svetlana prodded her. "You need to hurry, because you're building more and more charge, and the SAC can only handle so much!" Becky responded by closing her eyes and shooting her hand out, now a closed fist, into Jeremy's just-recovering balls. Again at about a centimeter away, the shock, this one several times that of the first, flew through the center of his right nut like a proton torpedo into a Death Star, and hot on its tail was her fist, which plowed in full-force, center-of- spongy-mass. Jeremy buckled under the one-two, lightning and thunder combo, and layed clutching himself on the cool linoleum. Becky, still in punching pose, opened first one eye, and then the other, baffled, until she spotted her floored beau. "Did I do something wrong?" she asked back to the women. "Hmm," Dr. Primrose walked over to Jeremy, softly moaning, and pried one of his feeble hands off his pouch. A blinding, radioactive green shown out. "Nope, that's a full charge," she smiled. She stepped back over Jeremy to hand the last paperwork over to Becky. "Now remember, the goal is to have the best possible chance at conception in two weeks. That means two weeks of no excessive heat, no 'accidents'," she looked back at Jeremy, "well, minimal accidents, and most essentially, no ejaculations." ---- The sliding doors parted before them, and Jeremy and Becky were back on the sidewalk outside the Clinic. "Alright, no more of this ridiculous shit," he was in a wheelchair at the Institute's insistence, his new scrotum poking out of his jean fly like a pair of red gumballs in his lap, and he had just thrown the handbrake, to send Becky to an abrupt halt behind him. He stood up on momentarily shaky legs, less recovered than he'd expected, and both got into the car parallel parked on the curb. It was a brutal summer afternoon, and the dark interior had been baking for all the hours they'd been inside. As Becky worked her seatbelt over her boobage, which no amount of billowy top could make invisible to such straps, Jeremy began to fumble his gonads back into his pants. Finally, safely clicked, Becky noticed what he was doing. "Uh, Remy, aren't they supposed to stay out, like the nurse was talking about?" she strained her mind for the exact medical importance that would make her point. "Look," gingerly tucking the last tender bubble of nut meat under, "I'm willing ot go along and wear this ball condom for two weeks, fine, but no way in hell am I walking around with my jewels on display for every asshole to gawk at," he zipped up as though slamming a door, then started the car. They drove in silence for a moment, but Jeremy's mood soon lightened. "So, have you figured out what you're doing for your costuOOO," a small pain in his nuts, sharper than the constant dull ache, cut him off. It passed. "What'd you say?" Becky asked distractedly without looking up from her phone. "Um, I was saying, do you know what you're goi-" a second, stabbing pain, much worse, seized his attention for good. His sudden silence brought her up from the phone, and with her fluency in reading faces for groin pain, she needed only a second to ask: "Don't tell me you sat on them again?" she was half-giggling, but just as much annoyed because she had had strict orders. She pulled up the SACapp to check. "No, I, ooh, it's the thing, it's pulsing," he clenched his teeth, eyes watering, "I got to pull over." Becky navigated to the 'Health and Well-Being' tab, and confirmed there were no spikes in blunt trauma, but noticed something else. In the upper corner, the two cutesy animated walnuts, which represented Jeremy's own and were usually smiling and jiggling, were panting and pouring oversized anime sweatdrops. She held the phone up. "What do you think this mea-" Jeremy threw the car into park just outside a gas station. He frantically unzipped and yanked his agonized lower manhood out. Becky watched with fascination as the pouch squeezed down on his trapped bits, then retracted briefly. "I-I think we need to cool them off," she offered helpfully. "You don't say?!" he exploded mockingly. Becky was wounded. "There," he pointed at the oversized cooler selling bagged ice out front, "I'll stick them in that, and you watch that no one comes." He sprinted out, each 'warning' squeeze from the SAC taking him to the verge of blacking out, then threw up the hinged lid and plunged them between two ice bags. Almost immediately, the pulsing stopped, and Jeremy couldn't help but lean back with a relieved moan, eyes shut ecstatically. Becky was on vigilant watch, but because she was facing away from Jeremy, missed the squad car that had pulled up just behind him. It wasn't until the policewomen slammed shut her door that Becky turned, startled. "Oh god, Remy, look out!" she whispered non-specifically. From inside his frosty vacation, eyes still closed, he could only ask "Huh?" And then Becky had to act fast, before the police lady saw he had his balls out and did whatever they do when they catch someone with their balls out. So Jeremy's eyes opened to her warning just in time to watch her throw down the cooler lid with a wet 'thok', the 'thok' being the haunting sound of his balls absorbing the full momentum of its descent. Jeremy howled silently, all the air having left his body, while the officer approached. "How are you two doing this sweltering afternoon?" she stopped to ask. The air had trickled back into Jeremy's lungs. "...balls...balls..." he whispered hoarsely in delirium. Becky had to save him. "Balls, yep, we're sweating balls," she pressed down on the lid with her ass, and the wind left Jeremy again, "that's why we're just hanging around the cooler like this, it's so refreshing." Her response invoked a twinge of suspicion in the cop, and she began to notice the way Jeremy was standing. "So, any plans for today?" hoping to weed out what was so fishy. "...nuts...nuts..." Jeremy babbled, blind with pain. "Nut, uh, nothing, nothing much, really," Becky cut him off, putting more ass into it, "we've been so ::hmph:: crunched for time lately, that it just feels good to hanging out like this." The officer raised an eyebrow quizzically. "Ok then, you two stay out of trouble now," she seemed to say in the direction of the cooler, then more directly to Becky, "and please remember, miss, that castration entails a LOT of paperwork." "Will do!" she chimed, with a salute. She turned to Jeremy. "I think we fooled her! Remy? Remy?" ---- An empty field stretched infinitely in all directions and there she was, silhouetted against the Sun setting at her back. Her nude form was unmistakable in the diaphanous dress, those gorgeous breasts and tapering thighs a partial eclipse of an almost idealized body. And then he had her, one arm cradling her neck, the other pivoting under and behind her thighs to lift her into his arms, the ghostly fabric nearly tearing in the process. He kissed her deeply. He studied her face and her own looked back with detached contentment. "Jeremy?" she seemed to say without moving her mouth. "Yes?" The sky had darkened. "I need you," a fissure had formed in the ground between his bracing legs. "Right here?" The crack was opening, taking each of his feet in opposite directions. She seemed not to hear. "Will you give them to me?" And now he could see the pit of magma, and that his pants were gone, and felt the searing air on his balls. "It's spreading too wide! I..." he looked down in horror; his legs were stretched as far as his hips would allow. Then a fork of lightning flashed from the magma and snapped him in his dangling nuts, and his knees almost buckled. She stayed in his arms, studying his face seriously. "Please! I can't hold on much long-" another bolt flashed. --- He bolted upright. Becky was above him, her legs straddling his body. She was in a tank top, boy short panties, and long pink/blue striped angora socks that ended halfway between her knee and her mound, subtly discernible through the shorts. "Oh, hi baby, I'm so sorry, but you've been asleep so long that the thing started flashing, and" with a guilty, perverse pleasure on her face, "well, squeezing again, so I had to do it." "Do what?" and he looked to see the SAC, with his noticeably more swollen balls in its clenches, the LED distinctly yellow in the dimly lit bedroom. "Don't tell me..." he began. "Just one or two more ought to do it," she reassure, then, "you'll love what I figured out!" She hopped off the bed. "I couldn't make the zap happen, no matter what I tried, then I remembered these!" pointing to the socks. She began to shuffle her feet on the carpet, a motion that started rather clumsily, but soon became a seductive sway, her legs chaffing each other for maximum friction. Still concentrating on building charge, she directed, "Ok, now you've got to open wide, cuz a couple times it zapped your leg instead and didn't count." When Jeremy simply sat there watching, she called, "c'mon, put your balls out now, I'm ready!" His cock thickening despite knowing what was coming, Jeremy reluctantly pried his legs apart, and she hopped back astride him. Her hand lowered slowly with her full concentration. His cock seemed to think she was about to mount him, but his balls knew better. Finally, an inch from its targets, her finger tased his SAC with a blue flare and crackle. His body convulsed forward, and she sat her plump cotton rear between his shins and then dove her head into the dark cave of his hunched torso to note the not-yet-green light. "Ok, now one more!" she pulled up her tank to wipe a sweat droplet from her forehead. "Whew, this is going to be a workout, I can tell." she bounded back onto the carpet and began to shimmy as Jeremy cradled himself, still feeling phantom aftershocks. "It's a good thing we'll have all the girls at the office to help out," she said casually, nearing full charge again. Jeremy looked up. "What?" he said with genuine confusion, and his first real pangs of panic "The girls at your office, as soon as I mentioned the trial, and posted how these cute socks worked so good, they all said they'd chip in, which is great because I don't know how I'd get down there three times a day." She was back on the bed, and despite his panic, despite his nausea, even despite the impending electrogenital jolt, he had become hard just staring up at her pert body confidently, even lovingly, straddling his, splayed legs both mocking and inviting his manhood. The SAC gave a mild squeeze, identical to the heat warning, which he barely had time to register before she said, "now be a good Remy and open wide," she lifted her foot, "let's see if it works with my toes," she giggled and her foot lowered toward his SAC. --- Jeremy descended the stairs of the parking garage the next morning a troubled man. The pain he carried between his legs was threefold: the charging, which his body would never acclimate to, the heat 'warnings', which clamped him so often during the night that he concluded his only sleep would come without any sheets, and now the anti-cum protection, as he had discovered, to his horror, that a worse squeeze comes when the SAC detects arousal--and apparently no one at Mother Gaia thought to filter out morning wood. Only 24 hours in, and he was losing his sanity. And, above it all, was Becky's ominous voice: "the girls will chip in." He was at the office door, and took in his reflection in the tinted glass. Hair kempt, check; face groomed, check; clean work shirt, check; belt notched, check; testes bulging out the fly of his pants like overripe plum tomatos, double check. His panic resurfaced and his instinct was screamed at him to call in sick for the next two weeks, until he considered what a full day of Becky's 'mothering' might amount to. No, the office is a refuge, he reasoned, opening the door, and anyway, it's ridiculous to think any of the girls actually have any interest in his... Jeremy's jaw unhinged. The receptionist, Pamela, was stood by the coffee, and nothing covered her from the hem of her pleated skirt which scarcely cleared her ass, to the hem of her fuzzy socks, which hugged up to the top of her calf. She was chatting with Amy from HR, whom Jeremy barely knew, but knew enough to know that she usually kept more fabric on her body than a tight-fitted top, unbuttoned past mid-breast, and rompers, and heels that kept her woolly clad feet aloft. All of the women, as far as he could tell, were similarly (un)dressed. Pamela spotted him. "There he is!" she announced. "And there THEY are!" Amy teased, then put on a managerial tone, "I'm sorry, Mr. Achersley, but I'm going to have to ask you to complete our sexual harassment training. Dressing this provocatively at the workplace, some might claim you were asking for it." With that, she snapped a backhand into his pouch playfully, just enough to double him over. The front desk phone rang and Amy and Pamela air-kissed before each returning to their jobs with perfect normalcy. Jeremy began to shuffle to his own. Any other time, literally any other circumstance of his life, even on the day of his worst food poisoning or sleep deprivation, he would have been hounding each of these unfathomably hot women, cubicle-to-cubicle. No inch of them would go un-ogled. Yet somehow, feeling the AC on his balls nakedly, and with the sting and memory of Amy's easy, casual slap still fresh in mind, he instead skulked defensively to his cubicle. He was thankful to find it deserted. An hour in, and an hour unmolested, he was feeling his old self again. Melissa would walk by, her high-waisted shorts tight and simultaneously leading the eye up into her V and down to her Angora, squirrel-print socks--again seemingly part of the new dress code. During one pass, carrying a ream of paper too many, she lost control of a handful, and spent the next few minutes bent directly away from Jeremy. Instead of proffering his help, he took in the show, as her butt bounded lithely up and down with each stoop and reach. He thickened, and almost immediately after the vice clamp came and, despite himself, he cried out, doubled over. Melissa turned and seemed somehow satisfied with his reaction, and then went her merry way. This office was giving him blue balls and the SACK was clamping the valve closed. He threw himself into work to distract his cock. About noon came a knock on his cubicle wall. It was Amy, standing holding her phone out for him to see, but all Jeremy's eyes could register was that she appeared to be one button further unbuttoned. "Time to juice the boys," she informed, tapping the screen, which showed Jeremy's animated walnuts beginning to run down. He looked down to confirm that the LED had gone yellow, and, in returning to meet her gaze, noted she was slipping out of her wedges. "No, really, it's ok, I'm pretty sure I have enough to get through work today, and I'll..." "Nonsense. It's so great that you guys are finally going to be a family," she was grinding her feet luxuriously into the thick carpet. "Becky's such a sweet girl--we all went crazy when we got the news." She seemed ready; Jeremy hovered a hand over his balls as a shield. "Well, it isn't strictly a done deal yet, to be perfectly hon--" "Exactly," her eyes shone "and that's why we want to help." She took hold of his wrist gently, and it was then that he realized she had come to work au natural. Her C's were slipping out. Jeremy offered minimal resistance, and then her finger flicked out and offered maximal voltage, which his left nut accepted on his behalf. Her nail lifted his nut up from the tender underside and it settled back with its twin with a wobble. Meanwhile, her own twins had come out of her shirt completely and she stood up, oblivious for a moment, and then tucked them back in with a "Oh my goodness, excuse me." before slinking down the hallway, wedges in hand. It was the most interaction he had had with Amy in all his time at the office. It soon turned into routine. Every two hours or so, a different women would appear to attend to him. At 4, Jeremy was on the phone with a client when Melissa poked her head around the wall. He saw her from over his shoulder and he held up a finger to ask for a minute and she held up her own to her lips and stepped inside. "...um, yeah, that would probably make the most sense, given how much the wholesaler is asking, uh..." She spun his computer chair around to face her and gave him a 'go ahead' gesture with her hands as if to say 'don't mind me' while wiggling her squirrels into the carpet. "what he's asking, um, but we still need to stay on the bALLL!" he squeaked as she slapped her palm down onto his SACK with a fleshy WHUMP and then waved cutely to make her exit. --- It was nearing the close of the workday, and the end to Jeremy's roller coaster of pain and arousal seemed mercifully within reach. If he could last another 20 minutes without a girl curve springing him or girl appendage assaulting him, he might survive with his sexuality intact. All he really needed to avoid running into was Gina. And so Gina came into his cubicle without warning. Unlike the other girls, Gina's miniskirt and silky socks was nothing new, and she had been the beneficiary of his hungry looks and inappropriate brushes for the better part of a year. But what was new was the unabashed, hunger she was returning now. He knew she was interested, but why today of all days to give in? he self-pitied. "Hey mister," making no effort not to stare at his exposure "I heard you had doctor's orders to flop out for a while. How's that going?" "Dangerously; it's like hanging raw meat out for the lionesses with how they've been pawing at them," he found himself finally able to admit honestly, playing it up for her a little, and relaxing somewhat to know that at least she was on his side. "Aw, I'm sowwy," she purred, "well I promise I'll be nicer to them." And she slipped out of her heels, which made Jeremy's panic return; it was 6 o'clock. "Gina, please," he said sitting up from his chair, and she shushed him while gently pushing him back. "Just enjoy it," she whispered. Her thighs came together and