Ennui Ch. 04

At last, at last, she enters again. To my dismay, Janice follows her in. Both have changed into street clothing. Amelia is wearing a short skirt and professional-looking blouse. Her legs are terrific, long and lovely, though perhaps a bit stockier than the absurdly thin legs my database apparently recommends I be surrounded with. Looking at Amelia's lower thighs where they exit the skirt, I begin to doubt the accuracy of the database.

"You changed?"

She shrugs. "I don't know. The book says never to wear nursing gear. Put the patient at ease."

"You read the book in that amount of time?"

She laughs. "I skimmed. You are going to get only the highlights." She looks down at the skirt. "To be honest this outfit is Janice's. All I had in my locker were slacks. And nowhere in all the chapters on sexual arousal anywhere on Carla's bookshelf does it say the word 'slacks'. Not once."

"It's perfect," I say. I glance over. Janice has not said a word. She stares at me wide-eyed.

"Well, this is something," Amelia observes Janice. To me: "If you knew her better, you would understand what a... peculiarity this--"she waves toward her "--is, a silent Janice." To Janice: "What exactly did Royce say to you?"

Janice just shakes her head, lips tight.

"Well--" Amelia turns to me "--we have agreed to divide and conquer. I do the talking. Since you and I have already broken the ice, and they're all scared shitless of you."

"And you're not."

"No, actually." She laughs. "You don't intimidate me--" she taps her fingertip to my nose on the words: "one--bit."

"Then what will she do?"

"Janice is a naturally more hands-on person and is comfortable without gloves."

Damn. Not what I hoped to hear. I would really like Janice gone, but I can't think of a way to say that that isn't rude. Maybe Amelia prefers not to be alone with me.

"So, so--what should I do?" I ask.

"I... I was kind of hoping you'd guide us. You do this every week, right?"

I nod. "Several times a week."

"We're virgins at this. Carla was really an independent contractor." She lowers her voice. "I think Royce, that prick, is actually happy she's not here, because he only owns 50% of her practice, but 100% of ours. Then he just sends us in here to deal with you, while he sits outside and collects."

"I'm sorry, Amelia."

"No, no. I meant what I said. This is my duty. There are so many couples out there--I know many--who so desperately need what needs to be extracted here. Besides, Janice will be the one actually touching anything icky. Or sticky."

"What? What do you mean?"

Amelia says, "I'll just... talk. Give conversational therapy, shall we say. Just... therapy in a room where some other shit is going on with you. I'll die still having only served penises of men I'm in relationships with, which is how I prefer it. Call me old-fashioned that way."

No contact. It was a pretty common duo protocol in old-school, bare-bones extraction, a holdover from the early prudish years. In that protocol, one facilitator only speaks--though very lewdly and freely, attempting to enhance arousal as much as possible, though making no physical contact at all. The other, sometimes even positioned behind a privacy curtain, performs the physical stimulation but has no personal face-to-face interaction with the patient. It allows retaining a certain amount of professional distance for each, by dividing and conquering, though I've not experienced such a protocol in probably five years.

No contact with Amelia. I am not as depressed by this news as you might expect. Honestly, the chance to talk to Amelia for an extended time is probably the highlight of my year, even if my dick were not involved at all. I'd infinitely prefer this than if Janice and Amelia's roles were switched. I say, "You seem to have a really sporting attitude about all this."

"The book says keep the atmosphere light." She shrugs. "But seriously, life throws you curveballs. I make a point to swing at them. I'll give this a shot, someone has to. Why not? Plus, Royce said he'd give us 1% each, but that's probably bullshit. We have nothing on paper."

"1% of market revenue? That's a high commission."

"I mean 1% of what he makes. But, knowing Royce, he's totally screwing you on the spread, so that's probably more than you might think." We laugh.

She sits on the examination stool. "The part I do remember from my seminar is the time factor; hasty ejaculations without extended arousal lead to about half the net count of an optimal extraction pattern. Most of the book's chapters seemed to be about that, how to create a setting and experience that produces the most androgens, and that takes time."

I nod. "My optimal is 90 minutes, according to the database, and the NIH oversight comittee. My last thirty extractions have been within plus or minus ten minutes of that, which maximizes yield and makes the NIH--and my accountant--happy."

"Wow, really? Plus or minus ten minutes of the target? So precise. Your normal facility must be top notch."

I nod. "It is."

"Which one?"

Reluctantly, I admit. "Baumgartner-Kaufmann."

"Oh fuck. Baumgartner! Liam, who the fuck are you?"

I shrug. "Me."

"God. You're serious. I can't believe it." She shakes her head, chuckling. "From Baumgartner-Kaufmann to... *us*." She laughs. "Well, so what? Yes, they have all their fancy degrees and supermodels and elite science, but we've got... *Janice*." She laughs. "No. I'm telling you, you'll see--just wait for the assay on your sample. We are going to kick Baumgartner's ass on this. Those bitches are going down."

I laugh.

She squints. "Wait, did you say 'database'? So you're nationally tracked? How high is your FC anyway? No--don't answer. Um, how do people check 'the database'? I've heard people talk about it, but what *is* it exactly? Do I just type your name in a search engine? If I wanted to find some tips?"

"No--no, please don't," I say.

"No?"

"Everyone follows the database. Day-in, day-out. I'm so tired of it, people feeding me what science says I should be fed. I just--I just have this intuition that whatever you do by instinct will be a thousand times better than the international consensus Liam arousal recipe. I already feel like you understand me."

She stared in my eyes for a long moment, nodding. "I think I might."

I smile. I'm so, so happy. Here with Amelia, alone. Almost alone. Janice's silence makes her presence innocuous, though still unwanted. I try to mentally make the best of it. I did find Janice's lips sexy, I look at them and notice she has re-applied the lipstick, correcting the smudged spots. I find them quite full and soft, and I'm surrounded by the fullest and softest year-round, so that's saying something. My erection is achingly, ridiculously rigid.

Amelia has turned thoughtful. "Ninety minutes of arousal, though. That's a lot."

"Think--think of it as a session and a half of therapy." My cock is rock hard and straining.

"True." She nods. She points at my tenting pants. "So, does this time count on the clock?"

"Er--no? I think? I don't really know how they track it."

She laughs. "See, maybe *you* should read the book." She blows a strand of hair from her face. "One of us should, anyway."

I giggle. I have never, never, felt so relaxed during a donation. Not since the very start.

"Okay." Amelia searches around the room. "Okay, that." She tilts her head, looking at a padded multi-section table in the corner. All the equipment in Carla's room is very familiar to me, although far more worn and dirtier than I'm used to.

Amelia says, "I think they had one of those in the book. Should we try it?"

"Sure." *Anything* was okay with me.

"Um..." She stares at it. At last, she asks me, "Do--do you know how it works?"

"Yes. Very well, actually." I've spent half my life on one.

"Er, so, what do we do?"

"I--the patient--lies face down."

"Oh. That hole?" She points at a padded opening, about eight inches across.

"Yes. The patient puts it through there--and you wheel that basin--" I point to the other corner "--underneath. Which funnels to this spot, where, you put a receptacle..." I scan the shelves, then step to open a glass-doored cabinet, pulling out a sterile disposable receptacle. My erection bounces with each step. I tear off the seal and snap the plastic receptacle into the holder beneath the basin with a pop.

"Oh. My. God. Do you want a job, Liam?" She laughs. "And what's this padding down here?"

I blush a bit. "Oh, er, er, Janice will kneel there, underneath. After the table is elevated."

"It elevates?"

"Mm-hmm," I say. "And that little sprayer by the basin has sperm-safe rinse, to get everything down. Also, these swabs here can be used if any gets outside of the basin; just toss them in; anything can be sealed in the receptacle; the post-processing lab can handle all of it, extract anything you swab up."

"I feel like we should be paying you, our instructor."

I shrug. "Well, you *will* be paying me. A lot."

"True, true. Okay, let's do this. No time like the present. Strike while the iron is--though this guy seems in no danger of cooling. Is he?"

"No," I say. "Not a chance."

"Good." Amelia smiles. "The book approves of your attitude and attention. Saves me five chapters of hassle."

Two minutes later, I am lying, naked, chest-down, on the padded bench. It is elevated and tilted and I am aimed dead-center and rock hard at the wide basin. Virtually impossible to miss even a drop. My face is about 18 inches higher than my pelvis, so I can see forward very comfortably. I'm comfortable in every way. My straining erection is already oozing strands that stretch down and land in the stainless-steel basin. Somewhere below where I cannot see unless I were to crane far to the side, Janice is kneeling. Amelia has pulled up a rolling high stool to sit directly in front of my face. Her nose is only eight inches from mine.

She smiles. "Oh! I forgot." She reaches in a pocket and pulls out a lipstick. She looks in a small mirror on the side of the equipment and speaks as she quickly applies a deep red shade over her lips: "We may not have Baumgartner-Kaufman's elite hair and makeup teams, but we do got this tube of lipstick from Target that's been in my desk for a few years. So there." She puckers them, then presses them together. They are full and mesmerizing and perfect. "This was like, chapter 1: Red lipstick. You like?"

"Yes, yes, yes."

"Good. Watch them as we talk. Oh, um, the goo..." she looks around, then spies and reaches for a rack of squeeze gel-dispensers. "Do we just... squirt this on you?"

"Um, usually it goes on--on Janice's hands. Also, it was supposed to be in that warmer over there. But it takes a few minutes."

"Oh crap. Sorry, our prep is not quite the level you're used to. Here--um--Janice, put your hands out."

I see both of Janice's palms appear. She has pretty hands. She's probably seven years younger than Amelia, and her hands have a youthful, feminine thin-ness. Amelia squirts a thick spiral of gel onto each. She puts the squirt bottle aside, then holds Janice's wrists, bringing the palms close to her face. She breathes open-mouthed onto the palms, giggling. "Janice, help me breathe on this."

The back of Janice's head appears; they both blow onto the shiny moistness of the hands.

"Shit," says Amelia, "I don't know if we're warming it up or cooling it."

"It's fine," I say, laughing. But beneath the joviality, I am shaking. In anticipation. Janice has long blue fingernails and soft, feminine hands. Slender, but not bony. Glistening, only a few inches from my eyes. I can see every sweet line in her wet palms. I am furiously erect. The ache for touch is making me nearly mad.

Janice vanishes below. Amelia rolls back right before me. She crosses her forearms on the small padded shelf attached to my table, and puts her chin on her crossed arms, so her face is right before mine. I feel her breath on my mouth. I stare at her red, red lips. She opens them, slightly. If I'm not insane, she's at least slightly aroused also.

"This is definitely not the day I thought I'd be having when I woke up this morning. But I like it." She observed me staring at her red lips. She very slightly flexed the upper in a smirk, allowed the tip of her tongue to slightly extend between them. Oh shit.

"Liam, as you know, and I know, your job is to be aroused by me." Suddenly her face freezes and she laughs. "Sorry. This is such a weird day for me. For you I'm sure this is completely normal--"

"Not really."

"--But I will do my best, in my amateurish way, with my voice to get your androgens flowing." She sighs. "I've gotten men aroused before--a lot of times--just, never professionally. But you're probably roughly the same as them, I imagine. It's... good for you. Good for the planet. I know I can't do all the acrobatic things they do at Baumgartner, I know we can't touch, but I will do my best to get inside your head."

Oh. My. God. I am so aroused. "Yes, please." I whisper to her, "Are you turned on at all?"

She smiles widely, blushing. And quickly nods. "I kinda am. For reals." She leans out to the side, looking down. "Okay Janice, go ahead."

The contact is shocking. Everywhere, suddenly. Janice just wetly seizes all of me in both hands. I gasp and squirm and my back arches involuntarily in unbelievable pleasure.

Ninety minutes is a long time, and Amelia is a naturally chatty person, haha, so for me to fully transcribe what she said to me in her extended, never-ending soliloquy (punctuated by gasped responses from me) would take many, many pages. So, here's a few brief snapshots that convey the essence of those mind-altering 90 minutes:

A half-hour in, Amelia has found her rhythm. Holy shit. She was sort of searching around, hesitantly at first, but then she kind of discovered a vein of rich ore and started following it, digging deeper and deeper into my psyche along it. See, at first her exposition was very third-person, like she was reading erotica to me, fantasy talk about things other people did with other people. Then, she switched to second-person, like things other women were doing to me. So-so. Then, she switched to first-person-plural. Things *we* were doing. Her face, describing them six inches from mine. That sent me hurtling past redline.

Her eyes are slightly cross-eyed as she puckers her lips, looking down at mine. "Ooh, you want to kiss me so bad. But you can't. Here I am, just inches away. Imagine everything that's happening, all that wetness you're feeling, is me. But--poor boy--you're not allowed to kiss while fucking. So unfair. My red lips are right here and you love them so much, but you can't kiss them. Just look at them, so kissable." She puckers again.

I've forgotten Janice, and yet I haven't. I can't see her, so she's somewhat out of mind, but can feel her overwhelmingly, so she's not out of mind at all. At first, I was lying plank-like and face down. But now Janice has figured out the thigh-pad adjustments, and so, although I'm still facing downward and my chest has not moved from lying on that same padded part of the table, my knees are now splayed apart and bent and my ankles are against my buttocks, with my lower body's weight supported by cushy pads under my shins, and so all my parts hang down free into the air below me. However, I know all this only by feel, as my view is blocked by the large, wide part of the table supporting my upper body. All I can do is look forward and all I can see is Amelia.

But below my spread thighs Janice is kneeling or inclined on her back or some unknown position, with access to the entire area from my lower abdomen to most of my inner thighs. Everything everywhere down there is absolutely soaking wet with her gel or my juices. Janice can reach everything. Sometimes I even feel her reach fully underneath, wet fingertips on my lower back, palming my anus while my testicles slip on her wrist and her wet forearm slides side-to-side, side-to-side against the underside of my erection. Or maybe she has rolled her platform behind me and is reaching forward? I often have trouble distinguishing what parts of Janice are doing what.

Once I was quite sure it was her mouth, but right then she said a quick acknowledgement to one of Amelia's commands and I realized it must be her hands or something else. It's quite possible I'm in Janice's vagina, though I doubt it because it's illegal for someone of my FC to do so. But Janice is so unschooled, and her table is so adjustable that I suspect it's possible. At one point when I could not sort out what I was feeling, Amelia backed up and tilted way over to look underneath and exclaimed, "Janice!" but I have no idea the reason for her surprise at what she saw.

By sixty minutes, I'm bathed in my own dripping sweat and losing my mind. All my muscles in all places ache and are exhausted from protracted flailing and straining. I'm frantic.

Continued in Chapter 5