Night at the Clinic

My right hand moved slowly down towards my pussy. I started running my fingers gently through my pubic hair - fairly thick as I never really did a lot of landscaping down there. After a while I ran my fingers down my leg and started gently scraping my nails up my inner thigh. Slowly and rhythmically I ran my fingers up and down, deliberately ignoring my clit and pussy until I was in exactly the right frame of mind. I started to think about the guy I had met earlier, imagining what he would look like in just his underwear, then naked. I imagined him stroking his cock, as it slowly grew from flaccid to rock hard.

I moved my hand up to my pussy and started gently rubbing my pussy lips. Not hard enough that I could feel anything on my clitoris, but hard enough so that eventually the lips started to part slightly. I slowly increased the force I was applying until my fingers were slipping inside my pussy lips and were touching the entrance to my vagina. Already it was starting to get moist. I started to circle my entrance with my fingers with each circle moving slowly closer towards my clit. Eventually, I allowed one finger to lightly brush against it, which sent a shiver up my spine. Not as intense, and definitely not as thrilling as when I did it in the lab earlier, but it felt good all the same.

I started gently stroking my clit, trying to savour each wave of pleasure as it went through my body. I turned my mind back to the guy and tried to imagine a situation where we might make love. I always liked to be imagining a plausible scenario when I was masturbating; it made the whole thing seem a lot more real. And when you haven't had sex for over a year, you have to take what realism you can get. I imagined I had bumped into him in the clinic later that day and we had got talking. Then I had offered him a lift home and... no wait, he obviously had his own car that wouldn't have worked. Maybe I was about to leave work and my car wouldn't start so he offered me a lift home. No, that wouldn't work either, why would he have stayed at the clinic all afternoon when his appointment was at lunchtime?

(My fingers started to work themselves faster over my clit.)

I skipped the whole 'setup' and shifted my imaginary world straight to the point where we were in the bedroom. I imagined him, overcome by lust, stripping his clothes off, while I did the same. He ripped his boxer shorts off and his erect cock sprang to attention. I was taken over by animal lust and I knelt in front of him and took the entire length into my mouth. He was taken by surprise and froze for a second, before relaxing as he felt the pleasant sensation of my warm mouth running up and down his shaft. With one hand I started playing with his balls as my head bobbed back and forth. He started to give out little moans of pleasure.

(Back in the real world I gently slipped a finger into my pussy)

I imagined myself working my head and tongue over his shaft giving him an amazing blowjob (I noted with irony that I was terrible at oral sex in real life on the few occasions I had tried it, which I guess is the reason I had never tasted semen). I felt he was close to coming so I stopped as I wanted to feel him come inside my pussy. I got to my feet and walked over the bed, before lying down and inviting him to join me. He seemed nervous at first, I assume he felt guilty about cheating on his wife, but he lay down next to me on the bed. We shared a long kiss before I felt his hand move between my legs.

(I slipped a second finger into my pussy and started pumping them gently)

He slowly rubbed my clit, feeling my moistness before eventually he rolled over on top of me and aimed his love muscle at my wet entrance. Now it was my turn to be nervous. I had never slept with anybody on the first date before, I felt like a bit of a slut. Especially as it was a married man. In fact the thought of having sex with a married man did not sit well with me. I didn't want to be the other woman, the home wrecker. I wanted him to be mine and mine only.

I tried to change the scenario in my mind into one where he wasn't married and was at the fertility clinic for... some reason. It wasn't really working. My fingers slowed down on my clit as my level of arousal suddenly dropped. This wasn't really working too well. I had come home from work as horny as hell, but for some reason I was having trouble getting myself off. Something wasn't quite right. I desperately needed to come, but couldn't quite get myself into the right frame of mind.

I cleared my mind and started to rub my clit slowly again. I tried to think of the most sexual things I could. Naked men, celebrities I had a crush on, remembering sex I had experienced in the past, nothing really seemed to be working. Eventually my mind turned to the time I had masturbated in the office restroom. How vulnerable and dirty I had felt while sitting on the toilet seat with my legs spread, yet how excited and horny I had felt at the same time. Terrified that I could be caught and yet thrilled by the prospect that it could happen.

My sexual excitement began to rise again and I began to remember the experience in as much detail as possible. I used my hands to mirror the exact motions I had used to get myself off that night. Nothing gentle, relaxed, or 'sensual', just frantic rubbing of my palm over my clit while I finger-fucked myself with the other hand. In my mind I could recall every sensation in great detail. I remembered the orgasm, which seemed to last forever. My hips had bucked on the toilet seat so hard that I nearly fell off and I cried out in ecstasy...

Back in the real world felt my orgasm approaching. I started to pinch and twist my nipples as I rubbed my clit. I thought back to earlier in the lab. When I had taken the lid of the sample and smelled the semen inside, it smelled like... pure sex! Suddenly my orgasm hit hard. My pelvis rose up off the bed as I stopped rubbing my clit and pinched it hard instead, which intensified the orgasm even further and caused me to scream out.

Some five seconds later the orgasm subsided and I collapsed in a quivering heap on the bed. The quiet playing of the stereo in the background mixed with the echo in my head of the orgasmic scream I had just let out.

-----

Masturbation was not known for its powers of long-term problem solving, I mused as I drove into work the following day. It was something you did because you were horny and there was no immediate prospect of sex, or at least none that you cared to take up. It was about short-term physical pleasure, nothing more. But my 'session' the previous night had actually helped me get a few things straight in my head. For one I was totally over the guy who had visited the lab. I wasn't really thinking about him anymore and when I did it was no longer making me drift off into daydreams that resulted in wet panties. He was a guy I met, he was cute, he was probably married, just one of a zillion guys I would never sleep with. End of chapter.

More interestingly it had given me a strong insight into my own sexuality -- and a not entirely welcome one. I had 'fantasised' about the time I masturbated in the office restroom and that got me extremely sexually excited. Superficially this was quite depressing. "Hi, my name's Jill and my sex life is so bad that when I masturbate I fantasise about masturbating somewhere else." I chuckled a bit at this, it sounded like the kind of thing a stand-up comic would say. More worrying is that it was thinking about the smell of semen that had sent me over the edge into such a terrific orgasm. I worked with semen all day and the smell had never turned me on before. Was I going to start creaming myself every time I opened a pot for analysis?

Okay, maybe I should look beyond the superficial and dig a little deeper. Maybe it wasn't the restroom or the cum that aroused me per se, maybe it was the buzz of doing something 'naughty' that turned me on -- the thrill of 'forbidden fruit'. I knew that masturbating at work was forbidden. Well, okay, I had never actually seen it in the staff handbook, but I was pretty sure it would be at least frowned upon. And the idea of being sexually aroused by the sperm samples I was supposed to be medically analysing was also naughty. An abuse of power you might say, a bit like a gynaecologist getting aroused when giving an examination.

I was a good girl, who had been raised well and had always lived life by the rules, but now I was starting to fantasise about 'naughty things'. I was no psychologist, but I was pretty sure that if I ever went to see one about this they would probably give a knowing nod and tell me it was about exploring my repressed animal self or something. Still engrossed in my introspection I pulled into the staff car park. Was I turning into a crazy lust-filled slut with a fetish for public masturbation and cum? Or, as I suspected and hoped, was I just an ordinary woman who was maybe a bit lonely and sex-deprived, fantasising about freaky stuff for a couple of days due to a hormone imbalance or something. Maybe in the next few days I would find out one way or the other.

I spent the morning working hard. Dr Huntley had me writing the lab's quarterly report, so I spent several hours on the computer looking at graphs and spreadsheets and trying to translate scientific jargon into language that a layman could understand. If there was ever a perfect remedy to keep my mind off of sex then this was probably it. Just words and numbers and not a single sperm sample in sight. Ralph teased me that I was turning into a Powerpoint Drone -- a derogatory term he often used for people who sit in offices all day reading and writing reports and attending meetings. Being scientists we obviously felt we were way above all that lowbrow stuff. In my first half day under the microscope as a potential wanton slut I was scoring extremely well. Horniness -- 3%, Panty Wetness -- 1%, number of times hand ventured down panties - 0. Overall grade -- A.

I was so involved with what I was doing that I didn't take a proper lunch break, I just popped out to grab a quick sandwich, which I ate at my desk while finishing off the report. I eventually finished and was just emailing it to Dr Huntley when Ralph announced that he was heading home. Wow, had it really taken that long? I looked at my watch and it was only two o clock. Ah yes, that's right, he was leaving early today. That's the reason he worked late yesterday and probably the reason that I didn't end up in the clinic restroom with my legs akimbo shoving some kind of miscellaneous lab equipment up my vagina.

But that wasn't really me, that was yesterday Jill. Some crazy women apparently affected by a perfect storm of hormones. I wasn't about to become that person again, not if I could help it. In fact I considered the very idea of masturbating in the restroom a bit gross now to be honest - very unhygienic, risky and desperate. I bet that if I went to the restroom now and tried to get myself off I wouldn't even be able to do it. I smiled to myself at the idea of doing this one day when I wasn't at all horny as a kind of lab experiment. My mind wandered, thinking about boring scientific stuff such as how you would make this a fair trial, what you would use as a control sample and what, if anything, you might learn at the end of it.

With Ralph gone and the report finished my thoughts were free to wander indefinitely. There was virtual silence in the lab, broken only by the tap, tap, tap coming from Dr Huntley's office as he typed in his usual clumsy two-fingered way like a lot of older scientists do. I tried to catch up on some of the samples that I had fallen behind on after my morning's report writing. I was slightly scared when I opened the first one that the smell would somehow trigger my arousal again. I must admit, the smell was more alluring than it had ever seemed before yesterday, but I didn't dwell on it and managed to keep focussed on the tasks in hand. I even got around to analysing the semen from my visitor yesterday without giving it much more than a second thought (for the record his sperm count and mobility levels were completely fine).

Three o'clock passed, then four, then five and I started to think about going home. I congratulated myself on a day's hard work well done and putting yesterday's 'issues' well and truly behind me. I had just started packing away my lab station when Dr Huntley came over to my desk. He assured me that what I had written in the report was fine, but that there was another section that needed to be added and unfortunately it would need to be completed and checked by the senior staff meeting on Monday. He reluctantly (for he was generally a sympathetic boss) asked me if I wouldn't mind staying late to finish the report and he would check and rubber-stamp it first thing Monday morning. He promised to make it up to me somehow, perhaps with an extra day's holiday.

It annoyed me that this was being dumped on me at the eleventh hour, but I reluctantly admitted that I wasn't really doing anything that night and could stay and finish the report. Dr Huntley went home and left me alone in the lab writing a rather boring summary of the usage and utility of the new cytopathology equipment. Working once everyone else had gone home was always a bit depressing, but even more so on a Friday night when you know that most people were probably out having fun celebrating the start of the weekend. Not that I had any big plans. I was going to invite a couple of friends over for a glass of wine and general girl chat, not exactly a fun-packed Friday night by the standards of most people in their 20s. But still, it would have been better than work.

It was made doubly frustrating by the fact that I was already in 'weekend mode' and so I couldn't really focus on the report and my mind kept wandering onto all sorts of irrelevant topics. After spending an hour not really getting much done, I eventually decided to take a walk and grab a drink. It would give me a break from the dreariness of the report and allow me to get a much needed injection of caffeine to fuel my late-night work.

Unfortunately the only vending machine was all the way across the other side of the building, so I had to leave the lab and go into the main clinic. There didn't seem to be anybody around and most of the lights had been switched off. I always thought it was weird going into the clinic after hours. It was a hub of activity and fairly noisy during the daytime, which made the contrasting silence eerie in comparison. I walked down the corridor, my shoes making a loud 'click' on the floor with every step, which echoed around the empty halls. I turned the corner and walked down another corridor, where the lights had all been turned out making it darker still. The only light ahead came from a door that had been left slightly ajar. As I got closer I saw that it was Production Room B.

I have already told you about my amusement with the term 'production', used in this context. The 'production rooms' were places where men could go to masturbate in order to generate a sperm sample. Most patients elected to do this in the comfort of their own home and then bring the results along in a sample pot, but for whatever reason some used the facilities at the clinic. I guess it made sense if they lived a long drive away because, as previously mentioned, all samples had to be sent to the lab within an hour.

As I approached the door I realised that I actually had no idea what it looked like inside the production rooms. The doors were usually shut and I had never really given it much thought, but I guess my mental image was a sterile room with a chair, an empty sample pot on a table and a sign on the wall that said 'Now Wash Your Hands'. As there was nobody around and the door was already ajar, I decided I would take a peek. I gently opened the door and I must admit, the inside was nothing like I expected. There was a bed for starters, which I must admit looked reasonably comfortable. Then there was a smart-looking black sofa, I guess to give the man some choice in how he wanted to get comfortable. There was also a chest of drawers, which I had no idea as to the purpose of. Was that for over-neat men who wanted to take off all their clothes, fold them up and put them in a drawer before getting down to the act?

I'm not really sure why, but I was suddenly deeply curious about this room. It was sort of like a paradox. Masturbation is not as 'taboo' as it used to be, but it's not something you really spoke about in polite conversation. Yet this room sort of thrust it into the mainstream -- it was like an office suite for masturbation! I gingerly stepped into the room and closed the door behind me. Two things immediately struck me. The first thing was that the room had obviously been recently used. The bed sheets were creased and unmade and I could make out a head indentation on the pillow. The second thing that hit me was the smell - there was still the aroma of semen in the air. I wasn't sure if this was left over from the room's recent occupant or if the room always smelt vaguely of semen. I assumed that somebody had used the facilities late in the day, just before closing time and the cleaning staff hadn't had a chance to tidy the room up yet. I suddenly panicked that they would come in and find me here. I had no logical reason for being in the room, so it would be a difficult one to explain. I opened the door again and the corridor was as quiet as ever, no sign of any cleaning staff. I decided to chance going back in and having a further look around. I wandered over to the chest and opened the top drawer.

Porn!

About a dozen dirty magazines were in the draw, mostly stacked neatly on top of each other, but one was loose as if it had just been tossed back in. I had little interest in pornography (I had no moral objections, it just never seemed that realistic to me) but I was curious as to what kind of porn the clinic offered. After a cursory glance at the covers, I was relieved (although for some reason slightly disappointed) to find that all the magazines were rather mainstream. No 'glamorous grannies' or 'Asian wives' or anything like that, just a mundane collection of silicone enhanced, impossibly thin, peroxide blondes. The loose magazine, probably used by the previous occupant, was pretty similar to all the others. I opened a couple of random pages and saw a variety of women in various stages of undress in an assortment of seductive poses.

I could only imagine the conflict of emotions that took place in this room. Anybody who saw you go in would know exactly what you were about to do and anyone who saw you come out... well, I'm sure you would get a few knowing smiles and winks. In fact I bet a lot of men would get off on that. Jerking off knowing that there were female nurses and visitors only a few metres away who knew exactly what they were doing. In fact, in a twisted way I could see the appeal. Of course, there was no need for female 'production rooms', so it's not a situation I would ever find myself in. But I could imagine lying on that bed fingering myself knowing that on the other side of the door were male doctors, nurses and patients who had watched me go in and were now picturing me committing the act in their head. It was like being watched without being watched; the thrill of sex in public without actually committing public indecency. I imagined that could be a massive turn-on.

Almost subconsciously my fingers started turning the pages of the magazine I had left on the chest, revealing breasts, asses, a few vaginas, nothing too hardcore of course. There was also a distinct lack of men in any of the pictures - no need for them I guess. The picture that eventually caught my eye was one where you couldn't see much erotic flesh at all. There was a young blonde woman wearing glasses and cliché office clothing sitting at a desk in front of her PC. From the side view you could see she was wearing a plain white blouse with a very short skirt and stockings and a suspender belt. Some men are turned on by that I guess. I moved along to the next picture in the set, where she was looking lustfully at the camera, with the blouse pulled up around her chest revealing her breasts. Then the third picture...