Ask her for a sincerely needed "helping hand".

"I can't get jack off to this!" you whine, waving your hands over the still-discomforting white pads stuck fast to your body.

Devi cocks her head to the side. "I find that hard to believe, coming from a man." You're pretty sure that's sexist, and frankly a bit insulting. "Just get to... y'know," she shakes her hand sarcastically at your crotch, "stroking." She stares as you comply, giving your little soldier a few sad, fake pumps with your fist. The last thing you want to do is prove her right, after all... especially now. Now it was more about pride than deception. After a few minutes, you do notice a slight chance in her behavior: her eyes have yet to leave your crotch, half-chub as you are, and her sighs are getting more drawn out. Was your presence affecting her again? With a sigh, she asks, "Does it normally take this long?"

"Of course not," you answer hastily. You think about it for a second more, and regret your answer. "Look, this is your sample, and it would go a lot faster if you... y'know..." She finally looks you in the eye, waiting. She bobs her head left and right, trying to fish out the end of your sentence. "... helped me harvest it?"

A moment. A blink. A second blink, and her eyes go wide. "That is... not acceptable," she says, swallowing hard while glancing away. "You know I'm a lesbian."

"Hey, I didn't say you had to get into it," you offer, "just... do the work. A platonic handy. Trust me, I won't make it weird." You give your best convincing smile while buck naked except for white socks and wired sensor pads while stroking a softie in front of her.

A hesitant exchange later, her fingers wrap around your cock with surprising , and your body responds with a swift and angry erection. Her face wrinkles as she looks away from you, only glancing occasionally at the cup in front of your cock to make sure it wouldn't miss. Despite her disdain, she maintains a firm grip, her lithe fingers spreading wide across your shaft as she pumps it, moving skin and veins across your meat with her vice grip. You do you part to get into it, and such isn't difficult: your high school crush, so unobtainable even now, was giving you a handjob in your home. Literally only for science, sure, but the fantasy was alive in your mind and, predictably, in your churning sack. Hand or no, you were about to come and warned her with an errant "Oh God-"

"Is something wrong-?" She yelps in surprise as her vigorous rubbing, ending on the tip of the head at every stroke, gets her fingers soaked in your seed. She pumps it one last time to the base of your cock, and the rest of your load is wasted into the plastic receptacle. She grips it tightly and keeps pumping your shaft right up to the ridge of your glans, striking it with enough pleasurable that your body almost folds up response. It feels like you're coming enough to fill half a party cup, and through your sighs you hear a gasp of her own, pushing you ever more into bliss-

"Derek, is this... is this not an abnormal amount?!"

You had allowed your eyes to close while enraptured and, as your eyelids flutter open, you see that you didn't just imagine halfway filling a 10 oz. cup. The gray mass was there, absurd in its quantity.

"The average male ejaculation results in roughly a quarter to half an ounce, and this is an eight-ounce receptacle... this is... this can't be... health... y..." Her freed, soiled hand had apparently drifted too close to her face for comfort, causing her pause in speech. But she doesn't finish her thoughts. Maybe it was the scent, or maybe something about your jizz in her hand caught her eye, but she ceases to withdraw it from near her face. Your seed, that terrible menace she treated like poison, was webbed between her fingers and made her every motion and finger slick with cum. She stared at it, her mouth opens a bit as she sighs...