Harold Summers

**Chapter: Extraction Bay 3 – Harold Summers (Continued)**

Coxville Breeding Farm Satellite Facility

September 25, 2009 – One Hour Later

The bay door slid open again before Harold’s cage had even been locked back on.

A different nurse stepped inside, closing the door with her hip. She was taller than Bianca, softer in the chest, with the kind of heavy, full breasts that strained the buttons of her white coat. Light brown hair was pulled into a loose, professional twist. A thin gold necklace rested in her cleavage. Her name tag read Nurse Amami Larson – Extraction Specialist.

Harold knew the name. Half-Asian, Okinawa-born mother, local husband. She had the calm, slightly amused face of a woman who had seen every possible reaction a locked man could give and still found them all faintly endearing.

She set a small metal tray on the counter—gloves, lube, a cold collection dish, and a slim, curved prostate wand still in its sterile sleeve.

“Oh, you look quite young… Haha.” Her voice was warm, almost motherly. “What brings you here? I heard there’s a new famous urologist nearby so I made an appointment and went to see the doctor…” She trailed off, smiling as she realized she was half-quoting the flyer on the wall. “Ah, wait… this situation. It’s a CFNM scene and I’m getting hard… Hmm. You get an erection just from being shown?”

Harold’s soft cock twitched against his thigh. He was still sticky from Bianca’s earlier session, still hypersensitive.

Amami pulled on a fresh pair of blue gloves with a practiced snap.

“Ufufu. It’s a natural physiological response for men. No need to apologize.” She stepped between his knees and gently lifted his spent cock with two fingers. “So what is the problem? It looks fine on the outside. Well… usually when I jerk off I often stop just before I cum. Oh… I’m a masochist, I can’t help it… Ufufu. You’re young, and even when you get an erection, it’s this size… mm. Besides, if you love edging, you must be a masochist, right?”

Harold’s face burned. “I already gave a sample today—”

“I know.” She squeezed the base lightly, watching the head darken. “Bianca noted strong post-orgasm response. That’s why they sent me. Secondary stock sometimes needs a second, deeper drainage when the first yield is light.”

She coated two gloved fingers with thick lube and reached beneath him without ceremony. Harold jolted as the cool gel touched his hole.

“Relax… Hmm. Your anus is so clean. It seems like your Mother really loves you, doesn’t she?” Her finger circled, then pressed inward. “I’ve been treating masochistic patients, and I’ve become interested in that world too. I want to be like you… Sir cute… I always wanted to have a puppy…”

The finger sank to the second knuckle. Harold’s cock, still soft, gave a helpless twitch.

“It’s really swollen, isn’t it…” she murmured, curling the finger against his prostate. A clear bead of fluid immediately welled at his tip and rolled down the shaft. “With this size… every time I press… it just flows out of the urethra on its own, doesn’t it?”

She added a second finger. The pressure became rhythmic, firm, inescapable. Harold’s thighs started to shake.

“The prostate massage has increased your sexual sensitivity and you feel like you’re about to cum… The hot semen that had accumulated in your testicles moves to your seminal vesicles. You can’t hold back the precum as you prepare to cum…”

Harold’s voice cracked. “I just came—please—”

“My cumming… Cumming, cumming, cumming… It’s the thickest and purest cum ever…” Amami’s tone stayed clinical even as her fingers worked deeper. “The sperm are heading out to meet the eggs…”

A thicker strand of fluid pulsed from him, dripping into the cold metal dish she had placed beneath. She kept massaging, slow and relentless, forcing more out in short, involuntary spurts.

“If it’s too hard to lift your legs, try lying on your stomach or crossing your legs. That’s right, this way even if your penis twitches… your thighs will keep you from moving. So it’ll be easier for Doctor to massage you. Thank you.”

She helped him turn onto his stomach on the padded table, hips slightly elevated. The wand replaced her fingers—cool, curved, humming on its lowest setting as it settled against the swollen gland.

“Yeah… It seems like most of the prostatic fluid has been drained… Don’t you feel a little lighter in your lower body? Haa… Haa… Haa… It’s getting a little…”

Harold’s cock hung soft and dripping between his legs, twitching with every pulse of the wand. Amami watched the dish fill with slow, steady drops.

“Thanks… I appreciate it… Ufufu, that’s good. Well then, should we squeeze of the smelly thing? Next is the sperm from your balls… And…”

She reached underneath and cupped his sac, rolling and gently pulling in time with the wand. Another thick pulse spilled into the dish.

“Semen is composed of 30% prostate fluid and more than 60% seminal vesicle fluid. During prostate massage, you don’t feel an orgasm like cum, so you can still cum from the testicles. Congratulations! You can expel that erotic, smelly juice from your urethra over and over again!”

Harold’s forehead pressed against the vinyl. His hips jerked in tiny, helpless movements. The sensitivity from Bianca’s earlier session had never faded; every press of the wand and every tug on his balls felt raw and overbright.

Amami finally switched the wand off and withdrew it. She held the collection dish up to the light, swirling the cloudy fluid.

“From now on, you can do edging as much as you want… Doctor will fix it for you.”

She set the dish aside, wiped him clean with a warm cloth, and then—without warning—closed her gloved hand around his soft, oversensitive cock and began to stroke again, slow and deliberate.

Harold cried out, body trying to curl away. The post-orgasm nerves lit up like fire.

“Oh no, what should I do… I was told to stop but I was waiting for it… It was a cold collection dish… Now… what’s left in the urethra is…”

She kept stroking through the fresh, watery spurts that forced their way out, milking every last drop into the dish until Harold was shaking and glassy-eyed.

Only then did she stop. She stripped the gloves, made a neat note on his chart, and smiled down at him the way a nurse smiles at a patient who has been very good.

“Yield improved with secondary prostate drainage. Residual fluid: significant. Cage goes back on in five minutes. Next full extraction in nine days—unless the fog makes the numbers jump again.”

She patted his hip once, almost affectionately.

“Try to rest, Harold. The real work is still done with gloves on.”

The door closed behind her. Harold remained on the table, soft cock still twitching, the cold metal dish on the counter holding everything the two nurses had taken from him in the space of a single afternoon.