Propose repeat testing.

From some vestige of your mind that still held on to the precepts of scientific methods, an idea pops into your head. "Hey, experiments can't just rely on one test, right?"

"This isn't an experiment. I'm documenting your physiological anomalies."

"R-right, but hear me out. I mean, I get the feeling I'm totally ready to go, with another load and everything. You could harvest the second result, and wouldn't that tell you-"

"You can't possibly have anything left?" Her tone is one of disbelief, but she looks at you with sincere worry. "I did a bit of research earlier, and the regeneration cycle for spermatozoa should be a minimum of 24 hours, and it's hardly been 24 minutes. Certainly, the volume in the first sample is already incompatible with current human anatomical estimates, but..." Her rapid-fire listing of facts suddenly stops, and she begins fanning herself off with her hand. "Is your A/C broken?"

"I turned it to 75," you respond honestly. You carefully shift in your chair, slowly stroking your hard-on to keep it alive. You can tell she's contemplating fussing with your settings, so you add, "Truth be told, I find it kind of drafty at the moment. Y'know, being the only naked one here." Devi sighs and removes her lab coat. But that turtleneck can't be too comfortable in this temperature... and that fact keeps you in the game. "Well, I bet I can, anyways. I know my body, and I don't feel spent... Not. One. Bit."

After a brief discussion, she concedes and leaves for just a moment. Presumably she puts your first "specimen" in her freezer, and doesn't come back until she's got the four other cups in her set. She lines them up in front of you on the coffee table like a frat brother preparing shots: so simple a challenge, and yet just a bit intimidating. "F-four, huh? That's a..."

"I don't want you to make me get up again." There was a bit of merriment in her taunt, and she can't stop smirking as she returns to her laptop. That smirk vanishes once she gets to tugging on her turtleneck again. "You really feel cold?"

"Me." You point a thumb to yourself sarcastically. "Naked." You gesture to the icy-cold pads still hooked up to your body. You then motion to her. "Only one." Now, if you were being honest, you really are getting uncomfortably warm too, even without the afterglow of coming. But you would not turn this boat around when the seas were choppy. You would stay the course... and with luck, she'd get uncomfortable enough to make it pay off. Unfortunately, she doesn't, and resumes typing rapidly into her laptop. You sit up on the edge of the chair, and wait.

She keeps typing. You clear your throat. Nothing.

"Well?"

She looks up. "Well what?" You make a grand motion to your manhood, and she balks. "Wha- again? Can't you take care of yourself from now on?"

"I couldn't the first time!" With an irritated groan, she resumes her position: at your side, on one knee, with an empty cup in one hand and your shaft in the other. She tries to maintain that pout and frustration, but eventually she's focusing on her task and doing her best to refine her clumsy way around a dick. As unsexy as she tries to make it, you're still, at heart, a giddy high school boy getting his first handy from his first crush. In minutes, you're breathing heavy... and she's joining you. Her pumping become stronger, pistoning vigorously on your entire length, ending each one with a squeeze just a notch below discomforting on the swollen head at the service end of you. "You're..." You sigh your words, afraid your voice will crack if you try to carry on normally. "... you're getting really good at this."

"Shut up," she half-moans. Her eyes go wide. Your eyes go wide. You're both surprised at how that came out. Her eyes never leave your cock, and the cup is wavering in her grip. She swallows hard, and perspiration starts building on her forehead. Was she getting into it? She's into it. You decide it on your own with almost no evidence, and she's clearly scared to of meeting your piercing gaze upon her, but it's all just enough to get you there once more. Your groan is warning enough this time, and she moves her hand to the base, rubbing the side of her first into your crotch and bringing you a level of pleasure you thought only you knew about. You close your eyes and lean back, feeling your second orgasm filling a second cup. You can't even appreciate beating her expectations on your limits; your bliss is reborn anew, not with the soreness that normally accompanies a second round in the same hour but with the same, fresh rapture she gave you last time. Only her worried voice brings you out of it.

"Derek! This is... this is impossible!"

Once more you're pulled out of your stupor to look at the cup... this time, filled to three quarters. You came even more your second time. "I'm..." You suddenly feel a bit lightheaded, and struggle to get words out.

"No human testes and prostate could produce this volume in a single... I mean, even an abnormal prostate would..." She seems at a loss for words, and you are similarly stunned. She finally turns to you, and her expression becomes one of a concern. Putting the uncapped cup on the table, she hovers over you. "Derek, what's wrong? I didn't see any traces of blood in your ejaculate, but you look as if-"

"... hungry."

"What?"

You were starving. It wasn't even an hour since you cleared your huge breakfast, but your stomach was knotting on itself trying to eat. You stumble away from the chair, nearly pulling a wave of lab equipment with you before you realize you need to start ripping off the tiny pads that anchored you. You do so quickly, ignoring the pain of torn pubic hairs or the angry red blotches from tearing away the glue. Devi watches, first to save her equipment and then to help you unplug before you march (all of three large steps) into your kitchen. You're a dorm-level blur of scouring the freezer for microwavable meals, finding two chimichangas (each one a dinner in its own right by your normal standards), and tossing them into the microwave. While that "cooks", you also grab and begin to quickly eat three slices of bread, not wasting time with preparing anything to actually put between the slices. You glance back, looking at Devi as she contemplates the tall glass of man-brew you just served her. She looks at you, with the three flapping pieces of bread stuffed halfway into your maw, before you turn away to regard the microwave timer. They're not even done by the time you wolf down all three slices, and still a deep-seated hunger roots inside of you.

What was going on with your body? You just came a cup and a half within an hour, and it feels like you shot it all out using bagels and orange juice. You were no scientist, but you were pretty sure that's not how your balls work. You contemplate this as you stare at your chimichangas, watching them both begin to bubble with the pressure of the sauced meats within... and notice something in the reflection. You squint your eyes to make it out, because the black portions of the microwave glass still made for a poor mirror, but you can make out...

Devi. She is still far away, sitting at your living room coffee table, away from her laptop... with what looks like the specimen cup in her hand. She was dipping her fingers into it... and bringing them to her mouth. Your eyes go wide as you realize that, for reasons you were half-hoping for before today, she's found herself tempted into another battery of "taste tests" on your jizz.