The email came through our group chat at 10:47 on a Thursday night.
Subject: Last spot – sperm donor drive this Saturday. Who’s in?
Attached was a flyer from Fertility Forward, the progressive clinic downtown that had been making waves on social media. The headline read:
“Brothers in Giving – Group Donation Session • Saturday 2 PM • Limited to 8 participants • Shared encouragement room • Higher success rates reported”
No one said anything for about twenty minutes. Then Jake dropped the first reply.
Jake: $200 compensation + free STI panel. I’m down if at least three of you pussies commit.
Tyler: lmao you first bro
Marcus: Rules say “mutual support environment encouraged.” What does that even mean
Me: Means we all jerk in the same room and pat each other on the back while we nut I guess
Jake: Exactly. Science needs our loads. Who’s scared?
A beat.
Then Ethan: I’ll go if Riley goes.
Four dots appeared under my name. Everyone waiting.
I stared at the screen, cock already half-interested just from the mental image. The idea of us—seven guys who’d known each other since college, plus whatever random eighth—sitting in a circle, pants around ankles, stroking while the others watched and talked us through it… yeah. That hit something deep.
Me: Fine. I’m in. But if anyone bitches out I’m never letting you live it down.
Seven yeses rolled in over the next hour. We were locked.
Saturday came fast.
We met in the clinic parking lot at 1:40. Everyone dressed like it was just another gym day—basketball shorts, hoodies, slides. No one wanted to look like they’d dressed up to come nut in public. Jake carried a protein shake like it was ammunition. Tyler had his noise-canceling earbuds in even though no music was playing. Classic deflection.
The receptionist smiled too brightly when we all piled in.
“Group of eight for the shared session?” she asked.
We nodded like guilty schoolboys.
“Perfect. Follow me.”
She led us down a hallway lined with pastel motivational posters—“Your gift creates families”, “Every drop counts”—then through a heavy soundproof door into what they called the “Encouragement Suite.”
The room was larger than I expected. Maybe twenty-five feet square. Soft grey carpet. Eight padded chairs arranged in a loose circle. In the center of the front wall stood a narrow table with a row of eight sterile specimen cups, each already labeled with our names in neat black marker. A box of gloves, a stack of wipes, a small sink. No partitions. No curtains. Just open space and eight chairs facing the table like we were about to watch a presentation.
“Gentlemen,” the nurse said cheerfully, “the rules are simple. One donor at a time approaches the collection station. The rest remain seated and provide verbal encouragement. No physical contact unless mutually agreed upon and verbalized clearly. Ejaculation must occur into the provided cup—no exceptions. Once your sample is capped and placed in the pass-through hatch, you may return to your seat. We’ll go in the order on the cups—Riley, you’re first.”
My stomach flipped.
She smiled again. “I’ll be outside monitoring via camera for safety. Take as long as you need. There’s lube and tissues on the side table if required. When everyone’s finished I’ll collect the samples. Any questions?”
Silence.
“Great. I’ll leave you to it. Good luck, and thank you for helping create families.”
The door clicked shut. A soft mechanical whir told us the lock had engaged.
We all looked at each other.
Jake broke the silence first. “Well. Science awaits, boys.”
Nervous laughs rippled around the circle.
I stood up before I could overthink it. My cup had my name on it—Riley—right in front. I walked the six steps to the table feeling every eye on my back. The carpet was soft under my slides. My heart hammered against my ribs.
I picked up the cup. Clear plastic. Wide mouth. Way bigger than the little thimble-looking ones I’d seen in porn. They really did want volume.
I turned around to face the circle.
Seven guys watching me. Some smirking. Some already shifting in their seats, legs spread, hands resting on thighs like they were trying not to touch themselves yet.
I hooked my thumbs into the waistband of my shorts.
“Alright,” I said, voice rougher than I meant it to be. “Here we go.”
I pushed the shorts and boxers down in one motion. My cock sprang free—already chubby from the anticipation. Not fully hard yet, but thick and heavy. A couple low whistles.
“Fuck yeah, Ri,” Marcus said. “Look at that thing.”
I gripped myself. One slow stroke from base to tip. A bead of pre-cum welled immediately.
Tyler leaned forward, elbows on knees. “Go on, man. Get it nice and hard for us.”
I started pumping. Steady rhythm. Eyes flicking around the circle. Jake’s gaze was locked on my hand. Ethan’s lips were parted. Tyler was already palming himself through his shorts.
“Doin’ great, Riley,” Jake said, voice low and approving. “Just like that. Show us how you like it.”
The encouragement hit like a drug. My cock stiffened fully in seconds. Thick veins standing out. Head shiny.
“Fuck,” I breathed.
“Yeahhh,” Marcus murmured. “Look at him leak already.”
I sped up a little. Wet sounds filled the quiet room—skin on skin, my breathing getting louder.
“Tell us when you’re getting close, bro,” Ethan said softly. “We wanna hear it.”
I nodded. Kept stroking. The pressure built fast—too fast, maybe, because they were all watching, all talking.
“Shit… feels good with you guys looking,” I admitted.
“That’s it,” Tyler said. “Let it build. We got all day.”
But I didn’t have all day. The edge rushed up.
“I’m—fuck—I’m getting close already,” I panted.
Instant response.
“Go for it, man,” Jake said firmly.
“Fill that cup for us, Riley,” Marcus added.
“You’re doing so good,” Ethan almost whispered.
My thighs started shaking. I braced one hand on the table edge. Stroked faster. Louder moans slipping out now—helpless, needy sounds I couldn’t hold back.
“Gonna—gonna bust—” I warned, voice cracking.
Cheers erupted.
“Do it, bro!”
“Let it rip!”
“We got you, man—come on!”
My knees buckled a little. I aimed the head down into the cup. First rope shot hard—thick white, splattering the bottom. Then another. And another. Long, pulsing jets. I groaned loud—almost a yell—hips jerking involuntarily.
“Fuck yes!” Tyler shouted.
“That’s a fucking load!” Jake laughed, clapping once.
I milked out the last few spasms, chest heaving. When I finally stopped shaking I looked down—easily two inches of cum pooled in the cup. More than I usually got on my own.
I capped it with trembling fingers. Placed it in the little hatch. The red light turned green.
Then I turned back to the circle.
Every single one of them was hard—tenting shorts, hands inside waistbands now.
I dropped back into my chair, legs spread, cock still semi-hard and glistening.
“Who’s next?” I rasped.
Marcus stood up slowly.
“My turn.”
He walked to the table like he was approaching a guillotine. But when he turned around, shorts shoved down, his dick was already rock-solid—longer than mine, curved up sharply.
He gripped it. One stroke. Two.
We all leaned in.
“Look at that pretty cock,” Tyler said immediately.
Marcus flushed red to his ears.
“Shut up,” he muttered, but he was smiling.
“Nah,” Jake countered. “We’re gonna talk you through every fucking inch of this. Stroke it nice and slow for us first.”
Marcus obeyed. Long, deliberate pulls. His breathing hitched almost immediately.
“Good boy,” Ethan said quietly.
Marcus’s eyes fluttered. “Fuck… this is intense.”
“We know,” I told him. “Just breathe. Let us help.”
He sped up. Wet sounds again. His abs flexed every time his fist hit the head.
“Tell us how it feels, man,” Tyler prompted.
“Feels… fuckin’ exposed,” Marcus admitted. “But good. Really good.”
“That’s it,” Jake said. “Let it build. We’re right here.”
Marcus’s strokes got erratic. Hips rocking forward a little.
“Close,” he gasped. “Really fuckin’ close.”
“Louder,” I said. “Let us hear you.”
“I’m gonna—shit—I’m gonna nut—”
The room exploded with encouragement.
“Come on, Marcus!”
“Bust that load, bro!”
“Give it to us!”
He cried out—sharp, desperate. Hand a blur. First shot went wild—arced high, then dropped into the cup. Second and third were perfect, thick ropes piling on top of each other. He kept moaning through it, whole body trembling.
When he finished he sagged against the table for a second, panting.
“Jesus Christ,” he whispered.
We clapped—actual applause.
“Monster load, dude,” Tyler said.
Marcus capped his cup, staggered back to his seat. His cock was still twitching.
Next was Tyler.
He practically bounced up to the table—cocky grin in place. But the second his shorts hit the floor and seven pairs of eyes locked on his dick, that grin faltered.
“Fuck,” he muttered. “Y’all are staring holes through me.”
“Yup,” Jake said cheerfully. “Now jerk it.”
Tyler started fast—too fast. Trying to power through embarrassment with aggression.
“Slow down,” Ethan said gently. “Make it last. We wanna watch.”
Tyler groaned but obeyed. Long, slow strokes. His foreskin slid back and forth over the glistening head.
“There you go,” I murmured. “Look at that. So fuckin’ pretty.”
Tyler’s throat worked. “This is… a lot.”
“We got you,” Marcus said—his voice still hoarse from his own orgasm. “Just breathe and stroke.”
Tyler’s rhythm steadied. His moans started soft, then grew.
“Feels so good with you guys talking,” he admitted.
“Course it does,” Jake said. “You’re doing great, Ty. Gonna fill that cup just like Riley and Marcus.”
Tyler’s hips started rocking. “Close—fuck—really close—”
“Louder, man,” I said. “Tell us.”
“I’m gonna bust—gonna fuckin’ bust—”
Cheers again.
“Do it!”
“Empty those balls for us!”
“Let it fly!”
Tyler’s whole body locked up. He aimed carefully. Rope after rope—thicker than mine, almost opaque. He growled through it, loud and primal.
When he finished he laughed shakily. “Holy shit.”
Back to his seat. Cup in the hatch.
We kept going.
Ethan next—quiet Ethan who never talked much during sex. But when he stood up, his cock was leaking steadily. Thin steady drip.
He didn’t even try to play it cool. Just wrapped his hand around himself and started stroking while staring at the floor.
“Look at us,” Jake said softly.
Ethan lifted his eyes. They were glassy.
“Good boy,” Tyler murmured.
Ethan’s strokes sped up fast. He was whimpering within thirty seconds.
“It’s okay,” Marcus told him. “You can let go in front of us. We want it.”
Ethan’s moans turned high and needy. “Gonna—gonna come—can’t stop it—”
“We know,” I said. “Give it to the cup, baby.”
He did. Thin, watery spurts—but lots of them. Pulse after pulse. His whole body shook like he was crying.
We cheered softly this time. Gentle.
Back to his seat.
Jake went next.
Big, loud Jake—the one who’d started all this—suddenly looked almost shy when his shorts came down. His cock was girthy, heavy, hanging low even hard.
He gripped it. One stroke. Groaned like he’d been punched.
“Fuck… y’all are really gonna watch me nut.”
“Hell yes,” Tyler said. “Been waiting for this.”
Jake started pumping. His usual bravado melted away fast. His mouth fell open. Moans deep and broken.
“Feels… too good,” he panted.
“That’s the point,” I told him. “Let it happen.”
He sped up. Balls drawing tight.
“Close—fuck—I’m so close—”
“Tell us,” Ethan whispered.
“I’m gonna bust—gonna fuckin’ bust everywhere—”
The room roared.
“Come on, big guy!”
“Fill it up!”
“Let those balls empty!”
Jake roared—actual roar. Thick ropes blasting into the cup. One, two, three, four… kept coming. He milked himself dry, shaking.
When he sat down he looked dazed. Proud, but dazed.
Three left.
We were all loose now. Spent cocks resting on thighs. Air smelled like bleach wipes and sex.
Next was Chris—the quiet one who’d barely spoken since we arrived.
He stood. Shy smile. Dropped his shorts. Average length, but so hard it curved upward sharply.
He started stroking. Eyes closed at first.
“Open your eyes, Chris,” Tyler said gently. “Look at your brothers.”
Chris obeyed. His hand moved faster.
“You’re safe here,” Marcus murmured. “We got you.”
Chris’s breathing hitched. “Feels… embarrassing.”
“Good embarrassing,” I said. “The best kind.”
He moaned louder. “Gonna—gonna lose it—”
“Let it go,” Jake said firmly. “We wanna see you come apart.”
Chris cried out—sharp, helpless. Spurts hitting the cup in quick bursts. He kept stroking through it, whimpering.
Back to his seat. Shaking.
Two left.
Liam stood next.
Tall, lanky Liam. Cock long and slender. Already dripping.
He started slow. Eyes flicking around the circle.
“Talk to me,” he begged quietly.
Instantly the room responded.
“So fuckin’ hot, Liam.”
“Stroke that pretty dick for us.”
“You’re doing amazing, man.”
His strokes sped up. Moans climbing.
“Close—oh god—really close—”
“Louder,” I said.
“I’m gonna nut—I’m gonna fuckin’ nut in front of all of you—”
Cheers.
“Do it!”
“Give us everything!”
“Let it rip!”
Liam’s whole body seized. Long, arcing ropes—almost hitting the edge of the cup. He gasped through it, eyes wide.
Last one.
Dylan.
Dylan who’d been rock-hard and silent the entire time.
He stood. Shorts down. Thickest cock in the room—maybe not the longest, but goddamn girthy.
He gripped it. One stroke. Groaned deep.
We all leaned forward.
“No hiding now,” Jake said. “We’re gonna talk you over the edge.”
Dylan started pumping. His usual cocky smirk was gone. Replaced by raw need.
“Feels… too much,” he panted.
“That’s perfect,” Tyler said. “Means you’re close.”
Dylan’s moans grew desperate. “Gonna—fuck—gonna come—”
“Tell us,” Marcus ordered.
“I’m busting—oh shit—I’m busting—”
The room erupted one final time.
“Come on, Dylan!”
“Fill that fucking cup!”
“We got you, bro—let it all out!”
Dylan shouted—voice cracking. Massive ropes blasting. One after another. The cup was nearly half full when he finished shaking.
He capped it. Stumbled back. Collapsed into his chair.
Silence for a long moment.
Eight full cups in the hatch. Eight guys breathing hard. Smiling like idiots.
Jake finally spoke.
“So… we did it. For science.”
Laughter—tired, happy laughter.
I looked around the circle. Every face flushed. Every cock softening but still proud.
“Worth it?” I asked.
Seven voices answered at once.
“Fuck yes.”
The nurse came back in ten minutes later. Collected the samples. Thanked us profusely. Handed out envelopes with cash and appointment cards for follow-ups.
We filed out into the parking lot like soldiers after a mission.
No one said much.
But when we got to the cars, Jake turned around.
“Same time next month?”
Eight hands went up.
Some things don’t need more explanation than that.
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