The Donor
By uppishcarrot.
Except behind closed doors, when perfection frayed.
It had begun quietly — a hesitation, a faltering. A glass of wine too many, perhaps, or stress from the markets. But the pattern grew. More nights where he couldn’t quite rise to the occasion, followed by more excuses, more moments where her hand gently reassured, but her eyes betrayed a flicker of disappointment.
Louise was patient at first. Sympathetic, even. She stroked his cheek when he apologized, whispered that love wasn’t measured that way. But over time, those reassurances turned brittle. He noticed her sighs in the bathroom, her long showers, and the way she stayed later after yoga. And worst of all — he overheard.
It was at a dinner party, after the men had drifted to the balcony and the women lingered in the kitchen. Jack had stepped back inside for another bottle of wine, only to hear her voice, low but sharp with frustration.
“He just… can’t…it just dangles there. Pale and limp….It just… doesn’t work….” Louise said to her sister. “I don’t know how much longer I can live like this! It’s just this useless little flap of skin. The thing that makes him a man… is just…. It’s nothing…It’s almost like he’s forgotten how to be a man. I love him, but what am I supposed to do? I want to start a family. I’m not getting younger. How long am I supposed to wait?”
Laughter from one of her friends. A murmur of sympathy from her sister. And then, the cutting words: “You married the perfect man, shame he’s got nothing but hot air between his legs!” A chorus of laughter ensued.
Jack froze in the hallway, his ears ringing. The bottle of wine grew slick in his hand. He wanted to storm in, to defend himself, but shame rooted him in place. He returned to the balcony instead, smiling too brightly at a joke he hadn’t heard, while his insides twisted into knots.
That night, he lay awake, staring at the ceiling, Louise’s breathing steady beside him. The humiliation clawed at him. He couldn’t give her what she wanted most. And worse, she had told others. His private failure was now part of her conversation, her confidences.
The next morning, with his throat tight, he asked her the unthinkable.
“Would you… want to take on a lover?” he said quietly, over coffee. “Just… to help us conceive.”
He half expected her to recoil, to protest, to soothe him with assurances. But instead, her eyes lit — a flash of relief, of something almost like eagerness.
“Jack… I didn’t think you’d ever suggest it.” She reached for her bag, sliding something across the table before he could respond. A glossy pamphlet. A fertility clinic. Photographs of handsome donors, smiling couples cradling newborns.
He stared at it, the smiling faces blurring. “You’ve already… looked into this?”
Louise’s voice was calm, almost businesslike. “I had to. I need options. We need options. You want a family, don’t you?”
Her words were kind enough, but her tone betrayed her impatience. For her, this was practical. For him, it was devastation.
Jack forced a smile, nodding faintly as if he agreed. But inside, shame churned. She had been waiting for this. Waiting for him to admit what he was too proud to face. And she was ready — perhaps too ready — to let another man do what he could not.
The man who closed deals in boardrooms with steady hands now found himself shaking as he lifted his coffee cup. In her relief, Louise hadn’t seen it: the crack spreading across him, the quiet humiliation that would grow like a shadow in every corner of their marriage.
And yet, he knew he would go along with it. For her. For the child, they both said they wanted. Because what else could he offer her?
The pamphlet didn’t vanish into a drawer; instead, it sat on their coffee table for days, a silent accusation. Jack found himself staring at the smiling faces on the cover each evening, the way the men held their newborns with an ease he couldn’t summon.
One evening, they were on the couch watching something on Netflix. Louise picked up the pamphlet. “We should really get the ball rolling on this,” she said, flipping through it as if planning a vacation.
“This one looks strong,” she remarked, tapping a profile. “Tall. Athletic. Scandinavian heritage. That’s good, right?”
Jack’s throat tightened. He couldn’t stop his eyes from flicking to the photo of the donor — broad-shouldered, confident, the kind of man who had never doubted himself in bed. “I suppose so,” Jack murmured. His own voice sounded small, almost childlike in comparison to the smiling titan on the page.
Louise didn’t notice his silence. Or worse — she did, and ignored it. She leaned back on the sofa, long legs stretched out, flipping another page. “It feels… exciting, doesn’t it? Knowing this could work. That we could finally become a family.”
Jack forced himself to nod. But the word exciting landed like a blade. For her, this was anticipation. For him, humiliation wrapped in clinical language.
The first appointment came quickly. Louise booked it without hesitation. Sitting in the waiting room of the clinic, Jack’s suit felt suddenly ridiculous, a costume that couldn’t disguise his uselessness. The posters on the walls showed robust families, mothers glowing, fathers proud. He sat beside his wife, feeling like an imposter.
The doctor was kind, professional, but direct. “Mr. Carter, your results show a pattern of erectile dysfunction that complicates natural conception. The options are either medical intervention, which we’ve already attempted, or proceeding with a donor.”
Jack felt the blood rush to his face. The words were clinical, yes, but they carried the weight of a verdict. He glanced at Louise, hoping for her to protest, to say she still believed in him. Instead, she smiled tightly, almost with relief.
“I think we should proceed with the donor,” she said firmly, without hesitation.
The doctor nodded, shuffling papers. Jack sat frozen, as if the floor had given way beneath him. Proceed with the donor, just like that. His role reduced, his failure written into the next chapter of their lives.
That night, Louise poured herself a glass of wine and seemed lighter than she had in months. She kissed Jack’s cheek, as if he had done her a kindness. “Thank you for supporting this,” she said warmly. “It means everything to me.”
Jack swallowed. “Of course,” he managed.
But lying in bed beside her, staring at the ceiling, the weight of it crushed him. He wasn’t a husband anymore—not in the way that mattered. He wasn’t the man who would give her a child. He was… incidental. Decorative. A placeholder in her perfect life. As this was going through his mind, he gazed over at her, so beautiful, so gorgeous, a goddess in every sense of the word. Something inside him suddenly snapped, and he rolled over on top of her, eager to prove that he was still a man, eager to claim her. She gasped, almost in shock, almost in surprise, “What are you doing?” she asked, anticipation and a hint of amusement in her eyes. “I want you,” he responded.
She, in turn, pulled him in close to her, placing her lips to his. After a few minutes of this, he recoiled from her, shame plastered on his face. “What’s wrong?” she asked with genuine concern. His body had failed him again. His face burned crimson, “I’m sorry… I can’t….” he whispered, his voice breaking.
Louise smiled at him, sweet, almost maternal. “It’s okay…” she murmured, “don’t worry about it. It doesn’t matter anyway.” Her words cut deep, driving home the cold, hard truth that he was not only incapable but also inadequate. A failure as a man.
He rolled off of her as she sighed deeply. It was clear to him that she was sexually frustrated, but also indifferent at the same time. To him, it felt as though she were almost humoring him, amused by his failed attempt at trying to do something manly. For Jack, he’d never felt so small, so useless, so pathetic.
The next week blurred into a series of humiliations disguised as progress. Louise chattered excitedly about the profiles she liked — men described as “rugged,” “vital,” “proven fathers.” Jack listened, each description chiseling away another piece of him.
When she finally settled on one, she showed him the file. “He reminds me a little of Anton, remember him? From the charity gala?” She laughed lightly, oblivious to the sting. “That kind of presence. Strong. Assured.”
Jack smiled weakly, though inside he felt gutted. Compared again. Outclassed again. He wondered if she even realized the cruelty in her words — or if she did, and simply accepted it as truth.
The night before the ‘insemination’, Louise curled into him, her voice affectionate. “Tomorrow’s the first step, Jack. Isn’t it wonderful?”
He held her, his arms around her slender frame. He willed his bits to work… He’d hoped that maybe if he could rise to the occasion, maybe she wouldn’t go through with it. To his dismay, his bits remained lifeless. As this was going through his mind, she continued, “I’m so excited, Jack! It’s finally happening!” The words stuck in his mind. Exciting for her, perhaps. For him, it was the confirmation of everything he feared: that he was not enough, not as a man, not as a husband. That the one role he thought was his to play had been quietly reassigned to someone stronger, more potent, more real.
As she drifted to sleep, her breathing soft and content, Jack lay awake, staring into the dark. The truth pressed down on him: he was no longer a man; in fact, it dawned on him that he hadn’t been a man for quite some time. He was simply an accessory to her happiness, emasculated, inadequate — and she didn’t even see it as a loss.
The following day was memorable, but for all the wrong reasons. The clinic was pristine, all white walls and soft lighting meant to soothe. But to Jack, it felt like a stage built for his undoing. Louise, radiant even in her casual dress, clasped his hand with a perfunctory squeeze before releasing it. Across the room, the man she had chosen was waiting — tall, broad-shouldered, skin like polished onyx, every movement steeped in confidence.
“Jack,” Louise said softly, almost with pity. “This is Darius.”
The man extended his hand. Jack shook it automatically, feeling his own grip feeble against the other’s crushing solidity. And then, with clinical efficiency, Louise let Darius take her by the hand and lead her through a side door into a private room.
The door clicked shut.
Silence stretched. Jack sat, rigid, staring at the floor tiles. Then the sounds began. A muffled laugh, a low growl. Louise’s voice — a gasp, then a moan, high and unrestrained. Jack’s chest tightened. He had never heard her like that, not once in all their years together. It was animalistic, raw, a sound born of a passion she had never shown him.
His palms sweated. His jaw clenched. Every sound on the other side of that door was a hammer blow to his pride. He shifted in his chair, horrified to realize that his body was betraying him. The stirring he hadn’t felt in months pushed against his trousers, shameful and undeniable.
That was when the nurse appeared. A young woman with bright eyes and an amused smile, carrying a clipboard. “How are you holding up, Mr. Carter?” she asked lightly, as though this were nothing more than a routine visit.
Jack swallowed, struggling for words. “I… I’m fine.”
But her eyes dropped, and she noticed. His face burned crimson. She tilted her head, smile widening. “Oh,” she said softly, knowingly. “So you are enjoying yourself.”
Jack stiffened. “No, I– it’s not–”
“Don’t be shy,” she interrupted, her tone teasing, cruel. “It’s natural. Especially when you imagine it’s you in there, isn’t it? Pretending those sounds are for you.”
Jack’s lips trembled. He couldn’t deny it — the fantasy was already coiled in his gut, fueling his humiliation. He gave a small nod, ashamed.
The nurse laughed, not unkindly but with the sharp edge of mockery. She stepped closer, lowering her voice. “Do you want to relieve yourself, Mr. Carter? Many men do in these situations. Sometimes… it helps with the shame.”
His heart pounded. The offer itself was degradation — as if she knew he had been reduced to nothing more than a voyeur, a cuckold in a clinic corridor. And yet… he nodded. Slowly.
Reluctantly.
Hands trembling, he undid his belt and lowered his trousers.
The nurse’s laughter rang out, bright and merciless. “Oh my,” she said, covering her mouth in mock shock. “And here I thought your wife’s problem was stamina. But this…” She shook her head, eyes dancing. “This is something else altogether.”
Jack froze, mortified, his erection jolting beneath the weight of her laughter.
And through the wall, Louise moaned again — louder, more desperate, utterly lost in the man who was everything Jack was not. Jack’s hands hovered uselessly at his sides, his trousers bunched around his thighs. The cold air of the clinic made his shame even starker. The nurse’s laughter had softened into a smirk, her head tilted as she studied him like a specimen.
“Well,” she said at last, her tone deliberately clinical, “that explains why she’s in there, doesn’t it?”
Jack’s throat worked soundlessly. His face burned crimson, his body rigid with shame.
She circled him slightly, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “You know, I’ve seen Darius’s file. Measurements. Notes. The doctors are very thorough here. And let’s just say…” She let the words hang, drawing out his torment. “…what you have wouldn’t even make the first line of the page.”
Through the wall, Louise let out a cry — sharp, hungry, utterly uninhibited. Jack flinched as though struck.
The nurse leaned closer, her perfume teasing his senses. “Do you hear that?” she murmured. “That’s what a real man sounds like when he’s giving a woman what she needs. That’s what she’s been missing. Tell me–” she nodded toward his exposed inadequacy “–do you really think you could ever make her sound like that?”
Jack’s eyes brimmed, shame choking him. He couldn’t answer. He knew the truth too well.
The nurse smiled wider, cruel but amused. “No, of course you couldn’t. Not with… this.” Her gaze dropped pointedly, her laughter returning, softer this time but no less devastating. “Compared to Darius… you’re practically delicate. Like a boy who wandered into a man’s game.”
Louise moaned again — longer, deeper, a sound thick with satisfaction. Jack shuddered, jealousy and humiliation twisting together until he thought he might collapse.
And the nurse, satisfied with the effect of her words, tapped her clipboard against his arm. “Maybe it’s better this way,” she said with mock sweetness. “She’ll get what she needs. And you…” Her eyes flicked down once more, her smirk unmistakable. “…well, you can always pretend.”
Jack shifted uncomfortably, his trousers further slipping down his legs, bunching around his ankles as the pretty young nurse snapped on a pair of latex gloves with a crisp pop, her smirk never leaving her face.
“Come here,” she instructed lightly, clipboard tucked under one arm. “If we’re going to be thorough, we should take a proper measurement. Standard procedure.”
His heart thudded in his chest. “Is that… really necessary?” he asked, voice weak.
She arched a brow. “You wanted to be part of the process, didn’t you? Well, here it is. Now, be a good boy. Come here.”
Shame flushing his skin, Jack obeyed. The nurse crouched in front of him, coolly lifting a measuring tape. She didn’t bother hiding her grin as she pinched the tape at his base, tugging it taut with practiced precision.
“Hmm,” she murmured, tilting her head. “A little over… four inches.” She scribbled it down, lips curling. “That’s… cute.”
Jack wanted to sink through the floor.
As if on cue, a loud, guttural moan rolled through the wall — Louise’s voice, ragged with passion. Then came the rhythmic thump of flesh against flesh, her cries mounting higher, more urgent. Jack froze, the sound cutting into him like knives.
The nurse glanced at the wall, then back at her clipboard. “Now, Darius…” she said conversationally, as if reading a grocery list, “is over eight inches. Substantially thicker, too. We have it all on file.” She tapped her pen thoughtfully. “In every way, he’s… twice the man.”
Another cry erupted from Louise — sharp, desperate, and then breaking into a shuddering scream that carried through the sterile halls. It was a sound Jack had never coaxed from her, not once in all their fumbling nights.
The nurse smiled at him sweetly, though her eyes glittered with cruelty. “Hear that? That’s what it sounds like when a woman is actually… satisfied.” She leaned closer, lowering her voice.
“Tell me, Jack. How does it feel? Knowing she’ll never, ever sound that way for you?”
His mouth worked, but no words came. His entire body trembled, a mess of jealousy, inadequacy, and crushing emasculation. He could do nothing but sit back down, burying his face in his hands as Louise’s orgasm echoed again, raw and triumphant, while the nurse’s notes reduced him to a pitiful statistic.
She leaned in closer, before setting her clipboard aside and, almost lazily, reaching out with gloved fingers. She pinched his little erection at its base between her thumb and forefinger, as if holding a fragile, unimpressive specimen.
“Such a delicate little thing,” she murmured, tilting her head. “Almost… dainty.”
Her touch was clinical, detached — yet it was enough. The storm inside him, the jealousy and humiliation churning together with the muffled thunder of Louise’s cries through the wall, was unbearable. His body betrayed him.
Before he could stop it, a hot, sudden release spilled forth, splattering across the nurse’s white uniform.
She froze, looking down at the mess. Then, slowly, she lifted her gaze back to him, her mouth curling into a mix of disgust and amusement. “You can’t be serious,” she said with a laugh. “No stimulation at all… and you still lose control? My God, Jack.” She peeled off the soiled glove with a snap, shaking her head. “Pathetic doesn’t even begin to cover it.”
Jack’s face crumpled, his breathing ragged, humiliation clawing at his chest. He wanted the ground to swallow him whole. His first erection in months, and now it was all over, gone in seconds, a ruined orgasm, the evidence all over the pretty young nurse’s uniform.
Through the wall, the sound of Louise and Darius only intensified. The bed frame slammed in rhythmic bursts, her cries rising higher, louder, fuller. Animalistic. She was completely lost to it, her voice raw with a pleasure Jack had never given her.
The nurse folded her arms, still smirking, a dark stain spreading across her uniform. “Listen to her,” she said softly, tilting her head toward the wall. “That’s a real man giving her everything she needs. While you…” She let her eyes drop once more to his still-shrinking inadequacy. “…well, you can’t even control yourself when a woman touches you like a child’s science project.”
Louise screamed again — this time, a shattering, triumphant climax that echoed through every sterile corner of the clinic. The sound tore through Jack, leaving him hollow, emasculated, and trembling, a pitiful shadow of the man he thought he was.
His release left him shuddering, humiliated beyond words. The nurse peeled off her gloves and dabbed at the stain on her uniform, sighing with mock exasperation. “Unbelievable,” she muttered, though the corners of her lips quirked upward.
He dared not look up. His body seemed to shrink in on itself, as though trying to hide from the fluorescent glare of the clinic lights. But when he glanced down, his humiliation reached a new, unbearable depth.
In the aftershock of his shame, his manhood shriveled pitifully, retreating until it was nearly gone. Just smooth skin where moments ago there had been some trace of masculinity.
The nurse noticed instantly. Her eyes widened in disbelief before laughter burst from her lips — sharp, cruel, delighted. “Oh my God,” she gasped between giggles. “It’s gone. Completely gone!”
Jack covered himself instinctively, but she batted his hands away, eager to drink in his shame. “No, no, don’t hide. This is too precious.” She crouched slightly, inspecting him as though examining a rare defect. “You look… sexless. Like a Ken doll. Or worse… like a little boy whose body hasn’t caught up yet.”
Her laughter rang in his ears, each note a dagger.
From the adjacent room, Louise cried out again, a sound torn from her throat, raw and exultant. The walls trembled with the force of Darius’s strength, every thump a cruel reminder of what Jack could never be.
The nurse shook her head, still grinning. “Your wife is in there being split apart by a real man. And you…” She gestured at his bare lap, chuckling. “…you don’t even look like a man. It’s as if your body’s admitting the truth for you.”
Jack’s vision blurred with tears. He curled forward, trying to shield himself. Still, the image was already burned into his mind — his wife in rapture, his own anatomy erased by his body’s betrayal, and the nurse standing over him, amused and merciless.
He felt hollow, stripped of everything. Not just inadequate. Not just emasculated. But reduced to nothing. As he trembled, his hands hovered uselessly in front of himself. It was no use–there was nothing left to cover, nothing to hide. The shame was complete, written across his body for anyone to see.
The nurse folded her arms, tapped her foot on the tile floor, and watched him squirm. Then, with a slow smile, she crouched so her eyes were level with his.
“Say it,” she whispered.
His throat constricted. “W-what?”
Her grin widened. “Say what we both know. That you’re not a man.” She tilted her head, studying his tear-streaked face. “Look at you. You’re soft, empty. Your wife is in there being taken by Darius–a real man–, and you’re out here, shrinking into nothing. Say it.”
Through the wall, Louise’s voice rose again, a wild, unrestrained cry. The sound was guttural, primal, vibrating through Jack’s bones. His stomach twisted; his heart clenched.
The nurse leaned closer, her breath warm against his ear. “Listen to her. She’s screaming for him. Do you think she’s ever screamed like that for you?”
Tears streaked Jack’s cheeks. He shook his head, the truth crushing him.
“No,” she said firmly, savoring his admission. “And she never will. Now say it, Jack. Out loud. Tell me what you are.”
He hesitated, lips trembling, shame choking him.
She caught his chin between her fingers and forced him to look at her. “Say it.”
His voice broke as the words spilled out, raw and trembling. “I’m… I’m not a man.”
The nurse’s smile was triumphant. “Louder.”
“I’m not a man!” he cried, tears dripping onto his bare thighs.
On the other side of the wall, Louise let out a scream–long, shattering, a cry of release that left no doubt she had reached an earth-shaking climax. The sound collided with his confession, sealing it in stone.
The nurse released his chin, satisfaction gleaming in her eyes. “Good boy,” she murmured, almost sweetly. Then, standing tall, she looked down at him with something between pity and amusement. “Now sit there, quiet, and remember this moment. Your wife moaning for another man while you admit you’re no man at all.”
Jack crumpled in the chair, hollow and broken, the echo of his wife’s ecstasy pounding in his skull, the truth of his own words forever scarring his pride.
Almost forty minutes later, the door opened, and the heat of the room hit Jack like a physical force. Louise emerged, her hair damp and plastered to her temples, skin glistening with sweat. Her chest rose and fell rapidly as she tried to catch her breath, eyes half-lidded, almost drunk with the lingering high of pleasure.
Darius followed her, tall, imposing, impossibly confident and proud. He paused just long enough to give Jack a smug, knowing smirk — a silent reminder of the chasm between them. Then, without another word, he turned and left, the door clicking softly behind him.
Jack’s voice was hoarse as he tried to speak. “Louise… are you… okay?”
She didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she sank onto the edge of the bed, glistening skin pressed against the sheets, and let out a low, amused laugh. Then she raised a finger, wagging it gently.
“Shhhh… shhhh,” she whispered, her voice velvety and teasing. “Just… be quiet for a moment.”
Jack’s stomach twisted. His eyes fell to the floor as the weight of the day pressed down on him: the clinic, the nurse’s mocking, the measurement, Darius’s smirk, the earth-shattering sound of his wife’s pleasure. And now, here she was — alive, vibrant, flushed, utterly untouchable in her ecstasy, while he remained small, flustered, emasculated.
He swallowed hard, trying to form words, but none would come. All he could do was obey, standing frozen, consumed by jealousy and shame as Louise’s laughter and breathless sighs filled the room.
She leaned back slightly, letting the damp strands of her hair fall across her face, eyes glinting with amusement. “Oh my god,” she murmured. “That was amazing…. He gave it to me really well! So good!”
Jack felt hollow, every part of him shrinking further. His pride was shattered, and yet he could not look away. Every laugh, every sigh, every inch of her sweat-damp skin was a mirror reflecting what he would never be.
Jack stood frozen, eyes downcast, as Louise lay back on the bed, still glistening with sweat, hair damp and clinging to her temples. Her chest heaved with the aftershocks of her orgasm, and every shallow breath was a reminder of what had happened without him.
The nurse returned, holding a small camera in one hand and a clipboard in the other. Her gloves were off now, but her smile was sharp, deliberate, and unreadably amused.
“I hope you don’t mind,” she said, her voice calm, almost teasing. “It’s good to document milestones. This… moment, for you both.”
Jack’s stomach dropped. “Milestones?” he stammered, panic tightening his throat.
“Yes,” the nurse replied smoothly, raising the camera. “Your wife, still flushed, recovering from… well, everything. And you,” she said, letting her gaze sweep over him like a scalpel, “standing there… utterly helpless. I think it really captures the dynamics of your marriage, don’t you?”
Jack felt heat rush to his face. His penis, already flaccid and shrunken from humiliation, betrayed him even further at her words. He swallowed hard, unable to respond, every nerve screaming with embarrassment.
Louise let out a low laugh, almost playful, her eyes half-lidded. “Go on,” she murmured, barely audible. “Let her take the picture. You’ve earned it.”
The nurse chuckled and raised the camera, snapping a few quick shots. Each click echoed in Jack’s skull, punctuating his emasculation. He could feel her eyes on him with each frame — noting his size, his posture, the way he averted his gaze — while his wife, radiant and satisfied, shone in the foreground.
“Perfect,” the nurse said finally, lowering the camera and tapping the screen. “This really tells the story. Your expression… the helplessness. And her… well, she’s breathtaking. The contrast is… exquisite.”
Jack sank slightly, shoulders curling in, wanting to disappear entirely. Every instinct screamed to run, to hide, to erase the memory of what had just occurred. But he remained, caught between obedience and shame, watching as Louise lay there, glowing and amused, while the nurse’s laughter and the memory of Darius’s smirk pressed down on him like a physical weight.
For Jack, the image wasn’t just a photograph — it was a testament. A permanent record of his inadequacy, his jealousy, and the fact that the woman he loved had experienced something beyond him, while he was left nothing but his own helpless humiliation.
Louise, still catching her breath, sat up slightly, a playful smirk on her lips. “Tell me something,” she said, her voice teasing. “Darius… does he do house calls?”
The nurse raised an eyebrow, a grin spreading across her face. “I suppose we could ask. But why?”
Louise’s laugh rang out, soft and delighted. “Well, you know… just in case this… doesn’t work. We need insurance.”
Jack froze, his jaw tightening. His body betrayed him once more, the memory of his flaccid, shrunken state still raw, the echoes of Louise’s orgasm fresh in his ears. He wanted to disappear.
The nurse chuckled, glancing down at her clipboard. “Oh, we can be thorough,” she said, her voice brimming with amusement. She tapped a few keys on her tablet and then turned it toward Louise. “Here. His details. Phone number. Seems he’s very accommodating, just as you hoped.”
Louise erupted into laughter, a rich, almost intoxicating sound that vibrated through the room. The nurse joined in, shaking her head, eyes sparkling with mischief.
Jack felt every laugh like a blow. His face burned; his hands clenched at his sides. He had suggested this, had offered himself as the facilitator of this plan, and now he was reduced to watching, humiliated beyond measure, as they joked about another man who had just proven himself everything Jack was not.
“Imagine,” Louise gasped between laughs, leaning back against the bed, “if we ever needed him at home… can you picture it?”
The nurse’s laughter bubbled over again. “I can. And I’d pay to see his expression,” she added, glancing at Jack, whose stomach had twisted so tightly it hurt.
Jack said nothing. He couldn’t. Every part of him felt erased — flaccid, shrunken, powerless. And as Louise and the nurse continued their laughter, teasing him and planning Darius’s potential house calls, he realized he was utterly and completely secondary, a witness to the woman he loved taking pleasure in someone far beyond him.
Jack remained frozen, every part of him taut with shame. Instinctively, perhaps out of defense, his hands cupped his groin. This did not go unnoticed as the nurse’s sharp eyes flicked down between his legs. He tried to shrink further into himself, flustered beyond words. The remnants of his earlier accident still clung embarrassingly to him, a stark, physical reminder of his loss of control.
Louise, lying back on the bed, caught sight of this display and paused, eyes wide for a fraction of a second — shock mingled with amusement. A small laugh escaped her lips, soft but sharp. “Oh, Jack,” she said, shaking her head lightly. “I’m so happy for you. I bet that feels nice.”
Jack froze. Heat and humiliation radiated from his core, his jaw tightening. His body, already defeated by the day’s events, felt as though it were betraying him once more, making him nothing more than a pitiable, flustered voyeur.
She turned her gaze toward the nurse, her smile teasing and indulgent. “Honestly,” she said, almost conversationally, “his penis rarely works like it’s supposed to.”
The nurse chuckled, noting the statement with a smirk and making a quick notation on her clipboard, as if cataloging Jack’s failings alongside the photograph she had taken earlier.
Jack’s hands clutched at his thighs, unable to look at either of them. His body was shrinking further under the weight of their combined amusement, his manhood flaccid, inadequate, and utterly humiliated.
Louise’s voice, soft but teasing, carried through the room again. “Don’t worry, Jack. You’ve got other… talents. Just… maybe not the ones that matter in the bedroom.”
The sound of her earlier orgasm still lingered in his ears, each echo a reminder of what he could never give her. Jack’s stomach churned with jealousy and shame. Even her casual, amused teasing felt like a physical blow — one that left him trembling, emasculated, and painfully aware that in every meaningful sense of the word, he had failed.
He remained frozen, small and exposed, as Louise leaned back, still damp with sweat, and the nurse quietly cataloged every detail, laughing softly under her breath at the absurdity of it all. Jack was trapped in a moment that would haunt him — a moment that cemented the stark contrast between the man his wife now craved and the shadow of inadequacy he had become.
The End.
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