The Collector

Katherine – Kitty to her friends – was a collector.

Eight months ago, graduating from high school at the age of 18, she began looking for work. There were opportunities at fast food places, sure. But the heavy stench of frying foods had never appealed to her. And waiting tables at restaurants looked like hard manual labor for very little monetary reward. Stuffing envelopes sounded boring.

She realized that, as thrilling as it had been to be the head cheerleader in her high school, that didn't prepare her for a career. Her grades had been acceptable, but not exceptional. She knew that she'd gotten by on her good looks. Being a blue-eyed blonde – a true blonde – with a good figure had its perks. And her trim, muscular body with its narrow waist and ample hips brought a special emphasis to her firm, 36 C breasts. It gave them the appearance of being slightly larger than they actually were. Unfortunately, the modeling agencies she'd visited had so far turned her down for various reasons.

She began looking for positions as a receptionist, figuring answering the phone, and meeting and greeting people could be interesting, and might even be fun. She went to several websites that advertised jobs, and found some where she could enter her zip code and be told about nearby opportunities.

One that caught her eye had the word 'cryobank' in its name. "Hmmm," she hummed to herself. "Receptionist at a bank? That could be nice. Banks are usually clean, rather quiet, and air conditioned. I could at least apply," she said, talking to herself aloud. She called, and made an appointment for an interview.

Maybe she should have done some more online research about the firm. A more seasoned job applicant would have done just that, learning the company mission, etc. But Kitty had never really interviewed for a job before, and her high school had not even given the students practice by role-playing such interviews. All she knew was that she should dress nice, make eye contact, and be upbeat and positive. She could certainly do that.

The morning of her interview arrived. Kitty showered, shaved her legs, applied deodorant, put on a subtle amount of makeup – she didn't want to overdo it – and brushed her hair until it shone. She wore a black pencil skirt that went below her knees. It looked great on her, and its length would force her to walk sedately. Above that she put on a plain white blouse, and a gray textured blazer which lacked buttons, but whose lapels gave it an air of being business-like. Stylish but sensible low heeled black pumps completed the look she was after.

She ate a light breakfast, to have a clear head, and gave herself plenty of time to get there, wanting to arrive calm, without being rushed. Still, the traffic was a little heavier than she'd expected, so, after parking, she found she was at the door only one minute before her appointed time. Breathing a sigh of relief, she strode up to the desk, and announced her name, stating that she had an appointment for an interview. Her first impression was what she'd hoped for – a nicely furnished, clean, quiet, air-conditioned environment.

The woman behind the desk said, "Ah yes. Mr. Clark is expecting you, and I see you're right on time. One moment." The woman went to the office door behind her, peeked in and said something that Kitty couldn't make out, and then gestured to her. "Come right in, Miss," she said.

Mr. Clark turned out to be a slightly balding man, perhaps in his mid 40s, with a very cordial manner. He knew Kitty was a recent high school graduate, with no real job experience, so his questions centered on her high school experiences, including extracurricular activities. It was obvious he was trying to get a feel for her work ethic, both with regard to schoolwork, and also the various clubs and groups that she'd joined.

Kitty handled herself pretty well for a novice at interviews. She did make eye contact, she smiled, she spoke with a pleasant voice, answering his questions. Being treated like a young adult like this made her feel a lot more sophisticated than she'd ever felt before. If the other workers here were as nice as Mr. Clark, this felt like a perfect place to begin her work experience.

As they seemed to be wrapping up the interview, Mr. Clark asked, "So, Katherine, do you have any qualms about working here in our sperm bank in this entry level position?"

Kitty jumped slightly in her seat, hearing the words 'sperm bank' hanging in the air like that. She tensed and the room seemed a little hotter, but she resisted pulling at her collar. She really wanted this job. The clinical atmosphere she now sensed, along with Mr. Clark's impeccable mannerisms reassured her. She drew a slow, calming breath and replied, "No Sir. No qualms at all. But can you clarify what the entry level entails?"

"Certainly. To start off, you'd mainly be helping the donors fill out their forms – medical history and the like, filing, and answering the phone as people call to make appointments when the main receptionist is on break."

Kitty felt a surge of relief. Paperwork and answering the phone. Pretty much what she'd envisioned. "That sounds fine, Mr. Clark."

"Wonderful. You seem to me to be just the kind of person we're looking for. When would you be able to start?"

"Whenever would be convenient for you, Sir," Kitty answered. Two questions were forming in her mind, now that this job was beginning to sound like reality.

"Well, we could really use you starting tomorrow, if you can handle that," Mr. Clark said. "Miss Hodges has been doing double duty during this candidate search. Oh, and we never discussed salary. You're coming to us with no experience, so the starting salary for this position would be $20 per hour. Does that sound reasonable?"

Kitty was flabbergasted. The other places she'd been considering were only offering minimum wage. This was fantastic news! But she tried to maintain her 'adult' demeanor, and calmly answered, "That sounds very reasonable to me. But I also want to ask if you have some sort of dress code here?" She was already thinking that a generous salary like he was offering would let her buy new clothes, if necessary.

"Given the nature of our enterprise, we're rather laid back about that," Mr. Clark stated. "What you're currently wearing is quite acceptable. But you can even go more casual, if you wish. What's most important to us is punctuality, and the quality of your work."

"I really appreciate this opportunity, Sir. I'll work hard, and make you proud of me. You'll see," Kitty told him.

The next day, Kitty was sure to arrive on time, since punctuality was important. She met Miss Hodges, who insisted that she call her Trish. Trish took her on a quick tour. She learned that she had a small office to work in, which had file cabinets, plus stacks of forms for personal information and medical histories. Trish had her read one set of the forms, and answered questions until Kitty knew how they were to be filled in by the donors. Kitty learned that 'donor' was the acceptable term for the men she'd be meeting.

There was also a cabinet filled with small bottles. "What are these?" Kitty asked Trish.

"Oh. Those are the specimen bottles. As a donor is filling out his forms, you write his ID number on a small label, and attach it to the bottle. When he's ready, you give him his specimen bottle, and lead him to one of the private rooms."

Kitty had to blush when she realized what the small bottles were for – what would be collected in them. She mentally shook her head. She'd have to get used to the idea that the men were coming here to... well... to masturbate. And collect their semen – their donation – into these bottles. She knew about sex, of course. She'd had boyfriends, after all. And had been sexually active for over a year. But still, thinking about men going into these rooms to basically jack off... that concept was still daunting, triggering a natural shyness in the young girl.

Trish broke into her quiet reverie by asking, "You know what a valuable service these donors are providing, don't you?"

"N... not really," Kitty admitted, stammering slightly.

"Their semen is frozen – that's what 'cryo' means in our name – and later can be used for artificial insemination. Couples that want a child but are having trouble conceiving, especially if the male partner has a low sperm count, search our data banks looking for a suitable donor. They can choose based on many things, like hair, eye, and skin color, plus facial features, so they have a possibility of having a child that looks like it's truly theirs."

"So their... their s... sperm (damn her shyness) is thawed out and then... and then... ummm... inserted into the woman's... into the woman?" Kitty asked, swallowing to try to moisten her suddenly dry throat.

Trish smiled patiently, understanding that this 18 year old was a little reticent about these new ideas. "Yes. The semen can be squirted right into her womb with a carefully placed pipette – imagine a small, clinical equivalent of a turkey baster, if that helps. Or, another method is to harvest the woman's eggs, and then use the semen to fertilize them in a Petri dish. That allows the lab to see which eggs are viable, since they start dividing. Those tiny embryos can then be inserted into her womb. It's all really fascinating. And the couples are ecstatic when the woman finally gets pregnant."

Kitty was relaxing, hearing Trish speak so frankly about the methods and their benefits. "So the donors are really coming here to help people. That sounds nice."

Trish smiled at her encouragingly, noting that she was catching on. "Also, all of our donors are pre-screened to ascertain that they're perfectly healthy, with no communicable diseases. We do the detailed medical histories here to check for the possibilities of inherited diseases only. Let me show you the rooms they use." They went out into the corridor. There were several rooms, and a green light was shining near each door. "The green lights mean the room is available. The color-coded buttons are just inside the door. See?"

Kitty peeked around the door jamb, noting the light buttons Trish was pointing at. A third switch was obviously for the room lights, and Trish flicked that on. They stepped inside the room.

"One of your tasks is to press the red button when leaving a donor in the room, and then press the green button after he's gone, while you clear the room," Trish explained.

"Clear the room? What do you mean by that?"

"They leave the specimen bottle on this tray over here. You carry it to the lab area, farther down the hall, and straighten up the room, if necessary, for the next donor," Trish told her. "Oh, yes. Before I forget. You also must note the volume of the specimen, and note that on their chart. See the little gradations on the side of the bottle? They make it easy to judge the volume."

"Why is the volume that important, Trish?" Kitty asked, perplexed.

"The donors actually get paid based on two things. Their desirable characteristics, and the volume they provide. They get paid from $35 to $50, based on that. For instance, at some time we might have a higher demand for semen from tall blonde men with green eyes. So naturally, those donations are more valuable to us at that time."

"Gee. That sounds complicated," Kitty commented.

"Not really. They know they'll get at least thirty five dollars a shot. Anything more than that is pure bonus, they've told me," Trish chuckled. Trish went on to show Kitty the 'inspirational' magazines that were provided, featuring lots of images of naked women. Some were like little story books, with a sort of plot. Others were just brazen images of body parts on display. Kitty didn't consider herself a prude, but she didn't look too hard at the magazines. There was also a computer terminal in the room, with access to several porn websites. These items were obviously present to encourage the donor to give a good sample.

"If they leave a website showing on the screen, or magazines scattered around the room, please tidy up for the next donor, Kitty." After showing the young girl where the lab section was, she declared Kitty ready to begin performing her duties.

It wasn't long before Kitty was face to face with her first donor. He was a confident, dark-haired, middle aged man. He'd given donations lots of times over the years, and was comfortable with the process. He breezed through the paperwork with her, and his familiarity with it was helpful in re-enforcing Kitty's understanding of the process. Like a hostess, she led him to the first vacant room, and showed him where the magazines and the computer terminal were located, and placed his labeled specimen on the room's tray. "Please leave your donation on this tray when you're done," Kitty said, with only a slight nervous quaver in her voice. On her way out, she remembered to press the red button, and then closed the door behind her.

Maybe ten minutes later, the man said goodbye to her through the open door to her office as he passed by. Kitty said goodbye in reply, and picked up the clipboard with his chart. She went to the room he'd vacated, a glanced around to see if it needed tidying. The computer screen was still showing a man and a woman fucking, so she set it back to the company website. She looked at the specimen bottle with its creamy white contents, and noted the volume on his chart. Flipping the indicator light back to green, she relayed the bottle to the lab personnel.

Her second donor of the day looked like a college guy. He blushed when he saw her, his reddened cheeks giving a sharp contrast to his blonde hair. It was his first time, and even though Kitty was younger than he was, she felt sort of maternal toward him, trying to calm him down. She helped him through the paperwork, and carefully didn't make eye contact when she showed him to the room, and pointed out the materials and the tray for the donation bottle. Later, when he was done, she saw him rush by the open door to her office without saying a word of farewell. But she shrugged when she saw that he'd left a generous specimen.

Days passed, and Kitty settled into the routine of paperwork and taking over phone duties when Trish or anyone else needed to take a break. There was really nothing routine about what she saw on the computer screens after donors left, though. Her eyebrows flew up in shock several times. It amazed her what some men found arousing. She saw scenes of straight sex, sure. But also lesbian sex, gay sex, bondage scenes with women tied up and used, or men tied up and used, plus gang bangs, and some fetishes that she couldn't even name, although one might have been foot fetishism. She began watching the screens for a while, before setting them back to the company website, and found some strange desires building within herself.

Weeks passed. Kitty was still rather embarrassed about where she worked. If and when her friends asked her about her job, she always replied, rather evasively, "Oh, I do filing and answer the phones. Rather boring, actually." Then she'd quickly change the subject.

But as she got more accustomed to her work at the cryobank, Kitty began coming to work dressed more provocatively. She wore tops that had a deep cleavage, showing the inner curves of her breasts. Or tops that left her belly bare. Sometimes she wore shorts that showed the undercurve of her ass cheeks. Mr. Clark smiled and made no negative comments – after all, he'd said she could be as casual in dress as she wished, and she was always punctual, and the quality of her work was exceptional. Trish complimented her new, sexier appearance, too. The donors seemed to perk up when they saw her these days, smiling a lot, and relaxing enough to chat with her – even the college blonde guy that seemed so embarrassed the first time they'd met.

There was another change for Kitty. Often, when she entered a donation room to tidy up after a donor, there was a lingering scent of semen in the air of the room. She found herself looking forward to that scent, and inhaling it deeply before letting the room air out. Unlike her girlfriends, Kitty liked the smell of semen. To her, it was erotic and sexy. She found herself touching and caressing her breasts as the scent filled her lungs. It might've been her imagination, but her breasts seemed to be growing and filling in as the days passed.

One day, as she was collecting a specimen bottle, she noticed that the donor hadn't aimed very well. Most of his donation was in the bottle, but some had dribbled down its outside. Noticing that oozy glop on the side of the bottle, Kitty brought it close to her nose for a deep sniff. It made her pussy tingle as she breathed in that pungent aroma. Without consciously thinking about it, her tongue darted from her mouth and licked up the glop. She was startled to find that semen suddenly in her mouth, not having planned doing what she'd done. But once it was there, she savored it, rolling it around on her tongue, getting a good taste before swallowing it.

"If my girlfriends had seen me do that, they'd be freaking," she thought as she continued tidying the room. "They all act like semen is poison or something. Their boyfriends have to wear condoms all the time, so that their 'vile fluids' never touch them." She shook her head, still thinking about her friends' reactions to things. "If a guy wants to wear a condom when he's with me, that's okay too. But I prefer skin to skin contact. And feeling his hot cum hitting my skin when he cums on my tits, belly, back or ass – that's a real turn-on," she mused. Suddenly she was aware that her own arousal scent was perfuming the air around her, and her panties were damp with what had leaked from her pussy. She had to blot herself dry before taking the specimen to the lab, trying to act extra professionally as she handed it over.

One morning, as Kitty was dressing for work, she noticed the gauzy blouse that a friend had given her as a gag. She thought about it, and then shrugged as an impish smile stole over her face. As a concession to the general public, she wore a bra under it until she reached the clinic. But once she was in her office, she took off the bra. She looked at herself in the mirror. The effect was astonishing! Its gauze was very see-through. Her areolae and nipples were clearly visible, and when she moved, her breasts shifted with tiny jiggles, making her nipples rub against the gauze, and they stiffened prodigiously as a result.

The donors appeared a bit dumbstruck when they saw her. She had to ask questions more than once several times to reclaim their concentration. She found that their stares at her tits was causing her almost as much arousal as it seemed to be causing them. She noticed them subtly trying to adjust the position of their growing erections inside their pants as she went over the forms with them. After she showed them to the donation room, she liked to think the guys might be visualizing her as they beat off. Was it her imagination, or where the volumes increased that day? She checked the charts – they were – significantly. She smiled, pleased, but decided to save the gauzy top for only very special occasions.

However, those results helped her to decide that showing off her body fit in with the company's goals, and she determined to do more of it. She found that she liked being looked at with such adoration. It made her young heart and mind feel very empowered. She also viewed the porn sites with a more critical eye, and found a lot more things to be erotic than she'd first imagined. Her boyfriends reaped the benefits of her newfound kinkiness. But her attitude toward semen in these encounters also changed. For example, one of her boyfriends was fucking her. When he pulled out, he squirted his cum across Kitty's upper chest above her tits. She looked down at the white gooey rope of his cum on her body. The former Kitty would have thought, "Wow, nice, erotic pearl necklace he's given me." The current Kitty thought, "Oh my god! That's about $50 wasted!" But she didn't tell her boyfriend that, of course. She just smiled at him, and scooped that $50 worth of semen off her chest and swallowed it.