Juice bank receptacle

Warning: Dubious consent themes. Do not read if offended by hardcore erotica.

“Right”, roared my husband Jim, “have you been out whoring around again? I can smell the fucking cum from over here!”

“Um…no…of course not.” I replied. It was a lie.

I had just been out drinking with some friends, and as often happened when I got a drink in me, I got flirty and then got a cock in me not long afterwards.

Jim strode over to me, hauled me up off the couch, stuck his hand into my skirt and panties, and then pulled them forward. We both looked down to see the white ooze coming forth from between my pink pussy lips.

“How do you explain this?” He said. “You are my wife and you come home night after night with another man’s cum dripping out of your pussy. What the hell am I supposed to do with you?”

“I…um…” I was lost for words.

“Tomorrow morning, I am going to sort you out once and for all.”

The next morning, he grabbed me by the forearm and dragged out into the car.

“Honey where are we going?” I asked.

“You’ll see when we get there.”

He pulled the car into a parking lot outside a large white building with huge letters across the front which said ‘Acme Sperm Bank’.

“The sperm bank? What the hell are we doing here Jim? Are you donating?”

“Oh it’s not me that has business here”, he said.

He dragged me out of the car, across the lot, and through the glass revolving doors into the building. He led me right up to the reception where there was a blonde and smiling woman.

“Hello how can I help you?” She said.

“Hi there”, Jim replied. “My cunt of a wife is here about the job application.”

“Of course, just take a seat and the doctor will be with you in a minute.”

“Job application?” I said. “What the hell? I don’t want to work…”

Jim then pointed to the large notice that was on the wall behind the secretary.