Everyday heroes

Mary’s mind flashed back to the recruitment hall's sterile white walls, rows of nurses in identical white uniforms all appeared to be too small for them, the government official at the podium with his polished smile.

"You’ve been hand picked," he’d said, voice dripping with gravitas. "Not just as medical professionals, but as saviours of the human race."

Terms like "specimen integrity" and "donor engagement" had been thrown around. Clinical. Detached. Nothing about the feel of it the heat of another man’s flesh under her fingers, the way her wedding band caught the light as she worked, a silent betrayal with every stroke.

Now, alone in the dim fluorescence of her extraction booth, Mary stared at the cock jutting through the partition. It twitched inches from her face, flushed and eager.

She’d seen plenty of penises in her nursing career, catheters, examinations, the occasional trauma case. But she’d only ever touched one like this her husband’s, in their bed, under the covers, with whispers and laughter.

This wasn’t that.

This was work.

With a slow exhale, she reached out, latex-gloved fingers closing around the shaft. The warmth bled through the rubber. Heavy. Alive. She tugged back the foreskin, revealing the glistening head, and felt it swell in her grip.

From somewhere down the corridor, a muffled groan echoed, followed by the wet slap of flesh.

Mary’s lips thinned. That was fast.

Her own donor took longer. She worked methodically up, down, twist at the tip like they’d trained her. The man on the other side panted, his breath hitching from the other side of the hole. After three minutes, his hips jerked. A thick glob of semen splashed into the waiting cup.

She labelled it, slid it into the fridge. The partition snapped shut.

"Didn’t even buy me dinner," she thought dryly.

Another cock appeared instantly this one circumcised, ruddy and thick-veined, nestled in a thatch of ginger curls. She’d never handled one like this before. Strange how something so mundane could feel alien.

Fresh gloves. More lube. The squelch of silicone between her fingers.

The man moaned, low and shameless. Mary’s cheeks burned, but her hands didn’t stop. The cup was barely in place when he came a frantic spurt that just missed her arms.

"Christ. Trigger-happy," she noted, tossing the sample into storage.

The canteen smelled of bleach and overcooked pasta. Mary slumped into a chair, rubbing her aching wrists and arms. The skin between her fingers was raw, cracked from the latex and constant friction. She unscrewed a tube of hand cream, working it into her sore flesh with a wince.

Across the table, Sally sat, the wiry redhead had too much energy for Mary's liking, she was already on her third coffee. Her pupils were pinpricks.

"So?" Sally grinned. "How many?"

Mary shrugged. "Twelve, maybe."

"Thirty-six," Sally announced, smug.

Mary’s brows shot up. "Bullshit."

Sally leaned in, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Okay, fine. I… cheated."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"Gloves," Sally admitted, twirling a strand of hair. "They’re bad for the environment, right? Sea turtles **** on them. If we’re saving humanity, shouldn’t we save the planet too?"

Mary stared. "You’re doing it barehanded?"

Sally’s grin was all teeth. "Efficiency."

The shift bell rang. Mary dumped her tea, stomach churning.

Back in the booth, Mary hesitated. The glove box sat untouched.

Her hands still stung.

"One time," she told herself, squeezing lube onto bare fingers. The cool gel soothed her cracked skin.

The cock appeared and she reached out and touched it.

No barrier. Just her flesh against his.

The difference was immediate. The heat. The texture. The way his pulse jumped under her fingertips.

A traitorous thrill coiled low in her belly.

"Am I—? No. No, that’s insane."

But her strokes slowed. Became deliberate. She watched the way the pre-cum beaded at the tip, smearing under her thumb.

A gasp from the other side.

"Fuck—!"

The first spurt hit her cheek. Thick. Salty. The next splashed across her collarbone, dripping down her clevage. She fumbled for the cup, catching only half.

Her tongue darted out instinctively.

Salt. Iron. A stranger’s taste.

Her thighs pressed together.

By late afternoon, her technique had changed. Less clinical. More intimate. The samples came faster now.

Then a new donor.

It was much smaller that the others. Thin. Barely visible in a nest of unkempt pubic hair.

Mary sighed. Poor bastard.

She took him in hand.

"Mary? Is that you?"

Her blood turned to ice.

Bill. Her neighbour. The one who "accidentally" been looking at too long she sunbathed in her back garden and always appeared to stare at her when she walked by.

"Mary, Christ—I’ve wanted this for years," he panted. "I think about those tits every time I wank. Stole your knickers off the line last summer. Wore ‘em while I—"

Rage ignited.

Her grip tightened. Nails digging.

"You vile little—"

"Ohhh, fuck, yes! Punish me, Mary! Harder!"

Disgust warred with fury. She twisted. Squeezed his balls until his voice cracked.

"You want to come, Bill?" she hissed. "Then come."

He did—violently. Ropes of cum striping her face, her neck, dripping down her thighs. Hot streaks splattered her stockings.

Bills cock retreated and the end of shift bell chimed.

The door slid open. Sally stood there, equally drenched, grinning like a madwoman.

"Got caught too, huh?" She licked a drop off her wrist. "Happens to the best of us."

Outside, Mary lit a cigarette with trembling hands. The evening air did nothing to cleanse the scent of sex and she still feel the sticky cum on her skin

Her phone buzzed. A reminder:

SHIFT TOMORROW: 7AM.

She exhaled smoke, watching it curl into the dark.

"Fuck my life."