Hot MILF Wants Your Cum Bad

Monday morning arrived with the same grim inevitability as the extinction crisis itself. Mary pushed open the staff door of the clinic, her shoulders already tense with the weight of another week spent coaxing men's cum out of their cocks like a modern day snake charmer for the "greater good."

Sally was waiting inside, practically vibrating with excitement, her grin stretching ear to ear. Her uniform a low-cut top that barely contained her ample chest looked more like something from a pre-ban Pornhub ad than medical attire.

Mary rubbed her tired eyes. "Alright, out with it. Why are you so chipper at this ungodly hour?"

Sally bounced on the balls of her feet. "We’ve got new friends!"

Mary sighed and pushed past her. "Good. God knows we need the help. My wrist’s about to fall off."

The canteen was unusually lively. Two women sat at the table one a sharp-faced Scottish blonde with a glare that could curdle milk, the other a towering Jamaican woman whose presence seemed to command the room without a word.

The blonde stood first. She wore the standard clinic uniform if "wore" was the right word for something that clung like plastic wrap. Her surgically enhanced breasts looked like they were moments away from staging a jailbreak. She thrust out a hand.

"Name’s Senga. Ma pals call me Senga, so you can call me—" She paused, as if considering her options. "—Senga."

Mary blinked. "Right. Got it."

Her attention shifted to the other woman. She wasn’t in uniform instead, she wore a flowing dress in deep burgundy, her posture regal, her expression unreadable. For a fleeting second, Mary though about her own time on stage pleasuring the big woman's husband.

The woman stood. Mary wasn’t small, but she suddenly felt dwarfed.

Then, without warning, the woman enveloped her in a crushing hug. Her voice was rich, deep, and carried the weight of a sermon.

"I was so moved by your dedication to humanity’s survival," she said, pulling back to study Mary’s face. "I had to join. I look forward to working with you."

Mary stammered. "S-sure! I’m Mary. And you are—?"

The woman laughed, a sound like thunder. "Oh, honey, you wouldn’t survive tryin’ to pronounce my name. You can call me Aunty."

Mary felt relief and her smile was broad. "Pleasure to meet you, Aunty." She glanced at the woman’s attire again. "You’re not in uniform?"

Aunty waved a hand. "Oh, no. I’m not a nurse. Just here to do the Lord’s work."

Senga snorted. "I’m here ’cause the internet banned porn, and now my OnlyFans is fucked. This uniform’s the closest I’ll get to makin’ money off my tits again."

Before Mary could respond, Sally leaned in, whispering excitedly: "There’s more. We’re getting our pictures taken."

Mary frowned. "What?"

The clinic director strode in before she could press further. He was a thin man with the pallor of someone who’d spent too long under fluorescent lights.

"Ladies, thank you for arriving early. Busy day ahead, so I’ll be brief." He clasped his hands. "We need PR images of you. To encourage our clients." He hesitated, searching for the right word.

Senga supplied it: "Wank material?"

The director winced. "Motivational visuals. As you know, all explicit content is now illegal, so we need to… entice men to visit the clinic. And, ideally, to expedite the process once they’re here."

Mary’s stomach twisted. "You mean—?"

The director’s smile was slick. "Think of it as… inspiration."

The back room was blindingly bright, the air thick with the stink of cigarette smoke and cheap cologne. A photographer lurked behind the glare of the lights, his voice a gravelly rasp.

"Alright, sugar tits, let’s make this quick. Get the girls out, yeah? Don’t worry—if I can make that washed-up whale Cameron Diaz look edible, I can work miracles with you."

Mary’s jaw clenched, but she obeyed. She twisted into poses that made her sciatica scream, her face frozen in a parody of arousal. The photographer barked orders like a drill sergeant.

"Arch your back—no, more! Christ, you’re stiff as a board. Think of England, love!"

When it was over, she returned to her booth, her skin crawling.

That evening, she found Tom slumped on the couch, his face buried in his hands.

"Hey," she said softly. "Everything okay?"

He didn’t look up. Just shoved his phone toward her.

The screen lit up.

HOT MILF WANTS YOUR CUM BAD

Her own face stared back lips parted, breasts exposed, skirt hiked just enough to suggest what wasn’t shown.

Mary’s blood turned to ice. "I—I didn’t know they’d use it like this—"

Tom stood abruptly. "You haven’t touched me in a month. But you’ll pose like some back alley whore for strangers? Service God knows how many men a day?"

She grabbed his arm. "You could come to the clinic. I’d make sure it was—"

He yanked free. "After how many others? No. I want my wife."

He left her standing there, her own image looking up at her from the screen.