Mary Thompson

Mary Thompson had been a nurse for thirty-two years. She’d seen everything: car crashes, cancer wards, COVID ICUs, the birth of her own two children (now grown and thankfully childless in this new nightmare). At fifty-two she had earned soft scrubs, sensible shoes, and a quiet clerical role at the local hospital.

That life ended with one government broadcast.

She and her husband Tom sat in frozen silence as the Prime Minister spoke from Downing Street. The man looked exhausted but strangely energised, like a gambler who’d just bet the house on one final roll.

“…total reproductive emergency. All ejaculation outside licensed Extraction and Collection Centres is now a Class A criminal offence. Pornography and erotic content are banned. NHS staff with relevant experience are being reassanded immediately.”

Tom’s fork clattered to his plate. “They can’t be serious.”

Mary’s phone buzzed. Then Tom’s. Then the television chimed with an emergency alert. The message was clear: Mandatory redeployment orders attached. Report within 48 hours.

She read the attachment and felt her stomach drop. “They’re putting me on extraction duty.”

Tom laughed, a hollow bark. “You? Wanking off strangers for the government?”

“Watch your mouth,” she snapped, but there was no heat in it. Fear had replaced everything.

One week later, Mary stood in front of her hallway mirror in the new uniform and wanted to die.

The white dress was obscenely tight. The neckline plunged so low her heavy breasts were pushed up and together, the edges of her areolas visible if she breathed too deeply. The hem barely covered the tops of her stockings. Garters bit into her soft thighs. A little name badge reading “Nurse Thompson – Senior Extraction Specialist” sat perched above her left breast like a cruel joke.

Tom appeared in the doorway, half-dressed for his own new clerical job. His eyes widened, then darkened with a mixture of lust and helpless rage.

“Jesus Christ, Mary…”

“Don’t,” she warned, tugging futilely at the hem. “Not one word.”

He stepped closer anyway, hands hovering. “You look…”

“Like a whore in a bad porno. I know.” She turned away. “I have to go.”

Outside, neighbour Bill was pretending to prune his roses again. The weedy, balding man nearly dropped his shears when he saw her.

“Morning, Mary! New uniform, eh? Very… professional.”

She didn’t answer, just walked faster toward the bus stop. Men on the street stared openly. Some with hunger, some with resentment, some with open fear. A group of lads in their twenties muttered among themselves, one of them already wearing a bright orange monitoring bracelet.

The old paediatric ward had been repurposed overnight. Faded cartoon animals still haunted the walls beneath fresh coats of sterile white paint. The air smelled of disinfectant, fear-sweat, and something faintly musky.

Sally, the twenty-three-year-old redhead fresh out of training, practically skipped over in her own skimpy uniform. Her perky C-cups bounced with every step, skirt fluttering dangerously high.

“Isn’t this mad?” Sally whispered excitedly. “We’re literally saving humanity!”

Mary lit a cigarette with shaking fingers. “We’re glorified milkmaids, love. Except the cows are terrified men with government trackers on their bollocks.”

Sally pouted. “It’s science. And some of them are quite fit, you know.”

Mary exhaled smoke toward the ceiling. “You’re going to burn out fast, girl.”

Her first shift began in Room 14.

White walls. One reinforced chair. A padded hole at waist height in the dividing wall. A tray of lubricants, collection tubes, gloves, and wipes. A large digital screen showing donor queue numbers and basic health data. A panic button.

Mary pressed the ready button.

A mechanical whir. Then a limp, average-sized penis pushed through the glory hole. Uncircumcised. Slightly nervous, already half-hard from anticipation or fear.

She snapped on nitrile gloves, applied lube with clinical efficiency, and wrapped her hand around it.

The donor groaned immediately.

“Name and number?” she asked flatly.

“Daniel… 4729,” a muffled voice came through the wall.

Mary began stroking with practised, firm motions—twisting at the head, squeezing at the base, the way she’d learned in the rushed two-day training. The cock swelled rapidly in her grip, veins standing out, the head flushing purple.

“Try to relax,” she muttered. “Faster we do this, faster you leave.”

Daniel lasted less than four minutes. His hips jerked, thighs trembling against the wall. Thick ropes of semen spurted into the collection tube. Mary milked him thoroughly, squeezing out every drop, then sealed the sample.

“Thank you, Daniel. Next appointment in three days. Drink plenty of water. No ejaculation outside the centre.”

She heard a weak “Yes, ma’am” before the cock

[withdrew.

By](http://withdrew.By) the tenth donor, her wrist ached. By the twentieth, her mind had gone numb. Some were quick. Some took twenty minutes of relentless pumping, edging, and dirty encouragement from Sally (who had popped in to “help”). One massive, heavily tattooed cock required both hands and constant verbal filth before it finally erupted like a firehose.

Lunch was a brief, silent affair in the staff break room. Most of the older nurses looked shell-shocked. The younger ones seemed disturbingly

[energised.

In](http://energised.In) the afternoon came Donor 47.

The cock that slid through was… exceptional. Long, thick, perfectly shaped, already rock hard and leaking. The veins were prominent. The head was broad and glistening.

Mary’s mouth went dry.

The voice through the wall was deep, controlled. “Afternoon, Nurse.”

She didn’t answer. Just lubed him up and started. Her hand looked small around him. As she stroked, she could feel his pulse. Powerful. Steady.

He didn’t moan. He breathed. Deep, measured breaths that somehow made it worse.

Ten minutes passed. Fifteen. Mary’s arm burned. She switched to both hands, twisting, pumping, using her thumbs on the sensitive underside. Pre-cum flowed steadily, making obscene wet sounds.

“Having trouble, Nurse?” the man asked, amused.

“Shut up,” she hissed.

She leaned closer without thinking, her heavy breasts resting against the padded wall just below the hole. The position pushed her cleavage up obscenely. She increased speed, focusing everything on getting this done.

Finally he groaned—a low, masculine sound that sent an unwelcome shiver through her. His cock swelled even larger, then began pulsing. Jet after jet of hot, thick cum filled the tube and overflowed slightly onto her gloved fingers. She kept stroking through it, draining him completely.

When he finally pulled back, she caught a glimpse of a muscular abdomen and a happy trail before he disappeared.

Her panties were damp. She hated herself for it.

Tom was waiting when she got home that evening, dinner on the table. His eyes kept drifting to her chest, to the way the uniform still clung to her after a long day.

“How was it?” he asked carefully.

Mary poured herself a large glass of wine. “I jerked off thirty-two strangers. One of them had a cock like a bloody porn star and took fifteen minutes. My wrist feels like it’s going to fall off.”

Tom shifted uncomfortably. She could see the bulge in his trousers. The monitoring bracelet on his ankle glowed faintly.

“You’re not allowed,” she reminded him quietly. “They test randomly now.”

“I know.” His voice was hoarse. “God, Mary… you look…”

“Don’t.” But she didn’t stop him when he stepped closer. His hands cupped her breasts through the thin fabric, thumbs brushing her nipples. They hardened instantly.

They kissed desperately. His hands roamed down to her arse, squeezing. For a moment they were just a married couple again.

Then his bracelet buzzed a warning.

They broke apart, breathing hard.

Mary laughed bitterly. “Welcome to the new world, love.”

That night she lay awake long after Tom started snoring. Her mind kept returning to Donor 47. The thickness. The way it throbbed. The sheer volume of his release.

She squeezed her thighs together and tried not to think about it