Mary

Mary had been a nurse for thirty-two years. At fifty-two, she had earned her comfort a tidy house in the suburbs, a husband who still made her tea every morning, and a clerical role that meant no more night shifts or bedpan emergencies. Her life was quiet, predictable. She liked it that way.

Then the Prime Minister’s face flickered onto the television screen during dinner, his expression grave, his words colder than the reheated lasagne on their plates.

“A new pandemic.”

Tom froze, a forkful of food halfway to his mouth. Mary’s stomach clenched before the man even finished speaking. She knew that tone. The last time a politician used it, the world locked down for two years.

But this wasn’t about a virus.

This was about extinction.

Tom’s jaw hung slack, a glob of sauce dripping onto his shirt. “Did that useless prick just say what I think he said?”

Mary shook her head. “It’s scare tactics. Has to be.”

Their phones buzzed in unison. A government alert—NEW ENFORCEMENT MEASURES.

Tom scrolled, his face darkening. “Men are banned from… any sexual activity. No sex. No masturbation. Ejaculation outside approved clinics is now a criminal offense.”

Mary barked out a laugh. “Well, that suits me fine.”

Tom didn’t smile. He kept reading. “Pornography is illegal. Penalty is enforced chastity.”

Mary’s laughter turned shrill. “Oh, those poor bastards!”

Then his voice dropped. “And NHS staff are being reassigned to… extraction clinics.”

Mary snatched the phone. The words blurred. Mandatory redeployment. Reproductive compliance. Civil duty.

Her throat went dry. “This better not fucking affect me.”

One Week Later

Mary stared at her reflection in the hallway mirror.

The uniform was obscene.

White, low-cut, clinging in all the wrong places. Her breasts once comfortably hidden under sensible scrubs were now shoved upward, the tops of her areolas perilously close to peeking out. The skirt barely grazed mid-thigh, her stockings held up by garters that dug into her softening hips clearly on show.

Like a bloody Carry On film she thought.

Tom walked in, tie half-knotted, and froze. His eyes raked over her.

“Fuck me,” he muttered.

Mary adjusted the neckline with a grimace, a nipple attempting to escape. “I wish I could. But apparently, that’s treason now.”

She stepped outside. The autumn air bit at her exposed skin.

Her neighbour, Bill a weedy, perpetually single man with a habit of lingering too long at her fence was pruning roses. His eyes lit up when he saw her.

“Off to work, Mary?” His grin was all crooked teeth.

She **** a nod.

“Might see you later,” he called after her, tongue darting over his lips.

Mary walked faster.

The extraction centre used to be a paediatric ward.

Now, cartoon giraffes had been painted over but could still faintly be seen smiling from the walls as grown men shuffled through, heads down, hands in pockets. The air smelled of antiseptic and something sour underneath shame, maybe.

Sally, a flame-haired nurse barely out of training, bounced over. The uniform fit her like a dream perky breasts, nipped in waist, skirt riding high on toned thighs.

“Can you believe this?” she whispered, eyes bright. “It’s like we’re saving the world!”

Mary lit a cigarette another new habit. “You think wanking off strangers is heroic?”

Sally pouted. “It’s science.”

Mary exhaled smoke. “It’s humiliation.”

She stubbed out the cigarette and pushed into her assigned room. Sterile white walls. A single chair. A hole in the wall at waist height.

She pressed a button.

A mechanical whir. Then—

A flaccid penis flopped through the opening.

Mary sighed, snapped on gloves, and reached for the lube.

Here we fucking go.