Mary Making Men

Making Men –

Mary’s house was too quiet.

The front door clicked shut behind her with a sound that felt final, like the sealing of a tomb. The emptiness pressed against her chest, thick and suffocating. No familiar clatter of dishes from the kitchen. No low murmur of the television. Just the refrigerator’s dull electric hum and the steady, mocking tick of the hallway clock counting down the seconds of a marriage slowly coming apart.

She kicked off her shoes, wincing as her sore feet met the cold floor. Her thighs ached. Her pussy felt raw and tender, still leaking the mixed evidence of thirty young men who had lost their virginity inside her that day. Her nipples burned from Bill’s vicious sucking and biting. The taste of his bitter, thin cum still coated the back of her tongue no matter how many times she’d rinsed her mouth at the clinic.

She checked her phone. One new message from Tom:

“Off to pub.”

No kiss. No “love you.” No emoji. Just three cold words.

Mary stared at the screen for a long moment, thumb hovering. At least he’s still talking to me, she thought bitterly. Small mercies in the end times.

She reheated last night’s pasta in the microwave, the smell of tomato sauce and congealed cheese filling the kitchen like a sad reminder of normal life. She made a smaller portion for Tom in case he came home hungry and drunk. Old habits died hard.

Collapsing onto the sofa with a glass of cheap red wine, Mary flicked on the television. The state-approved streaming service loaded with its cheerful propaganda banner: Project Mumford & Sons – Every Drop Counts.

She scrolled until she found an old rom-com she and Tom used to love. The kind with awkward first dates, rain-soaked kisses, and passionate bedroom scenes. But the version that played now was gutted. The passionate kiss against the rain-streaked window had been replaced with a polite peck on the cheek. The steamy “I want to fuck you all night” line was clumsily dubbed over with “I’d like to spend quality time with you.”

Mary downed half her glass in one go. “Christ. We really are living in a world without sex.”

The wine loosened the knot in her chest. Her mind drifted inevitably back to the clinic. To the long line of nervous, virgin eighteen-year-olds bussed in from schools across South London. To the way their cocks had trembled when they first pushed through the gloryhole. To the ****, grateful moans as she guided them inside her and let them thrust away their innocence.

Her free hand slid under her uniform skirt, fingers tracing the sticky mess between her thighs. A low, guilty heat bloomed in her belly.

The front door crashed open.

Tom staggered in, reeking of cheap lager, cigarette smoke, and defeat. Mary stood quickly, wine sloshing, and pressed herself against him before he could retreat. She kissed him hard. He tasted like bitter ale and regret.

He pulled back after a few seconds, glassy eyes unfocused. “Mary…”

“If you come to the clinic tomorrow,” she whispered against his mouth, “I’ll give you a special surprise. I promise.”

Tom mumbled something that sounded like “sloppy seconds” before lurching past her toward the spare bedroom. The door clicked shut behind him.

Mary stood alone in the hallway, fists clenched at her sides, arousal and shame warring inside her.

Fuck him. His loss.

The Next Morning – South London Extraction Clinic

Mary’s head throbbed with a vicious hangover as she pushed through the staff entrance. The fluorescent lights felt like needles behind her eyes.

Sally practically pounced on her before she could even hang up her coat.

“Have you heard?!” the redhead squealed, eyes bright with excitement.

Mary massaged her temples. “Sally, I have a banging headache. Just tell me.”

Sally grabbed both of Mary’s hands. “There’s a new government initiative! Operation First Seed. All male students over eighteen are now required to attend the clinics. They’re bussing them straight from schools and colleges starting today. Hundreds of them, Mary. Virgin boys. Proper virgins.”

Mary sighed heavily and rubbed her eyes. “Of course. Because what these boys need is their first sexual experience to be a government gloryhole.”

Sally’s smile faltered for a second, but she recovered. “It’s better than them dying virgins, isn’t it? The laws aren’t changing. They’ll never be allowed real sex. This might be the only pussy they ever feel.”

The canteen was buzzing. Senga was doing lunges in the corner, her short uniform riding up to reveal she had once again ditched her knickers. Aunty sat serenely in a modest but still cleavage-heavy outfit, sipping fragrant herbal tea and humming hymns under her breath.

Senga spotted Mary and straightened up with a wicked grin. “You’ve heard then, yeah? We’re getting a fresh shipment of horny eighteen-year-olds. Poor wee virgins.”

Sally asked the question that had been bothering Mary. “But… what happens to them long-term? They’ll never have normal relationships. Never get married and have kids the old way.”

Mary spoke quietly, voicing the uncomfortable truth. “Exactly. Under current legislation, legal sex is banned outside approved clinical settings. These boys will grow into men who only ever know clinical milking. Gloryholes. Nurses like us. They’ll die virgins in every way that actually matters.”

The table fell silent for a moment.

Sally’s eyes glistened. “That’s fucking heartbreaking. Those poor boys.”

Senga shrugged, but her voice was softer than usual. “Then we make it count. We don’t just milk them. We make them men. Proper. Memorable. Something they can hold onto when they’re old and everything’s gone to shit.”

Aunty nodded solemnly, her deep voice rich with conviction. “It is the Christian thing to do. To show mercy. To give them a taste of heaven before a lifetime of denial.”

Mary looked at each woman in turn. Something shifted inside her — a dangerous mixture of duty, arousal, and rebellion.

“Are we really saying we should fuck all of them?” she asked. “Take their virginities ourselves?”

Sally nodded firmly. “Yes. Every single one we can. It’s the right thing.”

Senga cackled. “Fuck yes. This is why I took this job!”

Aunty simply smiled. “The Lord provides.”

Mary felt a strange sense of purpose settle over her hangover. She fetched the daily schedule and did some quick calculations. “We’re looking at roughly one hundred boys across the four of us today. Twenty-five each, give or take.”

The women shared a look — part solidarity, part dark excitement.

Mary’s Booth – Operation First Seed Begins

Mary stepped into her enlarged premium booth, heart beating faster than it had any right to. She took a long sip of water, stripped her knickers off, and positioned herself. The first cock of the day slid through the widened gloryhole — soft, uncertain, trembling.

She didn’t hesitate.

She kissed the head gently, feeling it twitch and harden instantly against her lips. “It’s alright, sweetheart,” she whispered. “Nurse Mary’s got you.”

Within seconds he was rock-hard. Mary bent over, gripped the sturdy chair for leverage, and backed her soaked pussy onto his virgin cock. A muffled, shocked gasp came from the other side of the wall as he sank into her warmth.

“Oh my God…” the boy whimpered.

Mary rocked back slowly, taking him deeper. “That’s it, love. Feel me. This is what a woman feels like. Enjoy it.”

He lasted less than thirty seconds. His ****, youthful thrusts became erratic, and then he cried out, pumping his first-ever load deep inside her. Mary gently pulled off, milked the last drops into the collection cup, and spoke softly through the hole.

“There you go. Now you’re a man. Hold onto that feeling forever.”

She labelled the cup with shaking hands and placed it in the fridge. A strange, maternal pride mixed with raw lust coursed through her.

One down. Twenty-four to go.

The morning blurred into a procession of nervous, eager, grateful young men. Some came the instant they entered her. Others tried to last, thrusting with clumsy enthusiasm that made her smile. One particularly thick boy stretched her so deliciously that she came hard around him, moaning encouragement as he filled her.

Between loads, her mind raced with conflicting thoughts.

These boys should be fumbling in the back seats of cars with girls their own age. Instead they’re losing their virginity to a fifty-two-year-old married nurse through a hole in the wall. And I’m wetter than I’ve been in years.

By the third hour, her thighs trembled and her uniform was soaked with sweat and cum. She had lost count of how many loads were inside her or in the fridge. The radio played cheerful pop songs that felt surreal against the wet, obscene sounds filling her booth.

Then the next cock appeared — already hard, but small and thin.

Mary backed onto it anyway, determined to give even this boy a good experience. She kept a steady rhythm, squeezing around him.

“Fuck… I’ve wanted this for so long,” a horribly familiar voice moaned from the other side.

Mary’s blood turned to ice. She jerked forward, but it was too late.

A bloodshot eye pressed against the gloryhole, staring at her.

Bill.

The ****

“You’re gonna do exactly what I say, Mary,” Bill hissed, voice thick with triumph. “Or I report you. They’ll swab my cock. Find your cunt juices all over me. You’ll lose everything. Job. Husband. Freedom.”

Mary’s heart hammered against her ribs. Her mind flashed to Tom in his red WANKER shirt and steel cage. To the life they had left.

“What do you want?” she whispered, voice shaking with fury and fear.

“First, push your nipple through the hole.”

With trembling hands, Mary pulled her top open. Her heavy left breast spilled free. She fed the nipple through the gloryhole. Bill’s crooked teeth clamped down hard, sucking and biting like a rabid animal. Mary winced in pain, biting her lip to stay silent.

When he finally released it with a wet pop, the nipple was swollen, purple, and covered in teeth marks.

“Now the other one.”

She obeyed. The right nipple received the same brutal treatment. Tears pricked her eyes.

Bill’s skinny hand pushed through next. “Let me feel your cunt.”

Mary stood on shaky legs and guided his fingers to her soaked, cum-filled pussy. He groped roughly, pinching her clit hard, shoving two then three fingers inside her, stirring the loads of dozens of young men.

“Fucking sloppy whore,” he laughed. “How many boys have stretched this married cunt today?”

Mary stayed silent, enduring the humiliation.

Finally, his pathetic cock reappeared. “Suck it. I want to cum down your throat. No cup. Swallow every drop while I taste you on my fingers and stare at your slutty poster.”

Mary dropped to her knees. The taste of her own pussy and the other boys’ cum coated his small shaft. She sucked mechanically, eyes watering, shame burning through every fibre of her being.

Bill moaned loudly. “Yeah… that’s it. Suck your neighbour’s cock. I wank to your posters every single night. Now you’re my gloryhole slut.”

He didn’t last long. With a shrill whine he erupted, pumping thin, bitter ropes straight down Mary’s throat. She swallowed every drop as ordered, then pulled away, wiping her chin with the back of her hand.

The hole snapped shut.

Mary collapsed against the wall, shaking with rage, humiliation, and a dark, unwanted arousal.

End of Shift – Home

Mary walked through her front door exhausted, sore, and emotionally drained. Her nipples throbbed. Bill’s taste still lingered.

Then she saw Tom.

He sat on the couch wearing the bright red WANKER shirt. The steel chastity cage gleamed mockingly between his legs. He looked hollow. Broken.

“Tom… what the fuck happened?” Mary gasped, rushing to him.

He told her everything in a flat, defeated voice — the enforcement officers, the public shaming, the lecture about civic responsibility.

Mary listened, tears streaming down her face. Then she told him everything about her day. The thirty virgin boys. The way she had made them men. The power and pleasure she felt. And finally, in excruciating detail, what Bill had **** her to do.

Tom listened without interrupting. When she finished, he surprised her by pulling her close.

“I hate it,” he whispered. “But I’m yours. Broken as we both are.”

Mary straddled his face that night, feeding him the mixed loads of dozens of young men and the lingering taste of her neighbour’s ****. As Tom licked her clean, she told him every moan, every thrust, every shameful moment.

The crisis had taken everything.

But in the ruins, something new — dark, filthy, and strangely loving — was being born between them.

Mary looked down at her cuckolded, caged husband and whispered:

“Tomorrow’s going to be even busier. One hundred and fifty more virgins. And you’re coming with me to watch.”

Tom moaned his broken agreement into her well-used pussy.

The end of the world had never felt so intimate.