Mary

Mary stared at the anonymous cock poking through the gloryhole. Average length, thick, already twitching and starting to harden in the cool air of the room. A bead of precum glistened at the tip.

She snapped on the purple nitrile gloves with a loud crack, squeezed a generous dollop of warming lube onto her palm, and wrapped her fingers around the shaft. The man on the other side let out a muffled groan immediately.

“First time?” she muttered, more to herself than him. Her hand began to move — slow, clinical strokes at first, spreading the lube. But the government-issued protocol video she’d been **** to watch that morning played on loop in her head: Firm pressure. Twist at the head. Milk thoroughly. Every drop counts.

She tightened her grip and picked up speed. The cock swelled fully in her hand, veins pulsing. Mary’s other hand cupped the heavy balls that hung through the lower opening, rolling them gently, then squeezing with practiced efficiency.

“Christ, you’re backed up,” she whispered. The man thrust weakly against the wall. She accelerated into a harsh, twisting handjob, her big tits jiggling inside the too-tight uniform with every rapid stroke. The low neckline slipped lower; one nipple was now fully exposed, stiff from the air-conditioning and — she refused to admit it — something else.

A chime sounded. The screen on the wall lit up with the donor’s ID: Donor 4782 — Tom Hargrove, Age 54.

Mary froze mid-stroke. Tom. Not her husband, thank God, but her neighbour Bill’s older brother. The same man who used to leer at her over the garden fence for years.

The cock throbbed harder in her fist as if recognising her touch. She could hear him panting on the other side of the wall.

“You dirty bastard,” she hissed under her breath, but her hands didn’t stop. If anything, they grew rougher. She jerked him with fast, punishing strokes, thumb pressing firmly over the frenulum on every upstroke. “All those years staring at my arse and now your prick is in my hands. How’s that feel, eh?”

Tom 4782 came with a guttural cry. Thick, ropey spurts shot across her gloved fingers and splattered onto her exposed cleavage. Mary kept milking him through it, squeezing every last drop into the collection vial. When he finally softened, she wiped the excess cum off her tits with a tissue, but not before a fat glob had slid down between them.

The screen updated: Volume: 4.8ml — Above average. Bonus contribution points awarded.

Sally bounced into the room just as Mary was cleaning up. The young redhead’s cheeks were flushed. “How was your first one, Mary? Mine was a massive Black guy — God, the amount he produced!” She licked her lips without thinking.

Mary tossed the soiled gloves into the biohazard bin. “It was… fine.”

Sally’s eyes dropped to the cum still glistening on Mary’s upper chest. Before Mary could react, the younger nurse stepped close and wiped it up with two fingers. Then, holding eye contact, Sally brought those fingers to her mouth and sucked them clean.

“Waste not, want not,” she whispered with a wink. “Doctor’s orders. Some of the higher-ups say trace amounts can help female fertility too.”

Mary’s stomach flipped. A confusing heat bloomed between her thighs.

The day blurred into a procession of cocks.

Some quick and eager — young lads who spurted after thirty seconds of her skilled hand. Others took forever — older men who needed her full repertoire: firm handjobs, ball massage, even her warm, mature tits wrapped around their shafts when the computer approved “advanced stimulation.”

At 3pm her own husband Tom was brought in for his mandatory session.

He was led into the observation room attached to hers, stripped and locked into a transparent chastity assessment cage while Mary worked on another donor. He could see everything through the one-way glass.

“Mary…” his voice cracked over the intercom.

She didn’t look at him as she dropped to her knees in front of the gloryhole. This donor was huge — thick, dark, clearly one of the approved “premium” studs. Mary’s hands looked small around the monstrous shaft. She stroked him with both hands, twisting in opposite directions, her heavy breasts bouncing freely now that she’d given up trying to keep them covered.

Tom watched his wife of twenty-eight years expertly milk a stranger’s cock. When the big Black donor finally erupted, painting Mary’s face and tits with heavy jets of cum, Tom’s caged cock strained painfully against the plastic.

Later, during her break, Mary visited him. Cum still drying on her cheek, she leaned down and kissed her husband on the forehead.

“Be grateful they let you watch,” she said softly. “Some wives aren’t even allowed that. Now sit still while I empty you for the good of the country.”

She unlocked his assessment cage and gave him the harshest, most clinical handjob of the day — rapid, twisting, almost punishing strokes while telling him exactly how the previous donor had stretched her hands and covered her tits. Tom came in under a minute, whimpering.

His load was collected and added to the national

[bank.

By](http://bank.By) the end of her first week, Mary had changed.

The shy, **** nurse who once blushed at the uniform was gone. In her place was a confident, almost regal Milf technician who knew exactly how to wring every drop from a man. She had favourites now — the shy Indian boy who moaned her name, the muscular police officer who always requested her specifically, and the gloryhole regulars whose cocks she recognised by shape and vein pattern.

One evening, after a particularly heavy session involving a mother-son pair in the next room (the son milked while his embarrassed mother held the collection cup), Mary came home to find Tom waiting with tea.

She didn’t drink it.

Instead she pushed him into a chair, hiked up her tiny uniform skirt, and straddled his face.

“Clean me,” she ordered. “One of the donors got me quite wet today.”

As Tom obediently licked her, Mary stared at the ceiling, fingers tangled in his hair. The old life was gone. The quiet suburban existence had been replaced by something raw, humiliating, and strangely exhilarating.

Tomorrow she had a double shift at the Central Facility. They were trialling a new “full sensory” booth — nurses in nothing but stockings and heels, bodies oiled, multiple donors at once.

Mary smiled in the dark, hips grinding against her husband’s tongue.

She was starting to like her new role.

Very much.