Handjob Nurses

The British Prime Minister’s office was never quiet not truly. Even in the dead of night, there were hushed voices, the rustle of papers, the hum of screens broadcasting catastrophe. But now, the room was stiflingly silent. The air itself seemed to thicken, pressing down on the shoulders of the scientists, doctors, and political advisors gathered there.

The Prime Minister sat with his head in his hands, his fingers digging into his temples as if he could physically **** the words out of his skull. This can’t be real.

His Chief Political Adviser, a gaunt man named Harwick, cleared his throat and adjusted his glasses. The papers in his hands trembled slightly.

"You can’t argue with the figures," Harwick said, his voice too calm for the words he was speaking. "There have been no reported pregnancies in the last two months. Before that, the numbers were already collapsing. Right now, we’re seeing one, maybe two births per day across the entire United Kingdom."

A murmur rippled through the room. The Prime Minister didn’t look up.

Harwick continued, "This isn’t isolated. Every ally we’ve spoken to America, Germany, Japan they’re all reporting the same. And if they are, it’s safe to assume the rest of the world is too."

The Prime Minister finally lifted his head. His face was ashen. "What the hell caused this? And who do we blame?"

A small woman in a white lab coat stepped forward. Dr. Eleanor Voss, one of the leading epidemiologists in the country. Her voice was steady, clinical. "We believe it stems from a mutation in one of the later COVID-19 boosters. It wasn’t properly tested rushed through due to public demand. The result was a catastrophic drop in male fertility. The mutation went viral. Now, we estimate that nearly every sexually mature male on the planet is affected."

The Prime Minister’s jaw tightened. He didn’t need to say it everyone in the room knew his financial ties to the pharmaceutical giant responsible.

"How long?" he asked hoarsely.

Dr. Voss exhaled. "At current rates? The human race will be functionally extinct within fifty years."

A choked, guttural noise escaped the Prime Minister’s throat.

"Fuck!"

The word exploded from him, raw and jagged. It hung in the air like gun smoke. No one moved. The only sound was the slow, rhythmic ticking of the antique grandfather clock in the corner counting down the seconds until the end.

Then, a hesitant voice broke the silence.

"There… might be an alternative."

All eyes turned. A young doctor stood near the back, his fingers nervously adjusting his tie.

The Prime Minister’s gaze sharpened. "Who are you?"

"Dr. Simon Mumford. Reproductive biology." He swallowed. "And I have a proposal."

A beat. Then, the Prime Minister gestured impatiently. "Go on."

Dr. Mumford took a shaky breath. "Our studies show that most men are still producing some viable sperm just not enough for natural conception. But if we extract it manually, repeatedly, we could concentrate it. Over time, we could gather enough from each donor to facilitate pregnancies."

The Prime Minister’s eyes flickered something like hope, or hunger. "How many extractions are we talking?"

Mumford tapped at his tablet, then winced. "Between three and six hundred per donor."

A sharp inhale from someone in the room.

Harwick stepped forward, already calculating. "We’d need strict enforcement. No masturbation, no intercourse outside the clinics. Violations would have to be… punished."

The Prime Minister stood abruptly and strode to the window. Downing Street sprawled below, oblivious. Reporters clustered like vultures, waiting for their next meal. Civilians passed by, laughing, arguing, living utterly unaware that their species was already going the way of the dinosaur.

He turned back to the room, a slow, unsettling smile creeping across his face.

"Dr. Mumford… you’ve just saved the human race." He clapped his hands together. "And in honour of your brilliance, we’ll name the project after you. Since your idea will father the next generation…" His grin widened. "Project Mumford & Sons."

Harwick coughed. "Sir—"

The Prime Minister waved him off. "More importantly how do we profit from this?"

The following is a collection of short stories involving a future where men have to attend at clinics and be milked, sex is now illegal, pornography is now illegal with the penalty being chastity devices.