Seven Day Boy
by Limerick
Friday
Paige had to be honest that her activism had gone to shit since she’d grown thick veiny titties.
To be fair, she had always been more clicktavist than actual campaigner, concentrating on snarky twitter posts and twice-a-year tepid marches around City Hall. Even that had gone away once her interests had shifted, extremely swiftly, to sucking fat cocks and getting mouthfuls of sperm. But that changed today.
She had a set of instructions from the White Cross and from the County Health Department. Wear clean clothes that would wipe off. Have a good breakfast. Lots of sunscreen. Don’t worry about water—fluids would be provided.
Lots and lots of fluid.
She hurried out the door. That boy down the street was already outside in his lawn chair. The collection station was set up in a park next to a major intersection downtown. The girls were already there, by and large. The lucky ones who, like Paige, had gotten their names called and pictures selected by semi-random drawing. Mostly in running shorts and tanks, with a few in bikinis, and a couple simply topless, tits bouncing freely in the morning air. They milled around happily, numbers on lanyards around their necks. Paige joined the check-in line.
“Number 69!” the organizer said. She was a brunette with deeply tanned tits and oversized rhinestone sunglasses. There were a few extra lines on her forehead, the new tell that a girl was probably 40-50 years old. “Well, that’s special!”
“I’m so excited,” Paige confessed. She hesitated. “Is it alright if I…”
“Look, the first one is going down your throat, that’s FINE,” the organizer said. “The rest go in the bottles. This is for the ladies who can’t suck their own, keep them in mind. This is for THEM.”
By 8:30 a.m. they were all settled. It was heartwarming. A long line of extremely sexy bitches, properly on their knees, plastic flasks at their sides, ready to go.
“You’re number 69!” said Paige’s neighbor, Gina. She hard dark black hair and wore jean shorts with stilleto heels. It was probably a smart way to stand out.
“I know!” Paige gushed. “I gotta earn it. I gotta be the best.”
And then the men started to arrive.
The event had been well-publicized, the plight of the ill and those unlucky ladies who had poor nano reactions were very sad. The ones the government stuff didn’t work on. Plus even for the now easily jaded boys there was probably something thrilling about picking from dozens of eager girls. They filtered in, mostly in business gear, their usual swagger and grins on. Most stopped just a moment to pick a girl. There was no official start moment. Girls just started to suck dick.
Paige’s first was older, a 50-something, his physique molded and firm but with a few grey hairs on his cock. “I’m your first? For number 69?” he said, flopping his dick out.
“Number one for number 69!” Paige said. She was starting to wonder how many people would make the same joke. The man laughed. “I’ve got two days in me,” he said, grinning.
Two days! But of course Paige could already smell it, like wood burning on a stove, a smoky and ashy male scent. She closed her eyes to appreciate it. His was not the biggest cock, but she could sense the tension of two spurt-less days. The smell of other men started to assault her—leather saddles, citrus, ocean spray, a hint of very dark chocolate. Her pussy twitched. She had forgotten to ask if she could touch herself during the event. Well, she was gonna touch herself.
Grey hair started to spurt. Warm, wonderful cum flooded Paige’s mouth. She opened her eyes as his cock withdrew, realized through the spasm of her own inevitable orgasm that he was gone already. Cum and go. Paige tried to school herself to spit, but it was no use. Might as well stop her own heart. It slid down her throat, and she had a wonderful and very long cum of her own.
When she recovered, another man was waiting for her. Well, technically a man. Mostly a teenage boy, with one of the largest dicks she had ever seen, his scent sweet like candy. He didn’t say anything, inserting his dick and putting his hand on her head. Just as well, Paige figured, still recovering from the last one. THIS one would go in the flask. She relaxed, let him jackhammer away, and cast her eyes down the line. It was weirdly beautiful, so many incredible girls diligently sucking away, servicing rod after rod. A few passed out from the joy, true, but most doing their best.
Spurt. Paige could instantly taste it—a 3 to 4 day load. Sweet and salty, indescribable. Her brain sparkled and misfired. She nearly let it go down, caught herself, thighs twitching. It took every effort of will to pick up the little plastic pouch and squirt it back out. She let a tiny bit trickle down her throat. She’d earned that. There. Her bit for charity.
Already another boy had lined up.
They started to blur together, very soon. An unending chain of scents and dicks. Part of Paige was sure that she could tell them apart, if she needed to. Something about each boy was getting etched into her—the scent of suits and briefcases, the scent of sunflowers, a mix of spices, tea and coffee. Years later, she’d remember them. Cock after cock. For them, the first or second of any number of squirts in a given day. For her, an encounter written in her mind, sizzled in there and branded. She was getting sloppy, ooey and gooey. Try as she might, precious cum was starting to leak out of her oversaturated lips. A few boys pulled out intentionally, to soak her, and it was hard to keep her composure with cum coating her.
The crowd seemed to understand. Paige stopped doing the work, letting the guys just use her as a mouth, thrusting in and out with a gentle hand on her hair. She had stopped peeking out of jizz-flecked eyes to take a look at the man. They were just a penis, a smell, a discharge.
She was in bliss, in heaven. The orgasm that rocked her was constant. Like a tide. And slow, ebbing and flowing with the boys. Paige wasn’t very capable of rational thought, or any thought, existing in a white sea of tingling nerves. She didn’t even need to touch herself. She just had to suck, and her whole body throbbed.
She had a new one between her lips. Hard to suck, smelling like a faint ocean breeze, the sizzle of pavement. And then someone had her gently by the shoulders, pulled her back. A wet towel scrubbed her face.
“Number 69? What’s her name… we should’ve written names. I’m starting to think this was a bad idea. This can’t be good for them.”
Paige’s eyes opened. A man wearing actual clothes stood in front of her, a concerned face half-hid with a large beard and sunglasses. “Hi!” she said, eventually. She was still trying to suck that elusive penis.
“Number 69, you’re sucking air,” the man said, gently. He shook his head, said something to someone behind her. “I bet her hypothalamus looks like an ostrich egg. Did you see those brain scans on the news? Real physical deformation. We should pull her out.”
“I want to suck more dick!” Paige said, automatically. She couldn’t stop. There were the penises to think of.
The man chewed his lip. “I’ve got a bunch of vials!” Paige said. It was true. She had filled so many pouches with stuff.
He whistle-sighed. “Alright, tell me this. What’s four plus five?”
Paige froze. All she knew how to do was suck and spit. There was no room in her head for this sort of stuff. She HAD known it, that was true, but no one could do smart-stuff in a constant orgasmic haze. She guessed at random, inspired by the number on her arm. “Nine!”
“Well… alright. But we’re calling it a day in an hour, okay?”
“Okay!” Paige said.
“I guess it doesn’t really matter,” the man said, behind her.
She scooted back into line. Gina had fallen backwards at some point, and was giggling softly to herself, twitching. She had half the collection Paige did. Paige had never been more proud of herself. To be the best cocksucker in this day and age was no small thing. The next boy stepped up.
“Wow, number sixty-nine, huh,” he said. He had dark frizzy hair and smelled like late nights on the streets. “Lucky me,”
“What?” Paige said. Sixty… number? It was all too much for her. She shrugged. It didn’t matter. Paige leaned forwards, expectant.