Pipe Dream

We did it! We found a cheap, renewal, eco-friendly power source and saved the planet! And almost nobody is saying things like ‘But at what cost…’

Mollie wasn’t saying it, but she was thinking it pretty hard. Of all the potential fuels to run the world, semen would have ranked last on her list. With masturbation stations in every home and at every street corner, the Earth wasn’t burning anymore, but a nauseating smell like a dirty boot full of salty seaweeds tainted its atmosphere. Perhaps it was harder to tolerate the smell when it triggered memories of the taste; Mollie experienced the concentrated flavor in its full gag-inducing glory whenever she got down on her official JizzTech knee pads and put her mouth to the pipeline tap.

The world’s old oil transportation system had been repurposed to carry the sewage of every man’s dirty deed, but the pipes weren’t designed to handle something as sticky and lumpy as testicle batter. When pressure rose during the day’s various peak hours, someone had to circumvent the new and old environmental spill laws and orally siphon some of it out without drooling a drop. As the daughter of a disgraced Shell executive, that was Mollie’s job. She was paying for the crimes of a man that never wanted anything to do with her (and vice versa). To him, she had always been too moody, too bitchy, too goth, her black Egyptian eye makeup contrasting the pale porcelain face, a farce, the laced mini-dresses, piercings, and ‘satanic’ jewelry, an embarrassment. She protested his evil ways as hard as everyone else, but blood is thicker than water… and cum is much thicker than both, especially the off-white, lukewarm tar from the DNA of millions of men that passed through her assigned pipe.

“Pressure rising, Mollie.”

“Yes, I can see the gauge, thank you.” No matter how much attitude Mollie put into the replies, the woman voice on the speaker never failed to offer redundant advice. At least no one was physically there to complain about the Gothic dress she was wearing like in her days of working for her father.

The pressure was rising more often these days as more folks were getting used to the idea of masturbating for money. She had heard of women letting the love-making byproduct ooze out of their orifices and into the Jizztech receptacle after sex and tried not to think too much about how much of the cum she drank came dripping out of some slut’s asshole. She knew for a fact that people were throwing tissues and old condoms down the cum drain. Users only got paid for what the sensor considered cum, but there was no penalty for laziness. Nobody wanted to touch their own gross discharge, yet here she was about to drink gallons of it.

“Pressure still rising, Mollie”

“Fuck! Off! I’m working myself up to it!”

Mollie put her mouth to the valve. It was facing upward like a water fountain at the park. Even the spit-shined metal nozzle gave her tongue a shiver-inducing flashback and preview of the taste to come. One last deep breath, a turn of the wrist, and her mouth instantly became a toilet that thousands of men were masturbating into. Actually, that would have been a quality of life improvement; thousands of men masturbating in her mouth would mean fresher cum. She was stuck with a mixed bag of seminal refuse. Clearly, some guys accumulated weeks’ worth of ball juice in jars before dumping them in the JizzTech disposal.

After a hundred swallows, it became impossible, even for an expert like Mollie, to keep up with the flow.