The door slammed uncharacteristically as Gwen stomped into the lab. Tears trickled from her brown doe eyes and she sniffed noisily into her Kleenex. Gwen was a plump and mousy assistant who only recently took the position with the obscure research and development lab to stave off moving in with her parents. She had secretly scoffed at the idea of working for a male fertility lab, fostering a deep hatred for men since her grandpa robbed her virginity at a young age. Last night, a long trusted male friend had tried to take liberties with her after dinner, further antagonizing her hatred. She had left him bawling on the street after several well served kicks to his expectant genitals. Her tears revealed her frustration with the male animal and spiraling contempt for working to enhance their egos. She would exact her revenge, she swore, little knowing a perfect opportunity was right at her fingertips.

Dr. Whiteman looked up from the lab reports from the previous night and studied Gwen as she threw her bagged lunch and overstuffed purse into her locker. His gruff stern look over the reading lenses revealed his distaste for his new employee’s behavior. Despite her impressive qualifications, he momentarily pondered releasing her for a more mature assistant, but his heart won out.

“Want to talk about it?”

“Sorry,” Gwen muttered almost incomprehensibly. “What were the lab results?”

“Negative across the board,” Dr. Whiteman responded with a heavy sigh. “Dump the flasks into the waste tank, and we’ll examine our options when the rest of the team gets in.”

Gwen nodded and set about disposing of the foul spelling formula. Noting the waste tank was getting full, she opened the drain spigot unaware that that the sewer pipe had ruptured next to the storm drain during the storms of the previous winter, releasing a deluge of toxic slurry into the ground water. As the foul concentrated mixture bubbled lazily through the century old drainpipe, it collected a multitude of microscopic life forms that thrived therein. By the time it reached a stagnant tidal pool, it was teeming with all the necessary ingredients to create a completely unique and horny life form.

As Gwen climbed into her warm cotton sheets with dark thoughts of revenge that night, the sea was unwittingly spawning hoards of rapidly mutating parasites that would soon fulfill her wildest dreams.

Staring into the effervescent bubbles in the glass of champagne sitting on the noisy bar, Marlena reflected on the multitude of cocks she had experienced in her thirty five years of existence. Starting in the early years of maturity, she had rejected social expectations to pursue the rewards of the call girl; fast money and countless virile men with their boundless passion and unique cocks. She had greedily devoured them, thrust upon their throbbing lengths with wild abandon and reveled in the unique throbs and pulses as they’re boiling essence erupted into her wanton openings with orgasmic euphoria. Although time had tempered her experiences, she still hungered for the silky strength of the cock to make her fill complete. Now covered with an excessive amount of facial paint, and wearing confining attire that made her dizzy, she wondered if her next paying customer would be a young and virile passion propelled stud, or, as recent years had evolved to, an alcohol driven husk with illusions of youth while supporting obsolete and barely functional equipment. Nonetheless a cock was a cock, and even though more effort was required, the payoffs remained most rewarding.

As Marlena shifted on the aging stool to survey the darkened scene for potential customers, she spotted Thomas, a frequent friend and confidant sitting uneasily in a booth by the back wall. Sliding of the stool with what remaining grace she could offer, she swaggered over to his table and slid onto the familiar vinyl beside him.

“Want to take a ride sailor?” Marlena’s musky voice was filled with sensuality.

“Not tonight babe,” Thomas muttered, his voice trembling. “Old Willy isn’t up to putting out, I’m afraid.”

Hiding her disappointment with concern, she slid her ring studded fingers onto to his fleshy thigh and reflected on the thin, pale member she had coaxed life into during the recent past. “Been poking Willy somewhere he doesn’t want to go?”

“I’d never do that babe,” he mumbled, “Your sweet love tunnel is the only home for Willy. He just doesn’t feel like himself!”

“Come on, I’ll make Willy feel better,” she slurred as she squeezed his thigh.

“No guarantees, Babe,” he mumbled as he struggled out of the booth and stood shakily. She tugged his arm gently and guided him through the door to his sedan. Once inside, Marlena quickly unfastened his pants and released the shriveled organ nestled amidst a throne of gray and black curls. Gently pulling the remnants of his foreskin away from the crown, she caressed the lifeless skin with her fingertips and gentle French kisses. Almost immediately, the organ swelled to life, unlike her previous encounters with Thomas when much more direct stimulation was required. He growled almost savagely; it was the same orgasmic growl he’d always uttered before his essence bubbled forth from within. But something was wrong, it was happening to quickly! His hips thrust high into the air and a low agonizing wail filled the air as a fountain of semen erupted forcefully upward and splattered against the roof of the car. The second eruption was pink and the third was red – pure blood sprayed from the engorged organ like a fire hose. Thomas wailed again in a higher pitch, jerking frantically as blood sprayed the inside of the car and Marlena’s torso as she shrunk away in terror. With a final ear shattering howl and back breaking thrust, Thomas collapsed into his seat with an audible expulsion of air.

Marlena screamed and jerked open the car door only to hear screams coming from a nearby gulley where a topless young girl was climbing out through the sparse underbrush. Her torso was covered with blood and she was spitting a bloody mixture from her mouth. In the distance, the muffled sounds of sirens wailed through the otherwise still air. Turning back to Thomas, she saw his chest rise and fall slowly while his torso jerked spasmodically. A trickle of blood ran down his thigh beneath his buttocks as tiny white creatures, not unlike miniature millipedes scurried from his urethral meatus to disappear beneath the seat. The flaccid sack that once cradled his two throbbing life giving orbs was now shriveled and empty under his lifeless cock.

Thomas stirred, mumbling incoherently. “That was the best ever, Babe,” he slurred.

“Really busted a nut,” Marlena purred as she stroked his hair gently. “Just try to relax and I’ll call 911.”

Thomas smiled, and closed his eyes as his hips weakly convulsed sporadically. The blood soaked girl was at the car door, with tears streaming down her blood stained lips.

“It was supposed to be special. . .” she sobbed as she threw her arms around Marlena.

“Child, I’m sure it was,” Marlena soothed as she held the girl’s trembling body. “Let’s get inside and get help.” As they briskly walked towards the entrance with the sobbing young girl firmly supported under Marlena’s arm, they could hear screams coming from all around them.

Gwen awoke with a start to the sounds of orgasmic screaming coming from every quarter. Clicking the TV remote, the screen showed a busty, white cloaked scientist from the CDC talking anxiously into the microphone held by a wide-eyed pale reporter. Gwen turned up the volume in disbelief when the headlines on the bottom of the screen kept repeating: WORLDWIDE PANDEMIC – MALE REPRODUCTIVE ORGANS CONSUMMED BY AIRBORN PARASITES. The scientist spoke of tiny white parasites (magnified on the screen) with many legs and a voracious appetite for human sperm which, upon ingestion would race through the body and into the testes to devour sperm wherever it could be found. The intense erotic sensations produced massive orgasms that neutered the host and expelled the parasites. Females were unaffected but they could unwittingly host the vermin, their moist vaginas providing a perfect incubation site. Most males survived, but worldwide sterilization was feared imminent and sperm repositories were being quarantined as a precaution. Instructions were then given for tending to the victims, and a noted sociologist began speculating on societal impact when Gwen noticed the clock and leapt from the comfort of her bed to the bathroom.

Gwen went into a mental stupor as she showered, mulling the consequences and exploring options. Hurriedly getting dressed, she bypassed her morning brew, and nearly tripped as she ran down the stairs from apartment. She could see men rolling on the grass and pavement as the last of their sperm followed by a fountain of blood erupted from their turgid cocks. “Disgusting,” she swore under her breath as she sped and swerved towards the lab oblivious to the suffering around her. When she burst through the surprisingly unlocked laboratory doors, she immediately focused on Dr. Whiteman, sprawled spread eagle in his executive chair with blood on his hands and crotch. Despite his appearance, he seemed calm and smiled at Gwen weakly.

“Don’t move Doctor.” she ordered as she scurried into the storeroom looking for cushions and a blanket.

“I’ll be fine, Gwen.” He spoke calmly. “I’m just a little weak. I need you to begin research on synthesizing testosterone in our facility immediately.”

“For impregnation?” Gwen asked, incredulously.

“That will be quite unlikely,” he chuckled staring at the remains of his genitals and pausing to take a deep breath. “For the nurturance of future male offspring by the surviving males, of course!”

“Assuming there will be any offspring,” Gwen quipped.

“Don’t think we’re quite ready to write off our species yet,” he replied.

He was right, of course thought Gwen as she grabbed a roll of paper towels and began to clean up the rapidly drying remnants of his ejaculate on the desk and floor. While doing so, she found the small purple remains of his cock in a pool of semen soaked blood that apparently had been blown from his torso during his explosive orgasm. Smiling to herself, she pondered briefly how such a big man could have such a small cock. She thought of how the social world would change; how nice it would be to be served by the once dominant members of the species rather than serving, and how, with this generations’ window of opportunity, that women could become the dominant gender of the species rather than the submissive. Gwen threw the soiled towels on the sleeping doctor and left the laboratory never to return. She was unaware that the drained and shriveled gonads were slowly, almost imperceptibly, beginning to regenerate in the small wrinkled vestiges where they lay.