Inescapable Pt. 02 of 02

A major effort, but the Instagram comments were already pouring in. I was pretty sure it would be worth it.

Madison caught my eye and, winking, blew me a kiss. Gerry had visited both her and Collette in the last couple days. Making up for lost time, so to speak.

In fact, here came the man himself. He periodically left his office to check how things were going. I excused myself from Destiny and went over. Once he was done talking to Diana, who had hostess duty tonight, I caught his eye.

"Yes, Marci?" he said politely. His eyes wandered in a delightful way, though.

But I was serious. "I'm not ready to say yes, yet. But I'm thinking about it." I shrugged. "Anong's okay with it. With her watching me, I could probably even stay... moral. But I'm not sure I could ever be as 'elegant' as you with the ring."

He squinted at me for a moment. "A test, then." He leaned in closer. "There's a physical change beyond the obvious." My brow furrowed, and he smiled. "You're a smart girl. If you figure it out on your own, perhaps there's hope for you."

So I was distracted, pondering that. It even percolated in the back of my mind when I went out to waitress. But, all modesty aside, I am smart, and with that hint I finally figured it out in the middle of my first under-the-table of the night. Well, actually, at the end, right as he spurted down my throat.

You bastard, I thought. You unbelievable, magnificent, fucking bastard!

Maybe you've seen the articles. They show up every six months or so, in this age of clickbait. "Who Needs Prozac? Semen Is A Natural Anti-Depressant!"

It's mostly bullshit. They're all based on one study, never replicated, that compared college women who used condoms to ones that didn't. They found that the women who didn't use condoms were a bit less likely to be depressed than the ones who did.

They didn't even check to see if maybe depression made women more likely to use condoms. They just assumed that the prostaglandins in semen were absorbed into the bloodstream and had an antidepressant effect.

But suddenly I was pretty sure that it wasn't bullshit for "Gerry's Girls". I'd bet my next ten fucks that sperm was like a drug to us now.

It wasn't just satisfying my fetish. It wasn't just all the endorphins from multiple, daily, mind-blowing orgasms. Spunk itself made me happy. I had two addictions now, not just one, that reinforced each other.

I could recognize it now, as I milked my clients' wilting tool, as I swallowed every drop I could get, greedily. I'd been feeling it every time a guy came in me, or even on me. I was just... cheerful. Content. Like all was right with the world. The way I felt every morning, waking up after a big dose of spunk. How I couldn't get depressed.

I was so fucked. And I was going to be, over and over, for another few months at least.

I couldn't wait.

End