“Does it taste better warmed up?” Sierra (or Sierra 2, if she was being honest with herself) watched her coworker sip on a cup that had spent some time in the break room microwave.
“No. Just tastes warm.” Every other employee was a bombshell in Sierra’s eyes. It made sense; if you weren’t attractive, no one would want a clone of you. Though she thought of herself as the plainest of the sperm bank employees, it was the only self-esteem boost she could cling to in these dark days. The gorgeous blonde girl leaned back in her chair, her breasts virtually exploding out of her undersized white nursing dress. With her legs crossed, it looked like she had forgotten to wear pants today.
Sierra only had to look down at her own precarious cleavage to stop herself from passing judgment. “Ah…” And she went back to drinking her cold cup of runny egg whites, which (if she was being honest with herself again) was day-old semen from the community reservoir. Her first task of the day was to refill the milk cartons in the fridge with the left-over samples from the previous shift. As disgusting as the taste and texture were, it took a lot of willpower not to put her lips directly on the vat’s open tap and guzzle down a week’s worth of fertilized prostate juice. Mornings are the worst when you’re running on cum fumes.