It's… a living. Your job isn't prostitution, it's too above board and corporate to be that. You're just another kind of delivery boy, only for sperm. Are you getting a lot of sex? Yeah, you guess so, but it's all with magical women, mostly succubi but occasionally an elf, nymph, vampire, or centauress, all normally so easy to get with that it's hardly worth bragging about.
Yeah, your customers are still what you would consider to be hot women, but all the truly powerful and mind-shatteringly beautiful succubi have their own dedicated harems. You're left servicing the dregs that are, for whatever reason, stuck hiring schmucks like you. The sex is purely transactional, almost always without foreplay because succubi go through semen like humans go through water.
You'll pull the company car into the depot at some godawful hour, exhausted, sore, sticky with sweat and who knows what else clinging to you, throw your uniform down in a heap at home, get a shower if you're not too tired to bother with it, then come back to do it all over again tomorrow while thinking to yourself, "Is this my life?"
Another night, another round of deliveries. Your third stop is in middle class suburbia, serving a pair of succubi regulars who tell you to call them Mindy and Cindy. Succubus names are all humanly unpronounceable, so they all seem to go by something fitting for porn stars. They eagerly greet you in their doorway, their bright orange and purple skin contrasting their t-shirts. Despite being imperishable creatures of countless aeons, one resembles a giddy college Sophomore, and the other seems your age if not younger. You find yourself mildly jealous of their furniture, even if it reeks of cum, as you're soon on their couch with your pants around your ankles. The orange one spared no time, unceremoniously bobbing up and down between your legs, slurping, coaxing out what she's paying for as (her roommate? Girlfriend? Sister? You realize you their relationship isn't exactly clear) the older looking one massages your chest. You've already gotten their names mixed up.
"You remembered unlimited refills, right?" Cindy (Mindy?) asks the orange one as she gulps down your first spurts, clearly savoring it with glazed eyes before nodding and cleaning the globs dribbling on her chin.
You should have checked the ticket before coming inside. You have to fish out your work phone as they switch places and use the app to disable the runes that were warding your junk against succubi magic. With the wards down, you instantly feel the surging flow of rapid semen production filling your balls. You have to widen your posture to make sure your nuts will have room to spread your legs apart. This is going to be a long night. Your shaft is already pulsing with magically-enhanced length and girth brought on by her saliva, creating new space inside the purple Mindy (or was it Cindy?)'s airway as she