I do not, considered myself as a workaholic, but lately my work is something that I actually loved doing. So, I do spend a lot of my time, with my job, inside my very own Virtual Space. The recent maelstrom of insanity, the explosive popularity that had detonated across the global net, might as well have been happening to another person in another city. It didn't touch me here, in my sanctum, as poetic as it may sound, to me that popularity, I don't feel it at all.
My fingers continued their relentless dance across the holographic keypad, weaving narratives, sketching fantasies, birthing realities. Taking the works of my old earth spun it with my signature and flavor and spit it out.
In this Alternate Earth, the technology was mind-bending—Virtual Reality so advanced you could taste the digital wine and feel the phantom sun on your skin—but the entertainment? God, it was sterile. Dull.
A barren wasteland of recycled ideas and safe, soulless prose. They had the means to create anything, but none of the imagination. They were hungry for a flavor they'd never tasted, and I had a whole spice rack from another world.
This world is unique, So, I had to adapt, of course. The raw, unvarnished stories from my old life would have been too… vanilla. Here, sexuality wasn't a subplot; it was the main event, the punctuation at the end of every sentence, the rhythm of the cultural heartbeat.
So, I twisted them, infused them with the carnal electricity this world craved. I made every glance simmer with unspoken desire, every conversation a prelude to sweat-slicked skin, every conflict resolvable only through a different, more primal kind of domination. And they ate it up. They devoured it.
My magnum opus, my little twist on a classic, '50 Shades of Grey,' didn't just hit the bestseller list. It didn't just climb it. It fucking atomized it.
Three days. Three days was all it took for the story of Christian and Anastasia, now rendered in explicitly depraved and delicious detail, to become a global phenomenon. The book moved units, sure, a tidal wave of digital and hardcopy sales that made my accountant weep with joy.
But the audiobook… that was the real killer app. I narrated it myself. I poured every ounce of my baritone into it, letting my voice drop to a whisper during the tense moments, grinding it out with a rough, gritty edge during the… instructional parts. I didn't just read the words; I performed them. I breathed them. I made every listener feel like they were in the room, smelling the leather, feeling the bite of the rope, hearing the sharp, breathy pleas.
The result was a financial supernova. Three hundred million dollars. The number was so absurd it had lost all meaning. It was just a string of zeroes on a screen, a monument to the desperate, aching libido of an entire planet.
And the followers… they weren't't fans. They were a cult, A devoted, rabid congregation hanging on my every word, dissecting every sentence for hidden meaning, for a roadmap to their own gratification. My anonymity, my pseudonym 'Saturday,' was a mask that only made them more frantic to tear it off.
With a mental command, I minimized the manuscript I was working on—a particularly raunchy superhero parody—and brought up my public-facing dashboard. My 'Saturday' Chirper and Facepage feeds were a continuous, scrolling avalanche of estrogen-fueled adoration. It was a river of desire, thirst trap and sex cult, and it flowed directly into my DMs.
I scrolled lazily; it is intoxicating to see my DM's filled with free 'Inspiration'. Women of all ages, from fresh-faced college girls to elegant, experienced silver vixens, posted their praises. Their comments were less literary critiques and more outright propositions. "Saturday, your voice made me climax in the grocery store line!" one read. Another: "I've read the chapter with the belt seventeen times. I need a man who understands discipline."
It was flattering, in a distant, abstract way. A testament to the work. I navigated to the private message requests, the filter set to 'High Priority' by Sunday to weed out the truly unhinged, the kind that potentially have me tied down in a warehouse somewhere.
"Huh?" And then I saw it. A name that, even in this twisted reflection of reality, carried the weight of iconic, calculated fame.
"Oh shit. Damn. It's Kim Kardashan."
My eyebrows lifted. There she was. Verified. The name was spelled differently, a single letter off, but it was her. The same meticulously crafted face, the same brand of calculated, media-savvy existence.
A quick scan of her profile confirmed it: reality TV shows, a perfume line, a shapewear empire, a public life that was a beautifully orchestrated train wreck. She was a master of relevance, a vampire feeding on the spotlight.
The message was simple, and utterly predictable. "Loved the book. Absolutely loved it. Your mind… and that voice. We should talk. XOX Kim."
Attached was an image. I didn't need to open it to know what it was, but I did anyway. And there she was, in all her surgically-enhanced, photoshopped glory.
"Heh, Nice~" A naked selfie, taken in a mirror that probably cost more than my first car. Balloon-like breasts that defied gravity, a waist cinched to an almost painful degree, and an ass so wide and perfectly rounded it looked like a geological feature. It was a body built for sin and for social media clicks, a monument to male fantasy and modern cosmetic science.
A dry, amused chuckle escaped my lips. "Well, I'll be damned."
As bitchy and high-maintenance as her reputation suggested, there was no denying the raw, fuckable appeal of that physique. Dating her would be a full-time job of managing drama and ego, a nightmare of epic proportions.
But that wasn't what this world was about, was it? This wasn't about dating. This was about contribution. About legacy.
"Not gonna date her," I muttered to myself, closing the image.
"But I will put a baby in her if I can… Heck, I fucked the entire family, if I got the chance," I though, I mean it can happen, after all, it perfectly in line with the values of this strange new world I called home.
Her motive was transparent as glass. Kim Kardashan wanted to ride the wave of my popularity, to siphon off some of the heat I was generating to warm her own brand. It was what she did. It was her credit, her genius. And in this world, there was no shame in that game. No judgment. No faux-outrage headlines about using sex for advancement.
Because here, sex WAS The advancement. It was pleasure, it was purpose, it was power. It was the ultimate social currency, and everyone dealt in it openly, freely, without the hypocritical baggage of my old world. fucking around wasn't ridiculed; it was admired. It was a sign of virility, of attractiveness, of social success. A man who could attract and satisfy many women was a king, the national treasure.
It still sometimes jarred me, the sheer openness of it all. Just a few days ago, I'd been watching a live football match, the game a blur of kinetic energy on the massive wall-screen. The camera, panning across the roaring crowd, had suddenly zoomed in on a luxury view box.
And there they were: a famous actor and a woman who was very clearly not his wife, but a lucky fan. She was bent over the plush railing, her team jersey pushed up around her neck, his hands gripping her hips as he drove into her from behind, right there for tens of millions to see.
I'd frozen, my drink halfway to my lips, expecting the camera to jerk away in embarrassment. But it didn't. It lingered. It zoomed in closer, capturing the slap of flesh, the ecstasy on her face, the raw intensity on his.
And the female commentator's voice had purred over the broadcast, not a hint of shock or scorn in her tone, only warm, professional admiration.
{"And look at that, folks! What a powerful drive from Mark! Absolutely magnificent form and stamina on display there. A true champion off the field as well as on it. What a lucky, lucky fan."}
The crowd in the stadium had roared its approval. I had simply shaken my head, a wry grin finally forming on my face. This world didn't care, heck you having sex it was a celebration, even if a player were to run and kissed any girl he wanted, he could, and the fans loved it. Sexual harassment? Only happened when no one wanted the advance, which is rare 99% of the time, anyone was ready to get it on.
A soft chime echoed through the room, interrupting my recollection. A calendar alert, projected gently in the air before me.
[GRMD Appointment. 2:00 PM. Subject: Natalia Vetrova. Accompanied by: Sael Hardcox.]
'Oh Right! The appointment'.
The Government Mandated Reproduction Duty. The very core of this society's priorities. I saved my work, and went out of my VR Pod and left my room,
"Nadia!" I called out, my voice echoing through the spacious apartment.
"Time to get ready! Our appointment is in an hour!"
It was time to go and do my part for the future of humanity. With my grandmother. Who was also, by government decree, my chosen mating partner. Just another day in paradise.
The soft, amber light of the late morning sun filtered through my bedroom window, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. I was half-dressed, pulling a fresh grey henley over my head when the gentle creak of my door announced a visitor.
"Malysh, are you ready?"
The voice was a familiar melody, warm and laced with that slight, husky accent that never failed to stir something deep in my gut. I tugged the shirt down, my head popping through the collar to see my grandmother, Nadia, standing in the doorway.
'Damn…. My grandma, is hot as fuck'
She was a vision. She'd chosen a simple yet devastatingly effective white camisole dress. It was modest in length, falling to mid-thigh, but the delicate silk-like material clung to every one of her generous, mature curves, highlighting a body that women half her age would kill for.
The thin straps left her toned shoulders and arms bare, and the deep V of the neckline offered a tantalizing hint of the magnificent, heavy swell of her breasts. At fifty-five, Nadia Vetrova was a masterpiece of timeless beauty and health.
"Just about," I said, my voice a little thicker than I intended. My eyes raked over her appreciatively, from the elegant silver-streaked dark hair piled loosely on her head to the delicate strappy sandals on her feet.
"Grandma… you look incredible. That dress is… wow."
A pretty blush bloomed on her cheeks, and she looked down for a moment, a shy smile playing on her full, glossed lips. It was a gesture that was both girlish and deeply, profoundly sensual.
"Thank you, Sael," she murmured, her voice soft. "I want to look presentable for your appointment."
I closed the distance between us in two strides, not bothering to hide the heat in my gaze.
"Presentable?" I chuckled, a low, intimate sound. "You look good enough for me to eat right here and now...".
I enveloped her in a hug, and she melted into me instantly, her arms winding around my neck.
"Hmmm~" She smelled of jasmine and warm vanilla, a scent that was uniquely, comfortingly her. My right hand slid down the smooth, slippery fabric of her back, palming the generous curve of her hip before slipping lower, underneath the hem of her dress.
My fingers met bare, warm skin. Silky smooth. I cupped the full, round globe of her ass, giving it a firm, possessive squeeze. There was barely anything there. Just a thin string of fabric bisecting the lush expanse of her rear.
I groaned into her hair. "No panties? Just the G-string that I like?"
She nuzzled into my neck, her breath hot against my skin.
"I wear what my husband wants me to wear," she whispered, her submissive tone sending a jolt of pure, raw possession straight to my core. "Always…."
"Mmph♥ Chuuu♥" That was all the invitation I needed. I tilted her head back and crushed my lips to hers. It wasn't a gentle, grandsonly kiss. It was deep, hungry, and claiming.
"Mmph! Smmoochh! Mmmwah" My tongue delved into her mouth, tasting the faint sweetness of her lip gloss and the essential, addictive taste of her.
"Ngh♥ Nghhhh Smmoochh Hah~ hah~" She moaned softly into the kiss, her body pliant and yielding in my arms, her own tongue meeting mine in a slow, familiar dance. My hand stayed kneading her ass, feeling the incredible, soft-yet-firm flesh give under my grip.
"Chuuu!! Ngh Hah~" We broke apart, both breathing a little heavier. Her eyes were dark, pupils blown wide with desire.
"We… we will be late, lyubov moya," she breathed, though she made no move to pull away from my groping hand.
"They can wait," I muttered, giving her another firm slap on the ass through the dress before reluctantly pulling my hand out. The memory of her skin was branded on my palm.
"But you're right…. Duty calls."
We left the apartment together, the air between us crackling with unspent energy.
Today was a big day. A consultation and progress report at the GRMD office. Sure, I'd bought myself a three-month pardon by donating a truly heroic amount of sperm after my… incident.
But the government wheels never stopped turning. They needed to see tangible improvement. They needed to see that Sael Hardcox, former femboy enthusiast, was now fully committed to his primary national duty: procreation. And they needed to see it with his government-assigned, grandmother-shaped mating partner.
Down in the parking garage, my new baby sat waiting. A Zenith Eon-6, a compact two-door electric coupe. It looked small from the outside, a sleek teardrop of polished gunmetal grey. But inside, thanks to some genius engineering, it was cavernous. A full-width bench seat in the front, another in the back, all wrapped in buttery-soft, cream-colored synth-leather. The interior was minimalist; just a steering wheel that folded away into the dash when not in use, and a panoramic augmented reality windshield.
"Sunday, open up. Destination: GRMD Central Office, downtown," I said.
"[Good morning, Sael. Nadia,]" a calm, androgynous voice chimed through the immersive audio system. The butterfly doors hissed open upward. "[Plotting optimal route. Traffic is light. Estimated arrival in twenty-three minutes.]"
I slid into the driver's side, though 'driver' was a loose term. Nadia settled into the passenger side, the white dress riding up her thighs as she sat, giving me another breathtaking flash of toned leg. The doors sealed shut with a soft thump, encapsulating us in quiet, climate-controlled luxury.
"[Sunday, drive,]" I commanded, and with a nearly imperceptible hum, the car eased out of its parking spot and glided smoothly up the ramp and into the city traffic, leaving me free to focus on far more important things. Like the beautiful woman beside me.
The Eon-6 slid through the streets with silent, automated precision. I let my head loll back against the headrest, turning to watch Nadia. She was looking out the window, the city lights playing across her profile. I reached over, my hand finding hers on the smooth leather seat. I laced our fingers together, my thumb stroking slow circles on her palm.
"What have you been working on, malysh?" she asked, turning her warm gaze on me. "You in your studio late at night."
"Bits and pieces," I said, smiling.
"Writing, mostly…. Lyrics, some story concepts, I've been producing a few tracks, too… Something for me, something for Millie. I want to launch Meteor Entertainment properly, you know? Not just a name on a form. Actually, put out music that means something."
Her face lit up with genuine pride. "That is wonderful, Sael. Your mother would be so proud… I am so proud of you, for using your gifts."
"Thanks, grandma," I said, squeezing her hand.
"By the way, what about Mom and Aunt Vera? How's the restaurant planning going?"
Nadia's expression turned playfully exasperated. "Oh, they are like two little generals planning an invasion! Endless calls, fabric samples, arguing over chair designs…. They are stealing all my best recipes, you know. Vera came over last Tuesday and demanded I show her exactly how I make my goulash. 'No one makes it like you, Mama,' she says." She shook her head, but her smile was fond.
"Well, it's true," I laughed.
"Your goulash is a national treasure…. Soon as Pussyville is ready for tenants, we'll get their place opened up right away. It'll be the hottest spot in town."
The conversation was so normal, so domestic. It was a bizarre but welcome counterpoint to the reason for our trip. This world, this Alternate Earth, was a study in contradictions. Hyper-advanced AI everywhere, yet a cultural landscape the government deemed "lacking." A desperate, biologically-driven mandate to repopulate, paired with the simple, human joy of a family recipe for goulash.
"[We have arrived at the GRMD Central Office,]" Sunday's voice announced softly as the car glided to a perfect stop in a designated drop-off zone.
The building was a monolith of gleaming black glass and polished steel, an imposing testament to the most powerful institution in our society. The letters GRMD were emblazoned over the entrance in severe, sans-serif font. There was no hiding its purpose.
"BAMF!"
We exited the car, which silently pulled away to find a parking space on its own. Nadia straightened her dress, and I placed a reassuring hand on the small of her back, feeling the gentle sway of her hips as we walked through the automatic doors into the cool, sterile air of the lobby.
The place was, as always, a study in efficient, impersonal bureaucracy. The quiet hum of computers, the soft clicking of heels on polished floors, the muted glow of directional holosigns. We bypassed the main queues, heading straight for the private offices of the case handlers.
'My… our… case handler… can't wait to see that, Reis again,'
Mrs. Reis's office door was open. I knocked on the frame, and the woman behind the desk looked up.
She was a sight that never failed to get a reaction. Mrs. Reis, mid-thirties, a lush-bodied brunette Milf who always looked like she was moments away from sentencing someone to hard labor. Her chestnut hair was pulled back in a severe, elegant bun, not a strand out of place.
She wore a form-fitting, dark grey pencil dress that hugged her ample bust and narrow waist, and a pair of stylish, but undoubtedly sharp, glasses were perched on her nose. Her expression was stern, all business, but her eyes… her eyes held a sharp, perceptive intelligence that missed nothing.
"Mr. Hardcox. Mrs. Vetrova. Right on time," she said, her voice a cool, professional alto. "Please, come in and sit down."
We did as instruct, settling into the two chairs facing her sleek, minimalist desk. The surface was bare except for a holographic terminal and a single, real-world pen.
"I trust you are both well?" she asked, her gaze flicking between us, assessing.
"We are, thank you, Mrs. Reis," Nadia replied, her voice polite and steady, though I could feel the faintest tremor of nerves through the chair.
"Good." Mrs. Reis steepled her fingers.
"Today's agenda is straightforward but critical... We have a dual-part evaluation… A psych eval for you, Mr. Hardcox, to assess your continued mental and emotional alignment with your duties. And a physical observation session."
I nodded slowly. "I was briefed... and know the process,"
"I'm sure you were," she said, her tone implying the briefing was the absolute minimum we needed.
"Given your… history… and your previous expressed aversion to traditional procreative roles, the GRMD needs to see demonstrable, tangible proof of change. …This isn't about voyeurism. This is a state-mandated verification that the pairing is viable, active, and productive. We need to see that you and Mrs. Vetrova are performing your mating duty without reservation or psychological impediment."
Her words were clinical, stripping the act of all its passion and intimacy, reducing it to a biological function for the state. And yet, a thrill, dark and excited, shot through me.
The idea of being watched, of performing, of proving my capability in the most primal way possible… it stirred something undeniable, even excitement, for me.
"We understand," I said, my voice even.
Mrs. Reis gave a single, sharp nod. "Excellent… Then let's proceed." She rose from her desk, her movements efficient and graceful.
"If you'll both follow me to the observation room."
The walk down a brightly lit, sterile hallway felt surreal. The gravity of the situation was immense. Impregnation, childbirth, population growth—it was the cornerstone of our society, the single most important metric of a citizen's worth.
I'd grown up with the constant, unignorable reminder. Government ads on the Holo-Net, billboards, even product commercials ended with the same tagline: 'Have you fucked today?' It was as common as hearing 'have a nice day.' There was no room for embarrassment, only purpose. And honestly, given my appetites, it was a purpose I'd come to embrace wholeheartedly.
Mrs. Reis stopped at a door marked simply: Mating Observation Room 4. She placed her hand on a biometric scanner. A light blinked green, and the door hissed open.
The room inside was not what I expected. It wasn't a cold, clinical lab. It was… oddly luxurious. The walls were a warm, sound-absorbing taupe. The floor was covered in a plush, deep-pile carpet. In the center of the room was a large, generously proportioned platform bed, made up with clean, white linens. It was lit by soft, indirect lighting that was both flattering and clear. There were two chairs positioned off to the side, facing the bed.
And in one of those chairs was another familiar face.
Dr. Meredith Grey looked up from her data-pad and offered a small, professional smile. She was as beautiful as I remembered from my hospital stay— intelligent eyes, a kind face, her blonde hair pulled back in a simple ponytail. She wore a lab coat over her clothes; a stethoscope draped around her neck.
"Sael," she said, nodding at me. Then her gaze shifted to Nadia, warm and respectful.
"Mrs. Vetrova. It's good to see you both looking so well."
"Dr. Grey," I said, surprised. "I didn't know you worked here."
"I don't, not permanently," she clarified, standing up.
"All licensed medical professionals are required to pull periodic shifts at the GRMD as part of our civic duty. I'm here today to monitor vitals and ensure physiological compliance." Her tone was gentle, but the words were a stark reminder of why we were all here.
Mrs. Reis closed the door behind us, the lock engaging with a definitive thunk. She took the seat next to Dr. Grey, crossing her legs. She held a data-pad of her own, ready to take notes.
"The procedure is simple," Mrs. Reis stated, all business once more. Her stern eyes fixed on me.
"You will engage in full, unprotected sexual intercourse with your assigned partner…. The session will continue until you both achieve orgasm, or for a maximum of one hour, whichever comes first. Dr. Grey will be monitoring heart rate, blood pressure, and other relevant biometrics via the sensors in the bed. I will be evaluating comportment, willingness, and mutual satisfaction. Are there any questions?"
I looked at Nadia. There was a blush on her cheeks, a mixture of shyness and anticipation in her downcast eyes. But when she looked up at me, there was only trust and a deep, smoldering desire. She was ready. My beautiful grandmother. My lover. My wife in all but the outdated, pre-Mandate legalities.
I turned back to the two watching women. Dr. Grey offered an encouraging, almost apologetic smile. Mrs. Reis's expression was unreadable, a mask of professional detachment, though I thought I saw the faintest flicker of something else in her eyes. Interest, perhaps. Curiosity.
A slow, confident smile spread across my face. The initial weirdness evaporated, replaced by a rising, powerful wave of arousal. This was a test I was more than willing to ace.
"No questions," I said, my voice dropping to a low, intimate rumble meant only for Nadia, though I knew the others could hear. I reached out and took her hand.
"We're ready."
The sterile, government-issue white of the examination room bled away, the edges of my vision tunneling until the only things left in the entire universe were the cold, clinical table and the lush, ripe curve of my grandmother's ass as she bent over it to set her purse down.
"Nadia, brace on the bed, now,".
The air, once cool and filtered, turned thick and hot, saturated with the cloying sweetness of her perfume and the raw, primal musk of her readiness. My blood wasn't just pumping; it was a roaring, primal drum in my ears, a demand that narrowed my world to a single, visceral point of focus.
My fingers, moving with a will of their own, found the zipper of my trousers.
The metallic zzzzip was a gunshot in the hushed room, a promise of violence. I shoved the fabric down my hips, and my cock sprang free, a thick, veined threat against the soft, submissive flesh presented to me.
I didn't gentle my touch. My palm connected with the full, ground swell of her left buttock in a sharp, stinging crack that echoed off the tiled walls.
"SLAP!! PAH!"
"Ahn~! Sael! What are you—" Nadia jolted, a sharp, surprised gasp tearing from her throat.
Her protest was smothered as my other hand fisted in the expensive fabric of her skirt and yanked it up around her waist, revealing the pathetic scrap of lace she called a thong. A dark, damp triangle stood stark against the pale perfection of her skin. I didn't bother with the pretense of seduction. I hooked a finger in the flimsy string at her hip and tore it aside, the material straining and snapping, exposing her completely. She was glistening, swollen, and utterly exposed.
"No foreplay, grandma," I growled, my voice a low rasp I barely recognized. "Look at you, you're already dripping for it…. Begging for it."
"Please," she whimpered, the word a shuddering exhalation. "Sael, I—"
"Shut up, Nadia…" I braced myself with one hand splayed across the small of her back, pinning her in place. With the other, I guided the leaking, purple head of my cock to her sopping entrance. "You don't speak unless I tell you to… Your only job is to take what I give you. Understood?"
A frantic, eager nod was her only reply. She knew, right now, we are in the sex mode, and I am her husband, her man that she submitted to.
"THUMP!! PAH!!" I drove into her with a single, brutal thrust, burying myself to the hilt in one devastating motion. She was impossibly tight, a scorching, velvet fist clenching around me.
"Ughk!" she choked out, her body seizing, her nails scrambling for purchase on the smooth metal table. A long, shattered moan was ripped from her. "F-Fuck! Oh, gods...! It's so... much!"
"Too much?" I snarled, not slowing the ruthless pace of my hips.
"PAH!!!. THUMP!!... PAH!!.THUMP!!" The sound of our flesh meeting was obscene, rhythmic, and perfect.
"You want me to stop? You want me to pull this monster cock out of your greedy little cunt?"
"Nghhhh♥No!" she cried out, her voice cracking with desperation. "Don't stop! Please, Nghhhh♥ don't stop! It's perfect! You're perfect! hng? H-haah?!"
"Pah! Pah! Pah! Pah! ~♥♥"
I leaned over her, my chest crushing against her back, my mouth at her ear.
" PAH!!... Your tits… Get them out, Nadia, PAH!!. I want to see them swing while I fuck you. Now."
"Y-yes!! Aahhh… Aaahhh♥" Her hands, trembling violently, obeyed. One white-knuckled grip on the table's edge, the other fumbling with the buttons of her blouse.
She managed to pop a few open and wrench her bra cup down, freeing one heavy, magnificent breast. It swayed and bounced with the force of my pounding, the nipple a hard, dark pebble.
"GRAB!!! SLAP!!! PINCH!!" I reached around, my hand greedily groping the soft, weighty flesh, squeezing it roughly. I found that taut nipple and pinched, twisting it mercilessly.
"Ahn~! Yes! Ooh-Ooooohhhhhh~♥" she screamed, her head lolling back against my shoulder.
"Like that, you filthy old whore?" I grunted, my own breath starting to saw. "You like your grandson twisting your nipple while he ruins your pussy?"
"Ah, ahh, nn… Hhhnn… Feels so good!!!!! Only for you! Only ever for you!" she sobbed, her words fracturing into incoherent pleas.
"Harder! Please, moy muzh, harder!"
I gave her what she wanted. I pistoned into her, each drive deeper and harder than the last, the table legs screeching a protest against the floor with every impact. I could feel the orgasm building in her, the tremors starting deep within the clenching heat around me.
"HAH! Who does this pussy belong to, Nadia?" I demanded, my fingers digging bruisingly into the soft flesh of her thigh.
"Hngh! Hah… hng? H-haah?!You!" she wailed.
"It's yours! Always yours! moy muzh! My love! Ooh! Oooh!"
"Damn right it is." I hooked my arm under her thigh and lifted, forcing her to stand on one leg, bending her into a deep, vulnerable split. The new angle was devastating, allowing me to plunge into depths that made her eyes roll back in her head.
"And I take what's mine."
I slammed into her, once, twice, a third time, hitting her very womb.
Her body went rigid, a silent scream on her lips before her voice returned in a guttural, broken shriek.
"AAAAHHH!!! GUOO~! I'M—I'M CUMMING! YOUR COCK! I'M CUMMING ON YOUR COCK!"
And she did. A hot, gushing flood of her release soaked my pounding length, dripping down her thighs and splattering onto the polished floor beneath us.
"SQUIRTT!!! Splurt. Splurt. SQQUUIIRRTTT!!" The scent of her ecstasy, musky and sweet, filled the air, the undeniable proof of her submission.
"Ah… Aahhh… Aaahhh♥it feels so goooodd~" She gripped the table, her whole-body trembling violently from the aftershocks, her cunt rhythmically milking me. But I was far from done. The pressure at the base of my spine was a coiled spring, an inevitable eruption.
"THUMP!! You think one is enough?" I grunted, never breaking rhythm, using her shaking body for my own pleasure.
"PAH!!... I'm not even close…. I'm going to fill this fertile womb until it overflows. PAH!!... I'm going to breed you right here on this table, Woman! Fuck this, GRMD shit!... I'm gonna put a baby in you! SLAP!! Open your womb, Nadia! Open it!! PAH!!. PAH!!. PAH!!."
"Aahhh Yes! Aahhh Yes!" she screamed, already hurtling toward another peak, her sensitivity skyrocketing.
"Breed me! Fill me! Pump your seed into me, Sael! Please! Mark me from the inside! Aahhh Let everyone know who I belong to! AAAAHHH!!! "
Her words, her total, wanton abandonment, shattered the last of my control. I slapped her ass once more, a final, possessive "PAH!" that left a red handprint blooming on her pale skin. Then I buried myself as deep as I could go, my hips grinding against her ass as my orgasm exploded.
A raw, animalistic roar was torn from my throat.
"GRAAAH! MILK MY COCK! NADIA!!!!! SPLUUURT! "
"SPLUUURT! SPLUUURT! SPLUUURT!"
Wave after scalding wave of my seed pumped into her depths, claiming her, flooding her, branding her. Nadia's entire body convulsed around me, her inner muscles clenching and rippling in a frantic, endless orgasm, milking every last, pulsing drop from me.
"Ooh-Ooooohhhhhh~♥♥Ngh♥ Ughh♥Hnghh♥ Hiiik♥". Her legs gave way completely, and only my iron grip on her hip and thigh kept her upright as she hung, limp and trembling, accepting my essence deep into her very core.
"SPLUUURT! SPLUUURT!" I held myself there, spent, my breath heaving, watching my release leak from around where we were still joined, dripping down her inner thighs onto the government-issue floor. The scent of sex and conquest was overwhelming.
"SXHLOOP!!! Brrrttt~" Finally, I pulled out of her with a wet, soft sound. She collapsed forward over the table with a broken sigh, a mess of sweat, cum, and utter satisfaction.
"Ahhh~ brrt!!" I looked over her quivering body, directly at the one-way observation glass, a feral grin spreading across my face. They'd gotten their show. And I'd claimed what was mine. The duty of the bloodline had never felt less like a chore.
*****************
Clarissa Reis prided herself on her unshakeable professionalism. On her ice-cold composure. Her entire illustrious career at the Genetic Repository and Mandated Distribution agency (GRMD) was built upon a foundation of calm, detached efficiency. She assessed genetic matrices, scheduled mandatory coital appointments, and filed dispassionate reports. She dealt in the abstract science of biology, not… not this raw, deafening, animalistic reality of it.
But the man dominating the room on the other side of the one-way observation mirror was a stranger to her files. The Sael Hardcox from her dossier had been… soft. Quiet. Almost feminine in his delicate features and hesitant demeanor. A beautiful boy shoved into a man's grim duty.
This Sael was a primal force. A god of sweat, muscle, and absolute command. His grip on Nadia's body wasn't just possessive; it was claiming, branding. The raw, unfiltered commands he growled into her ear were not requests but edicts from a conquering king. Clarissa's clinical curiosity had evaporated within the first thirty seconds, vaporized by a dizzying, shameful, and utterly overwhelming wave of arousal.
Her eyes, wide and unblinking, were locked on Nadia's stomach. With each brutal, deep thrust Sael delivered, a distinct, obscene bulge rose and fell just below her navel.
The sight of it—the visible, terrifying proof of just how deeply he was splitting her open—made Clarissa's own stomach clench with a desperate, empty ache. Her mouth was parchment dry. A telltale heat, unbearable and insistent, bloomed between her own legs, a dampness already seeping through her sensible underwear, threatening to disgrace her tailored pencil skirt.
She wasn't alone in her seismic shock. Dr. Meredith Grey, the appointed GRMD physician, stood rigidly beside her, her arms crossed tightly under her chest in a futile attempt at a clinical shield. But her mask had also shattered. Her lips were parted, her breathing a shallow, rapid pant that fogged the glass.
"Doctor," Clarissa whispered, the word scraping her throat raw. She couldn't tear her eyes from the mirror. Nadia was screaming again, a raw, guttural sound of pure ecstasy as Sael's powerful hips hammered into her. "Is this… is this an act? A performance for the assessment parameters?"
Meredith Grey let out a soft, shaky breath that was almost a whimper.
"No, Ms. Reis. Look at him. Not at the act, at him. Look at the sweat sheening his skin, the corded muscle in his neck straining, the pure, unadulterated possession in his eyes. That is not pretense. That is genuine, dominant engagement. He isn't just performing a duty. He is erasing her, and she is thanking him for it. It's… physiologically speaking, it's optimal. The adrenaline, the endorphin flood… it's perfect for conception."
Her clinical dissection was brutally undercut by the deep blush on her cheeks and the way she subtly, almost involuntarily, squeezed her thighs together.
Then, with a shocking absence of professional decorum, Meredith uncrossed her arms and looked down at the faint, dark patch of dampness on her own white lab coat. Her eyes, dark with a shared secret, then flicked pointedly to the identical, unmistakable stain darkening the grey wool of Clarissa's skirt.
"A physiological response we are both having, it would seem," Meredith murmured, her voice a low, conspiratorial hum that vibrated through Clarissa's core.
Clarissa's face flushed with burning humiliation. She hadn't even realized her own hand had crept between her legs, the heel of her palm pressing a frantic, circular rhythm against her throbbing clit through the soaked fabric. She snatched it away as if burned.
Their shared shame was shattered by Sael's voice, a guttural snarl that filled the observation room through the speakers.
"You take all of it, Grandma," he commanded, his voice rough with exertion. "Every. Fucking. Inch. Tell me who this cunt belongs to."
Nadia's response was a broken sob; her words ragged between screams. "You! It's yours! Only yours, Sael! God, please!"
"Wrong answer. My name isn't 'God'. Try again." He punctuated the command with a devastating thrust that slammed her body up the bed.
"S-Sael! It's Sael's! Your cock! Your pussy! AAHHH! GUOOO~!"
"Damn right it is. Now come for me. Soak my dick. Let them see what you do for me."
As if on his absolute command, Nadia's body seized, convulsing around him in a violent, squirting orgasm that drew a choked gasp from both women behind the glass. Her juices slicked his pistoning length, the wet, slapping sounds of their union becoming lewder, more frantic.
Then he moved. In one breathtakingly powerful, brutal motion, he hooked his arms under her knees, folding her in half, lifting her entire body up until her back was flush against his sweat-slicked chest. He held her there, suspended, a blatant, vulgar display of strength and dominion. The observation window now framed a perfect, unobstructed view of their union—of her stretched, glistening sex being brutally impaled by his monstrous, veined cock.
"Look at them," Sael growled into Nadia's ear, his eyes, burning with dark fire, seeming to stare directly through the mirror into Clarissa's soul.
"Let them watch me fuck my seed deep into your greedy womb. Let them see how well you take me."
The realization that his performance was, in part, for them—that he knew they were there, watching, aching—unleashed something feral in Clarissa. Her professional mind finally, completely shut down. A low moan escaped her lips as her hand shoved back under her skirt, past the soaked fabric of her underwear, her fingers finding her swollen, aching flesh. She began to rub in frantic, desperate circles, her hips rocking slightly against her own hand. Beside her, Meredith's composure broke entirely. A soft, pleading
"Oh, god…" whispered from her lips as one of her hands slipped inside her lab coat, cupping her breast, while the other pressed hard against her mound.
They watched, mesmerized and complicit, as Sael's rhythm became punishing, a final, aggressive assault. His grunts were animalistic.
"Fuck! Your womb is milking me! You greedy slut, you're going to take every last drop!"
"Breed me! Please, Sael! Fill me! I need it! I NEED IT!"
With a roar that was pure triumph, he slammed into her one final time, his body locking, burying himself to the hilt. They could see the intense, rhythmic pulse at the base of his cock as he came, a flood of his release so potent it made Nadia's stomach quiver and bulge with the force of it. Her own scream was one of absolute, total surrender.
When his strength finally ebbed, he lowered her limp, boneless body to the bed and pulled out. The sound was obscene—a wet, sucking schlurp that echoed in the silent observation room. It was followed by a torrent. A thick, pearlescent stream of his cum poured out of her gaping, well-used pussy, dripping down her thighs and splattering onto the sterile floor below.
"Spluuurt… Plink. Plink."
The sound was the trigger. Clarissa's legs buckled. She braced herself against the cool glass of the observation window, her body bowing as a silent, searing orgasm ripped through her, soaking her hand and her skirt. A parallel choked cry from beside her confirmed that Dr. Grey had fallen just as hard.
Panting, trembling, utterly undone, Clarissa Reis slowly straightened up. She met Meredith's stunned, glazed eyes in the reflection of the mirror. There were no words. No professional platitudes could ever cover what had just happened.
***************
"Hah! Hah! Fuh~" My breath sawed in and out of my lungs, a raw, animal sound in the sterile quiet of the room. It felt like I'd run a marathon, but the real exertion was only just beginning. The new energy pulsing through my veins was a live wire, a primal current that three of my grandmother's shattering orgasms had only heightened, not sated.
Gently, almost reverently, I laid Nadia's limp, blissed-out form down on the now-warm metal table. She was a beautiful wreck, a testament to what I'd done to her. Her head lolled to the side, her eyes glazed and rolled back behind fluttering lids. A thin line of drool traced a path from her parted, swollen lips, which were still shaped in a silent, perfect 'O' of ecstasy. A deep, feverish blush painted her gorgeous face and chest, all the way down to the swell of her heaving breasts. Each breath was a deep, satiated drag of air.
My cum was already starting to seep out of her ruined pussy. A thick, pearly-white trickle oozed from her well-stretched, puffy pink lips, a stark contrast against her flushed skin. It dripped down onto the cold metal table, a claiming.
'Damn~ that's hot as fuck,'
The sight of it—my seed inside her—sent another jolt of raw, possessive heat straight to my already-throbbing cock. I couldn't help myself. I brought my hand down on her gloriously round ass with a sharp, stinging slap.
"PAH."
The sound echoed in the room. Even unconscious, her body responded. A soft, contented moan escaped her.
"Ahn~ Hnggh~" It was a sound of pure, utter submission. A smile tugged at my lips.
But it wasn't enough. The edge was still there, a razor's need demanding to be fed. I was still achingly, painfully hard. My cock stood at rigid attention, slick and gleaming with our combined juices, a brutal testament to the energy that refused to be contained.
I turned, my gaze sweeping the room, and it landed on the one-way mirror. And then I saw them. The observers. The professionals. Ms. Reis and Dr. Grey. The facade had utterly crumbled.
Ms. Reis, her severe bun unraveling into disheveled strands, had her hand shoved ruthlessly under her skirt. I could see the frantic tremors in her arm as her fingers worked between her legs. Beside her, Dr. Grey was no better.
She had her blouse ripped open, her lace bra shoved up to expose one breast. She was pinching and twisting her own nipple, her head thrown back against the glass, her mouth open in a silent, desperate pant.
'Oh~ these bitches are showing their clear color…'
The hunger in me didn't just roar back; it detonated. It was a dark, demanding thing, and it had found new prey.
Without a word, I crossed the room. My steps weren't just purposeful; they were predatory. The distance closed in a heartbeat. I stopped directly in front of Ms. Reis, my naked, glistening body just inches from the glass. Her eyes, glazed and drunk with lust, snapped open. They widened as they focused on me, then dropped, hungrily, to my cock. A flicker of her old, stern self-surfaced, a pathetic attempt at control.
"M-Mr. Hardcox," she stammered, her voice a reedy, breathless thing.
"The assessment is—it's complete. You must… you mustn't…"
"GRAB!! " I didn't let her finish. My hand shot out, tangling viciously in her hair and yanking her head forward until her face smashed against the cool glass.
"Did I ask for your professional opinion, you stupid bitch?" My voice was a low, menacing growl.
"All I see is a desperate slut who couldn't keep her hands out of her own cunt while she watched me fuck my grandmother."
She whimpered, a pathetic, eager sound. Her body went pliant in my grasp.
"You've been watching," I snarled, my grip tightening, making her gasp.
"Now you're going to participate…. You're going to clean my cock, properly... You're going to suck it until you remember your real purpose. Now, follow me,"
I didn't wait for her to comply. I hauled her by the hair, opening the door to the observation booth and dragging her into the main room. She stumbled after me, her heels clicking frantically on the tile, her face a mask of shock and overwhelming need. I pushed her to her knees before me. The height was perfect.
"Open your mouth," I commanded.
Her lips parted obediently, her tongue darting out to wet them. Her eyes were locked on my shaft, a mixture of fear and ravenous hunger in their depths.
"Wider, you whore!... You think you can take it? You think you can handle what I just gave her?"
"I—I'll try, Sir," she breathed, her voice trembling.
"You'll do more than try." I didn't guide myself gently. I slapped the heavy, broad head of my cock against her cheek, leaving a wet smear, then against her lips.
"Pap! Taste her. Taste what a real woman takes."
With a choked sob of surrender, she lunged forward. Her mouth opened wide and she took me in, not with skill, but with a frantic, desperate greed.
"Schlurp!!... Gulk!!! Schluuup!!! Mmph♥"
The sensation was electric. Her mouth was a hot, wet vise of pure need.
"Sllurp. Slluurrrppp…mm, mmm Slurp!!! Lick, lick"
Her tongue swirled and lapped around my shaft, desperate to taste every drop of Nadia's arousal and my own seed. She tried to deep-throat me with a frantic, clumsy energy, gagging instantly as the head hit the back of her throat.
"Pah! That's it, you filthy bitch, Thrust~♥♥" I moaned, my head falling back. I placed both hands on the back of her head, not guiding, but forcing. I drove my hips forward, fucking her face in a brutal, relentless rhythm.
"Thrust!!! Take it. Choke on it. Thrust!!! That's what you wanted, isn't it? To be used? Pah! Pah!"
"Hngh! Hah!! Ugh. Ughk. Gulk!" She choked and sputtered, tears streaming from her eyes, mascara painting black trails down her cheeks. But she didn't pull away.
"Hngh! Hah… hng? H-haah?!" Her hands came up to clutch at my thighs, not to push me away, but to anchor herself as her head bobbed faster, sloppier, the sucking sounds growing wetter and obscener.
I looked over at Dr. Grey, who had followed us out, standing frozen in the doorway, watching with a mesmerized horror. Her hand was still on her breast, her fingers idly circling her nipple.
"You," I barked, my voice rough from the pleasure Reis was giving me. "Get over here. Now."
She jumped, but obeyed instantly, scurrying over like a scolded pet.
"You enjoyed the show, Doctor?" I asked, my tone dripping with condescension as I continued to ruthlessly face-fuck Mrs. Reis.
"Y-yes," she whispered, her eyes huge.
"Yes, what?" I demanded, stopping my movements for a moment, making Ms. Reis whine in protest.
"Yes, Sir!" she corrected herself, louder.
I reached out with my free hand and ripped her lab coat open, buttons pinging off the walls.
"GRAB!!!!" I shoved my hand inside her blouse, tearing the flimsy silk. I found her lace-covered breast, cupped its full, heavy weight, and squeezed brutally.
"Ah… Aahhh… Aaahhh♥" She cried out, a sharp, pained sound that morphed into a moan.
"You like that, you twisted slut?" I growled, pinching her nipple hard between my thumb and forefinger, twisting it. "You get off on watching? On being used?"
"Ooooohhhhhh!!! Oh, God… yes, Sir!" she breathed, her hips bucking against the air. "Please… Ooooohhhhhh"
"Please, what?" I released her nipple and brought my wet fingers—slick from her—to her lips. "Suck. Clean your own pathetic need off my fingers."
She did, eagerly, her eyes fluttering closed as she swirled her tongue around my digits.
I returned my attention to the mess I was making of Ms. Reis's mouth. I pulled almost all the way out, the length of me slick and shining with her saliva.
"Look at her," I ordered Reis, grabbing her hair to force her to look at the doctor. "Look at the pathetic whore you work with. This is what you are. Both of you. My sluts."
Then I plunged back into her throat, deeper than before, holding myself there as she convulsed around me. "Now swallow."
The room was no longer a government facility; it was a temple of debauchery, and I was its god. The symphony was perfect: the wet, gagging sounds of a throat being ruthlessly used, the choked sobs of submission, the sharp, hitched breaths of the doctor as she frantically pleasured herself watching, and my own guttural, satisfied groans. The assessment was a distant memory.