My Breeding Girls

In the futuristic world of 2085, it is arranged that society’s best, brightest men breed with as many females as possible to produce super-intelligent babies.

Introduction

This short story is the first one with a futuristic theme that I’ve ever attempted. It was partially inspired by the Lois Lowry novel The Giver. Your feedback is highly encouraged and welcomed!

Part One

When the year 2085 came, society had long become used to the New Order in which citizens were neatly and efficiently slotted into their careers and lives starting at age 14.

Fifty years earlier, following the bloody and victorious conclusion of the Great Internal Conflict, it was determined by the Committee of Wise Leaders (CWL) that 14 years was an adequate amount of time to identify who the bright people in society were and who were not. If you showed any level of academic achievement, you were identified by your teacher. He or she put you on track via a special study program to be a scientist, a doctor or surgeon, a dentist, a pharmacist, an engineer, an inventor, a researcher, a therapist, and so forth. This category also included musicians, artists and writers. If you were mechanically inclined, you were guided toward being a plumber, an electrician, a carpenter, a builder, or some sort of machinist. If you were none of the above, your life would be spent doing tedious manual labor, taking care of children or the elderly, or being a “birth mother” to help sustain and increase the population.

Your spouse was also conveniently chosen for you by the CWL. At age 18, you were paired with another person of the opposite sex (of course!) who was approximately your intellectual equal. The idea was to have the best and brightest people produce as many children as possible to benefit society as a whole. Love was not a factor at all in pairing spouses. (However, you were expected to grow over time to love whomever it may be.) They weren’t exactly outlawed, but romantic relationships between people who were under 18 years of age were strongly discouraged, as they might interfere with the overall grand scheme of things. Why bother to have courtship rituals when your spouse was going to be assigned to you?

I, Kelsey McCafferty, was fortunate (or perhaps destined) to be slotted into society’s gifted category. I was deemed, by those who knew best, to be a talented writer and historian. There was some doubt about whether I would spend my years as a writer/historian or as a teacher. I found out for certain during the ceremony where I graduated from the eighth grade that I would be employed by the state as an official writer.

I took various courses on journalism and grammar that were not available to other students in their four high school years. As an accredited writer, I was free to create whatever written works I wished to put to paper—provided, of course, that the CWL approved of them.

Four years later, I met my assigned wife, Bonnie, a beautiful and brilliant poet, the usual two days before we were married. Our marriage was an ideal arrangement as we never had to leave our humble home to go to work, and we could produce as many children as we liked with all our expenses covered by the state. Like almost all newlyweds, we were both sexually naïve—but we caught on quickly. Bonnie and I both greatly enjoyed the fun and intimacy of sexual activities, so by the time we were both 33, we had produced seven children together. Bonnie certainly got used to wearing maternity clothes during her fertile adult years while she was carrying our two sons and five daughters.

One of the perks of being an adult male in the gifted group was that someday you might be summoned to be a “sperm provider” to one of the “birth mothers” who weren’t allowed to have children with males of their own status. Again, this policy made perfect sense to the CWL. They wanted a society filled with smart, gifted children—not underachievers. Other than having two gifted people combine to become parents, the best odds to produce children who were academically strong was to have a gifted adult male copulate with any adult female of breeding age.

If a gifted male was fortunate, he would get a special letter one day informing him that he would be spending two luxurious months at a CWL breeding camp with the sole goal of impregnating plenty of nubile young women—all for the benefit of society, of course. There was not a healthy male I knew of who did not eagerly and hopefully check his daily mail for such a notification.

Tuesday, January 2, 2085 was a red-letter day for me. That’s the day my official “sperm provider notification” arrived via registered mail. The formal missive stated that I would be picked up by a special bus in three weeks’ time (Tuesday, January 23) at 8 a.m. and transported to a location that was a bit of a secret to most people. Once I arrived there, my task for the next 60 days would be to produce children with one female after another. My meals and other necessities of life would be covered. As a writer, I was also encouraged to keep plying that trade between copulation outings.

I, of course, was overjoyed by the news and did not hide it. To put it mildly, Bonnie was less than thrilled by the field trip her husband was ordered to take by the CWL. The government could outlaw and promote whatever it wanted, but it had not gotten powerful enough to eradicate human emotions, especially female ones. Bonnie was simply unhappy that I, her cherished spouse of 15 years, would be sexually servicing strange women in some mysterious breeding compound for more than eight weeks. I told her I was flattered by her love and jealousy, and I promised I would make it up to her before I left. I did by impregnating her with our eighth child sometime around January 9.

On the appointed morning, a shiny CWL limousine picked me up at my home. I was the driver’s first stop on his route that day. He eventually made three other stops to pick up a trio of other lucky gifted males. We were an eager and happy quartet to be sure! We were all taken to a transportation hub where the four of us were then put on a bus. Interestingly, it was specially designed with immovable curtains so that we could not see outside the bus; only the driver could. Apparently, the secret location of the breeding complex was important to preserve.

Part Two

I and my three traveling companions were each assigned an individual luxury suite that was as spacious as some homes I had experienced. After enjoying a sumptuous and delicious lunch, the four of us were summoned to a meeting room where we were lectured by a four-person committee of special CWL fertility doctors about what was expected of us. Two were men and two were women.

To start, we were shown a 20-minute film about basic human biology that had to be close to being a century old. It was probably designed for sixth-graders who were just beginning puberty. Then we were told the importance of making our sexual romps productive. One of the male committee members was quite blunt and forthright about it. “You men are not here for recreational fucking,” he noted. “You are here for a specific job: to breed. Accordingly, you are to come inside your girl’s pussy. Don’t pull your dick out of her pussy until every drop of your semen is deposited inside her. That is your task. You can have your fun—we expect that from healthy males—but remember this is your primary goal. If you don’t abide by this dictum, you will be sent home and will never be invited back again.” Those were orders I was perfectly willing to follow!

We were also told that we would each have “three attempts to impregnate a specific girl that had been chosen for us by the CWL’s matchmaking experts” after which we would get a second girl…and then a third one…and so on throughout our 60-day stay. By 2085, maternity science had evolved to where human pregnancy could be confirmed within just four days, so our success rate could be determined fairly quickly. However, repeated failures to “produce positive results” would almost certainly end our stays at the compound. Of course, if the girl was found to be infertile, we could hardly be faulted for failing to create a baby.

The other committee members lectured us too, on various details about our stay and our purpose for being there. They fielded whatever questions we had. There were a few. One of my new friends asked, “Who are these girls we have been brought here to copulate with?”

One of the female committee members replied, “They are mostly orphans or special cases who have been taken care of by the state for many years, some of them since the day they were born. Others are girls who were deemed to be unqualified to perform any skilled or difficult tasks for the state. They were slotted as ‘birth mothers’ since the age of 14. When you four men were taking high school courses pertaining to your future jobs, they were doing the same. The difference is they have been taking special courses on motherhood and sexuality. I assure you they are now healthy females between the ages of 18 and 25 and are eager to become pregnant by you. Our expectant mothers are treated quite luxuriously here. Some are already mothers while some are virgins.”

Despite being very precise and clinical, the answer to that question made me very horny. I could hardly wait to provide my services to the state!

We were all stunned to learn that all our sexual escapades were to be monitored by cameras. One committee member informed us that at one time “a scrutineer” was literally at the bedside of each couple to make sure they were fucking as efficiently as possible. It was quickly determined that that level of observation was far too intrusive, so cameras replaced the watchful human officials in the special “copulation rooms” where all the breeding took place. Our respective bedroom suites were for us alone—and for sleeping alone. There was to be no extracurricular fucking with one’s assigned girl or with anyone else. That rule was strongly emphasized to us.

I asked the final and most important question: “When do we begin?”

“Is an hour from now quick enough?” one grinning male committee member replied. “Return to your individual rooms. You will find on your bed an envelope that recaps what we’ve just told you, plus a few other facts and instructions. That will tell you what to do and where to be in about 60 minutes. Good luck and have fun!”

Part Three

Indeed, there was a large manila envelope on my bed when I got back to my suite. It had an official checklist of what to do and what not to do during my stay. My favorite instruction was, “Don’t waste your sperm by masturbating during your free time!” You’d have to be really stupid to do that, I thought to myself.

There were also some new and immediate instructions. I was told my “official ID” while I was living at the compound was “Kelsey-128.” It was printed on a nametag that I was supposed to wear whenever I was clothed. I was told to report to the male shower area in 45 minutes. There I would receive further instructions. I was getting the idea that my stay here was all being organized with a high degree of military precision.

I arrived five minutes ahead of schedule at the shower room, the first one of the four “sperm providers” who had traveled by bus to the compound that morning. When all four of us were present, an official named Mr. Willingham looked us over. He praised me for following the rules by being punctual and wearing my nametag. One other “sperm provider” had not worn his nametag but was on time. The other two had worn their nametags but were both two minutes late. Those three were told they had received demerits for violating orders and were now in danger of being sent home. It seemed harsh, but as someone who was always punctual, I silently applauded the strict enforcement of rules and schedules.

“How many demerits are we allowed before being sent home?” one concerned new friend of mine asked.

The answer from Mr. Willingham was, “If you get another one, you’ll know it.” All my new friends got the implied message: No one was ever late for anything or without his nametag while dressed for the next 60 days.

We were told to shower thoroughly, dry ourselves, don the pale blue robe that was handed to us and proceed down a corridor to our individual “copulating room” with the box that contained our clothing. I was assigned to Room #2. When I got there, I was greeted by one of the two female CWL committee members who had lectured our group about an hour earlier. “Ah, here comes your sex partner!”

Even from a distance of 40 or 50 feet, I could tell this girl was quite fetching. When she got within 15 feet, there was no doubting that she was absolutely beautiful. She was about 5’4” tall, had curly blond hair that was still sexily wet from the shower she had obviously just taken, and had an angelic face and a marvelous figure. I figured her 18th birthday had been very recent. The pink robe she was wearing could not conceal the fact that she was a well-built female. Her name was “Veronica-96” according to her ID tag. We shook hands and were led inside the room.

The room was not cozy, but not especially large either. I counted at least four cameras on tripods in the room, and I suspected that more were concealed in the ceiling. That was a little bit daunting. We were asked by the CWL member what type of music we wanted to be played while we fucked. Veronica had no opinion, so I chose classical. The member activated a gizmo and a Tchaikovsky composition drifted softly across the room. We were instructed that the lights had to remain on for the benefit of the cameras. Then the CWL member headed for the door. Before departing, she said, “I will be proctoring you from another room. Enjoy yourselves and produce an excellent baby!” She shut the door behind her.

“I guess we’re on our own now,” I said to Veronica a few seconds later. I lovingly clasped her left hand with my right one.

“Yes, I suppose so; doing this sexual stuff is all new to me,” she informed me. “I’ve only been taught about it in school. I’ve never experienced it in person before.”

“I’m the father of seven children with number eight on the way, so I know a little bit about effective copulating,” I said with a smile. “Shall we begin? I’ll be very gentle with you, Veronica, but I must say that even in your robe you are a fabulously sexy creature—and I can’t wait to give you a good fucking! I’ve got a massive erection already.”

Veronica uttered a slight giggle, undid her robe to display her fabulous nude body, and immediately positioned herself on the middle of the bed with her legs spread as wide apart as possible.

“Jeez, you’re in a hurry!” I said. “I still have my robe on!”

“Well, take it off, Kelsey, and get on top of me and do your business.”

I did promptly remove my robe, making a point of showing Veronica that I was truthful about sporting a huge stiffie, but I was certainly not going to rush things—if I could help it. I got onto the bed beside her; I did not mount her, though. She seemed puzzled by it all.

“We’re supposed to fuck, right?” she asked me. “Don’t you want to put your hard penis inside my vagina?”

“Of course I do, Veronica, honey. But there’s no rush,” I said in a comforting way. “Didn’t you learn about foreplay and cuddling, and other things like that in your classes? Those things are wonderful and they extend the sex act—which is very good and enjoyable. Veronica, let me demonstrate what I do with my wife when we’re in bed and preparing to fuck.”

I quickly embraced her and began kissing her face, and neck. I could sense this was unexpected but totally delightful to her. Then I kissed her lips quickly three or four times. The fifth kiss was a long and passionate one.

“Ooh, I like that, Kelsey! Let’s do it again!” Of course I complied with her request!

After several romantic-style kisses, she asked, “Is it time to fuck now?”

I told her, “No, not yet. I have to get my hands on your shapely body—especially those gorgeous tits of yours. They are fantastic.”

Veronica laughed. I had to ask her why because I didn’t think I had said anything funny to her.

“You used the word tits,” she explained. “In our classes we always used the proper terms for the human anatomy, especially the sexual parts. But our teachers taught us some slang terms they said we ought to know in case our sex partners used them. Mrs. Drayton, a teacher I had a few years ago, once said, ‘Men like to call breasts tits. It’s crude—but that’s men just being men.’ She was right! Keep using that term if you like, Kelsey. I don’t mind at all.”

I thanked her for that tiny liberty and proceeded to fondle her prominent pair. Veronica’s jugs were gorgeous, the kind of breasts that a sculptor of nudes would show Greek goddesses possessing. They were slightly large for her torso, but not too big. As soon as I began feeling them, her nipples got hard. That inspired me to give them a good sucking. Veronica enjoyed this, too. While I was doing my thing, she was pushing the back of my head toward her bosom, apparently not wanting me to stop anytime soon.

Now deeply immersed in the throes of passion, I instructed Veronica to “play with my dick—I mean my penis.”

“I know that slang term, too, Kelsey!” she said with a naughty smile. “Okay, but if you come outside my vagina, we’ll both get into trouble—and we don’t want that to happen!”

“Just a few gentle strokes on it, please, Veronica,” I said. “That would be a terrific turn-on for me. Then I’ll fuck your pussy right afterward, I promise.”

Veronica grasped my shaft somewhat reluctantly. “Hey, I like the feel of this thing,” she admitted as she slowly stroked it. “I think I’ll like having it inside of me.”

Those seemed to be the magic words! Upon hearing them, I became hyper-aroused! “We better start fucking right now, Veronica, because I don’t know how much longer I can last with your hand on my dick.”

She returned to her original position with her legs spread wide. Her hairy vagina was summoning my penis, and I was eager to enter it! I mounted her and slowly pushed my manhood inside her. “Oh!” she said with surprise. “That’s how it feels! I like it.”

“I think you’ll like this even more,” I stated as I began to rhythmically slide my dick in and out of her. I was in a state of rapture. If Veronica said anything else to me, I didn’t hear it. After about two minutes I fired a load of cum inside her. I stopped thrusting and just let my penis pulsate, shooting small amounts into her pussy while I loudly exhaled. Veronica instinctively wrapped her legs around me, so I did not pull out too early. I was impressed.

“That’s something we learned in class, too,” she told me. “Every drop of sperm is a potential baby-maker. We girls have to treasure the semen you provide.”

“I’m certainly happy to contribute!” I joked. When I finally did pull out of my bedmate’s hole, a few drips did escape—but only technically. I used my fingers to scoop them up and reinsert my jism where it properly belonged.

“Now that was unexpected!” she told me. “No teacher ever mentioned that might happen during the sex act. Does it help with creating successful pregnancies?” Veronica asked.

“I don’t know for certain,” I noted, “but I’ve done that with my wife every time we’ve tried for a baby—and we have attained a perfect record. To be sure, I’ll have to use my penis to push my semen back in as far as possible.” My dick was more flaccid than erect by then, but it still was stiff enough to complete the job.

Then a voice came into the room via an intercom I didn’t know existed. I recognized it as the committee woman’s. “Good job for a first time, you two!” she said with an air of authority. “From the time you disrobed until the time I believe Kelsey ejaculated, it was exactly eight minutes and 43 seconds. That’s within the optimal timeframe we are striving to achieve.”

I was actually embarrassed by how fast I had come. I was certainly striving to extend the sexual encounter much, much longer. Obviously, the novelty of bedding someone who wasn’t my wife was a major factor in how quickly I had my orgasm.

I was going to apologize to Veronica in case I had been a disappointment to her. She was having none of it. “That was so wonderful, Kelsey,” she said. “It was great and I feel marvelous.” Indeed, Veronica was simply glowing with ecstasy. I had a hunch that one of my sperm cells had collided with her egg.

The voice on the intercom said to us, “Kelsey, you are done here for today. You can get dressed now. You can head back to your suite or return to the shower room, if you wish. Veronica, please stay right where you are for a few more minutes. I’ll be with you momentarily to help you elevate your legs and vagina. That will increase your chances of pregnancy.

I learned something new!

As I reached for the box containing my clothes, I decided to have a little bit of fun. I asked the intercom voice, “Are Veronica and I permitted to go back to my suite and fuck like rabbits all afternoon until mealtime?”

“No!” shouted the humorless woman. “That would be a major violation of our protocols, and it would result in you being sent home immediately, never to return! I think you know that.”

“I was just joking,” I admitted.

The voice replied, “At this compound, we take our fucking seriously. It is no joking matter to us.”

I did give Veronica one more romantic smooch before I left the copulating room. We both enjoyed it. “See you again tomorrow,” I told her. “I can hardly wait.”