A lot of requests

Sarah’s tablet started lighting up within the hour.

She answered the first call while still sitting at the table, Mason and Simone kneeling silently on the floor beside her like furniture. Her voice stayed light, businesslike, as if the two of them were not even in the room.

“Yes, I have both listed… the Class 4 is high-volume and already conditioned for continuous use… the Class 2 is fresh, still has some spirit if you like that… price is firm for a full weekend, but I can do a single-day rate…”

She negotiated without ever looking at them.

Four of the inquiries were especially brutal.

One Class 1 woman wanted Mason for a private “stress-to-failure” session in her basement clinic: progressive electro-torture combined with forced penetration by industrial toys until his body either broke or his mind did. She asked whether the high-volume cum trait would still function after the first few hours of organ distress.

Another requested Simone for a long-term art installation. The plan was to have her permanently folded and fused into a living armchair, vocal cords removed, eyes kept open, so guests could sit on her while she remained conscious. The buyer asked about delivery options for the necessary surgical team.

A third wanted both of them for a “couple’s hunting weekend” on private grounds. Mason would be released into the woods with a head start; Simone would be used as bait and later as the winner’s trophy. Live ammunition, no safe words, full ownership of whatever remained.

The fourth was from a small underground club that specialized in public dismantling. They offered a premium if Mason could be kept conscious and producing cum while selected organs were removed in front of a paying audience, the fluids collected and sold by the ounce afterward.

Then the more specific calls arrived.

A bright girl explained that she and her friends will celebrate her eighteenth birthday. They wanted Simone for the entire evening. The girl was willing to pay a significant surcharge if the Class 2 did not survive the party. “We’ve got a whole program planned,” she said cheerfully. “It ends with her. That’s the point.”

Next came a municipal secretary from a Class 1 administrative office. Their previous “ass-wiper”—a Class 3 gurl kept solely for cleaning the higher-ranked women after toilet use—had died of exhaustion. She had almost bought Simone on the spot for the role, but the budget only allowed a short-term lease for now.

Two lesbian Class 1 women called about their joint bachelorette party. They wanted Mason delivered to a rented warehouse, stripped, and used as a moving target for paintball guns loaded with hard pellets and occasional paint filled with mild irritants. “We’ll aim for the sensitive parts,” one of them laughed. “If he lasts the whole night we’ll even tip.”

The last call made Sarah sit up straighter.

The city zoo—run entirely by women of various races and ranks—needed a new breeding bull. Their previous Class 4 had finally worn out after years of continuous service across the different species exhibits and the private owner lounges. They were prepared to pay very well for a high-volume male on a renewable daily lease, with the option to buy outright if he performed satisfactorily. Full medical support, public viewing areas, and the chance for Sarah to receive ongoing royalties from any successful impregnations.

Sarah’s eyes lit up. She ended the call with a promise to decide within the hour, then looked down at Mason still kneeling beside the empty cat-food bowl.

“You feel like being loaned out for a day, breeding stock?” she asked lightly.

She did not wait for an answer. She was already scrolling back to the zoo’s contact details, smiling at the thought of the rare Class 4 male she owned becoming the new centerpiece of an entire facility’s entertainment and breeding program.of course just for a day.