A printed future

Jesse looked down at the slip of paper in his hand. Its pristine white rectangle so simple and innocuous, despite all the weighted significance it held over his future. A month ago he had turned 18, along with all the others in Block H of Home 23. Today they were all graduating from comprehensive education, moving on with their lives into whatever further education or immediate vocation had been laid out before them. On this small, concisely printed certificate was the assigned position that he would spend the rest of his life fulfilling. It told him who he was. What he was. Where he would go tomorrow, and what time he was expected there. Nothing more. Nothing less.

In plain, un-embellished text were written the words: Jesse of HH-23: ‘Sissy Slutwife (1st Class)’, To be enrolled at Mdm Stanfields’ Academy 9 AM, July 1st 2192.

“Oh wow! Stanfields?! Well done Jess-Jess, that place is very prestigious…” A voice filled with utterly-earnest encouragement came down from over his shoulder. Betsy. His roommate, confidante and closest friend in all the world. The girl stood a whole head taller than him and practically hovered through life on a wave of bubbling optimism. She beamed at him with motherly pride without blinking an eye at the role description which was shocking Jesse to his core.

“You’ll be leaving us all behind and mixing with all the big shots in no time!” The teen’s smile wavered for just a split-second at this, a fact that would have been unnoticeable to Jesse… had he not known her so well.

“Who's gonna be hanging out with big shots?” Bustled in a brusque voice, dragging another, voiceless body behind it. Whitney was not taller than Jesse, though the way she seemed to fill up all available space with her abrasive personality might well have hid that. She snatched the card straight out of his fingers and snickered at the writing there.

She whistled, almost admiringly. “Yeah, ‘1st class’ eh? You’re gonna be made up as a waaay more classy bit o’ fuckmeat than this one…” She nodded a head down at her companion, the ever put-upon Claire. That short and shy young lady was indeed holding a card which quite clearly read ‘Office Fucktoy (3rd Class)’. Though, as always, she hardly seemed to be paying much attention to the world around her… shuffling the toes of her shoes into the grit of the schoolyard while allowing Whitney to just pull her around.

“I got ‘Sub-Trainer, of course.” The louder girl boasted, practically shoving a card that indeed said ‘Submissiveness Trainer (2nd Class)’ in everyone’s face. “How ‘bout you, Bets?”

Betsy blushed a little as she revealed her own card, holding it out for everyone to read: ‘General Breeding Sow (2nd Class)’. If Jesse was unnerved by his own assignment… this one absolutely baffled him.

“Breeding…?” He looked up at her bright red, but still smiling face. “But you were the best in the class! At nearly everything! Why would it make you…”

The tall and curving girl just chuckled away the redness in her face, chiding her friend as she had over a thousand silly questions about homework in the past. “It’s not about being smart, silly. You know that. It’s about where we’ll be happiest! The algorithm’s decided I’m going to spend the rest of my life popping out babies… I’m sure there’ll be plenty of downtime around that where I can read and study whatever I like… It makes sense really…”

There wasn’t a semblance of doubt in the girl’s face… so Jesse couldn’t argue. Nor did either of the others look particularly upset with the lots they had drawn, or at all surprised by the one he himself had been given. So why had it come as such a shock to him? Was he really going to spend the rest of his life as some prettied up plaything?! The thought of it ate away at his soul… surely there had to have been a mistake…