And cum-collecting

"That's right. Let me see those big, watery eyes of yours." Ms Julian stood overshadowing him, naked again… as seemed to be her preferred state for teaching. She used a long, wooden ruler to tap and prod Jesse's kneeling body into the perfect form. 'Submissive Postures' was the name of today's lesson, though the sissy teacher had affectionately subtitled it 'Begging 101'. The whole class was down on their knees, doing their very best to look like mewling kittens begging for scraps…

...Meanwhile, several hundred miles away: The day's activities in Procreation Centre 57 were plodding along as usual. Even for the 'new sows', as they were not-so-affectionately referred to, the routine had already settled in monotonously: When they first arrived there was a round of warm-up exercises, vital to get the juices flowing and ensure no-one tore muscles in the long day ahead. From there they went straight on to the morning session, catching the waiting lines of sperm donors who had been called up for this service to the community before they headed off to whatever work or pleasures would fill the rest of their day. Then there was a short lesson in theory, today on the correct foods to eat in order to maintain peak fertility and not influence the flavor of any milk they might soon produce. Not that the algorithm ever provided them with any dining options outside of those restraints.

Betsy relished these short opportunities for learning, regardless of the rather pointless and extremely narrow fields of subject matter. Her mind just craved an influx of new information to fold away and absorb, though the knees-to-chest crunching positions they were required to maintain while watching the screens got rather uncomfortable after a while. After that there was indeed a lunch of rather bland, but nutritious food… designed more for the fitness of their future children than themselves. The already rather stocky girl had noted that most of the older breeders had a distinct curvature to them that, while not unpleasing to the eye… told you exactly where all these bowls of quinoa and oat porridge stuck to. A good set of hips suddenly seemed to be the most desirable attributes you could have, after all.

Then it was back onto the ‘shop floor’, in order to catch the next rush of eager penises… This time mostly comprised of those who volunteered themselves for the task, out of some brooding sense of genetic duty or just a burning fetish for a certain shape of lover. Each girl might earn themselves 8 or 9 vagina-fulls of ovary-seeking squigglers over the course of the afternoon. The atmosphere was pretty relaxed though. They all just rolled around a room full of wipe-clean mattresses and handily-placed beanbags, waiting for the next visitor to wander over and slide in. There was no particular rush or quotas to meet, at least ahead of this first pregnancy. They were trusted to get themselves knocked up one day or another, what with the constant flow of cocks sent their way. In fact, the entire lifestyle in general seemed so very slow paced and gentle to Betsy, after all the squabbles and pressures of basic education. The rest of her compatriots just chatted aimlessly and amiably to each other, mostly about all the dream attributes their children-to-be would have, while one man or another thumped away between their legs. That, or described every single cock they’d experienced in adoring detail before spending another few minutes squealing and groaning like pigs in a slaughterhouse… It would seem some of those who ended up here did so because they really liked being fucked twenty-odd times a day. The scion of Home 23 had never thought herself shy or squeamish at all, until she heard some of the colorful language deployed by the ‘sperm addicts’, as she mentally categorised them.

While she herself was finding the constant penetrations… pleasurable, but repetitive… She enjoyed a good dick-ramming as much as the next girl but, there was something just clinical and factory-processed in the way each cock just turned up and jammed itself inside her. She began to lose track of the faces. Only recognising the differing feel of one bigger or smaller or girthier invader from another. She didn’t need to be driven into the floor by the pistoning efforts of a muscular hunk, and barely any of the huge variety of men she’d already met blushed or squeaked. There was no time to play subtle games of arousal, lying together in darkness and privacy. They played their role, and then they left… any goodbyes probably drowned out by the pantomime squawking of the next cum-dump over. Betsy still felt a glowing warmth in the idea of producing a whole new generation of humanity. Who might even go on to live forever: Seeing and experiencing and creating such miracles that she could hardly even imagine… But the physical practicalities of doing so… were already beginning to wear at her.