Many months later you find yourself in a surprise meeting...

Nine and a half months in the future...

You're once again on the industrial world of Alseid. Along with St. Applegate, this has turned out to be the most fruitful opportunity you found. Once again running 'Red Giant Studios', your schedule is packed - and it isn't the only thing getting packed full on a daily basis.

The funny thing is, you might have thought that over a full year of indulging your most selfish and irresponsible desires would be enough... if not to let you consider the error of your ways, than at least to start to get bored with them. But knowing that Claire is actually still in the game, the stakes riding on it all, makes you only more eager. The memories of what you did on St. Applegate, and the recordings of your illicit deeds from your first and second stints running this studio, are not enough. Every day you wake up bursting with excitement about a situation that sometimes seems too good to be true.

When you started this bet you thought that circumstance, or law, or fate itself would stop you somehow before it went too far. For the first few weeks you thought Claire would call you back and, in a moment of clarity, beg you to call off the bet. Contract or no contract, if she really sincerely asked you to call the whole thing off, you would've.

And then, in the weeks following the anniversary of the bet, your wrist computer informed you that Claire had, in the 48 hours following your meeting with her, gotten three women pregnant - including a pair of twin sisters.

God, you love her. You have to have her.

Unlike St. Applegate, Alseid is a cynical and materialistic place. Without the strong religious grounding of a place like St. Applegate, increased wealth has stricken the colony with a declining birth rate and escalating emigration. To try and stave off demographic disaster, the government of Alseid offers exceptionally generous pro-natal subsidies... and, recently, used the excuse of health concerns to ban the most reliable forms of nanotechnologial contraception. Since the native population gets royalty payments distributed each month from the profitable mines, they've gotten used to spending any money they get as soon as they get it without worrying too much about the future. Many jaded young people end up joining hover-cycle gangs or other anti-social activities for thrills and fast cash, instead of trying to build any kind of honest career.

Fortunately, just as many choose to go into the vice industry. Streets in a major city on Alseid are full of strip clubs, bunny waitress cabarets, bordellos, and other dens of ill-repute - and it supports a thriving adult entertainment sector, too. Because of quantum encryption enforcing limited distribution numbers for each holo (as per galactic law), there can only be so many copies of a particular scene in existence at the same time - which means there is always a demand for more. Even the most tame, basic scenes like strip-teases or other softcore erotica can always fetch a good price No matter how niche your lewd interests, you can make a good living specializing in it...

...with one exception: your niche. By its very nature, the kind of material Red Giant Studios produces only ever loses money. To someone looking at the gross profits that might seem shocking - pornographic holos produced under your brief stints running the company have tended to sell for more than twenty times the average price, landing them square in the top 1%. And since you have preferred to hire inexperienced amateur talent instead of high-profile stars - not to mention doing a lot of the "work" yourself - overhead wasn't that high either. And it isn't as if the production values are lavish enough to outweigh the profitable sales... most Red Giant films could be described as "cheap and tacky".

The problem, of course, is that even a well-received porn holo that sells for a high price will have that profit completely eaten up if half or more of the actresses who appeared in it got pregnant and sue the company for alimony. It's only because of a fresh infusion of outside investments that you were able to re-start the studio after the first wave of paternity suits came crashing down on it and **** it to shutter.

In financial terms, such a porn studio is less like a red giant star, and more like a black hole, where any money invested disappears and is never seen again. But you still think the name fits, since it's all about "stars" getting bigger and rounder.

The first time, you got Caitlyn from St. Applegate to invest in it, since she had extra money to throw around as a result of her entrepreneurial business sense (and a little shameless insider trading). After that investment vanished into the ether, you needed more. Not long before you came here, you fast-talked a naive frontier colony developer into putting a cool million into it. Listening to his rambling folksy anecdotes was a chore, but the check came through.

Now, however, you have found a much preferable method of drumming up investment. Marisol, a corporate commodities broker you're friends with - a fellow futa - got lured into your debauched lifestyle early on in this bet. For the past ten months since she first saw you in action, she's been skating faster and faster down the slippery slope. But she's a bit less outgoing (and devious) than you are, and has a harder time picking up women, especially in a way that will let her indulge the taboo fetish you've awakened in her.

That's where you came in. You'd invited her to St. Applegate, and partway through your second week there, she'd shown up to make a generous donation to the school... while you spread rumors that she was a hopeless gambler and an easy mark.

It always brings a smirk to your face to think back on the high stakes 'doubles tennis game' you and Marisol had challenged a pair of students to - with the special addendum that the futa team lost points for every sex act the pair representing St. Vivians tempted them into.

The combination of breezy white pleated miniskirts, athletic shoes, and midriff-baring tank tops had really brought out the big loads, for both you and Marisol. After all the bouncing two sets of futa 'tennis balls' did towards the end of that match, a couple of formerly-slim blonde sophomores are just weeks away from giving birth.

And on the second day of her visit a petite, pixie-cut brunette from the swim team had won a bet with Marisol, but at the price of unintentionally giving a few million futa sperm an additional swimming competition inside her... of which the winner would be emerging into the world in less than a month. That makes a total of three illegitimate children Marisol has as a result of unprotected flings with naive co-eds... three lives that wouldn't exist if not for the fact that you stealthed a hired escort in front of Marisol, and Mari liked what she saw.

The conversation with Marisol had started with her commiserating with how worried she was about her corporation finding out. Worry turned to shameful arousal. And then, you'd laid it on her. While engaging in the first risky fuck since your encounter with Ms. Glidden's terrifying strap-on, you explained the bet. After you just barely managed to hop off her cock before she came inside you, you saw how disappointed she was - even though she had already greatly imperiled her corporate career by knocking up three college students in a quick succession of one-night-stands. You made her realize she wanted to do it again... and how minor it would look in comparison to your and Claire's infamous spree.

She completely gave in. Inviting her to invest in your studio in exchange for getting to spend her week-long vacation co-starring in illicit breeding smut alongside you was a win-win. At your suggestion, Marisol had gotten some upgrades to her already impressive natural virility, just like you had. Little does Marisol know that you have an ulterior motive. In that fateful drunken conversation about the bet, Claire had suggested a bonus she jokingly called the 'apex predator bonus': impregnating a futa who, herself, had fathered half a dozen children or more within the past year.

You'd tried very hard to convince Patrice, the plump security guard from St. Vivians', to indulge herself just a little more. But apparently, knocking up four rebellious punk girls and a naughty blonde blackmailer made her feel a tad guilty, so she'd started her maternity leave early as an excuse to end her 'investigation' - a task that her boss, Valerie, had never gotten around to rescinding.

Patrice is the responsible sort, if a bit dim, so she is dutifully raising the daughter Summer gave birth to, the son Charlotte had popped out as a result of her parking-garage rendezvous, the daughters of kinky Tanya from the school bathrooms and a couple more of her punk friends, AND the daughter you fucked into her during the aforementioned parking lot incident. Oh, and the son conceived when the hapless janitor used the sabotaged condoms you'd foisted off on him with a sporty track team girl, since he'd been made a scapegoat for all the girls Patrice knocked up, as well as Patrice herself, to avoid a scandal... thanks to your sabotage, futas weren't involved in about 2/3rds of last year's pregnancies, so the administration of St. Applegate has successfully claimed that although, yes, well over a hundred schoolgirls and a dozen staff at St. Vivian's got pregnant in a single semester, there was no ****, 'sodomy' or futa fucking involved, only the minor, forgivable sin of unmarried fornication. In fact the high number of pregnancies was something they turned around into a point of pride, since it showed that even sinners on their station were practicing the 'consistent life ethic'. In any case, even with a new husband helping out, that meant Patrice was taking care of seven infants at once, and had no intention of making any more.

But Marisol hadn't felt the sting of consequences catching up with her yet. She wanted more of this forbidden delight. And Marisol was so swept up in the taboo thrill of it all that she never noticed that the package of enhancements you'd recommended to her included greatly enhanced fertility on both the male AND female sides...

You're right in the middle of your latest project when a 'high priority' comm-call comes through. Those are expensive, and refusing them is extremely impolite. Normally, you would answer. But circumstances are... less than ideal for receiving a phone call.

All you can focus more than 0.1% of your mind on right now is pure, hot, debauched pleasure. Having a 20 year old latina cheerleader bouncing energetically on your titanium-hard cock tends to blot other thoughts out of your mind.

A couple of discarded cheerleader outfits lay discarded on a waterbed surrounded by recording equipment. The bed sloshes and wobbles with the energetic movements of two young amateur actresses riding their way towards a double creampie, with nary a condom in sight.

Pretty, petite Harmony (probably not her real name) is giving it her all in her debut futa scene. Her black hair tied in two loose pigtails shakes wildly with each exaggerated toss of her head as she moans. Her red-and-white cheerleader outfit now lies discarded on the bed - aside from her knee-high socks and the sneakers resting against your thighs, her lithe body is fully on display. Harmony was a little hesitant about doing a scene with futas. That seemed funny to you - she said she was fine working with girls or guys, but was wary of the middle ground? - but you talked her and her fellow first-timer into it, and she is definitely getting into the swing of things now. Harmony's lightly tanned ass is bobbing up and down on your lap as you watch, entranced.

The sight of Harmony's ass bouncing on your lap is so engrossing, in fact, that you're barely paying attention to the other half of this sinful scene... though you can certainly feel it. An exceptionally long double-headed dildo is whirring away inside you, connecting you to Marisol, your latest partner in crime, as your legs entwine with hers on the bed. You and your fellow futa are both laying on your backs on the bed, ass to ass, with that pulsating length of plastic bridging the gap between your cunts. You can hear Marisol's breath getting faster and sharper. She isn't as good as you are at holding her nut, and you get the feeling that the dildo isn't helping matters.

Leaning a little to the side, you look past Harmony energetically working herself up and down on your cock and see that the second cheerleader, Nia, is doing the same on Marisol's shaft. You lick your lips at the sight of your fellow futa's pale balls tensing up as Nia's chocolate brown cuntlips stretch around the throbbing shaft. That chocolate-and-vanilla color contrast is almost as delightful as seeing the perky young actress's big, bountiful ebony tits jiggling with every up-and-down motion.

You barely even remember the 'script' for this scene, if it could even be called one. 'Co-ed cheerleaders invite their futa stepmoms in to show them their new routine', or something like that. You hadn't put a lot of thought into it. You'd put more thought into coming up with an excuse for why your studio was suddenly fresh out of condoms and couldn't afford to delay the shoot for even fifteen minutes to go get some.

Skinny Harmony and buxom Nia lean in and start kissing performatively. Harmony's hands take hold of Nia's bountiful brown tits and give them a hearty grope even as her pussy gives your aching shaft a squeeze.

While the two sizzlingly erotic young actresses gyrate their backsides against your and Marisol's laps, they're bringing the both of you closer and closer to the point of no return. You and Marisol look past your respective starlets. You give her a mischievous wink, as if irresponsibly blowing a load of overcharged cum into an amateur porn actress you know only by a pseudonym was just a small indulgence... like having an extra slice of cake.

When the petite, pigtailed latina on your lap sits hard on your cock, taking it all the way to the base, she has no idea that the tense balls she feels brushing against her labial lips have been responsible for spoiling literally dozens of slender, sexy midriffs just like hers over the past year. If she'd done a bit more research into this studio, Harmony and Nia might have noticed that a lot of the sexy young actresses who starred in scenes with you the last time you were on this planet have had their formerly trim midsections balloon out into round, heavy bumps. While those prior actresses anxiously eye their due dates on the calendar, Harmony is enjoying a few more precious moments of blissful ignorance as she gyrates her tight little butt against your lap.

You squeeze Harmony's still-skinny tan midriff with both hands as the stream of wicked thoughts sets you over the edge. This is your and Marisol's first scene of the day; the load of hot jizz that erupts deep inside Harmony is so thick and potent that the odds of her next period arriving on time are pretty much nil.

"Mmmfff?!?" You feel the alluring young woman's stomach tense up in your grip as she feels the throbbing, shaking motion inside her, and notices the sticky, gooey sensation of your balls emptying themselves inside her. Marisol's cock is not far behind - you hear a shrill cry as she turns Nia's tight pussy into a chocolate cream pie. It seems that Nia is really getting into it, too, as she leans in and keeps french-kissing Harmony even as the skinny latina girl awkwardly tries to hop off your lap. She lets out a nervous squeal when she finally disentangles her lips from Nia's.

"What the fuck? Please tell me you didn't - SHIT!" When she finally stands up, Harmony's voice cracks as she takes a bowlegged stance over you and sees the thick white stream of goo dribbling out of her. It is only then that Nia notices her own gooey predicament as she rolls to the side, and notices a sticky strand leading from the purplish head of Marison's thick cock to her snatch. The dark-skinned girl gets on her knees and hikes her butt high in the air, gasping softly as she flicks her pussy with her fingertips while Marisol's cum begins dribbling down her inner thigh. Harmony is staring down in disbelief as more and more of your potent semen dribbles out of her, a thick glob landing on one of her pristine white kneesocks.

Even if they only meant to spend today getting some quick spending money, it is highly likely that Nia and Harmony will be doing their part to help their home planet of Alseid win its battle against population decline. There's only so much that a single shady porn studio can do to alter the demographic trends of a planet with a population of half a billion, but if the thirty two (and counting) children of yours whose existence began on this studio set end up inheriting your libido - and your black-market genemods - you like to think that you'll be responsible for a burgeoning population surplus within a century or two. Especially since male talent and fellow futas you roped in have made dozens more contributions to the gene pool, alongside yours.

A minute later, you are sponging yourself off casually, utterly satisfied. Nia is berating Marisol in a sassy tone of voice, while your latest futanari partner in crime offers lame excuses for why she came so deep in her pussy. Harmony wasted no time in dashing to the shower. So sublime is your appreciation of the afterglow that you only remember somebody had been placing an expensive call to you when another one comes through. When you see what the commcode is, it is like having a bucket of cold water splashed on you.

"Oh. H-hello. Hi, Mom." you say to your mother, Amelia. "Wow. It's been forever since we talked, hasn't it?" you're trying to sound casual, but all of a sudden, you are uncomfortably reminded of that dirty blowjob-**** confession call that Ms. Glidden (your traveling companion for these past months) **** you to send to her. You figured that surely, if Amelia was going to get around to listening to that message and going ballistic over it, she would have a long time ago.

...or at least, that's the comforting story you told yourself at the time. In the face of it, it isn't nearly so convincing.

"Hello, Amanda." Amelia says. She looks a little... frazzled somehow. There is a flush in her cheeks, and her normally immaculate hair is just a little out of place, though she is wearing her usual business suit as you'd expect.

Somehow, you suspect that she has been visiting with that pink-haired doctor you've noticed making 'house calls' from time to time when you were back home. Normally you'd give her a smirk to tease her about it, but right now, the fact that you're wearing a loose-fitting bathrobe that barely covers your impressive cleavage makes you look even more guilty.

You overhear an exasperated feminine groan in the voice of Nia, the buxom ebony actress playing 'Cheerleader #2': "What do you mean, the director said so? I thought the damn script was called 'Cheerleader Cumshots'. Doesn't that mean it goes on the face? I told you I'm not on any birth control! Shiiiiit, if I get pregnant from this, you're taking responsibility." Your eyes widen and you glance down at your communicator to make sure it is in 'silent mode'. For two reasons - most importantly, because you don't want your mom overhearing talk like that, and also, because it'd be pretty awkward if you were having a conversation with your mom when Harmony got out of the shower. Fortunately it is set to mute your speech to anyone not on the call and vice versa.

"Something wrong, dear?" Amelia asks, noticing your guilty glance to the side. "I didn't interrupt you doing anything important, did I? By the looks of you, I assumed that you were simply in the midst of another sweaty, anonymous rendezvous. I do hope you are finding the time to do some actual work, instead of just coasting through life on my generosity?"

"Hey!" you give your glimmering fiery red hair a sassy toss and turn your nose up. "Everything I have, I earned! I pilot a freighter solo, you know? You didn't give me that, mom!"

"Amanda," Amelia says in her gently condescending tone, "don't you remember? You confessed during your visit on Spaceflight Day the year before last that you won that ship at a gambling table - after putting down money that was supposed to be your college tuition after you dropped out of the first one."

"Um. Shit. I didn't remember that. I'd had a lot to drink, huh?" you smile haplessely - then another chill runs through you. That visit was AFTER you started your bet with Claire - just a few months after your first stint running this disreputable porn studio. "I, uh... I didn't confess anything else while I was at it, did I?"

"I don't recall. Now, do you have time to talk, or am I going to have to absorb the cost of another expensive interstellar call while you get back to whoever or whatever you were doing?" Amelia asks. Damn - as much as it turns you on when Valerie scolds you about what your mother would think of the degenerate you've become, the real thing is making you bristle.

"I'll have you know," you say, "that I was in the middle of, um... reconciling some of the details regarding ambiguous wording in a very valuable contract I've taken, with the assistance of a very successful and respectable businesswoman."

It's all technically true. Marisol was indeed helping you find out whether the bonus score for impregnating cheerleaders applies to porn actresses who start the scene wearing a cheerleader costume.

"Well. That is a pleasant surprise, I suppose." Amelia says. "I don't like to nag, but I've been telling you that you can't live the free-wheeling spacer lifestyle forever. No one can. Eventually, you need to put down roots and make a life for yourself. I want to have grandkids some day, you know?"

Was that a smirk, like your mom was trying to suppress a giggle? Or did you imagine it? You keep walking and go to one of the private dressing rooms so you don't make a scene in front of the rest of the set.

Thinking about it, you can't help but develop a nervous grin yourself. Little does Amelia know that she's already a grandmother, almost seventy times over. In the past week alone, three flirty schoolgirls from St. Vivians have given birth to another three of Amelia's granddaughters... while here on Alseid, another amateur porn actress's egg is getting swarmed by your relentless sperm on a semi-daily basis even as dozens more from your visit last year are swinging around swollen tummies with more of Amelia's grandkids.

You're going to have to come clean about it eventually. But if she doesn't know yet, you think you'll hold off for the moment on telling mom 'Actually, I just made you a grandmother for the seventy-third-or-so time right after I turned down your first call'. So you just say "Don't worry about that, mom. I'm sure it will happen."

"Mmm.. I'm sure you can manage it if you see it as a challenge." Amelia's lips tighten into a condescending smirk.

That... was an odd way to phrase it. Surely she doesn't know about the bet? If she did, she'd say something. Amelia continues: "In any case, I'm calling about two urgent matters. Firstly, I need to know the next three stops you'll be at."

"Uh... why?" You ask.

"Because your birthday is coming up, Amanda." she says matter-of-factly.

"Mom!" you give a little groan of embarrassment. "I thought we agreed we weren't exchanging gifts anymore! I'm turning thirty seven, not seven! We haven't done gifts for years!"

"As your mother, it's my prerogative to ignore any such agreement whenever I see fit." Amelia says quite succinctly.

You roll your eyes. "Fiiine, void. I'll send you my hyperspace route. What was the other thing?"

"Also a favor. A lobbyist friend of mine from the interstellar real estate industry has specifically requested a meeting with you for something he wants to pitch. He says your past work has made quite an impression and he wants to shake your hand and discuss a lucrative partnership with you." she pauses. "He's from the Horsehead Nebula... And - please don't tell him I said this - a bit of a stereotype. You know... that whole out-of-date 'asteroid cowboy' persona. But, he's also very well-connected. Please promise me you'll at least hear him out?"

"Mommmmmmmmm," you say suspiciously, "you had better not be trying to set me up with some old rich creep with a futa fetish again. I've told you, I'm not-"

"Augh! No, dear! That was only two times. I wish you'd stop bringing it up." your mother says defensively. "I'm..." she pauses, "fairly certain that isn't his intention. At least 85%."

You roll your eyes. Amelia sighs. "Please, Amanda, I'm trying to do you a favor here. You don't want to remain a one-ship captain forever, do you? This could be your chance to move above and beyond. Would it help if I said that he likes to hold his meetings at luxury restaurants and always picks up the tab?"

Pursing your lips, you think of Marisol in the other room. Introducing her to a lucrative business partner would get you more points with her... and maybe getting some drinks in her with no women around will give you a chance to add another futa to your sprawling family tree. "Alright, fine."

"I'm so glad you agreed, dear." mom says, "...because his ship is docking at Alseid right now."

"What?!" You are taken aback.

"Like I said," Amelia continues, "he was very enthusiastic about meeting with you. He just messaged me back, actually. He says he'll see you at the 'Grand Gate Steakhouse', just outside the capital city spaceport, in two hours."

"Two hours? Void, mom - rushing it a bit, aren't you?" you ask incredulously.

"Promise me you'll be there? Here's what I'll offer - the next time you have a few too many drinks at a holiday and let slip something like the tuition-money-gambling story, I'll never bring it up again." Amelia says. Like many times, a playful smile breaks out across her normally stern face with a suddenness that catches you off guard.

You fold your arms. "...fine. I'll hold you to that."

The call comes to an end with a 'bwip' as the holographic screen vanishes. You sigh heavily. You were planning to direct a few boy-girl scenes while recharging, but you suppose you'll be punching out for the day.

A little over two hours later you are walking into the lobby of a fancy-looking restaurant... the kind with augmented reality pop-ups for every door and wall to inform you just how rare and expensive the building materials are.

The interstellar elite are here, in similarly overpriced brand name fashion. More than a few of them give your gaudy, cleavage-baring red sequined dress a disdainful look. Marisol, at your side, is much more elegantly dressed in a blue suede suit jacket and pencil skirt.

Compared to you or Claire, Marisol is a more humble and unassuming kind of pretty. She has her teal colored hair in that "power hair" that has been popular with female executives for centuries, short in the back with long bangs on the sides. By nature she is a bit more introverted, more comfortable going over price sheets and contracts for hours than spending an evening on the town, and unfamiliar with cutting loose rather than reciting a carefully prepared script in any kind of interaction. "This place looks expensive, Amanda. I told you, I can't use my expense account. This is officially a vacation, and I don't want the CEO looking too closely at the private investments I've been making here."

You grab the sleeve of a waiter, who gives you look as if you were a mugger pointing a vibroknife at him in a back alley. "Hey - I'm a few minutes late, I think that the person I'm meeting is already seated?"

"Name?" He asks with as much weary disdain as any human could possibly insert into a single syllable.

"Amanda Taffers." you say.

"Let me check." He scrolls through a holographic list. Even the hologram is ostentatiously fancy, resembling a ancient parchment scroll. "Mmmmmyes. Here it is. Party of five, reserved by a Monsieur 'Walsh'. Right this way."

As you start to follow after him, the name rings in your ears. 'Walsh'? Why does that name sound familiar? And why does hearing it again make your loins twitch pleasantly?

Then it hits you: that's a name you've been especially eager to be notified you that you're getting extra points for. "Oh, crap."