The Next Generation (Epilogue)

You adjusted your maid's skirt, cleaning the dust from the floor beneath Carrie and John's bed. The skirt rode up regardless, exposing your tight white ass.

"Giving me a show, Joanie?" Carrie asked, smirking. You peered back, flushing.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Putnam, I ..." Carrie chuckled, shushing you.

"How's Trey doing?" she said, the smirk returning. She was referring to John Putnam III, your 'son' with Ashley. Your dad had bred all the women now, and he was at your place right now, working on number two with Ashley.

"He's fine, Mrs. Putnam," you replied.

"And looks like Antonio has been busy," she observed. You still had cum leaking from Antonio's session with you that morning. It was an elegant, set up, really. Intelligent, beautiful women. Weak beta servant males. Strong alpha males for each household. But just one breeder, your dad.

And that is how it went. By the time he'd fully retired, he'd bred the women of their little commune scores of times, collectively. You and Ashley had ten children, all from your dad. The delivery men had pallets of diapers and supplies to deliver, and the local school was filled with children, many sandy haired, all intelligent and athletic. Through the simple promise you asked Carrie to make, you'd increased the quality of the local gene pool for generations to come, at the expense of your own ability to ever conceive a child. But there were far worse paths you could have taken.