Woodrow Wilson (Woody) Smith was seated on the sofa between his two baby-doll nightie clad older sisters, Gay Deceiver and Friday. His younger sister, Star, was seated sideways on his lap, snuggled and happy in her sleeping t-shirt - head tucked into his shoulder. His mother, Maureen, was nearby, laid back in a recliner, wearing loose flannel pajamas. Woody’s parents were not history buffs; they were rabid fans of Robert Anson Heinlein. Google the names plus ‘Heinlein,’ you’ll see...
It was Christmas Eve, the first after his father’s death, and they were watching How The Grinch Stole Christmas! - the original, Boris Karloff version. When the narrator intoned, “Then he got an idea. An awful idea. The Grinch got a wonderful, awful idea!” Star got one, too.
She nuzzled Woody’s neck, stretched up and whispered into his ear, “Woody, if we were at a Mickey D’s and there was a pickup, would you take me?”
“Of course I would,” he responded, “but are you sure you know what you’re asking?”
“Like boning me with that monster that just started poking me through your boxers? Like filling me with a gazillion swimmers until I pop out a dozen little Woody’s? Like keeping me and loving me forever? Yep. I know,” she told him. “Even if there were no Swarm, I’d want that.” She reached for his left hand and placed it on her A-cup tittie.
“There’s a dilemma though,” Woody told her while lightly pinching her nipple. “What if the whole family were with us? My CAP is only 6.8. If Gay and Friday wanted to go, I couldn’t take them both.”
Their not-so-subtle discussion caught the attention of the surrounding siblings. “Take us where?” asked Gay. “And why would we want to go?”
“I dunno if you’d want to,” he responded. “That’s part of the issue at hand.”
“What issue?” queried Friday. “You’re confusing us.”
“Hush up and listen!” directed Star. “I asked Woody if he would take me with him if we were together at a pickup. He said that he would, but then backpedaled about he couldn’t take both of you – that is, if you wanted to go with us.”
“Kinky. Woody’s babies. I like it!” exclaimed Friday while Gay announced, “Of course we’d want to go. He makes our panties wet.”
“Am I too old to get in on this deal?” asked a somewhat bemused Maureen Johnson Smith. “You make me wet, too.”
“I’m not wearing panties,” declared Star, and she wiggled her butt into Woody’s lap.
The Grinch was ignored and the scheming began.
“Sponsors can bring their under-fourteen dependents,” said Gay, “but we are over fourteen and not your dependents.”
“Captain Obvious,” declared Friday.
“Hush,” demanded Gay, “I’m trying to think out loud. It’s called ‘brainstorming.’ No negatives – you only throw out ideas.”
“So what makes someone a dependent?” asked Star.
“They must be under fourteen,” Woody started. “They can be the sponsor’s child or his concubine’s child.”
“I’ve heard that adopted children, foster children, and sometimes even children who are documented as ‘in loco parentis’ can be extracted as dependents,” enumerated Gay.
“That seems to leave some wiggle room,” Maureen chimed in. “I wonder if there is a lower age limit for dependents.”
“By George, I think she’s hit on something,” chortled Gay. “If a woman is pregnant with a sponsor’s unborn child, is that child his dependent? This bears further exploration.”
“Are you saying that if an AI recognizes the unborn child as a dependent, that child must be extracted just like any other dependent?” asked Friday. “That would mean they would have to extract the oven along with the bun!”
“Bears researching, but we might only find out for sure if we’re in an actual pickup,” Woody groused.
“Doesn’t matter much,” enthused Star, “now we have hope. We’ll just have to plan and plot and make it happen. Regardless, I want your baby anyway. Can we start tonight?”
Maureen was a practical woman. All four women of the family were on birth control pills. Emphasis on the ‘were’, as they all ceased immediately – even though plans were far from complete. Pregnancy with Woody’s child became a new priority.
The trip upstairs began with Woody setting Star on her feet, then taking her hand and leading her.
“My room for the honeymoons,” offered Maureen.
It wasn’t very long before the wheedling – err negotiations – began.
“Woody?” asked Star late one night after a particularly energetic episode of baby making, “Do you think Betriz is sexy? She thinks you are hunky.”
“Where did that come from?” asked Woody. He was bemused at the timing, but he wasn’t surprised at the question. Star had a well-deserved reputation for the devious.
Star rimmed the outside of his left ear with a light touch, causing a shiver. “I was just thinking,” she whispered, “if you manage to take two extra ovens along, why not three? Betriz has been my best friend since kindergarten, and I would really, really miss her. She’s fourteen and still has her cherry. She told me that she wants you to take it.”
“That may be,” Woody responded, feeling a stiffening, “but what makes you think she wants to be just one of my sex slaves – not even a concubine - just another oven baking my bun?”
“Silly!” Star told him, “She told me that she would love to be your concubine, and what’s the difference? I haven’t told her anything about our plot – ahhh, plan – but I’m sure that wouldn’t change anything. Regardless, she wants your baby in case you have to leave without her. Will you do that for her? For us?”
With a growl, Woody answered in the affirmative by rolling Star over and riding her still-wet pussy until they were exhausted by multiple cums.
The next morning, Star’s burst of enthusiastic happiness alerted Woody’s other siblings and Maureen that something new was up. Star, usually more than capable of keeping confidences, nevertheless, spilled the beans. There was a collective intake, then, “Fawn has always coveted your bod, little brother,” Gay told him. “She was really pissed when she found out that she couldn’t have your cherry. If we are expanding beyond family, she’d be a great fit.”
Needless to say, the ever-competitive Friday, chimed in, “What about Cyb and Patricia Barnstable? Every stud needs a pair of sexy twins.”
Woody turned helplessly to Maureen, but she stared back and asked, “What? With a gaggle of teens, I was thinking that it would be a very good thing to have another experienced adult to help maintain a semblance of order. You get a boner every time your Aunt Grace bends over – front or back – surely you’d like to ‘do’ her.” She looked thoughtful, then added, “And maybe your cousin Ricky.”
Woody was stunned. He had lusted after his aunt, the beautiful Grace Cargraves Mueller, ever since he realized that boobs weren’t just food containers. In other words, for the majority of his life. And Ricky? Ricky was a younger model of her mother – beautiful, smart, brave – every man and boy’s walking wet dream. He and Star and Ricky had played many a game of ‘doctor’ and other exploratory games. How could he not want them?
But wait, Ricky was a sponsor with a CAP of 7.1. A joint household and a pre-pack might solve some of the numbers issues, but still, ten pregnant women? Whoa boy! Boy howdy! How were they going to snooker an AI on this one?
It was close to Easter when the doorbell rang, and Woody answered to find Marjorie Baldwin, his English teacher, and Johanna Macy, who taught both physics and math. “May we come in?” asked Mrs. Baldwin.
“Of course, but Mom is out shopping,” Woody replied, then asked, “Am I in some sort or trouble?”
“Not at all,” was the response, “but we needed to talk with you.”
As Ms. Macy was blind, he took her arm, guided both women into the formal living room, seated them, and offered drinks.
When they were settled, Woody asked them, “If I’m not in trouble, what’s this about? You needed to talk to me about what?”
“Something’s changed with you,” answered Ms. Macy, “something noticeable even to a blind person.”
“Something,” echoed Ms. Baldwin, “and we think we want to be a part of it – if we can.”
“Changed, how?” asked the bemused Woody. “And part of what?”
“So first,” started Ms. Baldwin, “Away from school, we want to be called Margie and Anne. Changed – well - you’re more mature, more self-assured than you were at the start of the school year. And girls. There’s always at least three around you, but excepting your sister Star, it’s seldom the same girls – at least not the same combination. And at lunch, my word, your table is full of girls. Pretty girls. Plain girls. Social girls and introverts.”
She paused and Anne took over, “Clearly, they know something. You either have an unbelievable CAP or you’re part of a pre-pack. Either way, we want a chance to go with you.”
“I didn’t realize it was that visible,” Woody began to explain. “Anne, Margie, I need for you to promise this will not go anywhere if I tell you.” When they agreed, he continued, “I don’t have a super good CAP, but I can volunteer, and so can my cousin Ricky. BUT, we came up with this plan – around a loophole we think we’ve found.” He detailed their assumptions and logic.
The two women were momentarily speechless, then Anne told him, “We’re in – at least we think so – maybe.” She was flustered.
“Look, for this to work, you need to be pregnant with my child or another sponsor’s child,” Woody told them. “I don’t know if this will work one time, much less two. You need to be sure – that you are willing to take the risk of getting pregnant and then trusting your sponsor to honor his commitment. On the plus side, you shouldn’t need to be present at the initial extraction – you’d be retrieved as the carrier of a volunteer’s dependent.”
“Given the chance, I would honor my commitment to you,” he assured them, “And I know that I like you enough that I wouldn’t trade you away if we are picked up. So, if you will, I will.”
“Now, both of you have another decision to make,” Woody told them. “Margie, your decision is sooner than Anne’s, but both are very real. Gail is fourteen. If you want your daughter to go with us, you are basically asking me to fuck her pregnant, too.” He was deliberately crude to make them think this part through as well. “She’s cute – and has personality, and well ... I like her. She’d have to make her own decision – but you’d have to live with that risk, too.” She nodded thoughtfully.
“Anne, your decision isn’t that much different,” he looked at his other teacher. “Amity is thirteen and could come with you if this happened soon enough, but when she turns fourteen, the same question applies.”
Woody took a deep breath and threw out another consideration, “You know, if all this comes to pass, I’m going to be balls deep in poontang – literally.” More deliberate crudity. “You two need to think about your own sexual needs. My cousin, Ricky, was going to cover some of the concubine numbers issue out of her CAP 7 plus allocation, but was also planning to bring at least one male concubine as a fill-in stud. Now, I think she would need to bring at least two, maybe three. Her decision.”
“Margie, both Hartley and Joe are too young for CAP testing, but if they don’t test as sponsors, and I keep them as concubines, you’re looking at your sons having sex with you and your daughters.” The two women were dazed.
“Some of this would apply whoever becomes your sponsor. Lots to think about.”
“You don’t think like a low-CAP man,” Anne told him. “We’ll chew it over and get back to you. We’re grateful that you will consider us.”
When they stood to leave, Woody hugged each of them and said, “Look, why don’t you come to dinner around six PM tomorrow. Bring Amity and Gail so we can hash this through with them.”
He received a kiss on the cheek from each, and they departed.
‘There go two classy ladies,’ Woody thought, ‘I’d be fuckin’ lucky to have them.’
Sub-Decurion Barry Manilow Smith was having a nightmare when the AI woke him. His peripheral involvement with a key extraction had won him a promotion. That same involvement merited an eventual assignment as the designated lunar go-to Civil Service Officer For Answering Stupid Questions. The Looney Lunatic’ Looey.