The starship “Ad Astra” has been my home for more than forty years; I was orphaned by the Nano Wars when I was 8, but my parents—who were influential with the New Hope Society—saw that I was taken aboard the giant interstellar vessel when the world political situation began to deteriorate.

Nearly 15 kilometers long, “Ad Astra” is basically a giant cylinder designed to rotate and create artificial gravity for the 10,000 people living inside; although I barely remember the cities of Earth, the older people say the inside resembles a quiet suburb, with apartment blocks, farms and rivers filling the inner surface of the cylinder.

Of course, if you live on this ship like me, you would know that, but this record may survive our interstellar journey. Originally, “Ad Astra” was propelled by a light sail—a vast rig designed to catch photons beamed at the ship from a gigantic laser in Earth’s orbit—but we lost the laser just two years into the journey.

Most of our crew figured the laser had been shot down by forces of the Terran Union—the military government of Earth, opposed to the New Hope Society—but, for whatever reason, a trip to Tau Ceti that should have taken half of my lifetime would take several hundred years instead.

But that wasn’t the end of our problems; shortly after the laser went down, all the men and boys on the ship started dropping dead. It appeared that the Terran Union had sabotaged our life support system with a Nano-Plague virus—one specifically aimed at males— and only about 50 young boys survived. I was one of them; as it happened, all of the hundred boys and girls in my school were quarantined in the ship’s hospital with Amazonian Meta-Pox-another disease probably foisted on us by the Terran Union—but ironically, that one saved my life.

I would stay in the hospital with other boys—ages 10 to 14—while the ship’s women systematically flushed the Nano-Plague virus from the life support system, and tossed the corpses of their fathers, brothers, sons and husbands into space. When I was finally let out of the hospital—now 11—I found I was treated like a priceless jewel.

Girls fussed over me, and women intervened whenever I looked like I might be doing anything remotely dangerous; but it was the same with all the other boys—we represented the only hope for the population’s survival. I didn’t understand that at the time; all I could see was how traumatized my stepmother was with the death of her husband, and how much my stepsisters Angel and Sara—ages 12 and 13—missed their dad.

With a catastrophe like that, things were never really normal again; women took over all the jobs men used to have—from farming, to life support maintenance, to firefighting—and we boys continued to be pampered.

But then, about two years later, something strange happened; women started getting pregnant all over the ship. That included my 8th grade teacher, our school principal— and my stepmother. Clearly she was embarrassed, she didn’t even tell me until she was six months along, and it was pretty obvious something had happened.

“But how can you have a baby without Dad?”

“Oh, Jason,” Mom said, embracing me as best she could, with her swollen belly between us; “Mommy had to have some help, now that your Dad is gone...”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, the Plague took away all our men,” Mom said, tearfully; “but we have to have babies to keep the colony alive...”

“So?”

“So Mommy had to have some help ... to make another baby...”

Mom didn’t clarify that—she was pretty upset—but I soon got a full run-down on the situation. At the start of the 9th grade, my beautiful teacher—the widowed Mrs. Amanda Blaylock—took me aside for a private meeting after school. I felt a little awkward about that; although I had only just entered her class.

I had seen her around the school before, and—when I first discovered masturbation a year before—she figured prominently in my fantasies. 42 years old, with a pretty face and long red hair— swept back with a barrette—she had huge breasts and trim sexy legs, generally complemented by strappy high-heeled sandals. Somehow, she didn’t quite seem to belong on an interstellar spacecraft, but every boy in school had a crush on her.

“Did you want to see me, Mrs. Blaylock?”

“Oh yes,” she said, inviting me to take a seat opposite hers.

“Jason, have you heard of the Seed Project?”

“The what...?”

“Well, I’m sure you’ve noticed that a lot of our women have been having babies recently. To be frank, that’s because Captain Brazil has ordered a crash-breeding program to reconstitute our male population. All our surviving males—ages 14 and up—are being asked to copulate with random, anonymous partners.”

At this point, Mrs. Blaylock crossed her legs and I felt dizzy— both from catching a glimpse of her panties beneath her skirt, and from trying to understand what she was saying.

“We haven’t involved the younger girls yet,” she continued, “but that’ll be changing soon. What I need to know is if you’d be willing to have sex with our females, so they can have babies.”

Suddenly—thinking about the many older girls and women I knew—I felt the blood draining from my head. I thought about the girls I’d had crushes on—the 10th grader Baksho Devi, my classmate Suki Nakayama, Mrs. Blaylock— and I nearly passed out.

“Easy there, tiger,” Mrs. Blaylock said, catching me as I reeled in my seat; “it’s not as exciting as you think.”

“Huh?” I said, woozily. Close by now, I could smell Mrs. Blaylock’s perfume—vaguely resembling fresh-baked bread--and recovered my senses.

“You’d have to do it in the dark,” Mrs. Blaylock explained, “and there’s no talking. It has to be impersonal, so you and your partner don’t recognize each other.”

“What if a girl ... doesn’t want to do it?”

“Well, that’s not an option; the captain wants the population built up now, before you boys get older and nuclear families start re-forming with husbands and wives. You can imagine, a husband wouldn’t necessarily want his wife to be going off to get poked by a random stranger every weekend.”

“Does this mean I can’t have a girlfriend? Would that be disruptive?”

“No,” Mrs. Blaylock said, smiling, “Project Seed is just for the short-term; eventually, boys and girls will go back to having normal lives.”

“So, should I ask my mom if it’s okay?”

“No, she already knows we’re having this talk. So what do you say?”

“I think I’d like to have sex,” I said.

“Good man. I knew you’d be a team player.”

Somewhat sheepishly, I told Mom about Project Seed, but she already knew all about it—that was where she’d gotten her baby. My sisters were a lot more embarrassed— they’d be partners for someone, too—but I was assured by Mrs. Blaylock that the computer wouldn’t assign me to someone from my family.

So I waited, impatiently, for my first appointment with a random partner. It would come the next weekend at the Ship’s Nursery-where all the anonymous coupling had been taking place—so, irrationally, I stopped masturbating, wanting to be as potent as possible.

Unfortunately, that meant my balls were positively aching with pressure by the time I showed up for my session, and the woman who greeted me could tell I was feeling uncomfortable. A nursery worker, her name was Dolly Mendoza, and she had a very maternal manner—generous and comforting—complimented by her chubby body, and a pair of positively gigantic breasts.

“Are you my partner?” I asked, stupidly, as she guided me into a bedchamber.

“No,” she said, “I’m just here to show you how things work.”

The chamber, I noted, was softly lit with low red light. It revealed a king-sized bed with plush sheets, and some other minimal furniture.

“We’ll turn down the lights all the way,” she said gently, “for your partner.”

“Should I get undressed?”

“Here, let me help you,” Dolly said.

She said it so matter-of-factly, I didn’t even think to protest. A few moments later, I was sitting naked on the side of the bed, with Dolly standing fully clothed beside me.

“Ma’am,” I said, “what’s it like ... the first time?”

She smiled. “It’ll be special. The girl knows it’s your first time.”

“Well, geez,” I said, “what if I cum too soon? I don’t want to embarrass her.”

Again, the matronly Dolly smiled. “Well, maybe I can help a little,” she said.

Then—to my utter amazement—she put her hand on my shoulder, and pushed me onto my back on the bed. Then— still fully clothed—she got on the bed with me, straddling my hips, and took my cock in her hand; I was rock-hard in a second, but—before I could even react— she lifted up her skirt with her free hand, pulled her panties aside, and settled down on top of me. I felt my drooling cock-head touch her velvety-soft labia, then slip inside her as she sank downward, sliding a wet sheath of fertile flesh down around my stiff penis.

“Oh, fuck...!” I gasped, feeling the helmet of my dick touch her cervix; I looked into her eyes—the eyes of a mother, compassionate and loving—and exploded deep inside her.

“Oh god...!” I grunted, suddenly grasping her hips and thrusting upward; she took my thrusts—groaning slightly as my sperm squirted into her belly—and I felt her inside muscles holding me, milking the cream from my balls. Then it was done. I relaxed and she knelt forward--still impaled on my cock—to kiss me on the cheek.

“I’ll give you a minute,” she said, “then send her in.”

“Wait a minute,” I said, “what if something happens, or she wants me to stop?”

She startled me with a gentle pelvic thrust—squeezing my cock.

“You see that green light beside the bed?” she said; “either one of you can touch that, and it will signal that you’re done.”

“What will happen if I talk?” I asked. “Will somebody throw me out?”

Again she squeezed my cock, gently, with her pussy. “No. It’s just not polite. And if you get too carried away, we might not ask you to come back.”

“Well, that wouldn’t be good.”

My gentle partner smiled, lifting back upright, and sat there a long moment cradling my shaft inside her. Then she rose up off me, and I lay there spent—for the moment—as she departed. A moment later the lights faded out completely, then the door slid open again with a slight hiss.

I didn’t know who she was—I made sure to keep quiet—and I wasn’t sure quite how old she was, but she seemed to know what she was doing. In the dark, she slid down beside me, and nuzzled my neck as she felt for my penis. It was still slick—I think that startled her a little— but I was instantly hard, and that was the main thing she cared about. She let me fondle her breasts—they were nice and firm—then pulled me over on top of her. Aware of my “virginity”, she gently guided my penis up to her hole, then eased the tip inside herself.

It certainly felt good; she was warm and soft inside, and I wondered who she might be—even as I felt my shaft sink inside her, and my balls came to a rest on her ass. Little Baksho? Suki? My Mom...?

Maybe it was even one of my stepsisters...

Of course, I knew better—but she was still somebody’s daughter, lying beneath me with my cock nudging her womb. The thought was certainly arousing; I started to grind her—deep and hard—and I felt her groan with delight. She probably expected me to cum soon, but my benefactor Dolly had taken the edge off; I was solid—-I could feel her pussy-mouth stretched around my shaft— and I could feel her cervix, too, every time I went deep. Whoever she was—young or old, student, technician or teacher—she was clearly pleased at my stamina, and wrapped her legs around my back, even as I pumped her.

“Oh, baby...!” she whispered, “Make me cum...!”

I didn’t recognize her voice, but I felt my cock stiffen even harder, realizing what I was doing to her. Inadvertently, I was grinding her clitoris between our pubic bones, and her pussy began to clutch at me, seeming to suck me deeper inside her.

“Oh, I think I’m gonna cum...” I whispered back.

Thankfully—for my youthful self-esteem—she came first, tensing her body, then shuddering as pleasure washed through her hips. She actually bit my shoulder— surprising me—even as her cunt sucked and pulled at my penis.