The near future...

With all the processed food and microplastics in everything, it was inevitable that some adverse effect on humans would occur. When it finally did, it was unexpected and devastating: the majority of men’s sperm count dropped dramatically and there seemed to be no cure. Without government intervention, the human race would die out, so a bill was passed: AI would match up fertile women with the remaining men that could still sire children. Denying the mandate meant jail time until the woman relented and fulfilled her patriotic duty. Needless to say, birth control was outlawed, and because of the Christian fundamentalists, artificial insemination was banned at the same time; the only way women could have children was the old-fashioned way, and if some lesbians got converted to liking dick, so much the better.

The AI systems were fed raw data from a myriad of sources, including biometrics from smart devices so that they knew when women were close to ovulation, and then a breeder was dispatched. Much like with the third-party food delivery services, the breeder was selected from various factors like proximity, but also genetic and racial matching if the woman had a life partner so the child would at least look like it was both of theirs. However, like all novel technical systems, it deployed without sufficient safeguards.

For example, Ms. Amaya Bennett, a coordinator for the program, was getting railed from behind over the back of her couch, the gorgeous Black woman’s D-cups bouncing in time with the thrusts from the breeder holding her wide, childbearing hips. She, herself, wouldn’t be chosen by the program because it would interfere with her duties, but she’d been propositioned by the white man currently stretching her unprotected insides with his thick, 8-inch cock. With all the women that had been impregnated at her say-so while she was forbidden from participating ... well, some people just want what they can’t have.

“Fuck ... fuck...” she moaned as Hunter Shale’s proven babymaker knocked at the entrance to her welcoming womb. “Hunter ... so fuckin’ good...”

“Grade A pussy,” the brown-haired young man responded as he felt the telltale tingle in his testicles. “Gonna cum soon ... you sure you want it inside?”

The 30-year-old woman’s body went crazy and she thrust her rounded butt back at him. “Yes! Oh fuck, yes!”

“Okay...” He reached around to paw at her sizable boobs, the angle pushing her forward so that he was fucking down into her at a 45-degree angle.

“Mmfh!” she gasped into her couch cushions.

“ ... here it ... comes...”

“MFH! Giveittomeee...”

“UNGH!”

“ ... eeEEEE!” she screamed as she felt his hot, potent load blossom within her wanton depths. “U-hughk! O-hh!”

“Ngh! Mm!” Hunter grunted as the last of his voluminous discharge insinuated itself deep inside the lustful beauty. Then he carefully extricated himself and grabbed some tissues to clean up. “Where’s your tablet?”

“Right here.” Amaya rolled onto the couch, grabbed the device from the coffee table, and unlocked it. Then she draped her legs over the arm of the sofa to keep her hips elevated as Hunter took the tablet and sat at the dining room table to review the upcoming candidates. The 19-year-old had been a breeder for the better part of a year now, straight out of high school, and while the job had its perks, the random nature of his assignments were sometimes a thorn. A fertile woman didn’t necessarily mean an attractive one.

He’d earmarked a couple of candidates when he spotted a familiar face. “No way...” He selected the photo and it expanded with more data. Yes, it was her! He assigned himself to the job.

Mrs. Ellen Schneider chewed her nails as she waited. It was a nasty habit that the 32-year-old thought she’d broken, but the official notice had filled her with such anxiety that she’d relapsed. Her husband just watched TV and had another beer, his fourth that night.

At the sound of the doorbell, she winced and rose, brushing imaginary dust off of her negligee with her shaking hands. The notice had advised sexy bedclothes to set the mood. Feeling like a death row inmate, she moved down the entryway to open the door.

“Hey, Mrs. Schneider.”

She frowned upon seeing the young man with his cocksure grin. “Hunter? What ... why are you here?”

“Based on how you’re dressed, you know ... you going to invite me in?”

“You’re ... you?”

“Yes, I AM me ... I’m also your breeder.” He took a step forward and she made way. “Nice apartment, Mrs. S.” He took off his shoes and made his way further inside. “Mr. S, I presume.”

The older man wouldn’t even look at the newcomer, keeping his eyes firmly on his TV show.

Ellen came padding up. “Um, Hunter ... isn’t this a breach of protocol? I’m your teacher.”

“I graduated ... you’re no longer my teacher. Don’t worry, I have a high rate of success.” He noted the wince on the husband’s face as he said that. The poor loser had his testes all stopped up with microplastics. “Right ... so, given our previous acquaintance, you probably don’t want to go straight to the breeding, eh?” he asked his former teacher while his eyes gave her a once-over: a beautiful, oval face, luscious brown hair, an hourglass figure with C-cup breasts, and those legs ... in school, she had worn a lot of above-the-knee skirts with pantyhose that accentuated those gorgeous gams. Under her negligee, her legs were pale and bare, but no less beautiful.

Ellen paused. “Do you ... want a drink?” She pointed to her husband’s remaining beers.

Hunter unzipped, freeing his 8” thickness. “Nope, but I’d like you to get your hand working on this.” He heard stereo sharp intakes of breath, but when he turned toward the husband, the man still had his eyes firmly fixed on the TV. Hunter turned back to the older woman.

Her eyes were wide. “Do ... do I have to?”

“Nope! I can just bend you over the couch right now, but without some foreplay, it’ll probably take a while. I figure for your first seeding with me, you get me close with your hand, I thrust inside, spurt, and we’re done. Unless...?”

“No! No, that’s fine.” She stepped forward, her eyes on Hunter’s meat missile, then looked at her husband. “Maybe we should go into the bedroom?”

“If I see a bed, Mrs. S, I’ll want to do a lot more than the bare minimum.”

She gulped -- “Okay...” -- and tentatively took a hold of the young man’s thick prong before moving her grip along it, marveling that her fingers couldn’t quite touch her thumb as she did.

“Am I bigger than your husband?” the young man whispered.

She blushed but said nothing as she whacked her former student off.