A Sissy in the 22nd Century Pt. 05

She grinned as she brushed a hand against Jesse's smooth and powdered cheekbones.

"But in here's the tongue that made even the demon headmistress blush... on your first day!"

Suddenly, her eyes bulged white... and her thighs slammed shut around Jesse's neck like an iron vice! The sissy panicked, struggling to free himself as he was pulled forward by the girl's spasming muscles. Until Silvertongue's face and voice appeared over Fran's shoulder, demystifying what had occurred.

"Slandering Madame Stanfield is not a punishment I hand out twice, girl... Show some respect!"

The terrified-looking schoolgirl was obviously trying to turn her head and nod, but could barely manage it while the teeth-gritting electric shocks ravaged her body. Meanwhile, the sissy trapped between her legs was finding his face already grinding against the slight stubble of her sex; as the raw strength of those thighs was simply locked into full tension. It horrified him how little he could do against the unintended grip of this girl who, from all accounts: had been getting quite an impressive workout down here every day since she came of age. The sweetly-pungent scent of her pussy filled his nose as its growing wetness was rubbed against his lips. Guiltily, despite her obvious distress, all he was hoping was that she didn't wet herself from the overloading experience.

Neither of these plights seemed to particularly concern Silvertongue, the diminutive teacher who currently towered over them both. He kept the paralysing punishment going impassively. But something Fran had said clearly had intrigued him:

"Is that true, though? Did you get a chance to taste our glorious headmistress on your very first day here?"

Jesse did his best to nod meekly... Afraid that even answering truthfully might get the shocks increased and his head severed from its shoulders by Fran's ridiculous strength.

Silvertongue just sounded distant and thoughtful, though. Looking down on this currently strangling student in a new light.

"And you're still here... Now that is impressive..."

He walked away, making it five steps before absentmindedly remembering to turn off the collar. Leaning down to give some advice to another pairing of students without a glance back at the gasping Jesse and Fran. As soon as the girl could: she was smothering her partner with apologetic kisses, shooting the teacher dirty glances whenever his back was turned. But Jesse himself was more filled with anxiety about a past mistake, where he had clearly got away more lightly than even he had realised...

He got back to work lapping at Fran's dripping entrance as soon as he could. Determined not to waste any more lesson time and to try to replicate whatever had worked back then. If he was going to survive in this harsh world he needed to understand what it was that people valued him for... and he could start by giving his chastised friend here the gentler, more-effeminate orgasm she craved.

Chapter 5: Submissive Posturing

"That's right. Let me see those big, watery eyes of yours." Ms Julian stood overshadowing him, naked again... as seemed to be her preferred state for teaching. She used a long, wooden ruler to tap and prod Jesse's kneeling body into the perfect form. 'Submissive Postures' was the name of today's lesson, though the sissy teacher had affectionately subtitled it 'Begging 101'. The whole class was down on their knees: Doing their very best to look like mewling kittens begging for scraps...

...Meanwhile, several hundred miles away: The day's activities in Procreation Centre 57 were plodding along as usual. Even for the 'new sows', as they were not-so-affectionately referred to. The routine had already settled in monotonously: When they first arrived there was a round of warm-up exercises, vital to get the juices flowing and ensure no-one tore muscles in the long day ahead. From there they went straight on to the morning session: Catching the waiting lines of sperm donors who had been called up for this service to the community before they headed off to whatever work or pleasures would fill the rest of their day. Then there was a short lesson in theory... Today on the correct foods to eat in order to maintain peak fertility and not influence the flavour of any milk they might soon produce. Not that the Algorithm ever provided them with any dining options outside of those restraints.

Betsy relished these short opportunities for learning; regardless of the rather pointless and extremely narrow fields of subject matter. Her mind just craved an influx of new information to fold away and absorb, though the knees-to-chest crunching positions they were required to maintain while watching the screens got rather uncomfortable after a while. After that there was indeed a lunch of rather bland, but nutritious food... Designed more for the fitness of their future children than themselves. The already rather stocky girl had noted that most of the older breeders had a distinct curvature to them that, while not unpleasing to the eye... told you exactly where all these bowls of quinoa and oat porridge stuck to. A good set of hips suddenly seemed to be the most desirable attributes you could have, after all.

Then it was back onto the 'shop floor', in order to catch the next rush of eager penises... This time mostly comprised of those who volunteered themselves for the task, out of some brooding sense of genetic duty or just a burning fetish for a certain shape of lover. Each girl might earn themselves 8 or 9 vagina-fulls of ovary-seeking squigglers over the course of the afternoon. The atmosphere was pretty relaxed though. They all just rolled around a room full of wipe-clean mattresses and handily-placed beanbags, waiting for the next visitor to wander over and slide in. There was no particular rush or quotas to meet, at least ahead of this first pregnancy. They were trusted to get themselves knocked up one day or another, what with the constant flow of cocks sent their way. In fact, the entire lifestyle in general seemed so very slow paced and gentle to Betsy, after all the squabbles and pressures of basic education. The rest of her compatriots just chatted aimlessly and amiably to each other, mostly about all the dream attributes their children-to-be would have; while one man or another thumped away between their legs.

That, or described every single cock they'd experienced in adoring detail before spending another few minutes squealing and groaning like pigs in a slaughterhouse... It would seem some of those who ended up here did so because they really liked being fucked twenty-odd times a day. The scion of Home 23 had never thought herself shy or squeamish at all, until she heard some of the colourful language deployed by the 'sperm addicts', as she mentally categorised them.

While she herself was finding the constant penetrations... pleasurable, but repetitive... She enjoyed a good dick-ramming as much as the next girl but, there was something just clinical and factory-processed in the way each cock just turned up and jammed itself inside her. She began to lose track of the faces. Only recognising the differing feel of one bigger, or smaller, or girthier invader from another. She didn't need to be driven into the floor by the pistoning efforts of a muscular hunk, and barely any of the huge variety of men she'd already met blushed, or squeaked. There was no time to play subtle games of arousal, lying together in darkness and privacy. They played their role, and then they left... any goodbyes probably drowned out by the pantomime squawking of the next cum-dump over. Betsy still felt a glowing warmth in the idea of producing a whole new generation of humanity. Who might even go on to live forever: Seeing and experiencing and creating such miracles that she could hardly even imagine... But the physical practicalities of doing so... were already beginning to wear at her.

Chapter 6: Punished with Love

"Are you alright?" Asked a voice, close by and slightly out of breath. It took Betsy a second or two to realise it belonged to the man currently inside her and bucking his hips against hers. She had been lost in thought again, and rather out of orgasms at this point. Come late afternoon, her body just seemed to settle acceptingly into its role as a cock-receptacle... without wanting to bother her by making a fuss about it. Most of her partners didn't even appear to notice this. Some seemed to actively seek out the most bored-looking girls. She'd never realised even passive disinterest could be a fetish.

This man was different though... a little scruffy and unshorn. She'd seen him come and go for most of the week's sessions, unhurriedly traipsing over to whichever girls had not been picked out by the more discerning customers. He looked to be somewhere in his early forties, always wearing the same workman's jumpsuit. She realised she'd seen him around outside of the usual visiting hours too; carrying around a bag of tools and tinkering with various bits of machinery the maintenance robots were struggling with. It had been him, in fact, that she'd had a fascinating discussion about the milking pumps with. Betsy found it odd that she hadn't recognised him quicker after that... The man just seemed to blend into the background here.

"Oh, no. I'm fine... Sorry! Do you want me to move about and moan more?" The girl went a shade of red that almost matched the one she was thinking of. She didn't want to seem rude in her daydreaming away from this gentleman's panting efforts. But then, he didn't seem particularly upset about it either.

"Don't worry about all that..." He murmured, his soft tone holding a gentle world-weariness that suddenly made Betsy feel like all her concerns were just silly and girlish. "We're both just going through the motions at this point. I wouldn't have bothered you... 'cept they get antsy if I don't fill my quota for the day."

Betsy was intrigued. She'd just been thinking that it was odd that there were no quotas placed upon them... and that this whole thing could be run a lot more efficiently if the aim was just to get each of them to pop out a baby every 9 months or so. Yet, here was one of the people she'd thought were getting the most out of this arrangement, looking decidedly unhappy to be here.

"Do they pay you to come here?" She asked, wondering if it was a 'filling up the numbers' sort of thing, in order to give the new girls more practice.

"Not really... no." Replied the man, leaning back upright for a moment between her legs and scratching his head. He was clearly a little uncomfortable talking about himself... but did so anyway. "It's more a part of my punishment... community service, working detention... that sorta thing. I've been living and working here for... well, years now... an' this is just part of it."

Betsy felt the rough, calloused surface of the man's hand upon her naked hip. Not to mention the thickness and weight of his penis inside of her. She'd never even considered that the algorithm might let criminals come in and fuck them. Her heart seemed to leap sharply in her chest.

Yet... the man could clearly see the fear creeping in to the way she looked up at him, and his reaction to that was a look of such dismal dismay, that she hardly felt she could be intimidated by him. It was almost perfectly the look of a kicked puppy that Jesse grew across his features, when he thought he'd disappointed you. That same, wide heart of hers could not resist such a pull.

"What... What did you do?" She asked... deciding that her opinion was best shaped by knowing more about this deflated creature. He could just be a victim of circumstance, after all.

"Well I... I don't rightly know, actually..." The man sighed. That admission clearly being an old, but still open, wound. "They must've mind-wiped me after I did it... whatever it was..."

He looked down at the eighteen year old he was buried to the hilt in. Assessing him with clever, but kind eyes. Something in that gentle calculation made him want to talk... to share some of the soreness that ate away inside of him, year after year.

"All I can bring up is this feeling I was looking for something... something important... but I don't even know if I found it..."

Chapter 7: Friendships Forged, in crimes Forgotten

"Maybe you were a corporate spy?" Betsy offered. "You were looking for some sort of secret data in a rival company and got caught...?"

They had turned guessing what crime the man might have committed into a game, of sorts. While below the continued mashing of their flesh together carried along casually, so as not to raise suspicion. Betsy found she simply couldn't be afraid of such a quiet, world-beaten shade of a man such as this... and was actually finding the chance to have a conversation that didn't revolve around babies or penises very refreshing. Her latest theory was a fairly good one too. Everyone knew the big corporations were forever sneaking agents into each other's operations... Trying to pick up on whatever dirty deals and secret projects were being kept from public eyes. It would make sense that the punishments they dealt out when one was caught were more along the lines of just silencing and side-lining the man or woman in question. Mindwipes were not a perfect science yet, after all... They would want to keep an eye on those who had learned things they shouldn't.

It made the intelligent girl ponder a little more on her own instinctual abhorrence of those who stepped out of line in her world. Civilian crime as a concept was such a rarity these days, at least according to the statistics that were proudly displayed on every newscast for all to see. That even mention of it sent a shiver of fear through her... As if that was the first step back toward the bad, old days: of war and murder and famines.

The Algorithm protected them from all that: by giving those who might otherwise have such urges safe and alternative routes to vent their frustrations. If you wanted to hurt someone, why... There was always someone who wanted to be hurt. Complete with self-managed pain receptors and the training to make sure they knew their own limits. It all worked. To the point where only big businesses really needed to hire their own private security firms in order to protect from each other. Even those dropouts and delinquents who refused to engage with society knew they couldn't step far out of line without finding themselves at the hands of squads of bored and sadistic 'Corpos'. Who had little better to do than trade insults with each other or chase down small time troublemakers when their company-provided playthings needed a rest.

"What's your name?" She asked, out of the blue. Realising that, if anything, her failure to acquire that had been the rudest part of their interaction.

However, the pained look came back across his face... Telling her all she needed to know by way of answer. Throughout their exchange, the physical connection they were sharing communicated as much as the words. Even deep inside her, his manhood deflated with the confirmation that they had taken even that from him too... Degrading his base humanity to just a uniform and half a purpose. Again, it made sense if he had found something he wasn't supposed to... Names could be traced, even if not written down.

She wondered how many slightly-addled, memory-less men and women like this one there were... Dotted amongst the various offices and private holdings. Found small and repetitive tasks to do, despite the leagues of automated drones that made such things generally unnecessary. Her sharp mind even took note of the little inefficiencies. The clumsiness of some of the older maintenance machines... and wondered if they, too, were left operating for a reason. Everything in society was set up to provide fulfilment. It was what unlimited fulfilment meant, that was beginning to itch at her; with a belly full of semen and a head guiltily delighted to have a new puzzle to scratch upon.

"Well I'm going to call you 'Finder'" She declared. "Because I don't think you would've ended up here if you hadn't found what you were looking for..."

The older man smiled, at that small kindness. His young cumdump-of-the-moment feeling the slight, but real invigoration that it brought. It was true: at least he could be fairly convinced his original duty had been fulfilled... To still be being punished for it. Between the two of them, a final, concerted push was made. Pouring their newly made acquaintance together, until Betsy's inner passages were once again doused with another small quantity of sticky success. Their task together was complete, at least for today... and each could lie back and bask in the warmth of that. Perhaps even believing that that deposit, among all the others so far... Would be the one to produce her first child.

Chapter 8: Pulled Aside and Stood Upon

Jesse poked out his tongue, nervously. Daintily. He didn't really know how to approach this.

A somewhat random selection of seniors had been recruited in by Ms Julian, presumably just whomever was free from other duties at the time. A few that the sissy now recognised, a few that he did not... but all having brought their own variations on black, leather boots.

The pair that he had been tasked with cleaning belonged to the dark-skinned goddess who had stood so proudly silent through their welcoming ceremony. The boots themselves were tall and sturdy and old fashioned. Embellished only with a silver-looped trim which perfectly echoed, and in fact latched into, those thousand delicate chains which weaved around and were laced into her body. Clearly having been remodified by Mrs Durren to fit their latest in a long line of owners.

Staring up from his grovelling position, face near the floor and ass in the air... The young woman looked to be a hundred foot tall to the small, pale boy. He could barely bring himself to gaze past all those ferocious curves and glittering links to meet the eyes far above. Yet the stare that held him there was unshakeable: Cold, but not contemptuous. Superior, but not condescending. It was a visage that knew its own place and duty, and told you: you should be getting on with yours. Without question of argument or hesitation.

So Jesse proceeded to do as he had been instructed, running his taste buds across already-polished leather. The flavour was one of old, imperial dignity. Nature's musk cured with chemicals to stave off a march through endless rainy days. Its smell filled his nostrils and told him these boots had already seen more of the world than he might ever, and would still be capable of stomping on the likes of him a century from now. The sissy wondered how many other pathetic, mewling creatures such as himself had already kissed these same folds of stitched and laced-up leather? He almost felt a beat of pride, himself: To join in their ranks of submission. He was passing on a flutter of lips and prayer of lowliness from one generation to the next. That made all senses of debasement and humiliation here seem vain, and trivial. Here he was, on his knees, among a whole line of his classmates doing the same. Just the next class of trainee sluts in this school's oh-so vaunted history. What could he possibly have to complain about? This was how the world turned.

The older girl above him seemed to sense some measure of this acceptance growing within him. As it too, must have slowly come to her. She carefully raised one boot and set its toe pressing upon his shoulder blade... not hard and not too heavily. The click of her heel settling into this new position was just an announcement nearby his ear. The weight she pushed down upon him: just a measure of her trust that he would not buck or unbalance her. It lowered him down further to reach more of the other boot, the press of his own knees into his chest the only real discomfort... besides the traitorous rise of his little cock towards his belly-button. Jesse kept his arms clasped behind his back, however, as he had been told they had to remain. He was beginning to trust this silent marvel of womankind and her clearly proven training, more than he had ever trusted much of anything in his life. Somehow, it was so much easier... to hold out his heart and soul; when the receiver simply had the confidence to reach in and claim them. He felt the cooling press of the floor against his face and found himself more at home than he ever thought was possible. This was surely what the universe had been trying to tell him, through all those years of hardship.