tagSci-Fi & FantasyBred for Pleasure

Bred for Pleasure


Author's note: This is my second sci-fi category story. Creating a world with consistent internal logic is difficult. I'm requesting comments of all kinds to help me improve my writing. Thanks!


A woman and her Companion

I sit. Bunk is here. Water is here. Toilet is here. The air is only clean, chemical smells. I tried the bars. They do not move. I called for Her many times. I tried the bars many times. The Man pricked my arm and I slept. I used my towel. I'm clean. The food is good, but different from Hers. Where is She? She is alone. I should be at Her side. I'm lost. I sit. I stay.


Meghan put down the screen and rubbed her eyes. Three hours of entertainment was not, ultimately, entertaining. Her room felt cramped. She ran her fingers through her tight gray-blond curls, massaging the scalp, groaning with the tingle of it. Yoga was back in style and she moved through a few poses to recalibrate. Maybe a stroll through the market would help. She slipped on a short sundress to cover her nakedness.

When she'd relocated to the Anachro-village her daughter, Dolores, had laughed. "You aren't a Luddite, mom, you're first generation. You don't belong there." But as she got older and her generation died away she found it comforting to keep to some of the old ways. Like walking down a street of real shops, passing real people. Touching real things. Of course the young in the City never knew these experiences so had no way to miss them. Would they have their own nostalgia? she wondered. Would a mind living in an eternally young body be eternally in the present?

She knew Dolores worried about her being alone. Guilt mostly, Meghan supposed. Hers would be the last generation put to rest, the last whose children would mourn. It comforted her to think that some of the old ways would be composted with her. She worried that she wasn't a good enough parent for her child, but Dolores really didn't seem to care. The kids were care-free in their brave new virtual world. This little guilt exchange was about the only thing left to them in common.

In the market the low sun warmed the brick sidewalk, where it wasn't lacing the pavement with leaf-shadow, caressing her bare shoulders as she passed from shade to sunlight. A few others strolled the street, clothed, like old people, but none she knew by name. Meghan carried her shopping basket and squeezed a mango or two at the stall of the grocer. She touched the screen at the side and ordered, knowing she would find the fruit waiting for her in the apartment. Even in her own youth one wasn't expected to have to carry groceries. Still, it was kind of the City to keep this bit of the old technology alive for the few seniors. The basket was just a comfort, a lifestyle choice -- she wouldn't actually fill it with anything. Above the market street the sheer blank escarpment of the City rose, a ring of protective mountain behind which the 5PM sun was slipping.

At the Companion Store she paused. If she went inside she'd validate Dolores' concern. She had been a long time alone and she resisted out of pride. Meghan counted only three women remaining alive who knew her name, one of them Dolores. Well, who would care but herself? Feeling furtive on the sunny afternoon she slipped into the bright white, antiseptic shop, where she was met by an old-timey holographic shopkeeper, wearing a very 30's jumpsuit, rotating on his projection stand.

"May I assist you in finding the perfect Companion, miss?" Unctuousness never went out of fashion. He motioned with outstretched arm to indicate the array of cells that lined two walls of the shop. Meghan wasn't surprised to see that the selection was limited and very vintage. Only two cells held anything at all.

Following her eyes the shopkeeper said, "That Companion is particularly fine and a rare find, miss. This may be the last one remaining with full vocal capacity." She wasn't looking for a conversationalist. She wasn't looking for anything, Meghan reminded herself. In that first cell she saw a small female Companion covered in a plain, tan, cotton sheath and sitting demurely on her bunk, a look of eager hello in her eyes. Meghan knew they were bred for traits like this, but it was uncanny. She felt the urge to engage with kindness, but really didn't want conneXion. Thank goodness they were trained to only speak when spoken to. With difficulty, Meghan looked away and stepped to the next cell. The female Companion whimpered softly. Meghan knew it was a mistake to come in.

Much later Meghan would realize she was taken in by his big sad eyes, but at the time what she saw was his maleness. This Companion was a bit shorter than Meghan and well-muscled, standing from his bunk when the shopkeeper whistled. His full beard and head of gray-flecked, wavy hair was thick and shiny, a groomed mane. There was energy in his demeanor and a kind of cautious excitement. He was friendly. Something in her responded and the shopkeeper sensed it. Rather, the shop sensed it and from the shopkeeper's mouth said, "Ahh, if you are seeking a male Companion, this one has been well cared for. His owner passed recently, leaving him without a conneXion. All of his papers and medical records are available."

To the the Companion he said, "Strip!"

The man-Companion removed the tan kilt that was his only covering. Other than his mane he was hairless, but intricately covered in a skinmap of deep reds and browns. Meghan saw the touch of loneliness in him, felt the bred-in need he had for connecXion. He would no doubt be as loyal as all of his breed. When released from the clothing his tail wagged tentatively.

She is here. Will I be Hers? I stand proud. My body is firm. Does She want me? I will do anything for Her. Protect Her. Gather Her things. Make Her happy. I so want to make Her happy. My fingers drip. I smooth my hair.

"You will observe that this Companion is equipped with both the QuiverTail and MassageFinger features, a popular combo when he was bred. Perhaps you are familiar with these in a past Companion?" the shopkeeper asked.

"MassageFinger? What is that feature?" she asked, pretending to be a savvy consumer, delaying.

"This breed has the ability to exude massage oil from its fingertips," the shopkeeper recited. "The benefits are many. The oil is already body temperature. No interruptions or fumbling for a dispenser. Less waste and clean up. He is also equipped with a towel for his own grooming, so that the oil not used to soften his own skin and hair can be managed by the Companion himself."

"Also note the especially detailed fractal pattern of his coloring. This makes him a particularly tasteful Companion with which to share a walk in the park. You can accessorize with clothing or go bare. Either way, others will admire your sophistication."

Of course the shop knew how to sell to her. It knew everything about Meghan. But she had come into this shop of her own free will, right? She held on to that.

Long ago Meghan did have a girl-Companion much like this one, a female named Whiskers. Her adolescence couldn't have been negotiated without Whiskers by her side. Meghan remembered those lonely years and the whispered secrets and fears she had shared with the unconditionally loving, yet mute, Companion. It was popular for parents to give their daughters female Companions with QuiverTail back then. MassageFinger would be new to her.

The girl-Companion had some genetic defect, however, and when Whiskers had to be put down it broke Meghan's heart for the first time. Looking at the Companion in the cell in front of her now, she wondered if her heart was up to being broken for the last time.

"What is his name?" Meghan asked and put her heart on the path to finding out.


Meanwhile, Dolores soars over a forest, resplendent in orange and blue feathers, seeking prey. Twisting deep in the green-blue ocean she knifes through slanting sun to race with slick, gray pod-mates. Across a floor of golden oak she pirouettes on pointed toes, executing a perfect pas de ciseaux. In a smoky cafe' she intrigues with amorous spies. She wrestles with three-dimensional code, like clouds of cotton candy, improving the race's DNA.

The City provides all in the brave new world. The future had arrived sooner than expected. It was still arriving, in fact. Moore's Law, nanotechnology, biomimicry, gene-splicing. All these combined as humankind passed through the needle's-eye of the sixth great extinction and climate chaos.

This is the short story: many died. Wealth and technical knowledge combined to protect a remnant of humanity in high latitudes in a new City. One generation had available to them body bio-modification that enabled certain physical changes, though not immortality. Companions were created where more radical experiments played out because the law, though struggling to keep up with scientific progress, still found some things immoral. The market, being Darwinian, preserved the fittest.

Then, that first generation found they could alter their embryo's very genes, making body modification obsolete, making waking life nearly obsolete. Descartes would have been intrigued that the mind and body could be scientifically split by mediating every sensation that passed between the body and the brain. New AI tech could stimulate the gene-spliced brain so effectively as to make reality a dull, flat, boring thing. Which was just as well. Much of the previous reality was lost to the climate. When the life of the mind was so infinitely expanded, the physical needs of the body could be met with great efficiency and physical "things" lost all value. On the heat-crippled planet it became a necessity that minimal resources be used to sustain physical life. The body became just a platform to host the Adventures of the mind, possibly forever. And some were working toward moving the mind into hybrid biological-mechanical vessels, possibly in low-Earth orbit. Thus, the future continued to arrive ahead of schedule and the mind-body problem would no longer be a problem, but an opportunity.

A small preserve was created in the center of the City, a bowl that caught the low sun and pantomimed the daycycle of remembered temperate latitudes. At least in summer. The long dark winters understandably saw a spike in elder deaths. As the first generation dwindled this retreat seemed the kindest place to allow them some contentment in their last years and to let their lives resolve naturally. Resources used here would be absorbed into the City once they were all gone.

So Meghan could enjoy a stroll in the market while Dolores' anorexic, eternal body, moving awkwardly in her cell in the City, mimicked a thousand Adventures. When blue and orange feathered Dolores swooped to the kill, her actual hands grasped the plain mealcube provided by the City but her mind, crouched in a glade of spongy pine needles, devoured a juicy, dripping rabbit, a cool wind soughing in the treetops. Stimulus was minutely calibrated to maintain emotional and mental health. Adventures called forth all the qualities of the human spirit and character including conflict, pain, anxiety, loss and fear in just enough measure to push the species forward seeking happiness. Not without a sense of humor, those brains devoted to progress called themselves the General Ontology Department.


"Hello, mother," Dolores said from the screen, her avatar a porpoise this time. Meghan watched her splashing in an endless blue ocean. "I just thought I should check in on you. What have you been up to?"

There was nothing Dolores liked less than communicating with her mother, but she felt the concern of all of her generation for the old, boring and soon-to-be-dead. She wanted to exercise her obligation to the woman who had given her this probably eternal, exciting life. Sometimes she felt sad, which she knew was a healthy thing. So she reached out and they cammed a little once in a while. Of course she could just review her mother's file to know what she'd been doing, but that would take time away from an Adventure and really make this whole exercise even more tedious.

"Oh, just a little shopping, a little reading, some vids. There were really good mangos in the market today. I haven't had such good ones in I don't know how long." Meghan was seated at her eating table with the photo of the rainforest behind her, still in her outdoor dress. To Dolores, the sensory information entering her brain from the cam was flat and nearly colorless.

"I bet those were good," said Dolores, clearly making an effort. But she couldn't help herself. "You could have them everyday here in the City."

Meghan sighed. "It's not the same." She'd tried mind-riding. It just didn't translate to first gens who weren't gene spliced before birth. The experience fell far short of the total sensory immersion that her daughter felt. And it gave her a fierce headache.

"But isn't it better than what you've got out there?" Now they were drifting into the same old argument.

"No, real mangos are better than mind-mangos. And they taste better when they aren't in the market everyday," Meghan heard herself say for the hundredth time. It was difficult to teach kids about deferred gratification when the algorithm that controlled their Adventures determined when any particular experience would be "good".

"Megh'n!" Dolores heard the shout from her mother's cam. "Megh'n! Megh'n!".

"What's that?," Dolores asked, wishing she could move through the apartment like in an Adventure. So frustrating.

Her mother appeared flushed and flustered for a moment, looking out of the frame. "Just a moment," she said and left the screen. Muffled and earnest voices could be heard. When she returned, Dolores said, "Is someone visiting? I should have asked first."

"No. I'm alone." Meghan kept glancing to the side, though, looking stern. Then, "Rake, SIT!"

"You are not alone, mother!" Dolores the porpoise managed to look suspicious and bemused.

"Oh dear," said Meghan as the Companion bounded into camera range and leaned his head against her shoulder. "He isn't completely trained yet." She looked embarrassed. But she stroked his lush mane, smiling.

"You got a Companion!" Dolores' porpoise floated very still for a moment as she researched Companions, then became very animated. "This is a man-Companion!"

"Yes, well, they only had two and the other was a Talker. I'm just not much up to making conversation anymore."

"I've had an Adventure with a man-Companion once or twice. Aren't they a lot of trouble in real life?" Dolores was happy for her, really.

Meghan sighed, "You get out what you put in, child." She hadn't called Dolores that in months.

"He looks as old as you are......"

"Age is my concern, not yours!" And she angrily reached to cut the cam. She was aware of the wrinkles.

Dolores was quickly surrounded by five other slippery, shining porpoises. "Sorry, gotta go!" and she jackknifed out of sight as the screen blanked.

Meghan turned from the empty screen and hugged the Companion, saying affectionately, "That's my clueless daughter, the poor eternal girl." He trembled with happiness.

I'm Hers! I'm Hers! I'm Hers!

The full set of training instructions were included with the file containing his medical history. Meghan returned to consulting it. Rake could respond to commands and he could "speak" up to 50 words and phrases. Well, he'd learned her name quickly enough. There was a list of words his previous owner had taught him. All the basic commands were there: sit, fetch, more, bowl, touch, out, kiss, etc. He was toilet trained, of course and could ask for food or water. He seemed very, very eager to please.

Meghan pointed to the center of her room and he stepped there, looking at her expectantly.

"Strip!" she said. Meghan was undecided about his kilt. Maybe a new one would accessorize better with his coloring. Something dark with some gray in it to accent his mane. The coffee browns and cinnamon reds in his skinmap were very rich. She wondered how the gold scattered through it would gleam in sunlight. The pattern shaded down to a deep, nearly black, umber at his crotch. His thick penis and heavy scrotum were obsidian. The eighteen inch long QuiverTail ended in three dark bronze digits. He was coiling it now, contentedly snaking it sinuously from side to side.

She had been a long time alone. "Cover!" she commanded and Rake snapped the kilt around himself again. That old tan rag really needed to go, she thought. Perhaps a crimson towel to go with the gray patterned kilt?

She had been a long time alone. Meghan couldn't pretend that her Companion wasn't bred for pleasure. But she'd gotten used to her life. Simple, calm, uncomplicated. Unexciting.

She had been a long time alone. Well, who would care but herself. "Strip!" she said.

The Companion dropped the kilt again, happy to be commanded.

"Play? Play Play?" the Companion barked.

"Rake, QUIET!" she said firmly. He was a little boisterous even for an older breed.

"Stay!" she said, stepping around him to unfold the bed from the wall. His eyes stayed on her. Meghan felt exposed. There hadn't been a living being in the apartment other than herself for years. She stood for a long moment apprehensive about taking off the sundress, picking at the hem.

Rake cocked his head, smiling, his black organ dangling, tail coiling, nostrils flaring.

Play! Play! Play!

He ran his moist fingers through his mane and worked the oil in. Meghan noticed the firm bunching of his biceps as he did. He seemed to anticipate her need. Good breeding, Meghan supposed. She pulled the dress over her head and dropped it on the floor. She knew the Companion was incapable of judging her, but she hoped her naked body pleased him. Meghan's breasts were still firm and high, her belly toned, her buttocks smooth. Only a clueless, designer baby like Dolores would think sixty-eight was old.

She lay face down on the bed. "Touch!" she said, and Rake bent at her side to begin kneading his oil into her shoulders. Meghan let him work without direction to see how his previous training felt. He pressed his thumbs along the back of her neck, circling and rising into her hairline. His fingers squeezed at her trapezius on each side, the warm oil smelling musky as it oozed from his fingertips.

"There, harder," she breathed and he obeyed, focusing on those tight muscles before moving slowly toward her upper arms. Rake took one arm and then the other in his hands and manipulated his way to her fingers applying the utmost care and attention to each digit. He was well trained, Meghan realized. Even better than she expected.

"Good, Rake. Good boy," she sighed.

Done with her arms, he started again at her shoulders, clearly happy to do a good job. Through slitted eyes she noticed his cock was hard, the black rod bobbing with his heartbeat. He was above her now, on his knees, pressing Meghan down into the bed as he progressed along her spine. Her body was reacting, getting both relaxed and excited. Meghan felt her heat rising, her juices beginning to flow. She realized that his tail was stroking her thigh as he moved downward and had a sudden memory of Whiskers, whose body had taught her so much about her own. A melancholy washed over her and tears dripped on the sheet.

Rake pressed his thumbs firmly into her lower back and down to the dimples at the top of her buttocks. Then he rose and for a moment Meghan thought he was gone, but before she could command him, he took her right foot into his oily hands and began rubbing her toes. God, the sensation travelled like electricity up her leg and made her vagina clench. When he pressed his thumbs into her insoles, she trembled and felt like melted butter between her legs. Meghan wanted to rub her thighs together.

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