A moment later they were surprised to see the abandoned door pushed open with a rusty scrape. “Ma’am,” Kai-Kai said, “are you sure we’re supposed to be here?”
“There’s no sign saying ‘do not enter’,” Grier pointed out. “And don’t call me ‘Ma’am’.”
Soon they were passing deserted classrooms filled with broken chairs, Angela’s sneakers kicking up the dust in the hallway along with the loud clip-clop of Grier’s boots and finally the unassuming whispering of Kai-Kai’s dusty feet. Angela shook her head at Kai-Kai as if to say, “This lady is really rude.” At which Kai-Kai shrugged.
Grier pushed opened the door to a vast musty gymnasium and the three entered. The stands were retracted and there was nothing in the huge space but a ragged pile of exercise mats in one corner next to a broken set of parallel bars. Above them, millions of motes of white dust drifted in the pale sunlight coming through the dirty windows.
Angela and Kai-Kai took in this scene and looked at each other in puzzlement. Grier walked around, inspecting the place as if it were a broken down property she was thinking of purchasing and renovating.
“You’ve been here before,” Angela said. “Maybe,” Grier said. Angela gave this woman credit for investigating things so quickly. It was Monday, and it was only 24 hours or so ago that this woman had arrived with the others at the Guest House.
Grier took the black bag off her shoulder and looked squarely at Angela.
“I’d like the impreg to be recorded.”
Angela was surprised by this request but when Kai-Kai said, “Fine,” she realized that though the setting was strange, the request itself was not all that odd. Impregs were hardly secret knowledge. And some P- 3’s, like Mrs. Hatwood, didn’t mind people watching.
Maybe Grier wanted extra documentation. DNA evidence wasn’t enough; that was the basic problem that the Project was designed to handle. The Project foresaw the danger that many women, particularly those in poor areas, would falsely claim their child as being the Sire’s, so as to get the free medical care, and also possibly as a sign of local status. The result would be chaos; from whom would the blood samples be taken to make the vaccine?
Also, the unique genes that Kai-Kai was passing on to thousands of children degraded if stored. And technology was advancing such that they possibly could be reverse engineered as a further method of sowing confusion. This was why in vitro fertilization was ineffectual, why Kai-Kai couldn’t simply ejaculate a billion or so sperm into a tube in one shot and be done with it, going on to live a normal and clothed life. Live impregnations were required. The file of circumstantial evidence — the passport stamp, the certificate, the airplane ticket — that file was designed to be unfalsifiable proof that a woman had been inseminated by the Sire, and at a certain time and place.
Or was it really unfalsifiable? Angela had wondered that. The certificate with the raised stamp was kept in triplicate, at the Guest House, with the procreator (who had the original), and with the World Health Organization in Geneva. But could the file be fabricated such that a video should really be required? She supposed Ms. Canworthy would tell her if asked.
She guessed that as a practical matter the Project really couldn’t insist on a video. Female orgasm was important in drawing Kai-Kai’s sperm up into the uterus, and the requirements for procreators were exacting enough. It was perhaps too much to expect that they would also be able to have the orgasm on camera.
Grier got something out of her bag and Angela’s initial impression had been correct. It really did contain video equipment, a little camera with a stand. Still chewing her gum in an irritating fashion, she said, “Could you get one?”, indicating the stack of exercise mats. Angela was about to go but Kai-Kai was already jogging over. He obediently hefted one off the top and dragged it in front of them, his genitals swinging back and forth as he lurched across the gym. “Here”, Grier said to Angela, pointing to a button on the camera. “All set up. Push once to start, once to stop. Careful not to move it.”
Now the P-3, soon to become a P-4, pulled a large bath towel out of the bag. “From what I hear,” she said to Kai-Kai, “you will fill me up and then some. Can’t make a mess on the mat.” Also, one might add, these old mats were pretty dirty.
Once again, the woman did not disrobe for this naked boy. Grier stood on the mat in her boots, flapped down the towel, then reached under her skirt to pull down some lacy black panties. Now she squatted and, wincing in pain, undid something and pulled out the same kind of long, thick dildo with the retaining strap that had come out of Mrs. Hatwood. “Man I hate this f**king thing.” She threw it aside. Angela had to give this Goth woman some credit. Grier was snooty and condescending but on the other hand she had been in discomfort this whole time and hiding it.
Now she lay back, arranged her hair and jacket and sleeves, motioned for Angela to turn the camera on, then looked up at the naked Sire. “Ok, big boy,” she said, with swagger but betraying a bit of nervousness, “let’s make a baby.” She anchored herself on her elbows and spread her legs. “No more than seven inches, remember!”
Seven inches was more than Kai-Kai was usually allowed. Angela knew that most women could, with some practice, take seven inches of depth, but the problem was girth. In each procreator’s file was her instruction to the Sire as to how deep he could go (what was called the woman’s “pitch”). In specifying pitch they were warned against simply writing down the length of their husband’s penis. A woman who let Kai-Kai go in to that depth would become painfully aware that the boy’s penis was a lot bigger around than her husband’s. They were urged to experiment with a “Model Sire”, a flexible dildo about the size and firmness of Kai-Kai’s penis at full erection, which was marked up the side in inches and centimeters, to see how deep they really wanted him to go. Or they could simply use the “one-half rule”, dividing their husband’s length by 2. This still usually resulted in a greater volume inside them than their husband’s entire penis, but it was manageable. Even with inches of depth to spare, with the force of Kai-Kai’s spurts it was no problem for his DNA to reach the cervix.
Grier had a rather slight body, being as short in her way as Kai-Kai was. Seven inches of Kai-Kai’s thickness was quite a lot to put inside her. Angela gave her props for trying to accommodate so much of him.
Kai-Kai got into his familiar posture, his knees pressing down into the old mat through the towel. The woman could specify any position she wanted, but this was the most popular, the traditional “missionary”. “Doggie style” was not advised due to Kai-Kai’s size. As for woman-on-top, the conventional wisdom was that this was the best for a large penis, because it allowed the woman to control the rate and depth of penetration, but in practice it caused the woman’s legs to tire quickly. Besides, there was no danger of over-penetration. Kai-Kai had seen his penis measured on a weekly basis and recognized where each inch “ended”. He had a fear of causing any discomfort so he strictly limited his thrusting to the woman’s specified “pitch”.
Now he kneeled in front of this 35-year-old Goth mother of two, in the manner of a servant. He held his semi-erect penis at about the midpoint, and inserted the glans between the vaginal lips that had been opened wide by the dildo. No lubricant was necessary; Grier was plenty wet. The boy inhaled as he sank himself into her in time with her shallow, tentative gasps. In, out, then a little further in, then out . . . Angela, looking into the back of the camera, saw that Grier had expertly set up a wide angled shot with the copulating couple in the center.
Grier lay her head back, looking at the ceiling. This freed her arms to reach way down and grasp the boy’s butt cheeks. She now began to knead them, which seemed a little strange to Angela. Even stranger, her fingers reached inward and spread his butt apart, exposing the pink anus in its wide valley.
Now Grier swung her boots onto the boy’s bare shoulders and things got serious. Kai-Kai carefully looked down at the thick shaft splitting the woman’s loins. He was now fully erect. Five inches in, then out, five and a half in, then out . . . six inches in . . . He was now deeper in than an average man’s entire penis could go, yet he still had three inches to spare. Now the boy met a little resistance as he pushed in gently to give her six and a half . . .
“OHH!” the Goth woman cried out, her voice echoing off the cinder block walls. Angela looked around but quickly told herself there was no one in this abandoned building to hear. Kai-Kai had thrust to the maximum depth that he was instructed. He was now seven inches in and stayed there for a moment, letting Grier get used to his girth. She now had within her over three times the volume of an average man’s full erection though, as it happened, a little less than twice the volume of her husband’s. The camera clearly recorded Kai-Kai’s remaining two inches, the thick root of his shaft, remaining outside the widely-spread womanly lips that clasped the rest of him. Angela wondered: was Kai-Kai ever allowed to “hit bottom”, go all the way in, feel the woman’s body against his?
Some slow, careful thrusting, which Kai-Kai accelerated bit by bit. He gulped and his face flushed. He was now ready to ejaculate but holding back, carefully watching the woman’s signs of arousal, not wanting to hurt her, hoping to help her get to orgasm so that her orgasmic contractions would draw his semen up into her uterus. His last two inches remained outside, now five inches of him were outside, now two, now five . . . Below, the huge testicles lurched back and forth ponderously, almost touching the mat.
“Ohh! Ohh! Ohh!” Grier’s quick orgasm was as clearly defined as it was unexpected. Even the Sire was surprised. He got his wits about him and took a deep breath, closed his eyes and got ready to deliver his seed. His low moan was politely uttered but betrayed a primal lust about to be sated.
It was only later that Angela developed a grudging respect for Grier’s skill and powers of concentration while recovering from the throes of orgasm. Her fingers reached further and with unexpected strength she urgently pressed the boy’s perineum, the space between the bottom of his scrotum and his anus. Kai-Kai’s eyes popped open in surprise. “Kcchhhkk!!” The loud weird gasp, a choking noise, reverberated through the empty gym. His thrusting stopped and he was upright on his knees, his teeth gritted. His toes spread and every muscle in his body tightened. From her knowledge of male physiology Angela knew that there was pressure on his prostate and as a result his penis, already deep inside Grier, was hardening and expanding still further, much more sensitive, demanding emergency relief while being prevented from ejaculating. Grier grimaced, experiencing the temporary pain of being pried open even more. “Kcchkkk!!” Kai-Kai gasped again.
Grier’s fingers retracted from his perineum. Both took a deep breath. Then she said, “Go ahead, big boy.”
Kai-Kai’s eyes darted uncertainly for a moment. Then he gradually got back into the rhythm of gentle thrusting. Soon the strange interlude was seemingly forgotten and the couple was back in regular coitus, ascending from the plateau.
“Ohh! Ohh! Ohh!” Again Grier climaxed — and again the boy’s own orgasm was prevented at the last possible moment by the sudden pressing fingers. After his gasp he looked down searchingly at the woman’s face.
“Ok — let’s — finish,” Grier said. She withdrew her hands and swung her arms back until they were on the mat way behind her head, palms up. In time with his intrusions her hips minced and turned in a strange and new way. She closed her eyes and smiled.
The boy quickly ascended, froze for a moment, breathless. Then he let loose a long, sustained scream. “AAAAHHHHHHHH!! AAAAHHHHHH!!” Angela had never heard Kai-Kai raise his voice like this. It was different than when he suffered through status precipitum at that inspection. This sounded like he was being tortured, screaming with some horrible agony. Certainly a world away from his low moan when having an orgasm inside Mrs. Hatwood.
“AHHHHH!!! AHHHHHH!!! ” It was clear by now why Grier had selected an abandoned building. “AHHHHHH!!!” The shouts echoed and echoed off the walls as Kai-Kai’s eyes opened up to the ceiling, as if begging God to tell him what in the name of Heaven and Earth was happening to him. “AHHHHH!! AAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!” His hips jumped and jumped as if being hit with electric shocks. “AAHHHHHH!!” It sounded he was being tortured, his fingernails being pulled out, his testicles crushed, his eyes pierced with spikes —
As for Grier, she lay back, accepting the boy’s thrusts, not reaching another orgasm herself but moving her hips so as to draw as much from the boy’s testicles as possible, pumping him and pumping him until he was dry.
“OHH! OHH!” Now that the jolts were somewhat less Angela wished she had counted them from the beginning. It must be ten or twelve by now. “OHH! OHH!” Kai-Kai’s high pitched voice had shouted itself hoarse. Suddenly his body was covered with sweat. “OHH! OHH! . . . OHH!” A few irregular spasms, and now, “Ohhhhh . . .”
With that, the boy drew out of Grier and fell to his side, his glistening, softening penis hitting the mat with a thud. “Ohhh . . . ohhh God . . . ohhh . . . “
Wiped out, spent, drained, exhausted . . . These were the words going through Angela’s mind as she saw the naked boy, awash in his sweat and his own juices, lying on his side on the mat. He swallowed, then continued to try to catch his breath. His body was like a damp rag, limp, lifeless. His eyes stared ahead sightlessly. Grier watched with satisfaction from her prone position. To Angela’s shock she reached into her jacket and placed a cigarette in her mouth. She brought out a lighter but apparently thought better of it and just left the lighter lie in her hand as it rested on the mat.
“Ohh . . . God . . . ohhhhhh . . . “
The naked boy had just experienced a prolonged, intense, mind-blowing orgasm. In his wrung-out state he barely had the strength to drag himself up onto all fours. He put his face down on the mat, then exhaled and with a mighty effort lifted it in Grier’s direction. “No . . .”
To Angela’s surprise, Kai-Kai, so little energy left to him, tried to express that rarest of his emotions, anger.
“Why . . . did you . . . do that . . . it’s not . . . right. . .”
“You had a really long, powerful come,” Grier said, the cigarette bobbing in her lips as she spoke. “I bet that felt really, really good!”
“But . . . my . . . my I-6 . . . Mrs. . . . Piri . . .” He gulped again, facing down, his body weakly trying to stay up on all fours. He looked down at his penis, softening but still so long that the tip dragged along the mat, tracing a trail on the soft vinyl with the last of his semen. “Only . . . three . . . hours . . . I won’t have . . . anything . . . for her.”
“You can reschedule,” Grier said casually.
“No . . . I . . . CAN’T!” The boy pounded his fist on the mat, causing his massive genitals to swing back and forth. By now Angela understood his anger and shared it. But the fist-pound had taken the last of the boy’s strength. He collapsed again on the mat, being able to utter only a low groan. “Ohhhh . . . ohh no . . .”
Angela turned off the camera and looked at the prone, inseminated Goth woman with flashing eyes. “I admire your sexual technique, but what did you do that for??”
“I wanted him to have a good time. And to remember me,” Grier said through her bobbing cigarette.
Angela had very little sexual experience herself, and was more than ten years younger than this woman, but it was time to assert herself. “Save that for your husband. . .” She started taking down the camera stand. “I think you should go.”
Grier got up, a little stiffly after being so deeply impaled, and used the towel to clean off the excess semen that was running down both legs. “Shit,” she said, as a rivulet ran into one of her boots. In less than a minute she had all her things back in the bag. She put the cigarette away and looked at the motionless boy on the mat. “He’s knocked up what, four thousand women? On his way to 25 thousand? It’s not the end of the world to postpone one of them.”
“The next one, his I-6, it means a lot to him.”
Grier put the lighter back into her jacket pocket. “Well I’m sorry then. I didn’t know.” She looked down at the boy and smiled devilishly as she heard him start to snore. “I gave him a powerful, long-lasting come, the kind you get out of a man only by surprising him.” Now her face turned serious as she looked his sweaty body up and down. “He’s such a sweet kid. And I think he has it rough. He’s got a huge dick that’s more a curse than a blessing, he’s always naked while everyone else is fully dressed, and he has to squirt into seven women a day, every day, whether he’s turned on to them or not, women who must seem like wrinkly old bags to a boy his age. He deserves some pleasure for its own sake.”
Angela was still angry and decided to drop what she considered a bombshell. “In his mind he’s still a virgin.”
“Yes I know,” Grier said without surprise. “And let’s face it, that’s not going to change. I understand he’s ‘going steady’ with that Filipino girl. They’re both cute kids. But what’s she going to do with a dick that big? Look at it? Kiss it maybe? There’s no way that little mouth is going to stretch around that gigantic cock-head he’s been cursed with. It’s the size of a plum. . . And f**king is out of the question of course.” She smirked. “Maybe if she waits fifteen or twenty years, gets married to some normal sized guy and has two or three babies to stretch her out, and stuffs that — ugh — huge dildo in her for a few hours, she’ll be ready for him.”
Angela was infuriated at these words, then quickly looked down with alarm at the sleeping Sire. “Don’t worry,” Grier said. “He doesn’t hear me. He’s sound asleep. I give men more pleasure than they can stand,” she said proudly. “My technique always knocks them out, for a while.” She leaned down and with uncharacteristic tenderness gave the drained young stud a peck on the cheek. “Thanks for the baby, big boy.” And then she was gone, her boots clip-clopping with unsteady steps as she pushed open one of the doors and left. It shut behind her with a clang which resounded through the vast abandoned gym.
Angela sat on the front bench of the retracted stands and considered what to do. She listened as Kai-Kai’s snoring echoed in the gym. She didn’t smile, though she knew everyone was amused at how loud he snored, during those midday naps he would take on the tables in the quad in the warm weather. She decided to let him continue sleeping, to get his energy back, or start to.
She looked up at the clock, then down at Kai-Kai. He was on his side and his testicles hung down heavily, touching the mat. She thought: Even now, those testicles are creating sperm. Even now, his prostate and seminal vesicles, which I’ve examined and massaged and photographed, are producing the fluids to transport those sperm. Could this boy produce enough in three hours to shoot into Mrs. Piri at 7:30?
Grier had been right in a way about rescheduling. It was done sometimes. If Kai-Kai could inseminate seven women in one day, he could just as easily inseminate six one day, and eight the next. In the early days in fact, it was always eight a day, or forty-seven per week. Before he began inseminating, when he was a Sire-in-training, his schedule was even busier, ten ejaculations every day, most of them by using that penis sleeve in Lab 6, back when it was called the “Ejaculation Room”. . . But of course Mrs. Piri couldn’t be rescheduled. The Chukchi woman was leaving tonight and it was vital for her that Kai-Kai inseminate her, and selfless boy that he was, if it was vital for her it was vital for him.
Ms. Canworthy should be called about what to do, or maybe Dr. Chatterjee, but Angela didn’t think she had their numbers or e-mail addresses. Instead she kept vigil over the boy as he slept. She got out her notebook and did work, got caught up on e-mails. Dinner at his house was to be at 6 p.m. So she gave him an hour of sleep before gently nudging his hairless chest with her sneaker.
“Ohh . . . ohh . . .” She carried the groaning naked boy’s bookbag as well as her own as she helped him out of the gym, his feet slapping crazily on the dusty floor, his legs like jelly.
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