Yuba City, California

After Mr. Alkaras and Mr. Nuyen left, everyone looked up at the Sire as he cleared his throat and tried to endure the nonstop stimulation. He closed his eyes. Angela decided to get him a bottle of water. They had to keep the Sire hydrated during drainings because he produced so much fluid. It was estimated that at a typical lab draining his body expended maybe 2000 calories and lost three pounds. But when Angela brought the bottle up to him —his face was about two feet above everyone’s eye level —he said, “N - no, that’s okay.” Too early, she supposed.

As they watched his face, and his concave tummy breathing in and out under his rib cage, Dr. Chatterjee said, addressing Angela and the Committee members, “We seem to have gone down to plateau level four or so. That is good. As you recall, we have identified six levels. Too high, five or six, and ejaculation takes place too soon, with not enough time for the prostate to generate significant fluid. Too low, and we lose time.” It was odd to hear him say “we”. Despite Dr. Chatterjee’s politeness towards Kai-Kai, Angela found this language depersonalizing.

The doctor seemed about to make a further observation when a baby’s loud yawn was heard out in the hall, and the smell of coffee. Everyone knew what that meant. The Woronovs!

Heads turned as a wide stroller carrying triplets rolled in, their faces flushed with the cold in their cute little blue bonnets. Pushed by a tall, long-haired white woman of about 35, with the vibrant face of a new mother, in a long dress that showed off her newly-won narrow waist, and breasts that were out of proportion, obviously filled with milk. Next to her was a somewhat shorter white man with black hair and heavy eyebrows, carrying a tray of coffees and a box of doughnuts. They were in half-opened coats, including the babies, who looked about six months old.

“Mr. and Mrs. Woronov!” Dr. Chatterjee said. “Good to see you again.”

“And not a moment too soon with the coffee,” Nurse Lopez said. “Here to ruin my diet again with doughnuts!” The nurse might be normally gruff but the prospect of food improved her mood. “Thanks,” she said, picking out a cruller as Mr. Woronov opened the box. He went around the room, distributing coffees and doughnuts, and soon they were all standing around munching, looking at the babies. They made sure that Kai-Kai’s view from up on his perch was not blocked.

Mr. Woronov went over to the Sire and looked up at the red face which was beginning to sweat. “Whole wheat, your favorite,” he said, bringing up an unsweetened doughnut to the naked boy’s face.

“Th - thanks,” Kai-Kai said, taking a nibble; he was not allowed more. Then washed it down with a sip of the decaf held up to his lips. He gasped as his arousal went up a notch.

As the sleeve continued to stroke his penis, the Sire looked down at the babies —his babies —as Mrs. Woronov took them out and distributed them to the others, who were able to hold them. Among Kai-Kai’s children around the world there were 17 other sets of triplets. Also there were 378 sets of twins. His genes evidently tended toward multiple births, which was a welcome surprise. Genetic propensity for multiple births was also a “plus factor” in selecting women the boy was to impregnate. All this increased the margin of safety for the ultimate goal that everyone called “25 - 25”: the Sire producing 25,000 children, born plus unborn, by his 25th birthday. It was probably just a matter of time before a set of quadruplets appeared; according to the statistical analysis done by Dr. Weber of the Mathematics Department, twelve sets of quadruplets was the mostly likely ultimate result.

Mrs. Bartleby, who was childless, was especially taken with the new Project offspring. As she tickled the baby’s nose, she said, “Are they crawling yet?”

“No,” Mr. Woronov said, “but they flip around in their cribs a lot. And they’re great grabbers.” Dr. Chatterjee smiled as he tried to free his finger from the iron grip of a tiny hand.

Mrs. Woronov playfully clutched her nipples, visible through her dress. “Great biters too!” Everyone laughed.

They now, as if performing a solemn rite, lined up behind Mrs. Woronov so that she could raise them up one by one to the Sire’s face.

As it happened Kai-Kai was cresting into orgasm. “B - beautiful —b - babies —OHH! OHH!” As the Sire complimented Mrs. Woronov on the attractiveness of what were, in fact, his own children, he ejaculated, the same act by which he had created them. Nurse Lopez and Ms. Bartleby, standing to the side, monitored the boy’s second offering of the morning and counted the contractions. There were ten. They began with three strong spurts, as if one for each triplet in front of him. As the white semen exploded from the wide meatus Mrs. Woronov found herself saying quietly, “Ivan, Pyotr, Pavel”, as if naming the spurts after her babies. After the last, irregular spasms finished, Nurse Lopez read off a yield of 8 cc’s before removing the slide. The boy’s second ejaculation in ten minutes, yet still twice as voluminous as the average man’s. It joined his first at the bottom of the tube, where 21 cc’s of his semen now lay.

The Woronovs, descendants of the Russian settlers who had gone through Alaska and gotten as far down as California during the 19th century, were rather frequent visitors. This was their fourth visit since the babies had been born (and Mrs. Woronov became an “P-7”). Like everyone else they were fond of this prolifically procreating teenager, and Mrs. Woronov was proud of having produced three babies for the Project from the one “load” the Sire had given her. As she picked them up one by one to show their sleepy faces to their spasming teenage biological father, she thought back on her impreg last year. It was a rainy morning in June, and she was the I-1. After much indecision she had settled on a tank top over a white bra, calico skirt (with no panties), and flip flops. Her hair, frizzed with the humidity, had to be tied back. Like many P-3’s, she had been unable to sleep the night before, in anticipation of the impreg, and when she could wait no longer she got out of bed, carefully put her clothes on and grabbed one of the Guest House’s umbrellas. She regretted her choice of flip flops, slippery in the warm heavy rain, and went the rest of the way barefoot, splashing through the puddles, flip flops in hand. She had arrived at his house a little early, at 5:45 a.m., and after a gracious cup of coffee with Kai-Kai’s newly-awakened mother she had crept up to his room, extracted that hateful retainer from her vagina, and awakened him by gently lifting his flaccid penis with both hands and opening wide to place the big glans in her warm mouth to the extent she could. The preferred way of waking up the Sire.

Kai-Kai had been groggy but gentle in “taking” her. Though still half asleep he was careful to end up going no further in than the five inches she had specified in her profile. Like most P-1’s she had not taken enough account of the boy’s girth and had written down too deep a number for her “pitch”. But as the trainers had told her, if Kai-Kai was too big for you, deep breaths made his gentle thrusts easier to take. She had only a little more than half of him inside her but in terms of volume it was over twice as much “dick” as she got when her husband went in to the hilt. Despite the boy’s gentleness the immensity of penetration was rough; she felt the wind knocked out of her. She was thankful that her husband was of more conventional dimensions. Fortunately the boy knew how to thrust at an angle that flicked her clitoris back and forth, and she climaxed quickly. And then, barely heard over the falling rain outside, the boy’s low moan, which signaled he was about to “come”.

Being his first ejaculation of the day, it was thick and copious, one spurt after another, seeming to go on and on. She was filled up right away and then felt globs of excess semen plopping across her thighs and inching down to fill the crack of her anus. She was receiving over a billion sperm, but somehow she felt that it was the boy’s ninth spurt that contained the spermatozoön that got into her egg. Of course there was no way to tell but she just knew it, as she felt herself changing over from a P-3 to a P-4. The middle name she picked for all the triplets was Devyat, the Russian word for “ninth”, supposedly because they had been born on the ninth day of the month, but she smiled to herself whenever she thought of the real reason.

Her impreg was on a Friday, late in the week, and at the Guest House, listening to the P-4’s, she found that this kind of sensation during coitus with the Sire was not unusual. It was part of the mystique of this gentle boy with the special genetics that would save millions of lives. His sperm was magic. Over dessert, while she and the other P-3’s listened with rapt attention, the P-4’s talked about how they “knew” the moment they had been impregnated. It was not literal; they had been well versed in the biology and were aware that it was actually several hours before Kai-Kai’s sperm met the egg coming down their fallopian tubes. It was more like a spiritual event.

That rainy morning, after the boy had filled her up, he gently withdrew and kissed her softly and respectfully on the cheek. Recovering from having been so massively pried open, she was out of breath, as she knew she would be, but she smiled at this sweet gesture. She managed to exhale the words, “Thank you Kai-Kai”, and sensed his half-yawn smile as he got up and stole silently across the hall to the bathroom. As she heard the shower turn on she wiped herself off with the cloths set up neatly beside his bed, then put on the special maxi-pad that would keep semen from running down her legs. She got dressed, stuffed that huge retainer into her purse, and descended the stairs with unsteady legs that suddenly seemed unused to being close togther.