The Breeder

by Lynne Silver

  And practice I had. Barely a night went by when I hadn’t taken the penis out of its case to thrust it inside of me, touching myself intimately, usually dreaming of my kisses with Ethan and how I’d felt pressed against him in the cooling unit. It had been a million times better alone with the model penis than the secret nights with my fingers. Would it be a zillion times better with a real man? Please, let it be Ethan. Let him win.

  While Michael had been helping me into the chair, the twelve candidates had gone backstage to be prepped and put into proper attire. They filed out onstage now, each shirtless, wearing loose athletic shorts with a number printed on the hip. They walked to form a circle around my chair. Orange tape Xs marked twelve even places so no man had an advantage.

  I did my best to study each man equally, but I took an extra second to look at Ethan. He’d grown taller and much broader than I remembered. A tattoo wrapped around his right biceps, but I was too far away to see it clearly. In my mind, he was the strongest, the most powerful candidate, but history told me that appearances were deceiving. Sometimes the most wily or the most scrappy man won the battle.

  The last candidate standing got me. The trick was staying in it. No man was allowed a weapon. Actual death for the viewing audience would’ve been horrifying. Instead, each man was allowed to use their fists, feet and any other advantage their body gave them.

  The massive screens behind me flashed a countdown, and I knew when it got to three, my friends at home would be chanting along. Here onstage, there was an anticipatory silence that was almost eerie in its intensity. Time ticked to zero, and a blur of violence erupted around me. I’d been instructed to maintain my calm cool smile throughout the entire competition. The camera would be flashing in for close-ups to my reactions. I wasn’t supposed to have a favorite, so my expression had to remain unchangeable.

  It wasn’t easy. The men tore into each other with a viciousness I’d never seen. I’d grown up in an all-female community. Violence was rare. We fought our battles with the razor sharp edges of our tongues and in the subtle jockeying for power in the lunchroom.

  There was nothing subtle about this battle. Punches were thrown, and an invisible belt around my stomach pulled a notch with every thud of fist hitting vulnerable skin. At first it wasn’t easy to see if anyone was gaining an edge in the melee. I couldn’t see which hand belonged to which man, or which foot lashing out for a kick belonged to which leg.

  Grunts of pain and cries of agony were the only musical accompaniment. It was a world away from watching it with a glass screen barrier and music and commentary by Michael. He was calling out observations, but I could barely hear them over the awful sounds of violence.

  The first man hit the floor, and two soldiers ducked in to drag him out. Perhaps he had the energy to stand and fight some more, but rules stated if you hit the ground, you were out. I confessed to a small amount of surprise the first man down was Simon, my strong first kisser. I sent a prayer of gratitude heavenward that Ethan hadn’t been that first man down. He was still in this.

  Simon’s defeat seemed to signal a cascade of loss for other men. No one wanted to be the first man knocked out. Once that dishonor was taken, it was acceptable to allow yourself to fall.

  Only six men, including Ethan, were left, and the battle intensified. Twice, a man was thrown against my chair and I had to scoot to avoid being hit. One man winked as he was tossed onto my lap, but the other men were fired up that he got to touch me. Two turned on him with fury and he was soon knocked out.

  It was now down to three men. I studied each carefully. I stifled a cry as I saw blood dripping from Ethan’s cheek. Each candidate returned to an orange X at the request of Michael who acted as a referee of sorts. Sweat dripped from all three men and angry red splotches dotted their visible skin. There’d be purple and blue bruises tomorrow. I doubted they felt the pain today, but my body ached at seeing the abuse Ethan was taking just to have a chance at winning me.

  A deep dark part of me thrilled at how far he was going to get a chance to be with me. In olden days, men courted women with flowers and something called a date. Seeing Ethan fight and bleed for me was more romantic than any rose.

  The countdown clock started at five again. When it got to zero, Ethan and the other man turned to the third and took him down with no effort. I’d obviously missed some sort of non-verbal signal that had passed in the circle.

  The two finalists faced off against each other and it was all I could do to keep my eyes open. I wanted to shut them against the violence and promise of domination I saw in each one. This was not the carefree Ethan I remembered carrying crates of produce to my school kitchen. The hulking man in front of me was a physical menace who looked as though he’d never smiled and blushed at kissing a teenage girl.

  The other man appeared equally strong and capable of violence. How would one best the other? Martial arts moves were choreographed with precision and lethal intent, each man knocking blows into the other.

  And then the real battle began. They’d been toying with each other before. Testing the waters. Finally Ethan lowered his shoulders and ran full force, ramming his shoulder into the other’s abdomen. They flew off the stage wrapped in a deadly embrace.

  I strained to see what was happening, but my chair didn’t allow much room for visibility. After minutes—no, hours—the crowd parted and one of the men stood. I blinked, struggling to see if it was Ethan, and realized tears were clouding my vision. I blinked them back. It would never do to let people think I was crying at my fate or that I had any history with one of the candidates. Others would cry foul.

  I blinked again, and saw it was Ethan. He’d won. A warm elation climbed through my belly and radiated outward at the knowledge that the only man who’d ever mattered to me was about to take my prized virginity. He climbed onstage forgoing the steps. His chest heaved from effort and blood dripped from his nose. His dark hair streamed sweat onto his skin. I thought he looked like a savage. His bare hands could tear me to pieces, and given the way he’d dispatched his competitors, it was entirely possible.

  He wasn’t the boy I’d known. He was fully a man. I shivered, but then his gaze connected with mine and I saw a glimpse of my first love. I couldn’t have broken my stare if a tiger prowled onto the stage. I tried to smile to hide my hesitation. Until this moment I hadn’t understood how badly men wanted to have sex with me, the Breeder. Ethan’s expression told me he would’ve fought the entire audience of men, not just eleven others. And he would’ve won.

  Our gazes remained locked until Michael announced a commercial break and Ethan turned away to head offstage. I felt an inexplicable desire to call him back, though I knew he’d be returning shortly. I was possessive. He was my man. I wanted him in view.

  Every single person in the country would remain glued to the screen. Everyone knew what was coming. It was my turn to shine onstage. I was about to be deflowered in full view of the world, but in my mind only one person mattered and that was Ethan. He’d been the fantasy man at the forefront of my imagination every time I’d pleasured myself. Now I was about to have the reality. I shivered in anticipation. The Ethan in my dreams had been soft and kind. The Ethan about to take me was a million times stronger and harder.

  They used the commercial break to clean off the champion. The other men had been wiped down as soon as they’d been felled.

  I sat quietly in my chair counting to one hundred twenty. The harsh camera lights rained their radiance down on me as I waited to have sex. For the first time. With a beast of a man who faintly resembled a boy I’d once known. The dirty, kinky unexplored part of me liked him better. I wanted him to use his strength on me. To take me with the power he’d shown to the other candidates.

  Michael took his place onstage as the master of ceremonies. He’d backed off to a more secure location during the battle. He did a quick microphone check and then the music started as the lights dim
med.

  Behind me, the large screens flashed with the name and picture of the first man to fall, Simon. I couldn’t see it, but I knew from previous years what was happening. Michael announced his name and Simon bounded onstage, coming to stand at my feet. The audience, comprised of the eighty-eight men who hadn’t been picked as candidates, jeered and shouted for each man as they reentered the stage.

  Eleven men circled. They now wore gray brief underwear. They’d been hosed down after the battle, but the sweat stink hovered. It would require more than water to remove the power of their efforts. Only the knowledge the government guards stood in the wings with weapons kept them from pouncing. They weren’t allowed to have intercourse with me, but they were allowed to touch.

  At first there was silence as each man gawked at me, almost afraid to be the first to touch. I gave a hesitant smile to one man, which he took as an invitation to trail one fingertip across my lips.

  “Soft,” he whispered.

  Two other men imitated the touch, then one daring soul cupped my breast, and I gave a small gasp. My reaction induced all the men to start appeasing their curiosity about a woman’s body.

  Large hands stroked the arches of my feet, my thighs, my breasts. My nipples pebbled to a stone hardness against the rough brush of a large male palm. I closed my eyes against the onslaught of sensation. Having experimented at home, I knew what an orgasm felt like, but I’d seriously underestimated my one little hand versus the feeling of having twenty-two male hands on my skin. They caressed me all over, one taking a moment to pinch my nipples. My nipples ached, but it was the crease between my legs that felt the touches the most. I moaned softly and thrashed against the back of my chair.

  Distantly I heard the cheers of the crowd of men at my reaction. Up closer, harsh breaths and grunts of approval whispered in my ear. My eyelids fluttered open for a minute and I saw eleven sets of eyes staring back at me, worshipping my body reverently. When my head turned slightly to the side I caught an eyeful of male arousal. It was my first time seeing the distinct taut bulge between a man’s hips. A quick glance around showed me that all eleven men were in a similar state. I shivered at the intensely arousing sight.

  I mewed in delight. My sounds encouraged the men. Multiple sets of fingers parted the skin between my thighs and stroked. They’d come away wet. Long ago, I’d read sex was for people who loved each other, about the connection. Today, it was about feeling good. And, oh God, I felt good. Thinking stopped. It was all about feeling. My body shuddered and my mind went blank save for its fixation on pleasure. I was desperate to come to completion, but it wasn’t allowed. The honor of my first orgasm belonged to the winner. To Ethan.

  As much as my body craved release, I wanted Ethan to be with me when I came. But if the men kept touching me, it was going to be out of my control.

  The tempo of the music intensified, and my heart beat in time. The winner was about to be announced, I noted through my haze of pleasure. The men around me removed their hands and stepped back. Some held a promise in their gaze. They’d return for me. They weren’t through with the sex. They exited the stage and went to sit in the front row of the audience, all leaning forward, as if to remind us that they’d be ready to step forward and perform should the winner prove incompetent. A few of the daring ones cupped their cocks, rubbing furiously over the material of their boxers. I bit my lip at the sight, wanting to see more, but the time had come for Ethan to be announced.

  Michael’s smooth voice turned raucous and loud. “Now for this year’s winner... Ethan Green.” The music reached fever pitch as Ethan strode into view.

  My neck strained to catch a glimpse of him. I was worried about that cut on his cheek and any other injuries, but he had to be okay. He was strong. He’d have to be to have bested the eleven men circling me. He came into view. Muscles stood in relief on his skin from his neck down to his bare feet. Not a stitch of clothing covered him and I was given my first in-the-flesh view of a real penis. It jutted out from a nest of dark curls below a tangle of ropy abdominal muscles.

  I couldn’t move my gaze off his strong body, and his eyes were similarly directed at me. Had he been watching backstage as the men touched me? Did he know how badly I ached for his touch?

  The lights on the stage dimmed as he made his way over to me. His eyes gave nothing away when he stood between my thighs. Dimly, I sensed the cameras coming in closer for the best angle. This was the moment everyone in the world was waiting to see. The absence of sex in the majority of the world’s population hadn’t taken away any of the fascination for it. Everyone wanted to see his penis slide into me. If only the audience knew the whole story behind me and Ethan, they’d be going even crazier now. About as frantic as the beat of my heart.

  I closed my eyes waiting to be probed, but nothing happened. My eyes flew open. Ethan hovered over me, hands planted above my shoulders. “Jane,” he said. “Hi, I missed you.”

  He was taking the time to talk? Now?

  My disbelief must have shown on my face. “We’re about to have sex,” he said in a low voice. “Do you want this?” he asked.

  I nodded furiously. If he didn’t start touching me, I was going to grab his hard cock and force him into me, but then an awful thought occurred. “Do you?”

  A slow smile spread across his face. “I really do.”

  Oh, of course he did, or else he wouldn’t have fought as hard for the chance to have me.

  “Do it then,” I said, nearly silently. Something grew inside me I didn’t understand. For the last six years I’d been picturing this day, this moment, in my head. Not once did I expect it to be Ethan, nor had I expected him to take the time to talk to me. Most years, the winner jumped on the Breeder in a mad rush to get inside her as fast as possible. Ethan hadn’t. He’d talked to me. He’d asked permission, and it was so wondrous, I forgot to be nervous. Thank God I hadn’t taken the drug. I was clear-minded and ready to note everything happening around me, to me.

  I ran a hand through his hair to see if it had changed as much as his body. It was the same as I remembered. The skin on his cheeks had changed, though, and it intrigued me. A dark prickly shadow covered his cheeks and chin. It scratched at me in the best possible way as Ethan bent over to kiss my breasts, rubbing his tongue over one nipple then the other. I arched into him. The eleven men watching us closely from the front row were ignored, the cameras forgotten.

  I planted tiny kisses on as much of Ethan’s skin as I could reach. Reverently his hands cupped my breasts and he leaned over me to kiss me. My lips parted, and his tongue slipped in, rubbing against mine. It was amazing; the best thing I’d ever felt.

  “What’re you waiting for?” Michael hissed from offstage. “Fuck her. The world’s waiting.”

  If Ethan heard the warning, he didn’t show it. Instead, his hands lowered to stroke my belly down to the juncture of my thighs. I was already wet from the other men’s ministrations, and I eagerly welcomed his touch.

  He was obviously a virgin like I was, but somehow he knew what to do to make my body sing with need and desire.

  “Hurry up.” Another warning from offstage. The people wanted their show and the government had to deliver.

  We stared in each other’s eyes. “Ready?” he asked.

  “I’m ready.” I spread my thighs as far as I could while he guided his penis inside me. There was no barrier, no pain as virgins of long ago experienced. I’d been given the model of a penis for a reason, and used it to my advantage. Ethan slid in me as though he were made for me. I’d been so close to orgasm when the other competitors had been touching me that I didn’t think it would take much to bring me to the brink.

  The cameras focused on my every moan and pant as I was filled for the very first time with living flesh. I’d remember to be embarrassed later. Now, there was only Ethan on top of me, inside me. My palms stroked the sweat-dampened muscles of his back, and I ins
tinctively lifted my hips to meet his thrusts.

  “Oh, God,” Ethan muttered above me, the words escaping one at a time from behind compressed lips. His eyes were shut, and a faint sheen of sweat rested on his forehead. “It’s so good. Better than I’d dreamed about.”

  “Better than your fist?” I whispered against his lips, wondering where I found the daring to say such a thing. It was common knowledge that men nowadays resorted to all sorts of ways to release their sexual needs. Some men chose to chemically castrate themselves knowing there’d be no female outlet for the desires. The likely candidates to win a Breeder never did.

  “Beyond better,” he groaned.

  “It’s better for me too.” I loved everything about it. The feel of him filling me, the scent of his exertions, the damp friction of our skin rubbing together, but most of all the knowledge that it was Ethan fucking me was the pinnacle.

  His eyelids flashed open and he smiled at me. Our lips met in another deep kiss while his hips sped up their pace. With each thrust, he pushed against my swollen, sensitive clit, making me gasp.

  We danced together for long minutes, the camera picking up every touch of skin, every bead of sweat between us. Despite the weight of the chair on which I perched, the legs of it scooted back and forth from our frenzied movements.

  “I don’t want this to end,” he said in a hoarse voice, “but I’m close.”

  “Me too,” I panted. If our first time together was this good, I could hardly wait for the next month together.

  His hips started to pound hard against me, pushing me back against the chair. Speaking was out of the question. It was all I could do to remember to breathe. I was so close to my first manmade orgasm, I didn’t want to miss an instant of it.

  For a quick second his eyes flashed open and met mine. I could see panic in his. He was close, but somehow knew I wasn’t quite there yet. He’d be shamed if he couldn’t hold out long enough to give me an orgasm.