Just a statement, though my publication schedule doesn’t reflect this. I’m acutely aware that I haven’t put out anything new in a while. That having been said, anyone into breeding does have to take into account that as you and your spouse add kids to this world, your responsibilities also increase.
I am blessed with a wife whose traditional outlook causes her preferred role to be as wife and mother, and for my part I focus on earning a paycheck, ensuring we’re financially comfortable, and handling whatever is best handled by testosterone. In the past, I addressed this by working insane numbers of hours at my corporate day job to secure promotions. It did work, but it came at the expense of my various hobbies – writing being one of them.
Yes, I’m also in charge of brute force oriented household tasks, and killing anything that should need killed. Generally, my wife and I argue a lot about spiders – I am very much inclined to rehome them, and she would prefer to take off and nuke the site from orbit – it’s the only way to be sure.
In other news since my last update here, my family spent most of the covid-19 lockdown period at home, barely leaving the house. But, we still managed to get infected with covid due to unavoidable circumstances with the kids.
But now, fast-forwarding to the present – my fans will be pleased to note that I have joined in the Great Resignation of 2022… which sounds like people are leaving their jobs behind and quitting work. Nothing could be further from the truth amongst the folks I know. We’re all quitting our jobs at one giant corporation and taking better-paying jobs at other corporations because they’re all desperate to hire new talent, but none of them care enough about keeping their existing talent pool to pay them their replacement cost. We corporate types are mostly just playing a gigantic game of “Musical Chairs”, where we all change companies and then to replace us, our former employer have to offer new applicants an amount that we would’ve actually stayed for in the first place.
That’s the general direction of the IT workforce. My own personal direction has been to join a startup with a super work/life balance oriented culture, and now I have both a nice raise and the free time to write again.
I know I’ve proclaimed in the past that I’ll be getting back to writing, and to be fair I did for a while – before projects and deadlines started piling up and demanding all my free time. This time around, I’m not promising anything will get finished soon. Only that I’m writing again, and that the word count in my editor is going up dramatically.
For those interested in exactly what, I’ll share that I’m mostly working on “The Fallback Plan” right now. There’s some skullduggery afoot, no one can trust the machines, and the crew has reasons to distrust each other as well. I’m including a sample from what I’ve been working on lately.
= SAMPLE FROM The Fallback Plan, Chapter 6
Susan hushed the ship’s efforts to guide her to her quarters, preferring to rely on her own memory. As First Officer, she was among the handful of crew members important enough to have her own quarters. Besides her, the captain and various department heads had their own private quarters. It would be a while until enough colonists were born to force anyone to share quarters with other crew members, but once that happened it would be crammed. Susan palmed the door open to her quarters, and poked her head inside. The bed was rumpled and unmade, though she had distinctly remembered making the bed herself with her 70 year old hands before her brain was digitized for the voyage. She resolved to check the logs later on, and find out whether to blame Martinez or Reagan for entering her quarters. Regardless, she’d been brought here for a purpose, and that purpose was throbbing now, vibrating to remind her that she needed to use it. She was still as nude as when she first awakened; she’d walked from med bay without stitch of fabric, or a second thought about it. As she knew she was the only one awake besides the doctor, she didn’t care. But now she was in her room, and it was time to walk through a familiar dance she’d performed thousands of times before. She stepped into the center of her room, where the mirror on her wall gave a full view of her nude form. She wasn’t exactly a virgin, but she honestly felt that the only person truly worthy to fuck Susan Cappelli was Susan Cappelli herself. She’d once hired a lookalike so that she could fuck herself, but it’d proven disappointing – she knew that any resemblance to her was only cosmetic. In her original body, she’d earned a fair number of scars throughout the years of military service, and her new body had none of them. The scars weren’t why she’d never really had a consistent lover over the years – she’d spent her youth focusing on career and efficiency, and as youth faded, her drive never let up. One of the aspects she’d found appealing about this expedition was that since she was pretty close to the top of the colony’s career ladder, she had looked forward to spending several decades lustily fucking her way through a colony full of std-free playmates with perfectly formed bodies until there was enough of a planetary government to pursue further ladder-climbing. She ruefully observed that her original plans had involved tons of pregnancy-free sex, and had been replaced by the ship’s plans of tons of sex-free pregnancies. She gave herself a quarter-turn one way, then the other, before she decided to pick up her mobile and take some pictures of her pre-pregnancy body. She knew pregnancies took a toll on bodies, and she wasn’t sure she trusted the ship to reconstruct her exactly back to where she was before. It would’ve been a shame to never be able to see this perfection again. Once she felt she’d adequately documented her physical perfection, she decided to get down to business. She dropped her hand between her legs and started off by strumming her clit from a standing position, and the sensations nearly took her off her feet. She’d forgotten just how strong the sensations were when all of her nerves were at full capacity. She bent over a little but kept going, her eyes rolling up in her head as she let out a little gasp. Her pelvic region surged with a rush of heat and wetness, and within seconds she was aching for insertion. She picked up the probe from the table and looked her reflection in the eyes as she first slipped a finger inside herself, moaning slowly as she felt herself slicker and wetter than she could ever remember. She bucked her hips, enjoying her fingers deeper and deeper until she just needed something more. And that’s when the probe came into play. She squatted a little, parting her legs to slip the probe’s head between her folds. She let out a gasp as she pushed it in a little farther with each thrust, her young body demanding more depth, more penetration. She stood up, relishing the pressure it put against her sides, and then laid down to finish. Susan was going for it now, stroking the probe in and out like an engine’s piston. She arced her hip just a little on the right, helping herself hit just the right spot… and her full first orgasm in her new body was mind-blowing. She just barely remembered to press the release button on the probe, and felt it spurt inside of her, filling her up like none of her male lovers ever had. Susan ground her hips hard against the probe, taking full advantage of the throbbing motion of the pumps to coax herself into … blackness. She knocked herself out.
Susan awoke to the ship’s computer informing her that it was time to report to med bay for nutrient injection. She dragged herself to her feet and cleaned herself off in the shower, then reached into the closet for the uniform she’d set out for herself. She pulled off its plastic cover, took one look at it and knew it wasn’t the same uniform she’d left. It was a standard service uniform, correct for her rank, but she’d put a few pins into the fabric that would’ve fallen out if someone had tampered with it. Cappelli was always suspicious of her crew, and took pains to ensure that no one could touch her things without discovery. Annoyed, she demanded answers from the computer. “No one has been in your quarters since launch, First Officer.” Cappelli shook her head. “Someone’s been in here. This is not my original uniform, and someone’s been on my bed too.” “My apologies. No human has been in your quarters, First Officer. When Engineer Martinez destroyed the genesis system, aerosol contamination required the replacement of all cloth items in several of the quarters, including yours.” Susan sighed. “Well, one mystery down.” She slipped on panties, then discovered that her bra didn’t fit as well as she’d have expected. Looking in the mirror, she realized that’s because her breasts were bigger than she’d ever seen them. She admired herself briefly, then threw on a tank top and her uniform jacket, leaving her unusable bra behind. To simplify things, she skipped her normal pants and opted for a uniform skirt she’d rarely had use for. Walking down the hall to the med bay, she barked out, “Computer, fabricate new uniforms and underwear suitable for my entire pregnancy. I may not care if the doctor sees me naked, but as the ranking officer on this mission, I am wearing a proper uniform the whole time.” The computer acknowledged with just a chirp.
Susan walked into med bay just after Kara finished her second nutrient injection. Intellectually, she’d known what had been going to happen, but walking in to see Kara’s first-trimester belly already replaced by a bulging, gravid second-trimester belly drove home what was going to happen to her in time. Her hand unconsciously went to her own belly as she thought about what awaited her. “The computer says I need nutrients. What do I do?” Kara explained the nutrient injection process, and Susan reacted with her usual enforce-the-pecking-order barbs. Annoyed, Kara answered the senior officer’s questions on how to self-administer the injection, and then stepped back and let the senior officer do it. Susan slipped off her panties, but kept the rest of the uniform on and slid the probe up into her vagina. She was less interested in maintaining her decorum in front of Kara, than in determining how to preserve it once there were more crew members. She quickly realized that once the injection started, she had to grit her teeth to maintain composure as the probe stimulated her to the point of orgasm. The uniform jacket she’d refused to take off became constrictive, and she unzipped it and breathed a sigh of relief. This made her choice to skip the bra obvious, her erect nipples visible as the nutrient solution continued to pump into her. By the time she took the probe out a few minutes later, Susan looked down at her belly and saw that she looked 5 months pregnant, while Kara now looked 7 months along. Susan walked back to her quarters, getting used to her new center of gravity. The mirror confirmed everything she’d felt, and the stretch marks already beginning to cross her belly were the final straw. “I’m not doing this,” she hissed. “Not over and over again. I’m not a breeding cow. The rest of the crew can do that, but not me. I am going to win.” Her hands caressed her swollen midriff. “But unfortunately, first I’m going to need an inner circle. And I know how I’ll have to get them.”
Another C-section, this one necessary both due to the C-section for my son just 15 months before, and because E was a bit over 11 pounds when born. It seems that I am fated to be the father of ever-larger children, and the next one will likely shake the Earth with his/her first step.
In all seriousness, my wife and I are trying to take a break from having kids for a few years. As much as I love the process of producing babies, I’m finding that I genuinely dislike the actual “baby” stage of the human animal, while I really enjoy the “kid” stage. This works out decently for my wife, because she loves babies and would be fine with me handling the kids – but we need for the previous kid to stop being a baby before we produce the next one. That, and two screaming babies at all hours of the night has been keeping me from getting much written lately.
That having been said, I’ve recently acquired a couple of voice recorders which can record audio at a decent quality, and I’m finally learning to use Dragon effectively. So, I’m hopefully about to reclaim the time I spend driving to and from work every day for writing purposes. I did a test run a few days ago on a shop run, and got a bit over 900 words (mostly accurate too!) transcribed for The Fallback Plan.
So, Progenitor 3 is released and live on Amazon, Smashwords, Barnes + Noble, etc. The results are even better than I’d hoped! My favorite feedback is below:
OMG the book is amazing!!!Worth the wait — A.L. Harling
So now, with the release all finished, I get to get back to working on more stuff full-time. My front-running projects are Fallback, Progenitor 4, Winning the Genetic Lottery 2, and the next installment of Breeding Camelot Style (there’s three different incomplete stories there, so it’s tough to find one to focus on).
In my last post, I said I planned to release Progenitor 3 in about two weeks – and that I would work on the eBook formatting between now and then.
Well, I managed to get the formatting locked in, then I realized that both Amazon and Smashwords have pre-order systems that will take a fully-ready release and handle it automatically! So, I’ve uploaded the manuscripts I’ve got, along with the meta-data, and set it for a 4/10/17 release. Think of this as a little insurance policy for my readers, in case I somehow disappear into family and work again over the next two weeks.
This leaves two weeks to act upon any changes I get back from my beta readers. If nothing comes back needing changes, the version I’ve uploaded will be the official release version. If there are changes, I’ve still got the ability to swap out the manuscript before release.
I feel pretty safe now saying that no matter what happens, on April 10th anyone who wants Progenitor 3 will have it!
Nearly four years after releasing Progenitor 2, Progenitor 3 is finally out to the beta readers! Unless they happen to spot something glaringly wrong with it, I expect to release it within the next couple of weeks. Until I hear back, I’m going to occupy myself with eBook formatting so that it’s ready for release as soon as it’s cleared.
In the meantime, enjoy this excerpt from the rave chapter:
Amita took my hand and tugged me towards the pool in front of the DJ’s sound stage. The pool was only about a foot deep, but it was about as wide as the stage, and at least six feet from front to back. Computer-controlled water shows were sending bolts of water overhead and pulsing lights to go with the music, and they probably planned to run soap bubbles through it at some point tonight. Amita smirked at me and said, “We can’t let them down, can we?”
I laughed and walked towards it with her, and a horde of women followed us towards it. Amita and I managed to weasel our way through the crowd, but the women following behind us just shoved their way in like a Roman phalanx. Amita didn’t stop when we reached the pool, just stepped in. I was pleased to discover that the pool’s floor was basically a giant traction mat, so I wasn’t worried about slipping.
Standing in the pool, Amita stripped me out of my shirt, and I worked on my pants while she yanked her pasties out from under her bra, letting her nipples peek out behind their sheer lacy cover. As her top splashed down in the water, dozens of camera flashes started winking from the audience. The minute she started to pull down her panties, the crowd erupted with cries of “Fuck her!”, “Fuck him!”, or “Fuck me instead!”.
Moments later, we were bathed in a spot light. I looked up to see the DJ give us an approving thumbs up before going back to her spinning. Apparently impromptu sex shows were fine as long as the audience approved, so I just went with it.
Like some horny faerie queen, Amita now wore nothing but glitter, a tiara, and her wings. She sparkled brilliantly in the stage lights as she sloshed towards me in the mid-calf-deep water. For that matter, I was covered in glitter myself, and I’m sure it looked like we’d actually planned this. A ring of voyeurs had formed, and a few girls still half-heartedly reached for me, even though they knew my choice had already been made. Amita gestured for me to lay down, probably trying to keep her wings from getting wet. I complied, getting comfy as the Indian girl crouched over me, her warm pussy seeking my shaft again. Her now-practiced hand quickly found my penis and guided it in to impale herself on me, taking the ride long and slow. She threw her head back and moaned, then I was surprised to see her whip out her phone from its hiding place in her wings. I raised my eyebrow and she said, “Sorry – selfie moment!”
I chuckled and thrust harder, taking her attention back off of the phone and into the moment. She rode me up and down, and the pool rippled with the waves as we thrust. Amita’s lips formed a smirk as she addressed the crowd and shouted, “He’s available once I’m done. So if you want a piece of him, come on in and sit down in the water.”
“What about you? You available afterwards?” yelled a guy.
“Gonna be pregnant by the time he’s done!” Amita replied. Everyone laughed, which made me start laughing – and then Amita started laughing too.
Little-known fact: laughing sex is AMAZING. On a girl like Amita, it makes her insides tighten up just right during sex. Like sneezing, but without the mood-killing spray and snot.
A surprising number of the girls followed Amita’s advice, sitting down in the water, utterly oblivious that my sperm would soon be swarming throughout the pool, looking for targets. Amita’s wings fluttered as she bounced, making her look like a sex-crazed butterfly. She looked around at the semicircle of watching women, most of whom were touching themselves as they watched us. Amita let out a pleasured groan and ran her hands down her midriff, pressing hard and savoring the sensations as she relished the anticipation.
“I love this,” she said breathlessly, “and I want our baby so bad.”
I shrugged. “Well, you’re going to actually have several in a few minutes,” I offered.
Amita smirked. “I mean the actual baby, not just eggs. God, if only I weren’t going to forget how this feels! I’d think back on it every night when I touch myself. And once I’m done laying eggs, I’m getting myself pregnant. I’ll be touching myself constantly for the next nine months,” she said.
I was getting close by now, so I wasn’t inclined to talk. I focused my attention on her body instead, and on driving my dick as far between her legs as possible. The DJ had switched to a fast-paced dance number, easy to thrust to but at a tempo which guaranteed I wouldn’t last much longer.
Amita rested her palms on my chest, her perfect brown breasts bouncing rhythmically in front of my face. I felt a single drop of pre-cum escape my tip and probably impregnate her, but I was determined to finish anyway. I leaned back, relishing the fact that the water was wicking away excessive heat from my body even as Amita and I built up heat between us. The water tickled my balls a little, and I felt that last-minute surge of hardness that I sometimes feel towards the end. I wrapped my arms around Amita’s back and pulled her to me, kissing her as our tempo shifted a little. We stopped the long in and out thrusts anymore; now it was just teetering back and forth at the end, my tip seeking maximum penetration and getting it. I was almost there, focusing now on keeping myself as deep inside her as possible.
I kissed her, then turned my head to the side and whispered into her ear, “About to cum. You’re gonna get pregnant.”
That set her over the edge. Amita’s orgasm struck her like lightning, making every part of her clamp down in unison. I let out a stifled grunt myself as her vagina grabbed my dick, squeezing it and demanding that it release the sperm it so desperately wanted. We held each other tightly as I came, every last pulse of my cum slamming into her cervix like a wave overwhelming a sand castle. There was no way in hell I hadn’t just fertilized her.
Amita pulled back a little, smiling mischievously. She looked around at our circle of female voyeurs, many of whom were kneeling or crouching without their pussies in the water. “Sit down, girls,” Amita called. “If you ever want me to let him go, that is.”
The girls who weren’t already sitting down, did so. Amita dismounted me partially, letting my still-erect dick wave freely in the air. The thin layer of cum on my dick seemed to vanish as soon as it touched the water. And then Amita grinned and spread her legs, a giant load of my sperm dangling from her pussy for a moment before it dropped free into the water. It struck and then dissolved on impact as my nano-enhanced sperm dispersed to seek out more targets.
I’ve been getting a fair amount of writing done in the evenings lately, and Progenitor 3 has really been coming together.
Those who read the version that I posted years ago on the Impregnorium will notice that certain primary points – such as the girls’ bedroom, the sorority house in general, and the hot tub scene – are absolutely still there.
What’s been added is much clearer motivation for Amita, because the “why” of her collaboration with Phil was probably the most awkward thing in the original story. Now she’s responding to a once in a lifetime chance to fulfill her pregnancy kink – not just tonight, but over the next nine months at college too. And she’s determined to film as much of it as she can for her own records, since she knows she’ll forget it all otherwise.
And after that, she and Phil go to a rave full of college students. She doesn’t just want to knock up her sorority, but all of the sororities!
The rave is written now, and all I’ve got left to finish is the epilogue leading into Progenitor 4 (and holy crap it’s awesome to write new content for once!). We’re finally getting on the road and escaping the Southern California coast, because evolution shouldn’t see geographical boundaries.
Progenitor 4 direction
It gets teased a little in P3, but P4 will uncover more of the aliens’ motivations – why they’re trying to accelerate human evolution along a single track instead of just letting it happen naturally. If left unguided, our species is capable of evolving into a bio-weapon which the galactic government has destroyed worlds to contain – which is why Earth and all other undeveloped human worlds are quarantine zones.
Unfortunately for us, there are more aliens than the ones who resurrected the Progenitor, and some of them just want to evolve humans into bio-weapons and ship out as many as possible before the rest of the civilized galaxy notices.
So, the clever folks over at Romance.io have implemented a project I kept “thinking of” for years. In the IT world, people think of useful stuff all the time, and sooner or later it someone implements it. This was one of those ideas where the world needed it, and the lack of its existence was pissing me off, but I wasn’t quite pissed enough to try to undertake the project myself. Hence, I’m very pleased that someone with UI design skills (my UI’s are all basic 90s forms; they get results to you but it’s ugly) and produced a nicely laid out, pleasant to use site.
Romance.io is an improved search engine for erotica / romance on Amazon. It extracts data from the stories on Amazon, and then lets customers search their database without Amazon’s blasted adult filter in the equation or their arbitrary, capricious “soft bans” which suppress results unless you happen to know the title of the story in question. Any author writing edgy content – such as breeding, ‘step-cest’, or other issues which Amazon arbitrarily adds to the suppression list ‘this week’. As I’ve said several times, the correct solution to this is NOT to just stealth-suppress stories as they’ve done; readers SHOULD be able to check “Yes, I want to see smut” on their account so that no subject is taboo anymore unless it’s flat-out breaking the terms of service agreement (i.e. pedos, etc).
If that weren’t enough, the even better feature is that it supports “tags” so that you can search for breeding erotica, then narrow it down further (add Robots? Billionaires? Whatever floats your boat!).
The best thing about them and tagging is that they’re responsive to authors who make a good case for a new tag. I proposed ‘breeding’, as it is a somewhat standardized tag for this genre and the “pregnancy” tag doesn’t really describe scenarios such as … well, Progenitor in particular, or most of the rest of my stuff in general.
Once you’ve chosen your tags, and it’ll filter the search results down to just those categories. Much like Newegg or Amazon, you can narrow down your criteria until you get exactly what you want.
I’ve gone through and tagged my books with ‘breeding’. Other authors – by all means, make sure your stuff is listed on the site, and ensure it’s tagged correctly, then advertise this site to your readers. I’m definitely making sure my readers know about it.
In other news, I’m still working over 60hrs/week at my day job, and doing my best to occasionally write something. And most of the time that something is Progenitor 3. Some forward motion has happened on Fallback too, but it’s mostly been concentrated on Progenitor 3.
I’m not a tech blogger, but a couple pieces of tech did actually change my life
I can and do reserve the right to say what I like about Amazon’s e-book related practices. I’m really not a fan of the way they treat erotica authors or their erotica customers. However, I must give credit where credit’s due: An Amazon product is why I’m getting some writing done now.
One of the issues I had, was that my wife kept yelling for me to come upstairs and do things for her. My baby son is colicky as hell (but otherwise healthy) and massively needy, so basically she spends all her time holding the baby. During my 6 weeks of paternity leave from work, I didn’t get anything written due to her calling me upstairs every 15-30 minutes, all around the clock, to do things for her. And since the baby has to sleep in the bed with her, I couldn’t sleep in or stay in the bedroom because I roll around in my sleep and – well, neither one of us wants a dead baby, so I slept downstairs until very recently.
Anyway, I got a lot of my time back when I ensured she no longer had to use her hands to do everything.
Enter the Amazon Echo
At a work function not too long ago, I got to check out an Amazon Echo. I already knew I liked its audio quality, so it was a decent speaker no matter what – but there were a lot of things she could use it for instead of calling me to do them. Right now, she mostly uses it as an acoustically nice voice-activated speaker (“Alexa, play baby lullabys” is a common phrase from her), and does a wonderful job of handling timers, alarms, and updating Google calendar. It also provides a verbal interface to check the status of Amazon orders, check delivery dates, etc.
I was impressed enough to order a second one for the downstairs room I hang out in mostly, and I personally use it for a writing timer. It’s tough to get time to write these days – the family will interrupt me constantly, and as a workaholic with a corporate job, I never have a shortage of emergencies I “need” to take care of. That’s left my writing career floundering for some time now.
Now I go downstairs with my laptop and say, “Alexa, play angry German music” – which kicks off my appropriately named Pandora channel – and then I’ll follow up with, “Alexa, stop music after one hour”. That’s one hour of writing time, automatically set to cut off at the end so that I can justify truly saving the time for writing.
It may be silly, but this is why Progenitor 3 went from 19.8k words to 20.7k words while also getting the first chapter edited to the point where I felt good enough about it to release it recently. It’s why I also expect that Fallback: Arrival will get published this year.
The next big hands-free baby thing
Another thing I lost a lot of time to, was my wife calling me upstairs to pick up her phone for her. She’s always been a total phone addict – she’s compelled to check every notification when it comes in. So, her mother’s day present from me was a Garmin Vivoactive HR watch. It pairs with Android or iPhone, checks heart rate, and can tell when you’re sleeping or not. The big compelling feature though is that it displays smart phone notifications. So, when her phone starts buzzing, K doesn’t reach for it anymore – she looks at her wrist, and only needs her phone if she wants to respond. This cut out a lot of trips upstairs for me, because trying to bend over while holding a baby isn’t as easy as it sounds for a woman who’s had a c-section. We’ve been impressed enough with it that she bought me one for father’s day.
Just to allay the fears that I’m actually dead, I thought I’d toss out a teaser: The first chapter of the fancy, deluxe re-release of Progenitor 3.
Progenitor 3, Chapter 1: Sibling Rivalry
I felt like I’d just dozed off when a gentle hand on my shoulder began to shake me. “Brad – this is our stop,” said a female voice. I started to say I wasn’t Brad, but then I remembered I’d told that name to the two gorgeous girls I’d boarded the bus with. One thing had led to the next, and they ultimately asked me to “chill” with them at their sorority house. My pheromones guaranteed what they meant by “chill”, and it sounded like a good way to lay low for a few hours until I could find out if my actions at the mall had resulted in a manhunt. Right now I wasn’t sure what the fallout would be, but my response was leaning towards “run like hell”. I stood up in the aisle to let them file out, and Erica went first. She was the taller of the two. and when she bent over to pick up her shopping bags she “accidentally” ground her ass against my crotch. That constituted restraint, since inhaling my pheromones for about a half hour had probably left her spending the last ten minutes trying to think of a way to fuck me in the bus seat. Amita, her sorority sister and roommate, hip-bumped Erica off of me and said, “Save it for the dance tonight.” Erica was a slender white brunette with mischievous green eyes and Amita was East Indian, with medium-dark skin and a dancer’s toned body. Erica’s denim shorts just barely covered the curve of her ass, while her transparent blouse did more to show off her yellow cross-hatched string bikini than hide it. While Erica looked like she’d just left the beach, Amita’s loose-fitting electric blue running shorts and sports bra were straight out of a gym’s “reasons to go here” ad. Her top was just thin enough to leave no doubt where her nipples were, and tight enough to keep her cocoa-brown cleavage in view. As we worked our way off the bus, I felt a few female hands caress my ass as I went by. I really wished that my alien resurrectors had given me an off switch for my pheromones, but I guess that would’ve gone against their goal of spreading their evolved genes as widely and as quickly as possible. As the bus drove away, Erica and Amita led me down the street towards their sorority house. Their well-formed asses oscillated in front of me with a conscious, practiced strut as we walked a mile or so past large multi-story houses with Greek letters. The weight of both girls’ shopping bags in my hands was actually refreshing. It’d been decades since I’d been this strong, and my 1940s sensibilities demanded that I demonstrate a little bit of old-fashioned chivalry to the girls – at least, until their inevitable impregnations. That outcome was a foregone conclusion today, but I hoped to get some rest before I had to get back on the run. The front door to their sorority house was unlocked, and Erica swung it open and waved me in. “Entres vous,” she said in a mock French accent. The house was a bit small compared to most of the others, but Amita contributed that this was the smaller of their sorority’s two houses. The first thing I noticed was a scent of potpourri candles, and the second was a cozy assembly area in their front room. The floor was faux wood paneling, accented in a few places by small rugs. “Our room is upstairs,” Erica said as she checked a mail cubby by the door. “And house rules say that male visitors must leave by 8 – but that doesn’t matter if no one knows you’re here.” She winked and added, “It’s not like they’ll check, unless we’re really loud.” I nodded. “And I officially accept your invite. What’re the plans for tonight?” She grinned. “Costume rave, actually. Our sorority’s going as faeries – that means fake wings, sheer dresses, and body glitter. Others are doing Catholic schoolgirls, nurses, you name it.” She paused for a second before she added, “You can come with us. Each of us is allowed to bring one non-Greek along, and neither of us had dates picked out.” I grinned and said, “Sounds fun! What’re we doing until then?” Amita nudged me in the shoulder and said quietly, “Let’s go figure that out. C’mon, before house mom sees us and makes you sign in.” She turned and walked up the stairs in front of me, and Erica and I followed. Her shorts were a work of art which revealed every curve of her early-20s ass. It was impossible not to enjoy the view, and my dick hardened a little in spite of myself. In my position, a normal college guy would nervously micro-analyze his every move in a desperate, often counter-productive attempt to avoid messing up his chance to get laid. But my pheromones meant that sex was a foregone conclusion at this point, and all I really wanted right now was a nap before Amita and Erica inevitably took things to the next level. Erica shouldered open their bedroom door and sat down at a desk across the room, and I selected a beanbag chair near the closest bed. The door clicked shut behind us as Amita locked it, then sat down at a bed right inside the door. Amita plucked a t-shirt off her dresser, then slipped it over her sports bra and fumbled around underneath until she sighed with relief and pulled her bra out from under the shirtin an impressive feat of agility. Her shirt was plain and white, and far from loose-fitting. I’m sure she intended for me to notice her nipples poking through the shirt, but I avoided making any comments. I still had hopes of taking a nap before getting her pregnant. Erica’s arms were up, her hands resting on the back of her neck as her expression begged for my attention. As soon as I made eye contact she asked, “You’re not a prude, are you?” I shook my head, and Erica grinned widely. “Good,” she said – and pulled the string on her bikini top. She smirked saucily as she stretched and arched her back, effectively topless. “Erica!” Amita gasped out as her friend’s bikini top hit the floor. “Oh Amita, lighten up. You took yours off too,” she pointed out. I smirked, leaned further back into the beanbag chair, and folded my hands behind my head. “Not like I object,” I contributed. That was an understatement on my part. In spite of myself, there was a hard-on sticking up from my pants like a flagpole, and Erica definitely noticed it. “I bet he doesn’t object,” sighed Amita. She arched her back a little, her nipples straining at her shirt as it rode up and exposed a few inches of firm, flat midriff. Erica sauntered over to the beanbag chair, taking effort to ensure I noticed her breasts through her see-thru top. “You don’t mind sharing, do you? This is my favorite spot,” she said. The warmth of her skin seeped into my side as the curve of her left breast pressed gently into my side. I shrugged and slipped my arm around behind her back. “Sharing makes the world go round,” I said resignedly. Inwardly I sighed, realizing my nap wasn’t going to happen. And after the yelling and the screaming started, who knows how many more girls would come to investigate and stay for the orgy? “Now Erica, that chair looks too small for the two of you,” Amita chided. Erica giggled. “It’s fine – unless of course you were planning to join us?” she asked. Amita’s cheeks flushed so red that I could see it through her cocoa-brown skin as she stammered out, “Well… yes, I’d like to.” Amita’s bed was a typical girl-nest piled high with pillows, and she almost looked small when framed by them all. But I didn’t want to see the girls start fighting over me, so I interjected, “How about we move it to the bed, ladies?” Erica cracked a half-smile and playfully punched me in the side. “Think you’re getting lucky or something?” she asked. I wistfully replied, “I know I’m getting lucky. I’d really rather have a nap first, though.” “Excuse you?” Erica yelped. My only response was to stand up, stretch, then hop over onto the bed. I landed right in the center and bounced satisfyingly, leaving Erica alone in the chair staring at me in disbelief as I came to rest against Amita’s bare knees. I met her eyes and retorted, “I’m taking a nap starting right now – unless you stop me.” Erica clenched her jaw and half-grinned at the same time, catlike and graceful. Her bare breasts swayed seductively as she shrugged out of her see-through top, leaving her truly topless. She shook her head in disbelief. “If you weren’t so damn hot,” she muttered under her breath. Standing by the foot of the bed, Amita giggled nervously as her topless roommate snuggled up to me. Erica possessively laid her arm over my torso, and then the bed sank down a little as Amita laid down on my other side. I was suddenly grateful both girls were petite, because the full-size bed would’ve been a tight fit otherwise. I was lying on my side facing Erica when Amita snaked her arm around my waist from behind. Erica curled up to me and ran her fingers down my chest, making me the center of a girl sandwich as two sets of fingers explored my chest. Amita felt through the fabric of my shirt as Erica picked idly at the buttons. Next, I felt air on my chest as Erica began to unbutton them, exposing the chiseled physique I’d never dieted or exercised for. I scooted off the bed, jostling both girls in the process. “Hey!” Erica exclaimed as she regained her balance, just before my shirt dropped to the floor by my feet. I turned around and faced them, shirtless. Erica catcalled as she reached behind herself and pressed a button on her cellphone. Some kind of pop music began blaring out of a bluetooth speaker mounted on her headboard. “Just in case it gets loud,” she grinned. Erica leaned back in the bed, both girls watching me intently. I wasn’t the type to refuse them a show. My shirt was already off, and my hands were on my belt. Since I wasn’t some master stripper, I stepped out of my pants one foot at a time, smiling at both of the girls in turn. At first I was disappointed that they weren’t meeting my eyes – then I noticed they were looking lower. They were staring at the tent being pitched in my boxers. My dick was making its best effort to escape through my fly, and Erica and Amita both licked their lips nervously. The music played on as I slipped off my underwear, escalating their expressions to open lust. My erection bounced with each step as I walked to the bed, then crawled up between the two girls again. Amita looked away for a brief moment before her eyes were drawn back to mine. Erica pressed herself up against me eagerly, while Amita seemed a little more reserved, hovering just a few inches away from me. I wrapped one arm around each girl and pulled them closer. I turned to my right and met Erica’s eyes. I was still looking at her face when a hand wrapped around my shaft, stroking it slowly. Erica was either a master poker player, or her hand wasn’t the one in question. When I looked down, I was surprised to notice that the hand gripping my cock was actually a smooth brown. “Amita!” Erica exclaimed in astonishment as she followed my eyes. “I couldn’t let you lead the whole time, could I?” Amita shot back. I glanced over at Amita, and then back to Erica. The white girl was staring daggers at her roommate. “I was about to blow him,” she protested. She looked into my eyes and pleaded, “You’d rather have that than her hand, right?” Amita blushed but didn’t let go. “I’m taking him inside me,” she countered. Erica’s eyebrows went up. “You? Amita, you’re practically a virgin!” Amita said nothing, just rolled onto her back and started pushing down her shorts. Erica’s mouth dived for my penis, but was deflected by Amita’s insistent open palm. “Oh no, you don’t!” Amita cried out, shoving hard. Erica tottered off balance on the side of the bed as Amita straddled me cowgirl style. She hadn’t had enough time to pull her shorts down the rest of the way, but pushing the crotch to the side was enough. She was almost perfectly lined up over my shaft when she ground down, impaling herself on my erection with a contented gasp. “Practically a virgin, huh?” Amita said as she shifted her weight so I’d bottom out inside her, my steel-hard cock completely enveloped by her hot, pulsing sex. Amita let out a triumphant moan as her pussy lips ground against my pelvis, completing our connection. I wrapped my arms around her hips and thrust back hard, lifting her off the bed as Erica pouted at us from the side. Amita rode me tightly, not pulling back long enough for her shorts to rub. My fingers teased at her shirt, tickling the skin just beneath it. Amita shivered for a moment, then flung her shirt off. I saw her bare breasts for the first time, mid-range C cups or so that looked huge on her slim, toned frame. Erica rolled off of the bed in surrender, standing up so she could slip her own shorts off. Her hair flowed airily, dark and shoulder-length, as she tossed her head back. “Me next, ok?” she asked. Amita didn’t say a word, just closed her eyes and flattened out her palms against my chest as she thrust in tune to the music. Our legs intertwined as I rolled over, pinning her beneath me as I strove inside her. Every inch of my skin hungered for more contact with her as I ran my fingers up and down her back. Muscles danced beneath her skin as she gasped in pleasure, every motion a deepening of the connection we felt. I felt a touch on my back and noticed Erica had climbed into the bed beside me again. “Save some for me,” Erica whispered – just as I arched my back as my orgasm built up, starting as a ghost of a feeling and then erupting into a conflagration of lust and instinct within seconds. I clenched my jaw as the sensation built and built, peaking over me like ocean waves until I ground myself against Amita and exploded, cumming into her so hard she let out a surprised gasp. Erica next to us on her back, her legs slightly parted as she fingered herself and waited for her turn. Amita gasped and panted as I held her tight, finishing inside her as pulse after pulse of my seed entered her vagina. It’d only been a few hours since the mall, but I felt like a teenage boy who hadn’t cum in a week. I didn’t even want to imagine what Amita’s vagina must look like at this point as I gave her those last few mini-thrusts that would milk the rest of my cum out of my erupting cock. I looked down at Amita’s face, beaded with sweat, with her eyes rolled upwards in orgasm after orgasm – all of which my cock could verify as her vagina twitched, clutching my cock as it spent its last few drops of sperm and began to shrink. Amita’s orgasm began to taper off, and my dick finally shrank out of her, so I rolled back into my position between the girls and waited for the inevitable freak-out. Amita rolled over and cuddled up to my side, pressing her lithe body up against me the side. Her skin still tingled from my touch, even as my sperm worked its magic within her. Erica reached across me to slap her roommate’s thigh and pout-barked out, “No! My turn! Find your own!” I snickered and kissed her. “You’ll be next if you want to be.” Erica nodded enthusiastically, then looked down at my dick and asked, “How long’ll that be? Normally I’m not into sharing, but no way are you leaving this bed without satisfying me too.“ My arms were wrapped comfortably around the two girls’ shoulders, relishing the sensations of their bare skin against mine. Amita shifted her hips back and forth, wrinkling her nose a little as she felt her pussy lips gliding against each other, lubricated by my sperm. “Ok, so – I’ve just gotta ask. Brad, why’d you cum inside me?” Erica chimed in with, “Shit, Amita! Paranoid as you are, why’d you just jump on him like that anyway?” Amita smiled nervously. “No idea! I just had to have him, but now I’m really thinking I don’t want to go through the next few weeks wondering if I’m pregnant or not.” I pulled her head close to me and kissed the top of her forehead. “Then I’ll tell you right now: you’re pregnant.” Erica slapped me on the leg. “Don’t even joke about that!” she snapped. I just half-smiled, closed my eyes, and mentally counted the seconds. The two girls settled back into snuggling up to me, their hands idly exploring my chest. I reached forty before I could feel Amita’s growing belly pressing up against me – and her first scream of shock came seconds later. “Oh my GOD!” Amita shrieked. She rolled away from me and onto her back, her neck craning incredulously to stare at the bump now protruding insistently from her midriff. Erica stared in shock at her roommate’s bulge, scooting backwards as if it were about to explode. “What the fuck?” she yelled. I opened my eyes and looked from one girl to the other – both girls were standing now, their expressions flickering between disbelief and horror. “What did you do to me?” Amita demanded with her hands cradling the expanding bump in her midriff. I shrugged. “Already told you – you’re pregnant.” Amita spluttered for a moment, unable to come up with words for a moment as she stared down at her belly, then at me, then back to the growing bump in her midriff. “You know what? Fuck you,” she swore under her breath and reached behind her headboard. There was a clunking noise, and the light-framed, soft-spoken Indian woman’s hand came into view, clutching a short black revolver. She leveled it at me with a practiced two-handed grip. And most importantly, she backed away out of my reach and kept the gun aimed at my chest. I doubted that I could move before she could pull the trigger, and I hoped she’d be able to resist the urge to pull whether I moved or not. When she snarled out, “What the fuck is happening to me?” her voice was American, every trace of an Indian accent long gone. Erica had grabbed her cellphone and was fiddling with it, her shaking fingers unable to unlock her home screen. “I need to call the hospital, Amita!” “Hospital?” the new voice of Amita barked, “I’m sending this asshole to the morgue unless he starts talking!” Erica looked up from her cellphone and saw her roommate’s revolver for the first time. “What the fuck? Why didn’t you ever tell me you had a gun?” Amita didn’t take her eyes off of me for a second. “Why tell you,” she snapped, “when you’ve got no clue how to use it and didn’t want to learn? Where’s the upside in telling you?” My eyes were focused quite intently on the small, black revolver. I began to speak calmly, trying hard to take her mind off of killing me. “First off, kudos for being prepared – but I promise it’s unnecessary. 38 Special, right? I’m a 45 guy myself; it served me well in the Army.” Amita shook her head. “The Army switched to 9mm in the mid-80s, asshole – my dad bitched about it after it happened. Now tell me what’s happening to me, or I’m parking a 357 magnum hollow point in your chest!” My hands slowly raised up to either side of my head, palms out. She was stressed, but she kept the gun steady even as her belly continued to grow. “I’m getting there, Amita. When I signed up, the US Army issued me an M1911. I took it to war with me, and killed a few nazis with it – but I killed more with my M1 Garand.” She scowled in disbelief, but I continued. “I was born in 1928, and died two days ago in my original body. They sent me back, Amita – I’ve got a second chance, and I’m here to spread the next wave of human evolution. That’s what’s happening to you – the future of our species.” Amita looked about 4 months pregnant at this point, and some of the initial shock was beginning to fade. She’d backed up until her butt rested on a dresser, and the inexorable expansion of her uterus was getting harder for her to ignore. Amita looked down, then back up. “Tell me the truth, asshole,” she growled. On the other side of the room, Erica looked up from her phone and froze when she saw how big Amita’s belly was already. “Shit, Amita – there’s no way they’ll get here in time.” I pressed my point. “Do you have a better reason why you’re this far along just minutes after we had sex? I told you you were pregnant, and I wasn’t lying. You can see that. And now I’m telling you that after some initial discomfort, you’ll enjoy what comes next.” Amita looked down again at her taut belly, which now looked about 6 months along. “I’m pre-med, studying to go OB/GYN. I know this isn’t possible!” I shook my head. “Not humanly possible, no.” Amita ran her fingers over the swollen surface of her belly, her surprise only deepening as she felt the outline of one of the eggs growing inside her. “Growing this fast should hurt like hell,” she marveled – but kept the gun on me. She pressed her hand against her belly experimentally, as if to assure herself it wasn’t a hallucination. And then an unexpected, sudden contraction struck. She gasped and bent over forward, letting out a groan as fluid started cascading down her legs. Her hands went to rest on her knees reflexively, the gun pointing away from me for just a moment. That was all I needed to discover just how scarily fast my new body was. Before I’d really thought it over, my hand shot out and snatched her revolver out of her palm in a blur of motion, like a striking snake. Amita gasped and jerked her trigger finger, pulling through empty air as the gun was no longer in her hand. I brought her revolver up to my chest to keep it out of reach, swung out its cylinder, ejected its rounds with a slap of my palm, then threw the empty gun into a pile of clothes in their shared closet. Amita’s face registered disappointment for a brief moment before the contraction peaked, distracting her as she she gritted her teeth and groaned. She gave up on the gun, as she gripped the dresser’s edge for support, gasping in as much pain as she’d previously had pleasure. As Amita’s belly hardened like a clenching fist, Erica just shrank up against the wall in a mix of surprise and terror, her phone completely forgotten. Amita let out a grunt and pitched forward, and I caught her by her shoulders and steered her towards the bed. She bounced lightly, curling around her swollen belly in what was almost a fetal position. All that motion moved one of Amita’s eggs into position just above her birth canal, and her eyes widened in surprise as she felt its tip begin to part its cervix, even more surprised than by her sudden labor as the egg began opening her from within. Erica stood up and took a couple steps towards the bed, still naked but staring in a mixture of horror and curiosity as her friend thrashed on the bed. Amita rolled onto her back as the next contraction hit, relentlessly hammering the egg’s tip into her cervix and forcing her open from inside. She let out a shriek as her cervix was forced open despite her body’s best efforts, tapering off into a moan as her body surrendered, letting the egg’s body through her cervix the rest of the way and down into the top of her vagina. Once the egg entered her birth canal, Amita’s eyes widened in shock as her pain was instantly replaced by pleasure, the contraction making her writhe in electrifying orgasm as her labor pushed the egg farther down into her birth canal. It took only seconds before her dark brown vulva began to dilate, turning first into a dark tunnel and then swelling as the pearly white egg slid down into a crowning position. Up until the egg was visible, Erica’s attention was on her friend’s face, but as Amita’s first egg emerged from her vulva, the nude co-ed stepped closer, her trembling hands reaching out the egg before Amita even finished birthing. Amita’s last push left the egg to drop free of her vagina, and Erica grabbed it the second it hit the sheets. “That came out of me?” Amita asked incredulously – but then she was even more surprised when Erica turned her back on her and practically jumped into the other bed, cradling the egg she’d just laid. “Erica? Erica, what the fuck?” she asked. Her next contraction only hurt halfway through, when her next egg slipped into place and rewarded her with the constant orgasm of delivery. The egg slid through her birth canal rapidly, then she struggled to raise her head and look at Erica. Her friend had stopped fondling the egg and was now stroking her pussy with it, lining up the longer end and using it to part her slit. “Erica? This is worse than the time I caught you playing with my – unnngh!” Amita’s next egg had taken her focus, and by the time she finished delivering that, Erica had escalated to fucking herself with the egg,moaning in pleasure as she insistently attacked her own vagina over and over, pushing the egg’s tip deeper and deeper with each thrust. “It’s not worth talking,” I told Amita, “she can’t hear you. The only thing she cares about in this world now is that egg.” Amita looked at me in disbelief for a moment, before pain and pleasure resumed their alternating dance across her face. By the time the Indian girl had laid her last egg, Erica had managed to fully impregnate herself, the egg shoved well past the point where she could reach it with her fingers. Now the brunette was lying back in the bed, her legs closed as she bucked her hips in the air, continuing to extract orgasm after orgasm from the sensations as her vagina kept contracting, drawing the egg farther and farther up inside her. Amita panted in exhaustion, beads of sweat running down the curves of her nude body as she watched her friend’s impregnation finalize itself, a tiny bump showing just under Erica’s belly button as her uterus expanded to accommodate the egg. My own attention was on Amita – I’d never really taken the time to watch the aftermath of egg laying, and Amita’s belly was slowly flattening back out to its original shape even before she’d finished catching her breath. Amita turned to me. “Level with me, Brad. Did you drug us? Am I tripping? Because that didn’t just happen.” I sighed. “The only drugs here are my pheromones, and your pre-programmed responses to them. What did just happen, is that you and I made about six babies, and your roommate’s instincts made her impregnate herself with one of them. Technically, Erica’s going to have your baby in nine months.” Amita’s mouth creased into a smirk as she said, “This is sounding like a pervy internet story. The kind I like.” I furrowed my brow a little, hoping that I wouldn’t get much more into that, as I continued. “Women are driven to fuck me. Then they get pregnant with eggs like you did, and any other women who smell the egg phermones are just as driven to impregnate themselves with the eggs.” I paused for a moment, then pointed at the neat pile of eggs I’d made at the foot of the bed. “You can carry one too if you want – you’re immune from the scent pheromones, but if you start pushing it in, you’ll have the same orgasm she did.” Amita sat up a bit, wrinkling her nose just slightly as some leftover fluid drained from her vagina. “You must pay a fortune in child support.” I smiled wryly, my voice was tinged with regret as I replied, “Actually, no one remembers. They’ll all assume this happened the old fashioned way. This whole ‘forget the Progenitor’ instinct is why there’s no historical record of a Progenitor, even though I’m the 20th one so far.” Amita leaned forward and picked up one of her eggs, peering at its firm but pliant leathery shell. “Pregnant?” she asked. “Nine months, morning sickness, ends in screaming, pushing, and a baby?” I nodded. She smirked wickedly and looked up at me. “Then fuck me again,” she said. “I want more eggs. Enough for all my house sisters.” I raised an eyebrow. “You want to impregnate your entire sorority?” “Well… I hate to mention it, but – this is my kink, no shit. Pregnancy and birth have made me wet since before I even really understood what that meant. I thought I’d get it out of my system by studying to be an OB/GYN, but it just makes me think about being in the chair myself, pushing. Knowing that every push makes it worse, but still not being able to stop it,” she explained. “There’s just something about that that gets me.” “Interesting choice of kink,” I contributed carefully. Amita sighed. “I didn’t choose it, and sure as hell don’t recommend it,” she opined. “My big turn-on is the thought of getting pregnant, and then the birth – and there are serious limits on how many times I can do that in one lifetime. I don’t even know what’ll happen to my sex drive once I hit menopause and I can’t picture getting pregnant every time I have sex. God, something like spanking would be so much easier to live with – but this is how I’m wired,” she complained. “And then watching that,” she said, pointing at Erica, “is the biggest turn-on ever. Not only did she get pregnant in front of me, but with my baby – while I was pushing! There’s nothing I want now more than to get all my sisters pregnant and then take the last egg myself. Whether I remember how or why won’t matter – I’ll be pregnant, in a house full of pregnant women, and we’ll all be at the same stage… then, one after another, it’ll be time. In the end, it’ll be one a day, maybe more. Maybe…” Amita’s words trailed off and she closed her eyes, shuddering in arousal. Her nipples had hardened, and her breasts had turned to gooseflesh from arousal. She clenched her eyes shut, turning her head from side to side in an unmistakably erotic gesture. When her eyes opened, they were full of determination. “Yeah. This is happening,” she affirmed. I had some serious reservations at this point. “You want to knock up all your sisters for basic sexual gratification?” I asked. Amita’s expression darkened a bit. “There’s that, yes. But I’m also thinking that if each sister pops out a half-Indian baby, they’ll finally stop pretending I’m a Muslim suicide bomber when they’re drunk, or give me a hard time about cheeseburgers because they think all Indians are Hindu. I’m getting so sick of them treating me as less American than they are. Fuck, having kids might force them to develop some critical thinking skills. I’m doing them all a favor.” I shrugged. “Well, right or wrong, just with the eggs here, there’s no way we could get ‘em out without at least some of your sisters getting pregnant anyway. Nailing them all does sound fairer, I suppose.” Amita turned to me and matter-of-factly put both hands on her hips. “Now, about that next fuck of ours…?” she asked.
So, my son was born in early April. It was a C-section unfortunately, but the important thing is that my son K (yes, that’s going to get confusing with my wife K, isn’t it?) is healthy and sound.
Afraid there will be no pictures, but you can rest assured that the family is doing well and I’m taking advantage of my paternity leave to get some writing done (naturally, taking care of my wife and child come first, but there IS downtime). Progenitor 3 in particular is moving right along…
I should also mention: This kid is just over a week old, already holds his head up, and has flipped himself over once (from his back to the front). He keeps more or less disregarding the age he’s supposed to be able to start doing these sorts of things. If he keeps going the way things have been going, he’ll be crawling at one month of age. I just hope he doesn’t turn out to be a reincarnated ancient wizard or something. That should stay in the stories dammit!