Mortimer twisted, tried to turn his head. All he could see was the suggestion of a big, dark shape behind him.
The voice rose for the benefit of the gallery. “Fate has sent us this man. His seed will ensure the survival of the society. The lucky chosen shall bear children, and we will know life again.”
Murmuring from the gallery, a mix of excitement and anxiety.
“For years have we lived in harmony and peace and safety,” the voice continued. “We need not have any contact with the world outside. The world poisoned and destroyed by men. We happy sisters live and prosper here in our sanctuary of Saint Sebastian’s. Only one thing do we need: the seed of life. It is the ultimate irony that those who would destroy the world would also hold the essence of life, the seed. But destiny has provided this man. We will take his seed, and we will
Halfhearted applause from the gallery.
The voice walked around the table until it came into view. Mortimer gasped. It was the man in the dress, a flowing black gown with a high neck. He was tall, broad-shouldered. He had a potbelly and big arms bulging beneath the silky sleeves, a five o’clock shadow on an anvil chin, an Adam’s apple the size of a baseball. The blonde wig was some sort of cabaret nightmare.
He leaned in close, his hot breath like bad cheese on Mortimer’s face. “You’re going to get it up, little man. And you’d better perform.”
He turned back to the gallery again. “Let the breeding begin!”
A door slid open on the bottom level of the amphitheater. Mortimer lifted his head, watched the newcomer enter between his feet. A silhouette against the harsh light from the hallway. She came into focus as she entered the operating room.
Ruth.
Mortimer was suddenly angry. Sweet, naive Ruth shouldn’t be made to sex up a stranger in front of an audience of nutballs. To hell with these women and their wacko society. Ruth didn’t know any better. She could only have been a little girl of nine or ten when the world went boom. She didn’t know how men and women lived.
Still, if it had to happen…well, Ruth would be best. She was shy and innocent and gentle. Under other circumstances it would even be pleasurable.
Ruth stepped aside and ushered in a woman with the biggest ass Mortimer had ever seen. Fat flat lips that looked like they were pushed up against a window. She had short black hair and many chins.
Oh, shit.
Mortimer arched his back, pulled at his restraints until they dug too painfully into his wrists. No use.
He felt the transvestite’s hot breath on his ear again. “You’re not going anywhere until you put out, lover boy. Now get some lead in that pencil.”
The corpulent brood mare approached the table and dropped her white robe. Naked beneath, a wide, thick torso, a thick thatch of hair in each armpit. A big mole at the corner of her mouth sat there like a lost kidney bean. She climbed on the table, hovered over Mortimer.
“Wait,” Mortimer said. “This isn’t a good idea. You don’t want my seed. I have bad DNA.”
She grabbed his cock too roughly and Mortimer winced. The mix of sweat and love juice radiated from her, smacked Mortimer in the face. He had never been more uninterested in sex, hung limp in the woman’s fist.
She looked in confusion at the transvestite. “Mother? He’s not ready to put the seed in me.”
“Get him hard like I showed you,” Mother said.
She nodded, started yanking Mortimer’s prick with hard, sharp jerks.
Mortimer winced, shut his eyes tight and turned away. He opened his eyes briefly and saw Ruth watching, horror and fascination at odds on her childlike face.
“That hurts,” Mortimer said. “For God’s sake, you’re bruising the shit out of me.”
“Stop,” said Mother.
The breeder ceased her sadistic jerk job on Mortimer’s pecker. He sighed relief.
“Clear the operating theater,” Mother said. “His body hasn’t recovered from the stun blast.”
Muttering among the women. They began to file out.
The ogre on top of him slumped in disappointment, slid off him and grabbed her robe. Soon only Mother Lola and Mortimer remained. Mother paced around the operating table, her high-heeled boots echoing off the sterile tile, pouring derision onto him with a vicious expression.
“If you know what’s good for you,” the transvestite said, “you’ll get Mr. Johnson into the ballgame. You take my meaning?”
“I’m not used to doing it as a spectator sport.”
“Tough shit,” said Mother Lola. “You think I’m doing it this way for perverse jollies?”
“Seems like it.”
Mother Lola shrugged. “Okay, maybe a little. But it’s more important they all see. This is a very special group of people with special needs. You think it’s easy leading them?” He snorted. “Fat chance. I know you’d rather have privacy, but we can’t have a few privileged breeders while everyone else is left out in the cold. That’s the perfect way to foster discontent. No, they must all be involved, even if it’s only as spectators for many. That’s the sort of unity that keeps our society together. Unity keeps us strong.”
“I thought it was fear,” Mortimer said. “Fear of the world outside the front door of this hospital. What lies have you told them to make them so terrified to leave? That’s how you stay in control, right?”
