The Accidental Goddess Ch 01

It's 2028.

She is sadly presiding over the installation of barbed wire fences around The Farm, as her acolytes call it. The repeated and escalating threats make the fence necessary. In parallel with this surrender to reality her thoughts turn to Jad. Is he a dream or just her dreamed of lover? He is always at the back of her mind, even when he isn't literally at her back rubbing against her with his big fat cock. She pulled her mind back to the mundane. If she let her thoughts linger she could almost feel his kisses, always a bit voracious, on her neck, his sucking almost bites. The Virtual Reality software still not spot on (so to speak) with the sensory simulations, although they're getting real close. Back to business...

Even in town they are starting to call it 'The Farm' as if it were the only one around. But it's not just for the abundant produce, integrated water treatment and mini grid that the townies raise eyebrows when mentioning the 25 acre establishment that currently houses and feeds about 24 residents. At a headland on the south coast of eastern Australia, it is remote enough from the major cities to be a bit independent of the pressures to comply with ever tighter regulations around social and sexual interaction.

Rather it's the whispers of orgies and nude dancing with bonfires by the swimming hole, the invitation only weekend couples parties. Recently the rumors have included pointing out the several athletic and incredibly gorgeous teenage girls from The Farm as they stride confidently and sensuously through town. And the way the young men in town turn their heads in lustful admiration. No complaints have been registered.

Such whispers were the least of her concerns. One thing she was meticulous about was ensuring that no one under the age of 19 had intercourse at The Farm. Petting was sometimes tolerated, but with surveillance. But then almost everything except the hygiene blocks was under surveillance.

This enforcement was partly to avoid legal problems. The bonking police, as they were widely lampooned, were equally meticulous about prosecuting anyone having sex, or aiding and abetting sex, when either participant was less than a solid 18 years of age. Endorsed digital birth certificate required.

Violating that law could put her in prison. No thanks.

There was another more fundamental reason that she was happy to comply with these rules. Her first lover, the guitar playing, astrologist, macrobiotic, weed smoking Bakunin reading, anti Vietnam protester...it had been so gentle, so slow. She was 19 and in second year uni when they became lovers. He'd been bringing her to climax for a while, so she was well and truly ready for it. She'd always been grateful for that introduction to the world of sex. A man so patient that he made sure her pleasure would set her up to welcome him into her most inner precincts.

This sweet encounter had set the scene for the rest of her very active sexual life and indeed for her philosophy. Consensual, adult, no coercion...Free non-possessive love, in a hippie imagined permaculture heaven. That was pretty much what The Farm was and stood for, rather successfully so far, if she did say so herself.

"External forces always influence the local fractals" is one of her popular sayings. In recent years the world has made a not so subtle shift away from now old libertarian ideals. It has happened in tandem with the escalation of the climate crisis, a concatenation of negativities. Along with the military spending. Public amenity was contracting in ways that were not conducive to ushering in the age of the philosopher king. Or queen.

The Farm currently sits apart from these winds of change, but the fences will be an unwelcome shift towards greater insularity.

Other rumors among the townsfolk are more fanciful, and therefore easier to dismiss. There have been recent reports of dusk flights out over the beach. One of her girls has been sighted riding a fancy new seaplane/drone vehicle heading out beyond the 1 km safe zone. They say she holds a spear gun, but no one has recorded this. She flies about 1000 m up.

Of course that would be illegal, no more public fishing off the beach. Ah, the days when a fisher might reach into the bucket and pull out a decent size bream as a friendly gift. The Combocruise drone hybrids solve the problem of reaching the few remaining accessible fish, but ignore the licensing and permission issues. Quite ordinary fish like bream are now as scarce and dear as lobsters. The Farm hangs on to this luxury item only by these evening forays, not always successful.

She's aware of these reports and rumors. The sex stories about parties with adults aren't a problem, as the government bonking ban is currently only enforcing underage sex. The non-binary groups were next in their sights. But adults getting together for fun is not a problem. So far.

"Ridiculous world" she thinks with a shudder of anger, rapidly followed by a smile, an intrusive but happy memory of Jad taking her in the middle of the night, a hard awakening or rather he was hard, she was soft, and they rocked and moaned until he too went softer and sleep followed. She loves the way he stays inside her until one of them has to roll over and he flops out.

It is very clear to her, on Jad's very firm counsel, that she must keep the drone rides undocumented. With so much drone traffic now, some of them quite large, she doesn't think there is much likelihood of arrest or prosecution. The fish illegal or not are essential to maintain The Farm's protein. Only with the right nutritional balance, along with the highest synthetic biology standards, can the nanobots in the girls' guts and vaginas sustain their physical and psychological prowess.

After five years of experimentation only the girls' slight tendency towards high sex drive needs fine tuning. Kara, the implicit leader of the girlie gang, is a bit too inclined to seek more rapacious sexual encounters. Jad says that could be eliminated by adjusting her macrophages. Or at least minimized. After all, the idea of the enhanced females is to set them on the path of enacting the very principles which The Farm was contracted to put into social practice.

She is quite proud of being part of the efforts to reshape humanity into the Dionysian yet gentle creatures that now seemed to be thriving in her modest but successful Garden of Eden. She is also proud that some of the genes used in the girls come from her own DNA. Her intelligence, long history of active sexuality along with her inherently non-violent nature were found to be a reasonable match for breeding a sample set of female influencers: smart, driven to enjoy sex, and no nasty tendencies towards criminality to pollute the mix. The ultimate gene drive. As they are approaching 23, the minimal age for reproduction, it's going to get interesting real soon.

Of course, the young men they would copulate with weren't all of the same high genetic stock, but the plan is that the girls' intelligence will help them shape the men they mate with into equally non-violent and cooperative partners. There is the niggling possibility that these men might become in effect drones. She believes this experiment is essential if humanity is to get through the rest of this century without sputtering out due to existing genocidal tendencies.

Jad, her enigmatic lover, looks after all the tech. She feels a warm tingle right down to her crotch just thinking about his fine tall body and how's he'd had her over the kitchen table this morning.

"Don't wash your pussy yet, I'm going to fuck you again later."

She has known a lot of smart men, and finds Jad a brilliant, a multi-talented engineer. He set up all the bionic machinery, as well as the agricultural infrastructure, including the pumps and irrigation system. He handles all the comms with the Consortium and uploads the data feeds. He negotiated the contract on her behalf and makes sure they are in compliance. She knows some of the experiments they'd agreed to have affected residents' physiques and personalities, but that's the deal: she would be part of the movement to tame humanity. Less violence more sex is the goal. The girls and their parents are unaware of the extent of the gene drive, but have signed nondisclosure agreements and given vague but legally binding consent.

How quickly it has all happened, from low key eco village to fortified enclosure around the whole ten hectares. With great reluctance she accepts that it is now necessary to increase security on The Farm. The slight incursions over the existing fences to steal fruit or a chicken had been dealt with, partly by generosity. The whole idea of abundance is to give it away. Like sex.

But now the fences have to go up. Food production hasn't really been able to recover after the drought and pandemic, and has slumped further with the sudden intense floods of 2024. The fires of 2020 didn't help. The chickens and horses that have provided baseload fertilizer are now mostly dead. External inputs have become too costly.

Luckily the Consortium has deep generous pockets for additional infrastructure related to The Farm's contractual undertakings. Ergo an 8 m galvanized chain link with standard half m barbed wire top, leaning out. That will keep out hungry strangers and also allow better management of the roos on the property, as they are becoming increasingly sought after as meat.

Practicing what she preached in her weekly discourses, she has several current or former lovers on the property, all of them cool. With varied skill sets. All good fucks. Her talks are jokingly referred to as Sermons in the Valley, fun times naked in good weather. They often end happily with swimming, drinking, dancing, eating and fucking. Never too serious, there might be silly poems, odes to excess, as the big silver speaking cup is passed from hand to hand, mouth to mouth, and mind to mind. Sometimes she quotes Nietsche's Dionysian poems, as she considers herself his interpreter for this new age of challenge, scarcity and oppressive constraint.

After the years of face masks, lockdowns, continually updated vaccine passports...all that had calmed down. The price was the tightening of the electronic noose. Particularly about sex. On se debrouille...But on The Farm they were much more than digital serfs, tracking implants notwithstanding. Everyone had a pod, and plentiful food. The home brew isn't bad either.

The Consortium apparently approached her because her prophesy of the Mass Suicides had been fulfilled. Not that she wants that on her tombstone. From her background in complex adaptive human systems it was a simple matter of mathematics and extrapolation. Modelling human behavior and how to best incorporate artificial intelligence into social modification has now become a hot topic. The Santa Fe Institute just one of the leading research centers being paid by governments to model, predict and shape. The Farm is not the only place running clandestine experiments to modify the human genome.

Now retired, she turns down invitations to speak or write about the future, happy within her own fractal existence and small scale success at The Farm. Her true legacy will be the results of these experiments, and the binding promise of evacuation to The Sanctuary if things heat up too much. A bitter laugh, knowing that she has been warning of exactly the scenario now playing out. Australia subject to the clowns that have evaded global warming for decades and now lying about the consequences. It ended badly for the first Cassandra.

Her mind drifts again to Jad, how he came up behind her in the bathroom this morning, both of them naked, his hand on her pussy and hers reaching behind to grab his cock. Full on a nice sight, the side on mirrors in the wardrobe showing a different but equally erotic view. She sighs. Tonight...

"Don't let yourself admit how much you want him." The voice of reason, the one Nietsche spurned. But did Nietsche have half the fun she was having?

"I want him to call, I want him to call.."

But he might not signal her to come to him, and she wouldn't lower herself to ask. He kept a flat in town, although she would have preferred he live with her. For morning sex and cuddles. Tonight she would like to lower herself onto him, slowly as she felt herself, pushed herself, opening to his fine fat member.

Her emotions flicker between a desire to have him totally hers and a mature assessment that this freedom was indeed what The Farm was all about.

By 8 pm: "If he doesn't want me tonight, that's ok," or "Fuck him, Jack is always available for me, and gives great massage too." She reaches for her phone...

End Ch 1