Author's note:
As is so overt in the title, the following contains themes of cuckolding, non-consensual sex and impregnation. If you're not into that, please do not read.
*******************************
"Shit, shit..."
I muttered as an opened letter laid on the table before me.
Sitting across the table from me was my wife, Mia. I could tell she'd been sobbing all day.
Her face was blotchy red and swollen, her naturally pale-blonde hair covered in tears and stuck to her face.
Needless to say, she was a mess.
Yet, even in that moment my male brain drew parallels to some hardcore porn that I'd watched in the past where a woman's face was ruined like Mia's was here, having been through a violent ordeal of marring oral sex. She was hauntingly beautiful.
'Maybe it's because I'm trying to imagine what's to come' I thought to myself.
Such was my way of facing the reality of what was going to happen.
"I'm sorry... I'm sorry... I let you down" I apologised to Mia as I held her close, being on the verge of tears myself if it wasn't stopped in its tracks by the shock of the news.
"It's not your fault - but Eric, I- I'm so frightened!" Mia consoled me as she expressed her own fears.
I could only let out a deep sigh as I knew there was nothing I could do to save us from this eventuality. One way or another, my wife would be impregnated - and it wouldn't be by me.
In the year 2028, the world began to take notice of a sharp drop in fertility rates for the whole of Earth's human population. The cause? Microplastics affecting male sperm.
By 2030, world governments had tried everything from water filters to manual insemination. Nevertheless, fertility rates took a jump off a cliff. Virtually no one was pregnant and natal care infrastructures crumbled at the lack of demand.
In a desperate attempt to save mankind, the UN approved the loosening of genetic testing regulations, the by-product of which would indeed save us from extinction.
The situation here in England didn't differ much from the rest of the world. A fertile woman would be given until the age of 35 to become pregnant naturally. If not...
A marvel of genetic engineering: Standard Uterine Delivery Systems - or STUDS, were bioengineered to perfection, ensuring a 99.9% success rate with impregnating any viable female specimen no matter the level of microplastics pollution. Its implementation into societal norms happened quickly as mankind wriggled to save itself. The process was discreet - single women or couples would be given statute invites to attend an appointment, and afterwards - well, no one had to know whose baby it was.
As a species, we came to reconcile the social obscenity of the process through this collective secrecy, and it worked. Fertility rates had shot up to levels only seen pre-microplastic pandemic, and when we as a species did talk about the process; it was as a duty that we had, as a member of our species, in order to secure our future.
And it was this letter laid before me that notified us that it was Mia's turn to serve her duty. We knew the deadline was encroaching - we'd been trying desperately for the last 3 years to no success. It was that desperation that we'd held for so long that made our feelings towards that letter so intense. As clear as could be, it was a notification of our failure, facing a crisis that in any other scenario could be the end of a relationship.
Mia and I just held each other that night, our appointment only a two days away. By design, the appointments happened with little notice so as to not give anyone time to overthink. And so Mia and I were given no time at all to mope. Indeed, we saw it as our duty. It'd be a one-off, and a flash compared to the lifetime we'd spend together. Like many had done before us, we'll simply close our eyes through the appointment, coming out with a happy present that we could come to pretend was our own baby.
***********************
The days leading up to the appointment were a blur. Pretending it was all business as usual was in part, our way of coming to terms with it. Mia and I held hands the entire way as we rode a tinted vehicle to a secluded, brutalist building which had no signs or indications of what happened within.
But as we got out of the vehicle, we both looked at each other as we knew what we'd come to do.
Beyond the tinted glass door was a warming corridor, its walls and floors covered in nordic-style wooden planks. There was calming classical music playing the background, the volume of which remained subtle no matter where you stood in the building.
Mia and I entered the reception room where we were greeted by a woman, who looked to be in her late-40s, seemingly capable of the biggest smile I'd ever seen.
"Welcome! You must be Mr and Mrs Smith!" the woman said.
"My name is Dr Shelly. I'm here to guide you through your appointment today"
Dr Shelly was one of the most beautiful women I'd ever seen in my life, and indeed the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen at her age. A curly-haired ginger, she espoused a hippy-like demeanour and appearance. Her figure was well-toned like... well,
"She definitely does yoga" Mia whispered in my ear as Dr Shelly had left to get us our cups of tea.
Mia was right, her figure was well-toned like she was a yoga instructor of sorts.
Through the playful whisper, I could tell that Mia too, was feeling more relaxed like I was by the warm reception from Dr Shelly.
I took a good look around at the room. Wooden floors, wooden walls, ornamental plants that weren't obnoxiously tropical, small fireplace warming the room, and minimalist furniture that allowed for spaciousness whilst maintaining practicality. By every indicator, Mia and I were in a yoga studio or a spa retreat. Even the air was nicely fragranced with a gentle scent of pine. I closed my eyes to take it all in as Mia and Dr Shelly would proceed to small talk.
