Breeder

It's been over a week now and no one has come. I fear the worst.

For five years now, the sun never set on a day without a visit from one of my green skinned beauties. For most of last year I was doing double duty, two women a day. Then it returned to a normal pace of one woman a day. Then, a couple of months ago things got a little sporadic. One day I would be doubled up on women and the next nothing, only to be followed by a sole visit on the third day. I have never gone more than a day without.

I have come to thoroughly enjoy my role as breeder for the Zamanow. Yes, I am in captivity, but I want for nothing as long as my semen serves the greater cause of repopulating the world. The Zamanow men became sterile due to a prolonged war in which the enemy used chemical toxins as a last resort.

It's funny, but I thought that I would never get used to being naked all the time, but, now, I don't notice it at all. I really like it without clothing, there is a certain feeling that comes with baring all. I just wish I could share it with one of my ladies right now. It's funny, but as soon as one of them shows up, I immediately get hard as a rock. Like Pavlov's dog I have been trained in my duty to the state. And oh how I love the sex. It is rich and luxurious. I remember my very last visit.

She was a dark haired beauty with hair so black it shone blue. She was tall and well built, with legs like a dancer and large firm breasts. I remember her nipples as pink protrusions that I greedily sucked upon as they spewed forth mother's milk to quench my lustful thirst. I rubbed her clit with my thigh and she moaned and purred like a kitten. She gripped the back of my head as I sucked first one nipple and then the other and when she came she embraced me in a bear like hug that almost broke my back. She then went down on me and she took her time. She licked the length of my cock and sucked my balls before she took me deep into her throat. I remember her hands touching my hands as I fucked her mouth. She had a very delicate touch and I exploded deep into her throat and she made sure every drop was consumed. I then went to pleasure her by spreading her legs apart and lapping at her beautiful pussy. She smelled so sweetly and her taste was better than average. I found myself engrossed in making sure she was completely satisfied. When her orgasm hit she bucked and rocked and let out cries of pleasure that warmed my soul deep down. I remember that we then talked about this and that, I had learned the language and was anxious to use my knowledge with the ladies as they came and went. I joked with her and she laughed and then I took her from behind. I can still feel her wetness as I pounded myself into her mercilessly. I enjoyed watching the ripples of her ass as I slammed into her. She was beside herself with pleasure. She was pitched forward onto the bed with her back arched and she had one hand that felt me as I entered her and she craved all that I had. I did not disappoint her. Had I known it was to be my last visit I would have made it last a lot longer and I would have been far more tender.

Today I feel hunger for the first time in five years.

I remember, so long ago, what the first women told me about my duty here. When I was no longer useful they would just let me die. I fear this is my swan's song. Perhaps I am no longer potent and my sperm is no longer viable for the Zomaow. Whatever the case, I have concluded that I am most likely left here to starve to death.

Today, I am sitting in my garden leaning against a tree in the soft grass, feeling the warmth of the sun as it touches my skin. It feels good. I have my eyes closed and I am concentrating on the sound of the water as it flows through the fish pond into a small stream that snakes through the property. I feel connected to everything at this moment. I have accepted my fate and am waiting to die peacefully. Back on earth, the Japanese built gardens of extraordinary beauty. Every rock, every shrub, the way the sand swirled was of concern, even the sounds the garden produced was of vital essence. I know now the extent of that and feel connected to it in a detached sort of way. Of course I hear the tropical birds above me, but it's the sound of the water that trickles through my thought and calms me.

A slight breeze rustles the leaves of the trees a centimeter and the slight cooling of my skin temperature is registered in my mind. I think this is the nicest spot on this planet to die. I have resolved not to move from this spot.

I hear the glass doors open from my bedroom and my resolve is disturbed. Opening my eyes I see a woman approaching me and automatically my cock stiffens, ready for service. She is short, plump with very dark green skin and short, light colored hair, towards the reddish tones. She is an older woman, not usually the type that visits me. She is walking in a fashion of one who is late for an appointment. She is a woman on a mission.

"We must go," she says standing over me, slightly out of breath. Her eyes are fixed on my erect and pulsating penis although I know this is not what she is after.

"Go where," I asked? I have the calm of the already dead.

My question seemed to interrupt her train of thought and she shook her head to rid herself of whatever she was thinking about. "We must go before they come to get you."

"Who is coming to get me?"

This seemed to exasperate her and she replied in a gush of words. "We really haven't time to discuss this right now so just take my word for it that the Council for Domestic Purity wants to put you to death." She had a pleading look about her, her eyes begged me to comply.

I had never heard of the Council for Domestic Purity but thoughts of Croatia and Hitler came to mind and it seemed like a good idea to leave. If I am going to die it would be nice to at least resist a little and try and choose the time and place of my demise. Besides, I would like to see what the outside of my prison looks like. Rising to my feet, I extended an arm and politely offered, "After you."

She studied my profile and I could tell she held thoughts not associated with escape and evasion. My protruding penis did not help her concentration. She grabbed my extended hand and began to hurry back the way she had come. As she pulled me along we broke into a kind of trot, as though we were running a marathon. As we entered my bedroom, I noticed for the first time that the walls were transparent and that I could see the opening in which she had come in. I had never seen this before and discovered that the building housed several units like mine. In the hallway we encountered four others of my ilk being led by women just like I was. I could tell that they were breeders because they were men and they were naked. Each, like me, had a stiff dick in front of them. I could see the bewilderment and fear on their faces as we met in the hallway. There was a lot of scuffling noises as the women funneled us through the building and into a couple of vans waiting by the front door.

I climbed into the open doors of a van with two of my fellow breeders. The three of us tried to communicate to each other in our native languages but we had difficulty in communication. One spoke something in a Chinese dialect and the other spoke in Russian. One thing that we did communicate to each other was that neither of us had seen another male in quite some time. As we were jabbering about in different languages, a woman, very thick in the middle, approached the open doors of the van and tossed in a large plastic sack filled with similar khaki uniforms that the women wore.

"Put these on. We haven't much time to loose." On top of the sack she tossed in three large tins that looked like oversized saddle soap containers. "Put this on your face, hands and feet, it will help conceal who you are." She then slammed the door and ran to the front of the van and climbed into the driver's seat and brought the engine to life. It was a noisy engine and I had not heard any like it ever. I wonder what the source of power was.

I felt the touch of one of my compatriots tap my shoulder, it was the Russian, and he asked me in the Zamanow language, "How long have you been here?"

"Five years, and you," I asked?

"Six years I think, give or take a month or two," he answered.

"It's been three years for me," the Chinamen piped in. His Zamanow was not as fluent as ours.

"You must put the uniforms on now, please. If we get stopped we could all get killed!" We could hear the pleading from our driver as she was pulling onto a gravel lane. She was beside herself with fear and concern and it was conveyed in her voice. We began to pull the clothing out of the sack and recalling how one piece jump suits worked, and put them on. The material was a synthetic and very pliable, but for us, having not worn clothing in a long time, it was cumbersome and scratchy and bulky. We looked and felt awkward wearing them.

After we dressed and felt suitably uncomfortable we investigated the contents of the tins. Like so many a shoe polish tin we turned the little metal wing nut on the side of the can to uncover the contents. Inside was a skin dye, used by the lighter skinned women to appear as if they were naturally a dark green color. You applied it with a soft cloth and just rubbing it on the skin turned our Lilly white skins into a dull green color. We helped each other apply the dye so that all exposed parts of us were covered. As instructed by our driver, we also rubbed the dye onto our scalp and it did not affect our natural hair color. We took care to get most of our upper chests and shoulders as well as our forearms and shins. When we were done, we looked like the Zamanow, at least, without close inspection, we could pass for it. One characteristic of the Zamanow was webbing between the fingers and toes and this concerned me.

"What about the webbed fingers?"

"Don't worry about that," our driver chuckled, "it's only the women that have the webbing. Our men have no such attributes."

"What about shoes," the Chinamen wanted to know?

"Everybody wears sandals here and you'll get them when we get to where we are going."

"Where are we going," asked the Russian?

"Someplace safe, about two hundred miles away from here in a town called Port Conway."

"Why are we in danger," the Russian asked?

She sighed and you could tell that she was collecting her thoughts. She made a turn onto a solid road and the sound of gravel popping under tires disappeared. She came to a decision about what she wanted to say and we hung on every word she uttered.

"After the war, we were devastated. We won, but, only by total obliteration of the enemy. Some of us felt that it was genocide. But the war was so brutal and all consuming that no one dared to speak against it. It was when our men came home that we discovered that they were no longer able to generate offspring. Virtually every male between the ages of seventeen and forty five was found to be sterile. Our entire civilization would have died out within a generation had we not sought to find a suitable genetic source outside of the planet.

That's where you come in. I was one of the scientists that developed the long range deep space scanners that located your interstellar ships. Another group of scientists developed a technology to divert space debris, like meteorites, to take out you vessels and set you adrift. Once adrift, we assumed that you would head for the closest planet that would support life for you. Hence, here you are. The country was desperate and they needed to generate a whole new generation of men for our women. We figured out how to combine genetic material so that cross breeding of different species would be successful and it worked. The five of you have generated about ten thousand children in the past six years. In the next ten years you would produce another fifteen thousand and that would give us a base to work with. A breeding program would start immediately when the children were old enough to begin to breed and we would have a slightly diluted but still viable offspring that would allow our civilization to continue."

"So why aren't we breeding right now, if this is working out." I asked.

"Last year, a group of my fellow scientists discovered a way to reverse the chemical toxin in about forty to sixty percent of the males affected. It takes about six months of painful treatment, but we can successfully restore a sterile male to his normal state. This started a major discussion among the more conservative of our people. There was a moral outcry about how we were destroying our society with these mongrel hybrids. At first the blame fell on us the scientists because we were the ones that developed the capability to create the toxins in the first place which caused the problem. Never mind that it was the people that we were at war with that created and used the chemical warfare, it was still our fault. Secondly, we are responsible for polluting the countries gene pool with inferior genetic material from outside our society. This last year has been real tough on us scientists and it has taken its toll. We are unable to work anywhere and when someone hears that we are scientists or researchers, we are subjected to everything from verbal taunting to out and out violence.

The Council for Domestic Purity was formed and most of the population has joined. They openly advocate fratricide and have generated some extremely ugly incidents. Some twenty five of us have been beaten to death in some of the more out of way towns and villages. Many more have been hospitalized. Now the mob mentality is turning to the output of our genius and they are beginning to slaughter the mulatto children. Yesterday, a preschool was raided and eighteen of the children were hacked to death with machetes. A pile of their severed heads was placed on the doorstep of the local Breeder Selection Services."

"Breeder Selection Services," I asked?

Z

The three of us looked at each other and felt a little embarrassed at the thought and at the same time, taking kind of a twisted pride in our work.

"Anyway," she went on, "at this very moment a crowd of people are gathering to march toward the Breeder Institute, where you were housed. They intend to burn it to the ground and drag every living person out of there and butcher it. That included anyone who worked there. Needles to say, since yesterday, the place has been abandon with the exception of you breeders.

For a couple of months now, my fellow scientists and I have been talking about getting out of the country. We have been setting it up with the Governments approval. We want to get the Mother's and their children out. Those mothers who wish to go will not be accompanied by their husbands. Most of the men will avoid these women who have had sex with you and conceived. They are considered to be dirty and shameful when just a year ago they were doing their patriotic duty. Some of the women have been beaten to death along with their mulatto child by their own husbands and boyfriends. Things are getting out of hand here and it's time to leave. We only decided to come and get you when we learned that the Institute was abandoned. Sorry, but you were something of an afterthought a missed detail in our plan. From here, we hope to get you on one of seven ships that are sailing to different destinations. All of these destinations are parts of the territory that the war was fought in and it is believed to be tainted with the same toxins that sterilized our men. Nobody will go near them. I have personally done extensive testing of the soil and water and air in some of these places and have found no evidence of toxic residue, yet, the populace believes that it is still infected and will not bother us there."

"Just how certain are you about the toxicity in these areas," The Russian asked.

"Oh, about seventy five percent," she answered.

We all digested that information.

"We are betting that seventy five percent of hope is better than no hope at all. What do you think," she asked?

We looked to each other and we saw the same expression reflected back and I answered, "I think that seventy five percent chance of living is better than no chance at all."

"Exactly the way we see things," she replied, "any other questions?"

"Yes," I said, "just one. What is your name?"

Port Conway was a sleepy little town on the coast with about two thousand people in it. The surrounding jungle seemed ready to swallow it up at any moment. The only industries in town was fishing and smuggling. Fishing obviously took a back seat to the money making industry of contraband smuggling. Moored in the mouth of the bay were seven cruse ships that were there at the behest of the government. The government could not prevent its own people from extracting violence among its own and felt a conscience about the people intended as victims. It supplied the transportation, but it was up to the individuals to get on board any way they could. The people had two weeks to do so and this was the last week. Every boat the village owned was used in transporting people and children to the ships. A steep price per head provided a windfall profit for the good residents of Port Conway. No one had time to pack any valuables and opted to take with them just what they needed for the trip. The town was busting at the seams and people were everywhere. There was no place to stay and we ended up on the beach with about two thousand women and children waiting their turn to board. Some five thousand had already been ferried aboard the boats and there was an estimated five thousand yet to come. This was the last three days of the grace period left and people were getting anxious. Tents and lean-to's sprang up on the beach and small cooking pots of foods boiled away as children cried and played with each other. As promised, we obtained a pair of sandals upon arrival and assigned a boarding number for the fist available spot on the next boat in. It was decided that we were to split up and go our separate ways as a better than average chance of survival. We had at least twenty hours to kill before our numbers came up and I spent it observing the mother's with their children.

It is here for the first time that I saw the results of my efforts with these women. I could not recognize any of them, yet, they all seemed familiar. All the children were under seven years of age, some still in diapers. Occasionally I saw a woman who was pregnant with child and she had the worried look of a hunted beast. One thing the women all had in common was their mutual hate for the men that abandoned them in their time of need. They had a tendency to look at me like I was the enemy. I felt that it was not the time to confide in any of them that I was one of the breeders that was responsible for them being here. I helped Irma, our scientist driver, erect a makeshift lean-to and we seated ourselves under it. After a while, we were joined by several of her scientist friends who, like herself, were thick of body and older women. They brought with them food and we enjoyed a potluck stew, which we shared with several of the younger children who were constantly wondering around the beach. There was a vast communal effort going on between all the mothers and their children. No one was left out, all were accepted openly, with the possible exception of us men and the odd looks the scientists got.

Night came and we slept in the sand of the beach. The crashing of the waves lulled me to sleep but only barley. Camp fires lit the beach for miles around and at the docks there was a constant crowd of people boarding boats of all types. Every hour or so, someone would come through the throng of people and call out the current number they were boarding at the moment, so those close to the number could stand and wait for their number to be called. Throughout the day and night, more people poured in and the beach was swarming with humanity. By morning I guessed that the number waiting on the beach was somewhere near five thousand and the air of excitement was heavy.