In a future world, not that distant from our own, overpopulation is no longer an issue... but the survival of the human race is. Eighteen-year-old James Wiseman reports for his first monthly "deposit" and finds out that he is a very special young man.
I normally don't write stories based on others people's ideas, but when Literotica member dimimis1991 proposed this to me, it struck a chord deep within my twisted mind and I could see this story unfold. His idea was a young man whose sperm was so special that he becomes effectively a captive slave. I put it in the future to give context to the story I built around the idea
I will leave it to the reader to judge whether James has ended up in a heavenly or hellish situation.
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WARNING! All of my writing is intended for adults over the age of 18 ONLY. Stories may contain strong or even extreme sexual content. All people and events depicted are fictional and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Actions, situations, and responses are fictional ONLY and should not be attempted in real life.
If you are under the age or 18 or do not understand the difference between fantasy and reality or if you reside in any state, province, nation, or tribal territory that prohibits the reading of acts depicted in these stories, please stop reading immediately and move to somewhere that exists in the twenty-first century.
Archiving and reposting of this story is permitted, but only if acknowledgment of copyright and statement of limitation of use is included with the article. This story is copyright (c) 2017 by The Technician.
Individual readers may archive and/or print single copies of this story for personal, non-commercial use. Production of multiple copies of this story on paper, disk, or other fixed format is expressly forbidden.
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WHO first announced that sperm counts were declining in Western males in 1990 following a fifty-year study. Several more studies followed. Publicly, experts said that there was no need to worry because a sperm count of forty-seven million rather than ninety-nine million was still more than adequate for conception. Privately, however, they were worried... very worried.
It was not until population levels began dropping in 2050 that people worldwide began to take notice. More studies followed. Those results couldn't be kept quiet. Sperm counts worldwide were drastically continuing to decline. So was sperm motility. Even with the help of fertility clinics, many couples were no longer able to conceive a child.
At first everyone blamed environmental factors. Obviously some man-made plastic or poison or genetically-modified grain had to be to blame. But the pattern of disbursement-- the way it spread through the world-- corresponded more to a disease than an environmental factor.
In 2073, Doctor William Rutherford was given the Nobel Prize in medicine for discovering the virus which had now infected all of humanity. In his acceptance speech, he shocked the world by saying that the damage was already done. The Human Genome had been changed by the virus. Humanity was doomed to extinction unless someone could be found who was genetically immune to the virus or was perhaps a slight mutation which had adapted to the virus now embedded in our DNA.
"The fate of the human race," he said sadly, "may be dependent upon a Donor X who can provide resistant sperm to repopulate the planet."
A world-wide draft was instituted, only this draft was not for the armies of the world. Within five days of their eighteenth birthday, every male on the planet had to report to a Supplemental Fertility Facility and deposit sperm. Until the age of fifty, they would then return once a month to again make a deposit.
The primary purpose of the facilities was to accumulate and store sufficient sperm from each male so that once or twice a year it could be used in an attempt to fertilize their mate or some other woman of child-bearing age. The sperm would also be tested in hopes of finding that miraculous "Donor X," but the primary purpose of the facilities was to keep the human race from dying out until Donor X could be found.
So it was that on the twenty-third day in the month of September in the year 2103, James Wiseman, reported to the Brooklyn branch of the New York Supplemental Fertility Facility. It was nothing like his friends had told him it would be. They had delighted in telling him of nurses who weighed your testicles and cut them off if they weren't heavy enough, or doctors that used electric cattle prods shoved up your behind to force you to ejaculate.
Instead, he was handed what looked like an oversize flashlight with a reproduction of a woman's slit on one end. "The blue switch starts the milking massage," the nurse said in an even tone. "The yellow switch adds vibration." She then smiled at him and said, "Only use the red switch if you can't ejaculate within three minutes. It will add electrical stimulation to complete your deposit."
Despite the awkwardness of the situation, James at first considered attempting to get the beautiful nurse's phone number. Then he saw the umbilical which connected her to the desk. She was an R-Clone. Cloning was the first thing the scientists tried when the population began to shrink. Unfortunately, there were unforseen drawbacks. The clones had a relatively short lifespan for some reason. And the genetic patching which corrected that resulted in minimal intelligence. Until a major breakthrough in human cloning occurred, clones could be used only for grunt labor and not much more.
Androids were attempted, but a not unreasonable fear that the thinking machines would overthrow their masters and take over the world prevented widescale use of them. The compromise was R-Clones. They were cloned humans, but with android-like supplemental brains and other features. There was no fear that they would take over the world because they had to remain physically connected to the computer which controlled them. When disconnected from the computer, they reverted to an intelligence level not much above a primate. The need for a direct connection to a super computer greatly limited their use, but they were perfect for jobs such as a receptionist who sat all day at the same desk.
The R-Clone receptionist pointed down the hallway and told James pleasantly, "Just follow the red arrows. Use any deposit unit that is unlocked."
A few minutes in the small closet-like cubicle and James was ready to turn in his deposit. He felt a warm flush on his skin as he handed the device back to the R-Clone. She didn't seem to notice and handed him a small reminder card. "See you next month," she called out as he turned to leave.
Normally, there would be a follow up email in about a week giving the donor their actual sperm count and reminding him that he needed to make a deposit each month. James was very surprised, therefore, to find an email from SFF in his inbox the very next morning. The subject line was "URGENT! Contact us immediately."
He clicked on the email, but it had not yet opened when his cellphone rang. The more-or-less female voice which announced his calls said "Call from Brooklyn Supplemental Fertility Facility."
"This is James," he answered. He wanted to add, "What do you want?" but decided to keep quiet until he knew what was going on.
"This is Doctor Swan," a female voice said, "we need you to return to the facility immediately for a new sample."
"I did everything like I was supposed to," James said defensively.
"Oh, no," the doctor quickly replied, "there was no problem with your procedure, but you fit into one of our... special categories... and we need a slightly larger specimen for analysis and other purposes rather than as a deposit to your account."
"Do I have to?" James asked warily.
"We would prefer you came in voluntarily," Doctor Swan said softly. Then her voice hardened as she continued, "but the Emergency Repopulation Powers Act of 2077 gives us the authority to compel a deposit."
