"Will you lick my ass right now?" she asked as soon as he opened the door. Those were the first words she ever spoke to him and it was a with such a sense of urgency that all he could do was utter a flabbergasted, "yes." She walked past him into the room. She was about five-seven, medium build, with shiny black shoulder length hair. She was wearing a microfiber bodycon dress that revealed her lithe figure quite nicely. She knelt on his sofa, facing the back, hiked up her dress, and poked her ass out quite provocatively. She was not wearing any underwear.
Understanding that this wasn't a joke—she was quite serious and expected him to service her ass with his tongue—he moved into position and proceeded to lick her ass. It was as fine an ass as he'd ever seen and was clean and pleasant smelling—two things you rarely heard when speaking of asses. He licked all up and down the crack of her ass, but soon began attacking her anus with his tongue, pressing and probing, hoping to gain entry into her ass as far as his tongue could go. After several minutes, he became aware that she was fingering her clit feverishly as he licked. Just about then, she stood up, pulled her dress off over her head, revealing two firm B-cup breasts which jutted out proudly from her chest and sported quarter-sized areola punctuated with stiffened nipples.
"Lie down on the couch so I can sit on your face," she directed. He complied and she straddled his face, thrusting her wet pussy into his mouth. He lapped at it hungrily, teasing her clitoris occasionally, but only enough to keep her on the edge of orgasm without going over. He could gauge how close she was based on the involuntary spasms of her hips. After a few minutes, He had mercy and just focused on her clit. When she came, it was obvious. She didn't "squirt" like some in the holo-vids do, but she was very wet and the spasms were impossible to fake.
"That was wonderful," she said as she climbed off. "If you would like to fuck me now, that would be great, only know that I am not on birth control. If you fuck me, you will most likely be stuck with me forever."
Queue the sound of the screeching record needle. He was past ready for release. His dick was as hard as it had ever been. He wanted to fuck her so bad that it hurt. But here's the thing. Intercourse with birth control is just intercourse. Intercourse without birth control is family planning. Family planning means husband, wife, offspring . . . forever. Things today aren't like they were in the twenty-first century when people could just fuck for the hell of it and get an abortion if things went south. Today, we had families. There was no divorce. Families were the bedrock of society. Families needed to be strong so society could be strong, could survive. What Kelly was saying was, if he fucked her now, it was for keeps. So he had a decision to make. Find immediate gratification by dropping a hot load of sperm into her waiting cunt and take the chance, probably better than even, that she'll get pregnant, or stop and take a cold shower.
For you, the choice may seem obvious. For him, it was complicated. Yes, Kelly and he had only just met. And yes, their first conversation had to do with him licking her ass, but there's far more to the situation. Kelly was his first appointment. In our society, when you become of age, that is marriageable age, the Clerics make appointments for you. Three or four, depending on local availability. The Clerics know who will be right for you. You see, from the moment we're born, everything about us is tracked. What we eat, what we wear, what we watch, who our friends are—everything. It's all on the grid. We don't have access to the data. But the Clerics do. Their algorithms take everything into account. Temperament, intelligence, likes and dislikes, interests, and even things like, what features of the opposite sex we find most attractive, what fetishes we have . . . everything. It's all on the grid. The clerics know if you fancy busty blondes, or waifish brunettes. They know all the porn you've watched, and what turns you on. And they run their algorithms on all that data to find you the perfect match. Three or four of them, actually, depending on location. Obviously, if your absolute perfect match is halfway around the world, she'll probably not be your first appointment. She might not even make your list if there are other suitable candidates much closer to your location—economics play a part still. And the Clerics were rarely wrong. Sometimes fellows would opt for their third or even fourth appointment and be happy, but most were satisfied with their first appointment. And yes, you can have all your appointments and make your choice afterwards, unless you get one of them knocked up first. The bio-signs show pregnancy in a matter of hours. If he got Kelly pregnant now, he'd know before his second appointment tomorrow. The Clerics would know and likely cancel it.
But there's more. He already knew that he and Kelly were compatible. She wouldn't have been his first appointment otherwise. He already knew that she was sexually attractive. He also knew that, based on her previous requests, her sexual proclivities matched up perfectly with his. But why would a girl show up at her first appointment sans birth control? It could be that she knew of his secret desire to inseminate a woman—the sense of power he would feel ejaculating into an unprotected fertile female. It was a common urge in our day. It could be that she had the complementary desire to be impregnated. But he wasn't sure how she could know of his desires—Clerics were notoriously tight-lipped regarding appointment candidates. You didn't have any interaction with them beforehand. You had your appointment, or series of them, then you made your choice. So, he reasoned, Kelly must just have the desire for his seed.
Don't flatter yourself, he thought. She might want the seed, he knew, but she didn't necessarily want his seed. She was probably operating on the same level of faith that we all had in the Clerics, to pair us up with the person best suited to our unique profile. That didn't really discourage him.
Basically, if he fucked Kelly now, he'd potentially be giving up options with appointments two and three. (He didn't have a fourth scheduled.) He had to decide if he was willing to choose Kelly now and give up his options, or let his balls explode and probably end up choosing her anyhow. He knew there was an outside chance his second or third appointments would be better—but quite honestly, he couldn't see how. The Clerics seemed to have nailed it. And there was the outside chance that she wouldn't actually get pregnant. Then he could still have all his options and yet enjoy the sweet release of fucking Kelly now.
He also appreciated Kelly's forthrightness about not being on birth control. She didn't have to tell him. He may later have considered it a form of treason and held it against her forever, but she was not, by law, required to tell him.
I know this took awhile to explain, but he knew all of this stuff already. In his head, the decision was instantaneous. He fucked her, long and deep. Well, deep anyhow. Long was relative based on his heightened state of arousal and the fact that she was a perfect fucking machine. It was the way she looked at him when he exploded inside her that was his favorite part. At that moment, they were joined, body and soul. They didn't need any Clerical documentation.
But Kelly didn't get pregnant that night. Still, he called off his other appointments and Kelly moved in immediately. He was no longer interested in other appointments. They couldn't possibly be better. They would just end up being baggage.
Esmeralda got the notice that her appointment for tomorrow night was called off. That meant that whoever it was with went with his first appointment. It didn't really surprise her. Most men went with their first appointment. She was disappointed, though. She was hoping she would have finally ended up with her dream man. Looks like her dream man went to someone else. That just sucked.
It was a man's world out there, though. Men got to make the choice. Women only had the option to refuse. It was rarely exercised, though. She knew that the Clerics were generally spot on with their matches. Of all of her friends who've had appointments, only one has ever refused. She did end up getting placed eventually, but she confided that she wasn't sure she was any better off with her current husband than she would have been with the one she'd refused. Refusing wasn't supposed to have negative consequences regarding Clerics. They never admitted as much, citing that as thorough as their algorithms may be, they are not foolproof. Allowing the right of refusal was a check against tyranny, they said. No one should ever feel they were forced, the Clerics maintained. Marriage, they said, was ultimately a free choice between the two parties. The man first, and then the woman.
Esmeralda wasn't sure why men had the upper hand. She was never that good with history. She seemed to remember something about egalitarian gender roles and declining reproduction in the mid-twenty-first century, but it didn't really matter. She never felt as though she was treated unfairly as a woman. She understood that women simply had different roles in society. Men were the breadwinners, the protectors. Women were the nurturers, of men and of children. It was a complementary arrangement that had existed for millennia—or so she'd been told. She wasn't that good with history.
She dug a pint of chocolate ice cream out of the freezer. She wasn't feeling sorry for herself, she told herself. Can't a girl just have a little ice cream? Deep down, though, she knew. What else has a girl to look forward to? From the time she's a toddler, she knows that someday, the Clerics are going to send her off to meet Prince Charming and she's going to live happily ever after. Funny. There are never any cancelled appointments in those stories.
Esmeralda was twenty years old! If she didn't get matched soon who would want her? She'd be past her prime. She threw herself down on the couch and turned the holo-vid to the Romance Channel. At least someone would get matched—she would just have to continue to live vicariously. She took another big spoonful of ice cream.
Kevin stared at his console. He had been waiting for this moment and now that it was here, he didn't know quite how to feel. He had an appointment! Just one. But one was all he needed, right? He knew that most guys went with their first appointment anyway, so why should he care if he didn't have three or four (or two!)? He knew he wasn't an Elite, or a Primary, or even a Second. But as Tertiary's go, he wasn't a bad catch. He had a decent job. If you defined decent as one that would allow him to eke out an existence for a small family in modest housing. They would never have the finer things, beyond the occasional splurge, but they would never go hungry. They would always have enough. And who knows? With the right mate, his children might be smart enough to qualify for a higher education and a bump in cast.
Kevin plucked a beer from the fridge. It wasn't champagne, but a beer would have to do for a celebration. This time tomorrow, he might be a family man!
Esmeralda checked herself out in the mirror one last time. Her light brown hair was pulled back with clips. It wasn't the most stylish look, but she didn't like hair in her face. She had considered getting it cut short, but she knew some men liked women with longer hair. She could always get it cut later. As it was, the face that stared back at her wasn't the most beautiful she'd ever seen, but it wasn't a horrible face, either. She just didn't know. She was used to her face. She didn't consider herself to be pretty, but neither did she think she was plain. No boy had ever gone out of his way to get her attention, so she didn't think she had any reason to think she was a prize catch. Still, as she looked at the figure in the mirror, she didn't think she had any reason to feel inferior. She had a decent figure. A little light upstairs, perhaps, but she'd heard that some men like that in a woman. She just hoped the Clerics took that into account. Of course they did. The Clerics knew you better than you knew yourself. Maybe she shouldn't have eaten that ice cream last night . . . or the previous nights. But she wasn't overweight. She was . . . soft. And the dress she wore looked good on her. The low neckline highlighted her breasts . . . or lack thereof. She preferred to think of it as a focal point of interest. In the end, she had to trust that the Clerics knew what they were doing.
If they were so smart, she wondered, how come she was cancelled and then all of a sudden appointed? One has to allow for free choice, she guessed. Even Clerics. She turned and left to catch the transport to C District. Yesterday her appointment had been at an address in B. But then, that one fell through. Maybe the C district was where she belonged. It's where she was born. She had always hoped for a higher caste, but that was only the sort of thing that happened on the Romance Channel.
"Hello, I'm Kevin," Kevin said to the mirror in a too friendly way. "No," he told himself, "I'm not trying to sell anything." But he knew he was. A girl always had the right of refusal. Nothing was guaranteed. He thought he was a decent catch, but perhaps decent wasn't what she was after. Maybe she was a higher caste and expected more. He should be ready for that. "Oh hell!" he said to the mirror. "I can only be me. If that isn't good enough, then to hell with her," he said. But inside, he didn't really feel that way. Inside, he hoped she would think he was good enough. He hoped she would think he was wonderful—despite the fact that he was really only just okay.
