Modern Reproduction Institute

Berto unwinds the tangles in his headset cord, and slides the collection bag closer to him. After nearly a year in the institute, he's gotten used to the idea that he's locked to a bag of his own piss and cum. He only notices it at times like this, trying not to fall behind. To pull enough of the real world into him, to make up for what they're sucking out, even though online video courses where there was no help if he didn't understand the proofs. He's determined not to be among the half of the institute's 'veterans' who will be released - thrown out? - after ten years of production, brain-dead sex addicts without futures.

Math hadn't come easily to him in high school, but he with his relentless drive he knows it's only a matter of trying different approaches until he knows the formulas intuitively, applies them accurately. He's just completed the second of the two hour-and-a-half mandated workouts, pushing even harder than usual. The exhaustion usually helps him settle into studying.

Instead, he's restarted the video twice now to stare at the blonde who asks about the connection between derivatives and e. If he were in the room, he'd walk up to her after class and tell her he couldn't stop watching the way her hair caught the light. He'd stand close to her, touch her hand, look into her eyes and a few drinks later he'd be inside her. He'd learned his height, his too-cool-to-shave scruff and his confidence were enough to make most girls wet.

That was fine with him, but he wants one who would dare him to be the best she'd had. He wants to hear the blonde scream as she comes from his tongue and his cock, to fuck her for hours until neither of them can remember their names. To be so completely satisfied neither of them has the energy to move off of the puddle she'd leave on the bed. Maybe even wake up to her afterwards, tolerate her when she said something bitchy, surprise her with a gift during their next dinner together.

As she points to an equation on the board, she leans forward and to one side and her breast is pressed to the arm she's leaning against. Her blouse is only open by two buttons but Berto is hypnotized by this moment, the glimpse of her bust shifting. He leans forward, ignoring the porn projected onto the walls of the common room that he's trapped in, imagining instead he was there in her class. The blonde flirting with a professor, just because she genuinely wants some attention, has Berto more aroused than the gym-perfect porn bodies the institute shows him.

Ironically, there's a good chance he and the blonde already have a child together. If she's smart enough to be in this class, her DNA is probably part of the pool too. There's no institute for women, no need for reproduction to interrupt their life. Either her ovaries are removed and the eggs fertilized by the sperm squeezed out of the institute's men, or she's sterilized. Normal life resumes. High-potential men, on the other hand, are locked into the institute and into catheters to collect their cum. They'e given daily injections of testosterone and a half dozen other chemicals to increase sperm count and libido. The DNA Berto produces from age 18 to 28 will be minced, the best sequences spliced into some unthinkable number of future humans.

Berto's biometrics are onto him. Increasingly insistent waves of pressure run through his catheter, massaging him as he hardens. He's panting, eyes closed, trying to remember the blonde's lips, but he can't focus even on her. He's not sure when he started grunting. He knocks the laptop off the ottoman and mounts the furniture, grinding the underside of his cock against it.

"Fuck you, asshole!"

Whether or not Dennis thinks Berto is really an asshole is not the issue. The problem is that Dennis, also enjoying some post-workout endorphins, had expected at least a half-hour of erection-free relaxation and instead he's walked into the common room as Berto is moaning and attempting to fuck the furniture. Berto's too hard even to realize he's not alone, and even if he did he wouldn't care.

Dennis is hard now too, cock pointed straight at Berto as he lunges across the room and punches Berto's mouth. Like their catheters, even the room is designed to emphasize their arousal. The volume on the porn has doubled with their pulses. The lights in the room dim, then turn off. As Dennis pins Berto to the floor, the video from the wall is reflected onto Berto's face. As Dennis chokes Berto, he watches a petite white starlet with impossibly large round breasts struggle to suck an equally impossibly large cock.

Berto's still trying to come - he and Dennis are pressed together nearly head to toe, both of them hard now. Before the institute Berto had never been with a man, but he's lost track of the number of times this has happened, which other inmates have humped him or he them. Berto rips Dennis's hands off his neck, tosses him to the side and pins him down. The furry body hair they've developed thanks to the hormone cocktail rasps on their skin as they grind each other. Berto forces Dennis's mouth open and jams his tongue in, and they slam into each other, crushing together cocks already sore from the institute's demanding orgasm schedule. The electrodes implanted on there prostates begin pulsing. They know they can only dry hump more and more viciously and hope it's over soon. Even if Berto wanted to put his cock in Dennis's mouth or ass, he doesn't have the key to his catheter.

Dennis comes - he tends to finish quickly. Then Berto, tortured by the blonde from the calculus video, feels the fluid bursting through his urethra and shooting out a few inches into the tube on his cock. He still has Dennis pinned, not caring Dennis is done, massaging his cock against Dennis's to try to squeeze more cum out of himself. Berto screams into Dennis's mouth.

Their tiny contributions to society trickle down into their collection bags, cloudy swirls that will be extracted from their urine later. Ten or twelve orgasms a day are expected here. Each individual dribble seem worthless compared with civilization's needs.

"Fuck you, too, Dennis."

They rolled away from each other, back to back and not touching at all. They lay panting, knowing as soon as they recovered it would start again.