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| The "Thinking Horndog" talked to me about the Sa'arm Cycle which captured my imagination. We discussed the subject and he was not displeased with allowing me to write within his framework. |
I was at the local high school for the chorus recital; my youngest daughter, a sophomore, was one of the performers, when the Confederacy extraction team locked down the whole whole "multi-use" room... being used as an auditorium.
While I had a good CAP score it was reassuring to know that my daughter scored better than I did at 7.6 to my 6.8. My wife, who wasn't along because of her physical difficulties, had scored a 7.3. I realized that she was likely going to regret not coming along even though these damned metal chairs bust her buns so badly. I had mixed feelings knowing that I just got a quickie divorce and that I'd be leaving with two concubines.
My daughter got called up along with me and, surprisingly, only twenty four other selectees, making twenty six total volunteers looking for people to sponsor.
Given the crowd in the room this seemed, to me, statistically unlikely.
Not that anyone would ever mistake me for a statistician, I was...am... an engineer. I knew some actuaries, though, and agreed that actuaries are just people who found accounting far too exciting a field.
Of course, being a PE, I had to have some useful knowledge of statistics... but not a whole lot of enthusiasm for that particular subject, but, as an engineer, you like to have some kind of a "feel" for numbers.
Of the twenty six being scooped up tonight over half of them-- fourteen, to be exact-- were students who were up on stage, consisting of eleven girls and three boys. Added to this were the chorus teacher, Ms Nellis, and, in the audience, three dads (including me) and six moms.
The good news is that these things are not well attended by the fathers of the children. This may be due to how the various corporations have been cranking up the amount of unpaid overtime people have to turn in... which, really, does tend to keep the workers, many of whom likely have high CAP scores, from getting extracted.
My daughter smiled coyly at me as we were all shuffled in the big room and lines formed. Chairs were moved so that we could make our selections.
Given the size of the extraction we had ten Confederacy soldiers running things and we saw two men and five women get stunned when they tried to object to their children being eligible for selection as sex slaves.
I told my daughter that she should not pick four boys with her allowance, adding that two males would probably be a good mix for her. I was the one who had a comparative shortfall being only allowed to pick two.
And, I'll admit, I was going to pick women.
My daughter brought me one of the girls she knew from school and told me to take her, and, when I asked why, answered me with "Don't worry, Dad... she'll fuck your brains out."
Jessica was not all that well-built, being a little heavy and not having an impressive figure, but her CAP of 5.8 was boosted by her sex drive and expected fecundity. Her face was sweet, though, and, when I reached for her hand, she looked happier than I ever thought it possible for a girl or woman to look.
All right, so I got one... and paused to re-check her CAP CAP score, which made me smile. At least she not only could fuck and suck but she had a strong maternal drive. My daughter had obviously done well for me. I did hope she'd do at least as well for herself.
I concentrated on my own problems and walked the line of the moms from the audience. I didn't want two children to make children with, I wanted some kind of adult to act as a check and balance for this three-person unit.
I found her, too.
Needless to say I skipped Jessica's mother, saying "We need more variation in genes" and stopped at a tired looking woman of Indian ethnicity. Once I saw her CAP scores and knew what she was good for, I knew I wanted to pick her. As I reached for her hand my daughter walked up with two boys-- one a black, the other hispanic, both kind of nerdy-- and two girls with her, one with that "fuck me" look cast into her face, the other kind of nerdy.
"Dad", my daughter said, "You really need to test-drive her. Neelam is Sami's mom and you want to know if she is going to be fun for you."
I stared at my daughter.
"Look, dad, I know that you think your personality is a good contraceptive, but, really, you need to loosen up a bit. I know mom's a dead fuck and she ain't gonna change, but you need to know that whoever you collect is going to have to spend a lot of time wrapped around your dick. So try her out and make sure she's got more life than mom has."
Neelam smiled and peeled out of her clothing and used it as a pad for her knees as she reached for my pants and showed me what she was willing to give in exchange for a chance at life.
Having no experience at all in receiving a blow job, it took no time at all for me to have my brains sucked out through my dick, the brown face with the big expressive loving eyes locking my attention.
When she finally released me I was still hard. She grabbed my dick and pulled me to a seat, pushed me down, and straddled me.
Not only had I never had a blow job before today but this woman was doing something with her vagina that got me going quickly. Given my age and having just delivered one load down her gullet, Neelam's kisses and bouncing on my lap took a while to extract my second load.
Neelam and I exchanged tender kisses and I found my daughter having the two boys she chose take a couple of strokes into her.
Seeing your daughter like this is a TMI ("Too Much Information") event but I managed to weather it. It did not hurt that my daughter has usually talked to me about sex given how her mother sees it as such a dirty activity.
Ah, well.
I was only too happy to get beamed out of that cluster fuck.
So was my daughter.
And, no matter how stupid it sounds, I was proud of my daughter.
It never occurred to me, until the voyage out to our new home, how proud my daughter was of me.