The Spermarche Age - Chapter 17 The End

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The Spermarche Age – Chapter 17 (The End)

THE FUTURE

The chains rattle whenever Carly quivers.

The Asian girl’s spread legs try to close around the nine-year-old boy slurping her hairless vulva, to no avail. Harnesses around her wrists and ankles pull the naked twelve-year old into a spread-eagle position.

The girl's hands and toes open and clench as waves of pleasure trash inside her. Causing the long metal chains holding her to sing in unison. A song she cannot hear due to noise cancelling headphones over her ears.

A swarm of nude boys surround her, caressing her body. Carly cannot move more than an inch. Her body open and vulnerable. Completely at their mercy.

A particularly strong quiver cascades up her groin, making her gasp and trash her head sideways. In the process, her blindfold moves off.

She looks down her sweaty chest and sees her immature breasts buds inside the mouths of two boys. The tips of their tongues flickering each nipple. Past them, two more boys fondle her armpits, navel and heaving tummy. Their fingers working wonderful, unexplainable things on her skin. Further down, the boy eating her pussy is flanked by two other kids kneading Carly’s legs. Their small, experienced fingers working up and down her smooth thighs and calves. Massaging her hairless skin. Tickling the soles of her feet. Twisting her tiny toes one by one. Sliding their tongues between each one. It's maddening.

"Shit, it fell of again!" Says an older teen boy with a top hat. He repositions the blindfold over Carly’s eyes and slides his penis inside her mouth before she can speak.

The girl starts sucking him as if it was the most delicious of deserts. Her slurps joining the rest of the wet sounds, pants and moans her world has shrunk after many hours. Her train of orgasms melting together into a smudged, continuous wave. Each climax builds inside her until it explodes for a deafening instant. Her chains rattling while her arousal recedes to a base level. Then, a few minutes of incessant stimulus later, it swells into another blinding explosion of dopamine and oxytocin. Over and over in the dark, silent, endless tide of pleasure the tween is stuck in.

The boys pleasuring her are all professional and focused on their work. They slurp, pinch, stroke, and rub all the young girl's erogenous zones in the right way at the right time.

Now and then, one of the boys gets bored or tired and signals for a replacement. A new kid immediately takes his place, continuing where his partner left off.

The tired boy then steps out the mass of bodies and joins the other naked kids hanging out in the sex dungeon. He drinks water, eats snacks, or chats with other boys waiting to go back. In the meantime, they watch funny videos, hardcore porn, or play videogames at one of the many screens lining the walls.

When his erection raises back up, the boy stands up and awaits near Carly to be called back. While he waits, he takes a moment to marvel at the sight before him.

A blindfolded adolescent surrounded by half a dozen nude boys. Sounds of bodily fluids everywhere. Carly's face red and swollen. Gasping for air as she approaches yet another one in her endless stream of earth-shattering orgasms. Her body trashes and quivers, making the chains rattle in another metallic applause.

The moment of the switch finally comes. The small boy between her legs stands up and waves at the waiting boy to replace him.

The new boy wets his lips and hurries into position. He loved when it was his turn to perform cunnilingus. He glances at the red digital clock by the dungeon’s door. Sixteen hours left.

Showtime!

***

"Keep your hands off me you dirty faggot!"

Ramesh clenches his jaw. It takes all his willpower to stop himself from beating the shit out of this kid. He pushes on.

"Shut up! Keep moving!"

Both young men move inside the labyrinth of corridors inside the Farm. Ramesh holding the blonde seventeen-year-old boy in front of him. The teen cursing him with every step, his voice seeping with anger and defiance.

“Damnit! Let me go you ape!”

“SHUT UP!”

Despite Ramesh’s many injuries, the Indian man is still a lot stronger than the younger, skinny kid. He has no trouble manhandling him.

They reach a large hatch door on the side of the ship. An emergency exit. It slides opens.

A warm, salty breeze whips through their hair and clothes. The sky is still dark outside. Ramesh holds the golden-haired boy near the edge. A 15-feet tall drop to the dark ocean underneath him.

The boy's blue eyes widen. But then he lets out a mocking smile.

“So, that’s it? You’re going to throw me out and let me die at sea?”

Ramesh snickers. “Don’t be so dramatic. The shore is only a couple of miles that way.” He points at the night horizon. The faintest glow of dawn coloring the opposite edge.

“You know I’m just going to try again, don’t you? Doesn’t matter how long it takes me, I’ll destroy you!”

Ram's grip tightens. There was something about this kid that made him crazy. It was if a younger version of himself started speaking every time the teen opened his mouth.

He turns the blonde boy around and slaps him across the face. With a strength and ire that surprises himself. As if trying to punch him back to his senses.

“You want to dedicate your life to revenge? Be my guest!” He pulls the boy closer. “I’ll be waiting for you. But a word of advice: It’s not worth it!”

He looks over his shoulder as if to make sure no one is around. He lowers his voice.

“Look at me! I accomplished everything I ever wanted. Power. Influence. Money. A literal army is now under my command. My younger self would’ve thought this was a wet dream. And you know how I feel?”

The blonde boy opens his mouth to answer when Ramesh slaps him again.

“NOTHING! I feel the same as before! Angrier even! The… Fire inside me didn't went away! I want more! Don’t make my same mistake.”

The blonde teenager isn’t fazed by Ram's words. His left eyelid twitching.

“You want me to feel sorry for you? Pathetic. You want my word of advice? Kill me. Now, while you have the chance. Before I grow into an enemy you cannot defeat.”

Ramesh sighs, disappointed. Yet unsurprised. He’s about to shove the boy into the water when he thinks of something and pulls him closer.

“You have one big advantage over me. Use it, and you may avoid this fate.”

“What?” The blonde teenager smiles. “That I’m white?”

Ram rolls his eyes.

“Your sister. Why isn't she with you?”

The boy’s eyes light up in recognition. Then, a shadow of shame clouds them. The tremor in his eyelid stops altogether.

Ram smirks.

“You moron! You haven't even searched for her, have you? Psh! That burning feeling? Use it to find her. Then use it to make her happy. Fuck her or something. I don’t know how siblings work…”

Before the boy can say anything, Ram throws him to the water and goes back inside. The splash sound interrupted by the hatch closing.

They would never see each other again.

Ram taps his temple, his mind already elsewhere. His eyes blink with a flurry of messages and notifications. He knew being the ship’s Captain involved lots of red tape, but oh boy! It’s one thing to know it, and another to live it.

“Sorry, was taking out some trash.” He says while walking. “Talk to me.”

“The thorium reactor is in shambles. But the lead engineer thinks it can get us to Nassau.” says Anita inside his ear implants. “But once we get there it will melt and turn into a giant paperweight.”

“That’s good enough. I’ll have our contacts in the Bahamas make room for us.”

“Good. Next. Structural damage is worse than we thought. Corridors are full of debris, toppled machines, exposed wires, and all sorts of dangerous shit. Crowd control thinks we should keep the drones inside the yard for the time being.”

“Agreed.”

“And not to bury the lead but you were right about the Fertility Crisis coming to an end! We tested some drones, and their sperm counts are up the roof! We also checked historical records and they show an uptick dating back a couple of weeks. But because you were the one monitoring daily numbers, it flew under everyone’s radar.”

Ramesh stops and rubs his forehead. Had all this happened mere two weeks later he would have noticed the uptick in sperm counts himself!

Imagine! He could’ve been the first person to witness the Fertility Crisis coming to an end. Endless scenarios on how he could have taken advantage of the situation fly past his mind.

Anita continues, unaware of his musings.

“If trends continue, we’ll be back to pre-2000’s fertility levels in a few months. Back to the 1950’s in a year. It’s…” The college-aged girl pauses, trying to take it all in. “It’s incredible. We’ll be rendered obsolete. All this equipment. All our logistics, procedures, the Farm itself. All our staff… Puff!”

Ram frowns, struck by a thought.

“Alert the crew. General announcement. I need to talk to them.”

“Uh? What for?”

“The future. If you are feeling upset and adrift, I can only imagine how the rest of the crew are feeling. They'll need reassurance.”

“Oh! Good idea. I’ll make the preparations. You’ll be speaking from the bridge?”

“No, I’ll do it from the dock. I still need to take out more trash. Good work.” He says inching a finger towards his temple, about to end the call.

“Wait! One last thing.”

“Mmh?”

“What will we do with Carolina and Miguel?”

“Who?”

“The ‘Prince’ and his girlfriend? The two lovebirds everyone was talking about?”

“Oh,” He shrugs. “I don’t know. Put the boy with the rest of the drones and throw the girl off board. Or something.”

“But…”

“That girl is under 14! She’s a liability until that stupid blockchain contract holding our trust fund hostage expires. Get her off the ship! I don't care how.” He taps his temple and switches calls. His tone of voice switches to bright and amicable. “Mrs. Prime Minister! Good morning. Sorry for the early hour… Yes, it's most unfortunate what happened at our facility... Yes! Rest assured we're taking all measures to ensure such grotesque stunt doesn't happen again-”

***

The ship’s bridge.

Officers in blue and red mono suits pace around the carpeted floor. Fingers typing the air. Irises and glasses blinking with geometric shapes.

Around the walls., large monitors show a multitude of graphs and status reports. Red icons outcompeting the green ones. The control room looks more like a stock market during a buy-out than something out of Star Trek. Carefully controlled chaos, teetering on the brink of collapse.

On a corner of the busy room, two worn out eleven-year-olds sit slumped together in an office chair. Their hands intertwined. Neither has slept in days. Their bodies at the end of the rope.

“What happens now?” Miguel whispers, watching without understanding the adults around them. The Hispanic boy still dressed in Ram’s wrinkly shirt. No pants or underwear.

Caro gulps. Also intimidated by the serious-looking buzz around them. Her blue mono suit torn and dirty.

“I don’t know. I guess we return home.”

“What day is it today?”

“Monday…? Maybe?”

“Are we missing school? Oh shit! I had math homework!”

Caro lets out a tired chuckle. Her hand squeezes his.

The boy looks at their intertwined fingers and smiles. They were novios now! At last! He had dreamed of this moment for so long he didn’t know what was supposed to happen next.

But whatever it was, he was looking forward to it.

“You two. Up.” Says Anita standing in front of them. The chubby girl stressed and overwhelmed. Her eyes blinking constantly. “You know how to get to the crew decks?”

The two kids shake their heads.

The rainbow-haired girl curses. She waves at a nearby guard.

“Hey! You! Take the boy to the Captain's quarters and lock him in there. Ram wants him in the yard with the other drones, but I still have my suspicions about his identity. As for the girl, take her alongside Lieutenant Garcia’s daughter back to land.”

“And drop them where?”

“Anywhere but here!”

Caro’s eyes pop open.

“Wait! You are splitting us? But Ma’am…!”

Someone taps Anita’s shoulder for an urgent matter. She waves a hand dismissing the whole issue and walks away.

Left alone with the kids, the imposing female guard grabs Caro and Miguel by the neck and forces them to walk. The tweens try to resist but they're too exhausted and the woman is too strong. She has no patience for dealing with children at a time like this!

***

The wet dock on the back of the submarine. The giant twin doors open. The glow of dawn illuminates the foggy horizon outside.

Abuelita's old purple speedboat bobs up and down at the center of the dock, held by all sides from its moors. Like a prisoner waiting for its execution.

The ‘Boss’ watches the boat leaning over a metal railing bordering the water. Her red military coat is gone. She wears a simple dress shirt and red pants. Her expression one of boredom. As if waiting for the dentist to arrive.

Her eyes roam the tacky artwork spraypainted on the boat's beak. Some kind of Virgen de Guadalupe fused with a winged Reaper. Cheap. Amateur. Impressive.

She raises her handcuffed wrists and pulls some flocks of white, messy hair off her face. The tattoos in her hands as undecipherable as the graffiti on the boat.

Behind her, a mercenary in full battle gear. The woman coughs. The ‘Boss’ glances over her shoulder.

“How’s family Toibah?"

The female guard doesn’t react.

The elder woman smirks.

"Has your mom recovered?"

No response.

“It’s nothing personal Bos-, um, Karen.” The guard says at last.

Karen sighs.

“That man is going to lead you all to ruin. You can trust me on that. I’ve seen it before!”

The guard shrugs.

“Again. Nothing personal.”

The old woman is about to retort when footsteps approach. The guard stands firm.

Ramesh walks in, finishing a call. His shirt wrinkled and dirty, halfway buttoned. His face bruised and oily, as if exiting a machine room. Looking like someone at the end of the worst week of his life.

In short, sexy as fuck. Federal agents would later joke that Ramesh had members of his personal harem kick him in the face every few weeks to keep his action-hero aura. But for now, at least, his injuries were real. And his exhaustion, palpable.

He stands by the two women. The blinking in his eyes stop. His attention squarely on the present.

Karen notices the female guard visibly flustered by Ram's presence, swooning even. She rolls her eyes.

“God... I hate straight people.”

“Marine,” says Ramesh. “Hand me your sidearm and leave us alone, please.”

The mercenary hesitates, glancing between him and her former superior. The Indian man sighs.

“It’ll be quick.”

The guard unholsters her 9mm pistol, places it atop Ram’s palm, and walks out the dock. The screech of the metal door echoes in the cavernous dock.

Alone now, Ramesh twists his arms and cracks his neck, getting ready. Gun in his hand.

The old woman stands straight. Facing him.

"Nervous?" She snickers. “Don’t be. It’s easier than it seems.”

Ram clicks his tongue and produces a pair of sunglasses from his shirt pocket. He places them atop a wooden crate and stands in front of the glasses’ camera with his arms crossed.

“Not a word,” he mutters aiming the gun at her under an arm. The weapon below the frame of the video.

The announcement commences. Ram's figure appears across all screens and wearable devices inside the giant submarine. No pristine uniform or ironed clothes. No filters or video artifacts to masquerade his disheveled, roughened state. In an era where bots hallucinate 95% of all audiovisual content, it was refreshing to see an actual, living person for once.

Moreover, the Farm's all-female crew had been following orders from a wrinkled septuagenarian for over a decade. They couldn’t help but feel enraptured by their new, young, sexy Captain.

“Good morning girls,” the twenty-year-old begins. A big, warm smile in his chiseled face.

Decks above, the guard escorting Caro and Miguel stops by a group of crewmates watching Ramesh on a small screen. She motions at a passing woman.

“Hey! Naomi! Put these drones with the others!”

“Uh!? Why me?”

“Come on!” She hands her the two restless preteens and joins the others.

Naomi groans and takes them away. Both kids fighting and shouting.

“NO! Wait Ma’am! Don’t take us to the yard! Please!!!”

“As you can imagine, lots of things are going on right now,” Ram continues. His thick Indian accent soft and velvety. Like honey. Yet also reassuring and commanding. Made you feel as if you were under a firm, thick shelter before a storm. “And I’ll be addressing each of your concerns in the following days. But let me start with the most important question of them all: What happens now...? See, the rumors are true. Sperm counts amongst our drones have spiked. And they continue to raise without any sign of stopping. It’s impossible this phenomenon is limited to our Farm. The most likely explanation is that we’re the first ones to notice. Soon, every prepubescent boy in the world will be more fertile than their great-grandparents. Sperm prices will plummet. And with that, our whole industry will just, disappear…!” He opens a hand in a theatrical gesture. “Pufff!”

Crewmembers across the ship glance at one another, worried. Yet they wait for Ramesh to continue. The Indian man’s face as reassuring as before.

“Now, there are three reasons why I’m confident about our future. In fact, I’m excited about it! Number one-"

Karen can't stop herself from smiling as her protegee rambles on. She knew it from the day they met, back at sea in that dilapidated fishing boat. The kid had a natural talent for spilling bullshit in a convincing manner. She even found herself nodding along here and there.

And, as millions more would soon learn, it wasn't because Ramesh was a particularly talented speaker. Any bot could write a compelling, inspiring speech to defend the indefensible.

It was the opposite. Ram was real. He was rough, unpolished. His thick accent, poor choice of words and messy persona felt refreshing. It stood in stark contrast to the mathematical perfection of the algorithms controlling the world. Bots puppeteering world leaders, celebrities, and the press. Speaking to more bots on the other side of the political spectrum. A hollow kabuki theater performed by algorithms, for algorithms. By the time information reached actual humans, it was summarized and digested to oblivion.

Not the case for Ramesh.

For only a human, a genuine madman, could make such leaps of logic as what he was arguing right now. He took Karen's words about money being a measure of power and turned them upside down. Money, he reasoned with contagious enthusiasm, followed power! It trailed it. Like the wake of water behind a ship. The larger the ship, the larger the wake. And theirs was immense!

It didn't matter that the Fertility Crisis was ending, Ram argued. For ‘they’ —the crewmates, officers, support staff, mercenaries, his family —were NOT criminals (Ha!). Rather, they provided a service. They helped the poor, the disaffected, the forgotten, get fertile sperm to start a family. To apply for college. Ask a loan. Get a well-paid job.

So long as they kept finding ways to help people —especially those scrapping by at the edges of society — they would never run out of money. This was they key to the immense wealth they had amassed in the trust fund. And the way they would increase it even further!

Crewmates across the ship clap and cheer even before Ram ends his speech. His parting words drowned under the roars of his loyal crew. His army. The first of many. The humble beginning of what would become the most formidable criminal enterprise of the century. Raising with meteoric speed to the far reaches of the world, and beyond. Ram's legions would pacify continents. Unite warring ethnicities. Modernize nations.

Decades later, while writing his seminal biography, a renowned historian would state that comparing the young Indian man to former successful individuals like Jeff Bezos or Pablo Escobar was inappropriate.

Ram's true equal was Alexander the Great.

And even he found his dream cut short from a lack of antibiotics.

Ramesh bows as he ends his transmission. His shirt drenched in sweat. Looking as if he ran half a marathon.

Behind him, Karen claps in slow, mocking motions.

Clap…! Clap…! Clap…!

“Bravo… Bravo… I never doubted you had it in you, kiddo.” She crosses her arms. “Now, remind me, why the hell didn’t you wait for me to hand you the Captain’s position? In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not getting any younger.”

Ramesh checks the gun’s magazine. He cocks the pistol.

“You know why. That idea of yours with the artificial wombs?”

Karen rolls her eyes, only now remembering it.

“Oh, that. Is that all? I bet you think you can do better than me.”

“No. I know I can do better than you! That shit was straight up evil!”

“Oh, right! Evil…!”

She groans, frustrated, and turns her back at him. She rests her elbows on the metal railing. Looks at the purple-orange sky outside the submarine.

A new day is beginning. Like the one before it. And the one after. An endless cycle of hype and disappointment. Every generation so darn certain they’ll avoid the mistakes of their predecessors. And every time, proving themselves wrong. Spectacularly wrong.

“It’s not the big decisions that make you evil you know?” She ponders. “You can always rationalize your choices after the fact. No, it’s the small decisions. Those you thought were unimportant. That's were evil, REAL evil, creeps in."

She closes her eyes.

“It happens all the time. You put the wrong number on a spreadsheet. Next thing you know you gotta come up with a bullshit excuse for why you ordered a boy get milked for two weeks straight, breaking his mind. You leave an email for later. You tell yourself you’ll get to it. And then the one person you care about the most won't speak to you anymore. You tell yourself you’ll let your pilots play soccer outside, between the birds lining the carrier’s deck. Because why not? It’s a beautiful morning. The sea is calm. And we’re about to win the War anyway. Just like HE promised…”

Her fists clench. Her gaze lost in the fog, staring at ghosts.

“They look so happy... Little boys running around their cute, tiny uniforms, chasing a ball. Screaming... How were they supposed to know a missile was heading their way? How were the woke Democrats who fired it supposed to know there would be so many people on my deck that morning?” She laughs. “Ugh, the smell! The burning jet fuel coating everything. The skin peeling off the boy’s cute faces like wet tissue paper.” She laughs again, harder. A harrowing, unhinged fit of laugh. She lets out a long sigh. “Uhhh… But that’s okay. Because you’re a Hero now! America is great again! Kids are finally safe from all the groomers, trans, and woke people wanting to rape them. We won!"

She laughs, softer. Exhausted. Her chuckles diminishing to a mumbling stir.

"You can't stop evil. It doesn't even exist. ‘Evil’ is just the word people use when things get too complicated."

She turns to face Ram. The young man now aiming the gun at her face.

"Go ahead kiddo. It’s your turn now."

Ramesh is crying. The pistol trembling in his hand.

The old woman waits, immobile. Her face inexpressive.

"DO IT!" She barks.

Ram takes a deep breath, steadies his hand, and throws the gun inside the purple speedboat.

"The throttle lever is half broken. Don't go above 30 knots or the seat will kick you in the butt like a baseball bat," he explains while releasing the moors.

Karen watches him without understanding. Ramesh takes the last moor away and pulls the speedboat closer.

"Come on," he says, inviting her to hop in.

She doesn't move.

"Fascinating… You're supposed to get rid of me to solidify your power, kiddo."

He smiles. “And you would like that, wouldn’t you? That would trigger your testament and give Samantha her slice of the Farm's trust fund. But I have other plans for her..."

Karen straightens up. Her eyes as discs.

"You wouldn't DARE!"

He raises his palms.

"Relax! I would never hurt her. She's just a kid. But what I have done is freeze all her accounts, cancel all her credit cards, and leave her without a penny to her name. Thankfully, you grafted her wealth so deep within the Farm's financial instruments it wasn’t difficult to empty all her assets. She’ll be receiving a notification from her bank any moment now."

The old woman is boiling. Her face bright red. She clenches the metal railing.

"Y-you little piece of...! You're a MONSTER! You know Sam is a recluse! She has no support network! No friends or family! She'll...! She'll end up on the STREETS!"

Ramesh claps, proud of her.

"Bingo! She'll be all alone, broke as fuck, and lost in a world who neither needs nor cares about her," he raises his arms. "Just like everyone else... Hey! That's how I started. And look at me now."

He takes a moment to relish in the thunderstorm raging in the old woman's face. This was too much fun.

“Wow! You're right! I don't feel evil. In fact, I feel completely justified.” He points at the speedboat. “So! The way I see it, you have two options. One: Kill yourself, trigger your testament, and save Sam from poverty. Or two: Hop onboard, find her, and be the mother she always needed you to be. But hurry up! Because you're now Earth's most wanted criminal. Governments need to blame someone for all the sperm trafficking they've allowed to happen under their noses. And now that the Fertility Crisis is over, you'll be the sacrificial lamb.” He laughs. “I've already sent them everything they'll need. Hope Sam likes playing hide and seek for the rest of her life!"

"How about option three!? I hop inside the boat, grab the gun, and blow your head off!!!"

Ramesh shrugs. "You can try. But even if you succeed, you'll be just as screwed as before. And you'll have less bullets to defend yourself from all the bounty hunters looking for you. But hey! If that's your jam..."

The old woman wiggles the metal railing back and forth, as if trying to pull it off its bolts. Her ire off the charts. Squeezed out of her every pore by Ram's vengeance.

"AAAAAAAAAHH!"

She stomps past him and jumps inside the speedboat.

"Good sailing!" Says Ram waving her goodbye, all smiles.

Karen starts the engine and looks behind her to make sure the path out the dock is clear. She looks back at Ramesh with a weird grin. As if looking forward to something.

"You think you're so cool, uh? You think you have it all figured out. But those backstabbing sluts drooling over your masculine bod have clouded your judgment. You fail to see what is right in front of you."

Ramesh smirks. What card was she trying to play now?

She looks over her shoulder again. As if making REAL sure the water behind is clear.

Ram frowns. Something is wrong.

Karen smiles. She ramps up the boat’s engine.

"You think I don't know what people think when they look at me? An old, out of touch Centennial? You think you're the only one who can leverage their appearance in their favor?"

She taps her temple. Her irises flicker.

Ram's eyes pop wide.

Suddenly, a hum reverberates from within the Farm's guts. A radioactive demon coming back to life.

Before Ramesh can react, the floor slides under his feet. He falls forwards on the floor.

At the same time the purple boat launches out the dock, as if fired by a cannon. Except the speedboat isn’t the one moving. The rest of the giant submarine is the one shooting forwards! The Farm’s engines now blasting at full throttle, out of control!

GRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!!!

Ramesh stands on shaky feet. The floor below him undulating like Jello. Around him, giant girders bend and snap. The old fishing boat falls off one of the racks, crushing the skiffs stored below. The metallic noises are unbearable. The ship is tearing itself apart!

"STATUS!?" He yells into his ear implant.

Inside the ship's bridge, Anita struggles to stay upright. Around her, officers scream and bark orders.

"It's malware! Deep inside the system! We lost all control! Bots are working purging the code!"

Ram holds to dear life from a nearby beam. He clenches his teeth.

He was so stupid! He should’ve known she would also have boobytraps inside the ship in case of mutiny.

"Forget it! It's likely a zeroth day exploit. She placed there years ago! Bots won’t solve it on time! What's our heading!?"

"I-I don’t know! All sensors went dark! And it’s not as if there’s windows on this thing to look outside!"

Ram glances over his shoulder, at the massive doors on the back of the submarine. He grows pale.

He can see the sunrise. Which means…

Ramesh looks around, at the giant cruise ship he’s lived for almost a decade. The closest place to a 'home' he’s ever known.

He hugs the metal beam tighter, almost lovingly, saying goodbye. Then yells with his eyes closed.

"General announcement! All crew! Brace for impact!"

Anita falls silent. Around her, officers grow quiet as well.

"S-sir! There’re almost six thousand souls on board! The ship-"

“We’ll be fine! Her graphene shell can withstand thousands of PSI! I know her, she’ll protect us! Now sound the DARN ALARM!!!"

***

“It's all in motion, no stoppin' it now! I got nothing to lose and only one way up!”

A chubby, ginger man dances while prepping his sailboat. A bottle of wine and a small breakfast on a table. His wide hips swaying with each beat of the song.

“I'm burning brides, I destroy the mirage! All visions of collisions, fucking bon voyage!”

The morning air is crisp. A light fog hugs the soup-like sea. Seagulls fly above doing their noisy thing. Life's good.

“It's all smooth sailing! From here on out…!”

He plays the chords of an imaginary guitar during the last riff, caught in the song.

But then frowns. He stops the music in his ears and looks up. The seagulls are gone. The sea is quiet.

The man walks to the front of his sailboat, sensing something is amiss. He peers into the fog with narrowed eyes.

Shadows stir within the mist, a giant form approaching from the ocean.

“What the…?”

His eyes bulge. A colossal vessel has materialized from the white veil. An alien-looking ship as large as a container ship and as fast as a car, barreling toward him.

He emits a comically high-pitched scream and bolts across the boat to fire up the engine.

“Shit, shit, shit!”

The white behemoth looms closer. The sailboat’s engine roars to life. The small vessel jerks forward.

But then it stops just as abruptly, throwing him against the wheel. He forgot to pull up the anchor!

The giant submarine is now a few seconds away. So close he can smell the barnacles glued to the hull.

The man screams like a little girl, leaps into the water, and swims away with all his strength, crying.

Behind him, the Farm crushes his sailboat as if it were a toy. The small vessel disintegrating into a million wooden pieces.

The man treads water as the enormous ship continues its unrelenting course inland. It slides into the fog once more, as if it never existed.

Wide-eyed and bewildered, the man holds from a piece of the boat's wreckage. An old American flag with a T-shaped pattern still waving from a pole. The symbol of a government who steamrolled the XXI century much like the submarine stomped his sailboat. And which collapsed just as quickly.

Then, a chilling explosion from the direction the ship vanished. It sounded as if a volcano eruption and a demolition derby were being spot welded together. The ginger man listens, in awe, at the incredible noises coming from the fog. A crazed cacophony ebbing and raising to a dramatic crescendo. Trailing off until the sea grows quiet again and the seagulls return, circling the sailboat wreckage. A car alarm beeps-beeps in the distance.

What the hell was that!?

A LITTLE BIT OF SODOMY

The door opens and closes.

"GUYS! Guys! Guys!"

Heads turn. Boys watch as the newcomer grabs the master remote control and takes control of the screens lining the sex dungeon.

“Hey! I was about to finish that level!” A boy complains, gamepad in hand.

“SHH!”

On all the TV’s, aerial footage of what seems to be an airplane accident. Except it’s the largest, most bizarre aircraft the boys have ever seen.

“WHOA!”

"When did this happen?"

"A few hours ago! Look!"

They watch amazed at the white, long, organic creature, thousands of feet long, lodged on the shore. A long trail of half-submerged buildings crushed on its path. A swarm of emergency and military vehicles surround it. Looking like Lilliputians poking a stranded whale.

"It may look like scenes from a sci-fi movie,” a serious-sounding narrator says over the footage. “But I can assure you dear audience, it's real. A cruise submarine has just flattened the town of Lake Placid, Florida. Fortunately, the town’s been abandoned for almost two decades due to sea raise, meaning no one was hurt. At least, according to local authorities who-"

The boys stare wide-eyed as the narrator speaks. Even the ones busy pleasuring Carly’s body pause to watch, brushing drool and sweat off their mouths.

The boy pumping his penis between the girl’s obscenely spread legs also stops. She pants, relieved from a pause in their incessant stimulation. Yet her body keeps squirming, yearning for him to keep moving.

The kid with the remote-control forwards the video. It seems all this is already old news. He stops on a segment were a reporter interviews a no-nonsense policewoman. The giant white vessel on the background. Sparks flying from spider-like robots cutting the hull with laser torches. A big crowd surrounds it.

“Ya, no one had to call us. We heard the crash ourselves all the way from Avon Park." She relates. "We thought the War had restarted! Instead, we find a motherfucking ghost ship between a Starbucks and a McDonalds. I’m telling you! This shit only happens in Florida.”

“Why do you call it a ghost ship?” The reporter asks.

“Because that thing is empty! There is no one inside! Whoever piloted it ran away long before we arrived. Plus, it isn’t supposed to exist in the first place! All those cruise submarines were scrapped in the 60’s.”

“And have you searched the whole ship?”

“Hella’ no! Have you seen it!? It’s freaking HUGE! I don’t have enough personnel. It will take us all day to sweep each deck. Besides, its messy as hell inside. Some doors are welded shut. Who knows what kind of crazy shit we'll find inside.”

The boy with the remote skips forward. The screens change again. They show people in radiation suits prying open a welded door. The narrator speaks over the image.

“A ghost ship, coming out of nowhere. People speculated about treasures hidden inside. Others warned of illegal or dangerous cargo. Illegal nanobots or experimental viruses. Instead, what they found-”

The door falls. Smoke fills the view. The cameraman crosses the threshold. On the other side, a huge, pitch-dark, open area. Police flashlights sweep about.

The light cones illuminate an endless mass of nude children, huddled on the floor.

“-were boys! Thousands of them. Between nine and thirteen years old. All of them fertile. Kidnapped from all over the world. Abandoned by their captors.”

“AH! Fuck!” Yells the boy with his penis inside Carly's vagina out of the blue. He ejaculates deep inside. The tween girl shakes in powerful pleasure convulsions of her own.

He pulls out of her with a ‘pop’. A small torrent of sperm flowing out her vulva, like champagne.

"Shit, I was saving that," says the post-orgasmic boy. “Hey! Someone! Take my place.”

"Me! My turn!" Says the boy pinching Carly’s nipples. He aligns his erect penis with her wet entrance, holds it by the base, and slides it nonchalantly inside.

Carly gasps and fights against her chains, making them rattle. Her spread limbs engaged in another futile attempt to close access to her preteen pussy.

Yet no one notices her struggle. All eyes still glued to the TV’s.

The news program shows blurry photos of ‘The Boss’ taken at a distance. Likely from a police stakeout.

“The likeliest culprit?” The narrator says. “A woman known by authorities as ‘The Sperm Queen’. Better known across the Dark Web for videos of her extravagant executions. The latest one filmed mere hours ago.”

Footage of The Boss atop the white submarine. A blindfolded boy at the end of a wooden plank. The masked crew yelling on the background. She shoots the boy in the head. The female audience cheers. His body falls to the water. A watermark under the image reads:

CONFIRMED FALSE VIDEO

Next, footage of the Boss laughing maniacally atop an elevated platform. A girl in a blue mono suit hanging underneath, screaming. Thousands of nude boys below, arms reaching, trying to grab her. The watermark reads:

VERACITY YET TO BE CONFIRMED

The narrator returns, speaking over archive photos of The Boss fifty years younger. A smiling, blonde woman in a red military uniform. Dozens of medals across her lap.

“Once a war hero of the short-lived Greater America government, strike group Captain Karen P. Clayt-”

“Hey, that’s boring! Skip forward!” Shouts one of the kids.

The boy with the remote complies. He omits the history lesson and resumes on the footage back inside the ship.

Hundreds of nude kids covered in blankets and towels. Rows of doctors and nurses perform medical checkups.

“-weren’t enough clothes in the whole state to dress them all.” The narrator says. “Thankfully, the boys were well-fed and in good health. Some bruised from what seems was a rocky landing.”

“A-and then! The ship went wooosh! And then GRRRR!” A boy with a head bandage relates to an FBI agent. “And everyone was all like, ‘AAAAH!’ A-and then, and then! The lights went out, and no one knew what was happening!"

The agent nods, writing notes.

“Identifying each child could take days.” The voiceover says. “So, authorities brought back the lights and reconnected the cameras to the blockchain. Bots recognized all five thousand seventy-two boys in seconds. Families were notified.”

Footage of a suburban family reuniting. A white man, woman, and a young girl with pigtails hug an adorable-looking blonde boy in a blanket. Reporters swarm the touching scene. More footage of kids running to hug their loved ones.

“Man, that sounds nice.” Mutters one of the boys in the sex dungeon.

“Yeah, wish I could return homeeeaaAAAH!” Moans a boy with his penis inside Carly’s mouth, starting to cum.

He pulls out and shoots a couple more ropes of sperm over the Asian girl's beet-red face. The chains rattle.

“But then, a twist.” The narrator says with an ominous tone.

The boys look back at the screens.

The music changes. Footage of a young female reporter interviewing an older boy.

“Hey, are those things back online?” The teen asks, pointing at the cameras around the prison yard.

“Uh, yes?” The reporter says.

“Oh! Okay. Are you under 14? No? Uh, can I have sex with you anyway? We’ve tried fucking each other but it doesn’t work. Can we try it with you? Please?”

“A ticking clock, underpinning an already bizarre situation.” The narrator explains over a long, legal text. “An ironclad blockchain contract set to expire in less than 18 hours. It commanded that any boy having sex with an underage girl inside the ship would be gifted ONE MILLION DOLLARS. The money automatically transferred from a single, anonymous trust fund.”

The screens show a comically long, green number. The sound effect of bouncing coins in the background.

“But there was a catch. All emergency personnel were adults. And according to Federal Law, sex between minors is only legal when it’s above 8 years of age, when it's consensual, and without a monetary reward. With that kind of conditions, what girl would step forward?”

“Al chile! I’ll do it.” Says Maria on the next scene, seemingly in the middle of an interview outside the submarine. The Hispanic girl starts taking off her clothes in front of a group of surprised reporters.

Her mother storms in. Her large, burly frame filling most of the screen.

“No, you’re not!”

“MOM! Those boys need help!”

“It’s THOUSANDS of them! Are you going to fuck them all!?”

“Maybe!? I don’t know! You're the one who wanted to come see if they were okay!”

"Shhh! Shut up!”

"You don't want me to do it because that would take money away from your criminal friends!"

"I said SHUT UP! And I told you! I'm out of that business! I quitted!"

“Chingao! Then why not!? I can't stay here and do NOTHING! If Nana was here, she would let me!”

An argument ensues. A rapid-fire exchange in both English and Spanish.

At one point the woman with the buzzcut notices the cameramen watching them and tries to push them away. A fight seems imminent.

The footage jumps forwards to a point after the confrontations are resolved. The narrator returns.

“A brave young woman steps in. Maria Azucena Garcia Smith from Windermere Preparatory School, weeks away from turning fifteen. Her chosen mate is a boy with a mother in need. She needs a dose of nanobots for her medical treatment.”

The program shows the teen girl on all fours pounded by a black, chubby boy in a doggy position. Both nude kids surrounded by soldiers, FBI agents, lawyers, and serious-looking people. Everyone waiting to see if bots recognize the act and fulfil the contract.

“It’s not the most ‘romantic’ encounter.” The narrator says with a hint of irony. “Especially with such a large audience. In fact, the more cameras and bots watch them, the more likely it is the experiment works.”

The boy slams Maria’s pussy faster. His round belly jiggling with each thrust. Eyes closed and teeth clenched, forcing himself to climax in front of everyone.

Meanwhile, the teen girl sees her mom watching from the back of the crowd and waves at her in an ‘oopsie’ kind of way.

The tall woman looks away, dreading the whole situation.

Finally, the black boy climaxes. Gasping loud during his final push. Yet no one is looking at him. All eyes are on his personal blockchain wallet. Currently at $8.23 USD.

“D-Did it work!?” He pants, penis still inside the teenage girl.

Tense seconds pass. Dramatic music drums up as people in business suits monitor the small dollar number on a tablet.

Nothing happens.

Music rumbles. The number stays the same.

Music lowers to silence... Perhaps the contrac-

The number explodes.

$1’000,008.23 USD

Music swells. Triumphant. People cheer as if their team just scored the World's Cup goal.

The black kid’s eyes pop wide. He stands and jumps with arms raised, wet penis bouncing up and down. He runs, screaming, between thousands of boys who join his celebration.

Then, the black boy falls to his knees and starts crying. A few other kids hurry by his side to comfort him. He can’t believe it. His mom would be okay!

Still on all fours, sperm dripping off her vulva, a smiling Maria looks over her shoulder and yells.

“Okay! Who’s next!?”

CLAP! CLAP! CLAP!

Inside the dungeon, chaos has erupted. The older boys in top hats clap and yell, trying to reign in the younger kids.

“EVERYONE! Stay calm! We're supposed to be professionals!”

It has little effect. Boys jump back on their feet and hurry to get dressed. A few have already bolted out the dungeon stark naked. A sense of urgency fills the room.

"W-we’re leaving!? Now!?" Says the boy inside Carly with a shaky voice. His face one of agony, about to burst.

"Yeah, what about our client?" Says another one of the boys with a top hat. "Are we going to abandon her midway?"

A small boy perks up. “Can we take her with us? We can keep fucking her silly inside that ship.”

Murmurs of agreement. The older boy shakes his arms.

"No, no way! I mean, look at her! We already fucked her silly!"

Everyone turns to Carly. The body of the twelve-year-old girl is limp. Her soft tummy moving up and down. A silly smile across her face. Completely unaware of what they’re talking about. Pure, unashamed, joyful bliss.

The older boy rubs his chin.

"Okay! How about this? We all cum inside her one last time. That should close our side of the contract, right? Then we go!"

Nods and murmurs of agreement. It made sense. Boys in various stages of undress form a queue behind the boy currently fucking Carly. He only lasts a few more thrusts before he moans and yelps when his orgasm hits.

"Aaaah...!"

He hasn't finished spasming when he moves aside and allows the next boy to do the same. The new kid eagerly slides his penis inside her the girl. Thrusting in and out at a frenetic pace.

"Ah, ah, ah, ah!"

One by one the boys ejaculate and switch places. The ones who finish walk away with dreamy expressions and bouncing penises. Ready to leave the dungeon and hop on a train to Florida.

"Aw shit! Oh, oh! Aaagh!"

Carly fights against her chains as she's fucked over and over. Her path to orgasm irregular. Some boys thrust for a few seconds before exploding. Others last for almost a minute, bubbling the girl's climax to the edge. But then cum and step aside. Her arousal cooling off during the transition.

"Uh, uh, uh…! Please…!" She grunts, moving her head side to side. The blindfold and noise cancellation headphones making it impossible to tell what's happening. The incessant, unpredictable, staggered stimulation rewiring her brain with each thrust.

The ultra-conservative girl can almost feel her mind breaking in real time. The hours-long superstimulus overriding all her conceptions of what’s taboo and what’s acceptable. Her personality drifting further and further from her strict upbringing. Gradually transforming her into a sex-crazed addict.

On the screens, the news program keeps going, all but ignored by the dungeon’s occupants.

The story has advanced. It now shows two boys double pounding a sweaty Maria on her knees, one on each hole. A third boy stands by her head, his penis inside her mouth.

In front of the trio, a long queue of nude boys, waiting for their turn. It seems this has been going on for a while.

A lawyer collects data on each kid to confirm the bots have recognized him and that this is his first time in the line. Meanwhile, a bored doctor monitors the underage threesome, providing lubrication now and then. Helping the kids move in or out of position as they finish. Hurrying them.

In contrast to earlier footage, Maria’s mom now stands right next to her daughter. Her thick, powerful arms crossed in front her chest. An intimidating presence overlooking the sex act. Throwing killing looks at each new boy about to ram her daughter. Making sure they treat her like a princess.

A reporter nears a microphone by the hulking woman, seeking an interview.

“How do you feel? Are you okay with all this?”

The woman with the buzz cut rolls her eyes.

“Of course not! But what can a mother do? This will do a lot of good in the world and my baby has a big heart. Isn’t that right sweetheart?”

“Mmmh, mmh!” Maria mutters, busy giving a blowjob to another kid. Her face red. Skin covered in a sheen of sweat.

“What would you say to the people saying this is beyond scandalous?” The reporter continues. “That any remains of proprietary and good sense have finally collapsed? That our mere coverage of the event represents the peak of a moral Apocalyp-.”

“Oh, for crying out loud! I would say get your heads off your asses!” The ex-Lieutenant explodes.

The kids stop moving and look at her, scared. The woman moves the reporter aside and speaks directly to the camera.

“Let me explain something to all those people. When I was my daughter's age, I would stay awake late at night arguing with my friends online which Costco we would raid next. We took our neighbors, people I KNEW, out their houses and shot them in the head. Then skinned their children alive as a warning to others! One my most precious memories of my Dad is us reloading clips for his assault rifle inside a bomb shelter. Using plastic explosives as candles."

She motions at the orgy behind her.

"An Apocalypse!? THIS!? Give me a break! We ALREADY had an Apocalypse! So long as my baby never has to experience that kind of horrors again, what's the big deal with a little bit of sodomy!?”

Carly moans and shakes her head. Her breathing hoarse. Her body drenched. The sex dungeon has grown silent. Most boys have already left. There's only two remaining. The one currently pumping in and out of her doing so at a frenzied pace.

"P... Please...!" The girl pleads. “Don't stop! I'm almost there!"

Yet the boy doesn't seem to hear her. Seconds later he trembles and cums hard.

The girl groans in frustration when he slides off and walks away. His replacement, and the last boy left, hurries to take his place.

This last kid is younger that the previous ones. Younger even than Carly herself. He seems taken aback by the grotesque spread legs in front of him. The girl's vulva open and shiny. Her smooth thighs quivering. Her stomach raises and falls at a rapid pace, close to climax.

The boy swallows and focuses on the pussy available to him. He holds his small penis by the base and directs it to the dark and moist entrance. Carly's genitals pulsing like a hungry creature.

He moans as he slides easily into the girl's folds. The chains rattle with a suspenseful hum.

"Oooohhhh...!"

He pushes forward as far as their bodies allows, back until he has almost slid out of her, then in again. He knows he can, and probably should, cum as fast as he can. But given how this is barely his second time inside a girl, he wants to enjoy the sensations while they last.

"Don't stop… Don't stop…" Carly mutters.

On the TV screens, an interview with Maria. The exhausted teen lays on her back with her legs spread in a V-shape. A boy pumping in and out of her. More waiting behind.

"How many times have you orgasmed?" A reporter asks.

"I... Don't... Know..." Says the Hispanic girl with a dreamy smile. Her voice intercut from the thrusts of the kid_. "Lost count... A while... Ago."_

The boy between her legs spasms as he cums. As it's become custom by now, the newly minted millionaire runs between the underage crowd with his arms raised. Boys cheer and clap. Not as loud as in the beginning, but still with enthusiasm. Another one takes his place.

"You got second thoughts? Regrets?" The reporter asks.

Maria laughs.

"That if I get pregnant... I won't know... Who the father is..."

"What would you say to your classmates watching you right now? Some say what you’re doing is sinful. Wrong."

The girl scoffs.

"I say they should stop bitching around... Drop their panties... And come help me instead!"

" Many girls have in fact come forward. Wanting to join in the effort before the blockchain contract expires. What would you say to ease their concerns? Or those of their parents?"

"There's... Doctors and stuff... Everywhere. It all happens in public. They'll be okay... And it's.... So much fun! Aaaah! Uuughh!!!"

Maria's torso bends inwards, orgasming once again. She falls back breathing hard. Her long black hair glued to her face. She waves at the boy still inside her.

"No, no, don't stop! Keep going." She talks back to the camera. "And there's so many... Boys left. Come...! Come helppp! Ugghh...!"

Inside the dungeon, future mega-porn star Carly The Insatiable shakes her head. Desperate for this last boy to speed up his thrusts and bring her over the edge. Each time their groins meet with a meaty ‘slap’, her arousal raises another notch. Creeping ever so slowly to the point of no return.

Yet the boy is not big, nor fast enough, to get her there with the intensity the young nymphomaniac needs. This is an orgasm she’ll have to fight for.

Moreover, she fears this boy will cum any second now, abandoning her midway to her climax. She can tell when other boys are close to ejaculating from the change in the pace of their thrusts. First, they speed up. Then, their movements get erratic. And finally, they pump hard a couple times as their orgasms hit and slide out.

This last kid, however, is unnaturally consistent. Almost mechanical. It maddens Carly the lazy pace of his thrusts. Combined with the uncertainty of how much more he will last. She's so close!

On the TV's, footage of several teen and preteen girls waiting outside the white ship. Doctors examine them. Perform STD tests and administer RNA vaccines and nanobots as necessary.

The girls are giddy. Some jumping in place, unable to contain their excitement. As if readying to enter an amusement park.

"Cavalry has arrived." The narrator says. "Dozens of girls between 8 and 14 from all over the state. Some, from even further out."

"Yeah, our mom took us to the train station when we heard the news." Says a gorgeous ten-year-old brunette with a button nose. She hugs another stunning girl, seemingly her sister. They chant in unison. "We come from Canada!"

Next, a shy, chubby teenager with a hoodie and pajama pants.

"Yeah, I got here first because I live nearby. But the rest of the girls in my school are on their way."

"And are you worried about what will happen inside?" The reporter asks.

The girl shrugs.

"I don't like being seen naked. But you know, whatever. I see it more like a charity event. It's horrible what those boys have been put through. I don't know if a million bucks is enough to compensate their suffering. I hope they get to cum inside a girl at least once."

"You think that's possible? Experts calculate there's not enough girls of the appropriate age in the whole state to finish the job before time runs out."

"Well… I hope more girls come from the rest of the States then!"

The narrator steps in.

"They better do. Unless a surge of volunteers steps forward, many of the boys inside the submarine will end up without a piece of the prize. It's a mathematical certainly. Moreover, it's starting to get crowded inside. Parents are not allowed to accompany their daughters anymore."

Images of a man outside the ship undressing his eight-year-old daughter. His hands removing each clothing item with care, as if unwrapping a present.

"Remember princess, if anything hurts, if you feel like you don't want to do it anymore, say it loud to the cameras. I'll be watching you all the time. Okay?" The man says, holding the child from her tiny bare shoulders.

The adorable girl nods.

"Okay daddy. I will!"

"I'm so proud of you!"

He kisses her forehead and playfully slaps her in the butt, hurrying her to get going.

The little girl giggles and joins a group of naked girls entering the giant submarine. Vulnerable, small figures in stark contrast to the hulking, old vessel. The crowd cheer as they enter. As if they were emissaries of Earth boarding a spaceship to another planet.

"If you're watching this. Come. These boys need you..." The narrator says, ending the program.

The camera view pulls upwards, showing the rest of the scene. Inspiring music raises.

A sea of people fills the frame. Thousands of cars and buses further out in the distance. More coming in. It looks as if the whole planet is gathering around the stranded submarine. The remnants of mankind descending onto a single location. A collapsing star of underage sex, about to go supernova. Purging the world from the sins of their predecessors.

The glass of Carly's orgasm keeps filling drop by drop. As the liquid approaches the edge, she grows more and more anxious the boy will stop. Her climax feels within reach. And she can't do anything to ensure she'll get there!

"No! Don't stop!" She gasps when she feels the slightest change in pace in the boy's thrusts. Mercifully, this doesn't seem to signal the boy is about to cum. He continues fucking her in the same lazy, robotic step as before.

Carly feels as if she's losing it. Her body shaking with anticipation. The girl gasps and moans, her chains rattling.

"Don't stop... Don't stop..." She whispers like a mantra. Clenching her eyes shut, feeling her much-needed orgasm seconds away.

The boy pauses to scratch an itch in his buttocks, then thrusts a couple more times. Carly is muttering something, her body trembling.

The chains holding her rattle like a musical instrument. The room engulfed in a rhythmic, metallic chorus.

The boy grunts and, doing a final push, cums. He immediately pulls out. The girl's vulva opens and clenches. The chains holding her limbs keep singing.

He rubs sweat off his forehead and watches his small penis throbbing in front of the girl's pussy. He turns and crouches under the metal chains. Hurrying to catch the rest of his peers heading for Lake Placid.

Holding his clothes, he turns off the dungeon’s lights and steps out the room. He takes one last look at Carly. The girl locked in a silent scream. He closes the door.

The chains continue to rattle for a while.

THE KEYCHAIN

A cute ice cream shop on a quiet street. The door opens and slams shut.

"Shit! Sorry!" A freckled nine-year-old girl in a colorful uniform says to no one. It's early morning and there's no customers yet. Her supervisor, as usual, is nowhere to be found.

The young shopkeeper locks the door using a key dangling at the end a pizza keychain. She bolts down the street towards the train station. Screaming in a high-pitched squeal along the way.

“Weeeeeee!!!”

*

Screams inside the multimillion-dollar yacht. The futuristic boat hits a sandbank and stops. Tilts slightly sideways.

"Whoops! Sorry about that!" Says Rita, manning the wheel. The blonde woman waves at the shore outside the windows. "Get out! Everybody out! Clock's ticking!"

The ‘Lost Boys’ crowding the expensive vessel need no further encouragement. Still in their combat gear, they pour out of the pleasure vessel like soldiers storming Normandy. Screaming in joy.

They're not the only ones. Many more ships pile the miles-long shore. Vessels from all over the continent parked between flooded buildings. They unload volunteers, workers, heavy machinery, and supplies. Bots have already solved all the logistics, blueprints, engineering, and design required. What was needed now was hands, feet, and backs to make the algorithms plans a reality. Lots of them.

A fleet of larger vessels fills the horizon. Cruise ships, mega-containers, and even an aircraft carrier. All gathering in the largest non-military operation of the century. Decades of automation and productivity gains bearing fruit. People accomplishing in hours what would've taken months in another era.

But mostly, the ships unload more boys and girls between 8 and 14 to join the event. All screaming.

Inside the yacht, Samantha and Rebecca yell and wave their arms, herding the feral kids out.

"This way! Hurry!"

“Don’t want to miss it! Run!”

When there's almost no boys left, Rita pushes the girls out as well.

"You too Señoritas! You’re needed out there more than anyone!"

The two girls glance at one another and smile. Becks jumps out the boat and starts running, undressing along the way.

"Eeeeeeeh!!!"

Samantha is about to follow when she stops and hugs the blonde woman in a white coat.

"Thank you!" She says and runs away.

Unbeknownst to both, they wouldn't hug again in years.

But then Sam stops and adds:

"Oh! I have one last favor to ask you! Could you bring 'Boo Boo'? Here, ‘Sung’ can help you with-"

She produces a smartphone out of her pocket but stops. Her expression one of alarm. A notification from her bank on the phone's lock screen.

Rita notices. She takes a step forward.

"Señorita?"

Samantha shakes her head. She forces a smile.

"No, it's nothing." She throws the phone at Rita who catches it. “I leave it up to you. Bye!" And jumps out the ship.

*

Dedos is one of the last boys to disembark. The ginger boy wearing an astronaut helmet stops by the edge of the yacht. He gasps when he sees the hulking submarine in the foggy horizon.

A carpet of people surrounds the fallen Titan. Colored smoke plumes, bright decorations, and giant balloons hover over it. Crushed buildings, music stages, military vehicles, and food trucks poke from within the multitude. It’s by far the largest gathering of people the young boy has ever seen.

"Go my child," says Father Santiago behind him. He gently presses a hand on the twelve-year old's back. "Don't be afraid."

Dedos gulps and nods, steeling his nerves.

"Yes father! A-and don't worry! I’ll give you all the money I make inside!"

The Afghani priest, and future Pope of the Catholic church, smiles.

"Please don't."

The boy frowns, not understanding. He jumps out and lands on the wet sand. He's about to start running when he notices something hard and heavy on his back, restricting his movement.

Dedos reaches behind him and finds the submachine gun still hanging from his shoulder. He holds the old weapon, hesitates, and throws it away. Then runs, screaming like the rest of his friends.

He would never hold a weapon again.

(Well, except for a time he confiscated a wooden rifle from his fifth child. Calmly reminding the adorable, freckled girl not to take other kid's toys without permission.)

(But that doesn’t count!)

*

The pizza keychain rattles inside the pocket of the red haired nine-year-old girl. The Maglev train’s doors open. She jumps out.

Nitrogen puffs follow her as she runs towards the exit. Her pace slowing down as she encounters more and more travelers. All heading in the same destination.

The crowd’s enthusiasm heats up alongside the moist, coastal air. Squeezed between passengers inside an overcrowded bus, the girl overhears all manner of comments.

“-were kept underwater. Somewhere in the Gulf. No wonder why so many boys went missing lately.”

“The so-called ‘Sperm Queen’? I served in her unit. Best leader we ever had.”

“Nine months from now things will get crazy! I bet some of those kids are having sex with their relatives without knowing!”

“-and then Meteor jumped atop the platform and kicked the evil lady in the face-!”

“-generation of perverts. All of them! Imagine what will happen when these kids grow up! The end times are coming, I’m telling you. This time for REAL!”

“Dude, my birthday was last week! I know! It sucks! No, they’re not allowing anyone over fourteen inside. Only people from the media and shit like that… Hey! You’re volunteering?” The teenager says at the ginger girl overhearing their phone conversation. “Yeah? Then hurry up dude! Time's running out!”

Other people notice her too. They step aside. The shy nine-year-old girl soon realizes she can move a lot faster by alerting people of her presence. Her high-pitched squeals acting as a magic spell to clear her path out the bus.

“Let me pass! Please! Volunteer coming through!”

It’s surprisingly effective. Despite the dense, loud, chaotic crowd spreading for miles around the submarine, she shortens the distance in record time. She walks past impenetrable barriers and soldiers like a neutrino across lead. Glides through checkpoints and metal detectors. People let her pass without a peep. It made her feel like a Princess reentering her Kingdom.

She finally reaches the area immediately around the stranded ship, where the real party is. It’s as if a music festival, charity drive, farmer's market, and FEMA operation had a baby. Loud music and greasy food coexisting alongside stern-looking federal agents and Red Cross tents. Pompous decorations and flashing advertisements next to armored cars and news trucks. Large screens bolted to the nose of the submarine broadcast the action inside. Stands selling memorabilia of The Feast —a term coined by the press — spread everywhere. T-shirts, mugs, sex toys, posters, NFT's and plushies with all kinds of artworks and slogans celebrating the event.

PUSSY SO GOOD IT'S WORTH A MILLION BUCKS!

GOT RAILED AT ‘THE FEAST’ AND ALL I GOT WAS THIS LOUSY MUG.

DADDY'S PROUD CUMBUCKET.

METEOR LIVES!

ASK ME ABOUT HOW I GOT KNOCKED ON ’76. *WINK* *WINK*

Towering over the event, a giant billboard lists the time and treasure left in the blockchain contract. Despite the millions subtracted each second, the total amount seems unchanging. The number is simply too large.

On a corner, a representative of the Guinness World Records talks excited to a reporter.

“We haven’t seen an orgy this size since 2069! And the record keeps breaking every minute!”

The ginger girl pushes on. Her magic spell less effective now that other girls also try to elbow their way through.

Distinct ‘lanes’ of people move in and out of the white submarine through giant holes carved on the hull. Every few seconds, a naked boy emerges from the dark interior and is welcomed like a rockstar. People bath him in cheers, confetti, and colored dust. A smiling politician places a flower crown atop his head and shakes his small hand.

Ecstatic, the boy walks down a ramp where he meets a second-order tier of adorers. A slew of journalists, lawyers, loan sharks, and other sleazy salesmen and grifters. All wanting a piece of his newly found fortune.

“Boy! Over here! What are you going to buy first? Look at this beauty! It can be yours for only 300K!”

“Invest in my startup! We’re building the next generation of nanos! We guarantee a 200% rate return!”

“Boy! Here! Come see this! Properties on the Mars! You won't find prices like this anywhere else!”

A smiling reporter gets in front of the human leeches.

“Congratulations! Will you come back for a second round?”

The kid does a double take. “Uh!? I can have TWO million dollars?”

The reporter nods. “That’s right! There are now enough volunteers to remove the original one-million-per-boy restriction. All five thousand boys are millionaires already. The President has announced the new goal is to empty the money pot before time runs out. It’s a free for all!”

“Oh shit! How do I get back?”

The woman points at a long queue leading back inside. The boy hurries to stand in line alongside dozens other kids with flower crowns. All while opportunists keep pestering them.

"This is not your grandma's Viagra! It’s a Refractory Period Suppressor! Only $99,999!" A salesperson says, wiggling an unmarked bottle of pills. "It may sound expensive, but once inside you'll be able to cum more times and earn more money! So, it's an investment. See?”

The ginger girl keeps on walking. She reaches the area where new volunteers are processed. Handwritten signs list the requirements.

You must be born between July 17th, 2061, and July 13th, 2068!

Parent, tutor, or owner’s consent is required. *

In case of STI's, follow green line for assessment and vaccination.

*Except for emancipated minors.

Near the entrance, where new girls and boys split into different lanes, a group of dirty boys argue with one another while removing their combat gear.

“What you mean you’re a girl!?” Yells a blonde kid with a Russian accent.

“Sorry bro! I got nothing down there." A copper-haired teen says. He reaches inside his shorts and pulls out a rolled-up sock.

“I can’t believe it! My best friend is a... girl!?” The Ukrainian boy crosses his arms. “Well, I’m not having sex with YOU! It would be too awkward.”

“Don't worry bro. Same.”

"I give you half my money if you help Raptor get his money.” A Polynesian boy with face tattoos says. A nude, bald, black boy acting like a dinosaur cowers behind him. Looking like a scared cat inside a crowd.

“Aw, sure thing bro!” The Uyghur teen says. He pets the black kid’s head. “I'll be gentle with him.”

The dino-boy perks up. “RAWR!”

The ginger girl walks backwards as she watches the odd-looking group. She stumbles with a pale boy in red shorts and an astronaut helmet also walking backwards, looking as disoriented as her.

Yet before she can apologize a woman grabs her.

"Brie Haberman, New York Times,” an elegant-looking journalist says. “Are you a new volunteer? Mind if I tag along? Follow you through the whole process?"

"Y-yeah, okay.”

"Wonderful,” she produces a big, expensive reflex camera. One of the few ways left to guarantee the veracity of news. “What's your name darling?"

“Uhm…” She looks around but the boy with the helmet is gone. “Idiot.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“That’s my name. ‘Idiot’. My parents hated children, but The Stork pays more for gingers. It’s a long story. You can call me ‘Dots’! You know?” She puts both hands under her chin and grins. “For the freckles?”

The journalist stays quiet for a moment.

“Jesus, I hate field work. Last time I speak shit of the King...” She shakes her head. “Alright darling, let’s get going!”

Brie follows the young girl as she registers as a volunteer and undergoes a quick medical exam.

“Enema?” A black nurse asks Dots, filling a form.

“Uh?”

“You plan on having anal sex inside honey?”

“Oh! No. I'll use my kitty... And maybe my mouth.”

“Mmh, mmh. Good choice. The line is taking forever anyway." She motions at a nearby medical station where rows of girls are having their colons cleansed. It reminded Dots of dairy cows inside a milking stanchion. "Next!”

All throughout, Brie takes photos and asks questions.

“Tell me Dots. Are you a virgin?”

“Kind of,” The small girl says while undressing. She throws her ice cream shop uniform atop big piles of clothes. A social worker bagging each item. “Daddy’s friends took turns on me when I was small. But I don’t remember.”

“Jesus...”

“Uhm, can I keep this?” Dots asks the worker about her pizza keychain. The woman nods. “Thanks!”

“What’s that for?”

The girl hangs the keychain from her left ear. She shrugs.

“You know. Something I like to keep around.”

Next, she steps inside an automated shower and exits seconds later, all clean and sparkly.

“Do I go that way now?” She asks the social worker. “Okay!”

Brie hurries behind the pale girl, following her perky butt inside a giant hole on the side of the submarine. A dozen more underage kids join her. Small Adam and Eves running back to Paradise, shrieking with joy.

“You have a strategy?” Brie yells, struggling to keep up. Thick fiber optic cables and superconducting powerlines on the ceiling lead the way. “Who will you let pop your cherry!?”

“I dunno! Someone nice I guess!”

"Keep moving! Keep moving!" Yell female soldiers along the path. Blocking access to the rest of the submarine.

The minors cross the final checkpoint. They find themselves inside a big, open arena packed to the brim with prepubescent nude bodies. Blinding lights beam down the ceiling. Giant fans and air ducts line the walls. Providing much-needed ventilation for the 'peculiar' pungent smell inside. Moans, meaty slaps, yells of ecstasy, laughs and pleasure screams bounce inside the cavernous space.

“Oh! Wow! It’s like stepping into heaven!” Dots squeaks. Unaware she just blared the title of Brie’s award-winning photo book documenting the event.

The barbwire perimeter has been replaced with lush decorations, flowers, plants, and velvet ropes. Alongside one of the walls, a giant screen with big, green numbers shows the time and money left in the trust fund.

Doctors, soldiers, and social workers patrol the massive orgy. Providing lube, water, food, and assistance, as needed.

The other boys and girls scramble, joining the pulsing, loud, sea of skin. Rational thought quickly vanishes inside the football-sized orgy. Replaced by primal, unleashed, carnal instincts.

Inside The Feast, no urge is immoral. No height of pleasure forbidden. In fact, it is required. Time is running out. Faster than the funds still available in the blockchain contract.

The New York Times reporter follows Dots. The ginger girl still too stunned to do more than gape at her peers. Kids engaged in frantic, animalistic sex acts over mattresses, chairs, and other pieces of furniture people were able to bring on such short notice. Most young girls engaged in bombastic threesomes and foursomes. Penetrated across all their holes at the same time.

Some of the most impressive groups are closer to a competitive sport than a simple sex act. Performance trumping pleasure. The pounding of boy's dicks inside asses, pussies, and mouths fast and repetitive. Their coordination and timing reminiscent of pistons inside an engine.

Even after a boy cums, the flesh machine keeps on humming. The post-orgasmic kid, now 1 million dollars richer, steps aside and allows the next one in line to continue were he left off. All in one smooth, continuous transition.

There's no elbowing or roughhousing between them. Once all boys secured their slice of the trust fund money stopped making sense. Most of them couldn't even conceive how much one million dollars was, let alone five or ten.

Meanwhile, the girl at the center of the 'engines' grunts and moans as she’s plowed nonstop. Her face a perfect ahegao. Drool dripping off her mouth. Eyes unfocused. Her body limp and malleable. Boys hold, turn, and twist her small body as needed for maximum speed and penetration.

Now and then, a bored social worker gets between the sweaty bodies and squeezes lube inside the girl's holes with a long straw. A mechanic oiling moving parts inside an engine room.

A swarm of quadcopters and a forest of high-resolution cameras atop tripods monitor every threesome. Recording every thrust and inch of skin. Making sure no orgasm goes off in vain and a million dollars get lost to the ether.

It’s impossible to calculate how many people are watching on the other side of the ultra-high bandwidth feeds. Economist would later calculate the drop in global productivity from people masturbating was equivalent to half a year of the world’s GDP. An economic slowdown that went all but unnoticed since the economy quintupled its size on the year after the Fertility Crisis ended.

“So? Are you joining in or what?” The journalist asks Dots as they watch the steamy sex 'engines'. The adult woman feeling warm and fuzzy despite her herself.

The small girl shakes her head.

“In a minute! I first want to see what’s that!”

They keep on walking. Soon discover not everything inside The Feast is a high-performance sex act. Human nature is much more complicated than that.

Without a central authority, the massive superorganism has divided itself into ‘halls’ with distinct audiences and purposes. It reminded Brie of the layout in a fan convention. A celebration of sex between minors in all it's forms.

On one ‘hall’, new couples celebrate their own type of orgy. Some of these boys and girls have been fucking for half a day. They’ve grown to know each other. Forming powerful emotional bonds.

In here, orgasms per minute isn't the goal. Couples are not even majority heterosexual. Boys and girls also older, more romantic. Yet some of the most ardent pairings are below eleven years old.

Famous filmmakers record the hormone-drunk youngsters as they make love. Elaborate light fixtures set up the scene. They kiss and rub in slow, sensual motions. Smiling and panting as they lazily stroll their way to another climax. Acting as if the money didn’t even exist and they had all the time in the world. Sex and romance flowing freely between participants, without restriction.

The area also doubles as a giant cuddle-fest. Exhausted lovers lay atop each other, limbs intertwined, murmuring soft words in each other’s ears.

Occasionally, hungry looks get thrown between mattresses. Words of praise are exchanged. Soon enough, partners are swapped, and the journey of discovering a new person starts anew.

A slow-moving, sweaty, moaning market of intimacy, lust, and affection. Capitalism's missing ingredients.

Dots and the Time's reporter keep on moving. On the next 'hall', penetrative sex has been almost completely forgotten. Nude kids scream and yell as they play tag or form human pyramids. Children dancing, painting each other’s bodies, playing boardgames, and eating ice-cream. Finding ways to have fun between rounds inside the sex 'engines'.

One could be forgiven for mistaking it for a regular school playground. A loud, contained type of chaos. Sexual encounters relegated to isolated incidents. Like when two girls drawing chalk flowers on the floor are surprisingly penetrated, doggy style, by two boys who sprint away, laughing. The girls giving them chase. Elsewhere, a group of kids playing UNO interrupt their game to give a quick blowjob to one of their players. After he cums, they continue playing as if nothing happened.

Dots keeps walking. Near the back of The Feast, further from the ceiling lights, they find ‘workshops’ for more specialized sexual experiences. A wide variety of offerings for smaller, niche markets.

A ten-year-old dominatrix in fishnets whips the butts of a group of tied, blindfolded boys. A nursery with teenagers in diapers begs their eleven-year-old ‘mommy’ to let them cum. Two fat teenage girls shower a boy with pee, the little kid laughing. Boys plugged to the very same sperm-milking devices their captors used to exploit them. The contraptions brought down from the upper decks. A circle of boys around an elementary-school girl, coating her cute face with thick sperm. A pen full of barking dogs. A long queue of boys waiting outside for their turn. The bitches inside are, after all, also ‘females’ below 14 years of age. Or so assured the blockchain lawyers.

But perhaps the largest, most popular 'workshop' is the one for VIP girls. Since most volunteers at The Feast are regular middle school girls with plain looks, passive attitudes, or novice at sex —if not virgins altogether — any girl with above-average looks, charisma, or a world-class pussy is an immediate celebrity.

And as the day wore off and the contract deadline approached, these girls would become heroes. Their sexual talents the last resource left for boys in their twentieth or thirtieth orgasm. Their penises reddened and soft. In need of a miracle to keep them going.

“This way! Come here! Give me your cock!” Samantha yells, waving at a tired boy. He meekly offers his small, flaccid penis to the thirteen-year-old on all fours.

“A BJ?" He says, skeptical. "How it that going to…? OOH...! OOOAAAH!” He yells, succumbing to Sam’s experienced tongue. His eyes almost turning white as he ejaculates.

Samantha spits the rock-hard penis and smiles.

“Told ya’! Hey you! Come here!” She points at another kid and slaps her butt. “Get inside! Don’t worry, I’ll do the rest.”

While the new boy gets into position, The blonde girl waves at Rebecca next to her. The black girl busy rimming the asshole of a big teenager. His thick penis trembling as it raises little by little.

“Hey Becks! How are you holding over there?”

Rebecca laughs as she straddles the boy. Rubbing his half-hard cock with her bald pussy, making him moan.

“I'm okay! Coochie is still going strong! This is lots of fun!”

Samantha nods and focuses on her pussy muscles, massaging the penis inside her. The boy gasps in surprise. His erection quickly returning.

She grins and waves at another boy. Points at her mouth. “Hey you! Come here!”

Next to her, Rebecca rides the nine-inch cock with gusto. Moaning loud. She motions at other boys waiting for their turn to come closer and strokes their penises with each hand. A fourth cock pushes inside her mouth. A fifth boy kneels behind her and slides inside her ass. The many bodies surrounding her making her look like an ancient fertility goddess. Something you would find carved atop a ziggurat. Brie kneels in front of the petite girl and takes photo after photo.

The cock inside Becks’s mouth trembles. A few salty drops come out the tip. She swallows and yells.

“Keep coming! Don’t stop!”

“Keep coming! Don’t stop!” Samantha yells at the same time.

Both girls pause. Then break up giggling. Their spirits high despite hours making hundreds of boys cum. With hundreds more waiting for their turn.

Without stopping her movements, Becks looks at Sam with a yearning look. Feeling butterflies as she watches her partner bounce between penises.

Sam looks back at Rebecca and smiles. Her small freckles making her look absolutely gorgeous.

The black tween swoons. She feels as if she won the lottery many times over. An overwhelming sense of gratitude and admiration stirring inside her. It feels as if it's about to explode alongside her next orgasm.

“Hey Sam!"

"Uh?"

“I...! I... love- mmh!” She stops when another penis enters her mouth. She sucks it.

It was okay. There was plenty of time for her confession.

Dots has seen enough. Her cute, freckled face now a bright shade of red. The nine-year old walks backwards and stumbles with a nude boy also walking backwards. She turns and grabs his wrist.

"You! Fuck me!"

"B-but...!"

The girl turns and bends her little body, standing on her tiptoes. She reaches behind and opens her butt cheeks. Offering her soft, drenched, pussy lips to the unknown kid.

"Hurry!" She says staring at the floor.

Dedos can only obey. He has crisscrossed the whole yard hoping to find the perfect girl to lose his virginity, with little success. Guess this was it.

Yes, he was still a virgin! The discovery struck the ginger boy like a bolt of lightning the second he stepped inside The Feast. When he saw the ocean of nude bodies, he mentally recounted all his sexual encounters up to that point and realized with shock he'd never got his penis inside a pussy. It didn't seem possible given his life history traded as a boy toy between various masters!

Yet the extravagant sex acts before him repelled him for some reason. Something inside told him that just waiting for his turn to cum inside an anonymous pussy, all while several other boys hurry him to finish, wasn’t right for him. And so, he kept on looking. Roaming the yard up and down, looking for a perfect girl.

Alas, he didn't want to disappoint Father Santiago by running out of time. And this girl’s small vulva looked incredibly hot! It was now or never.

Wetting his lips, he lowers his waist and aligns his throbbing penis with the little girl’s entrance. A thread of precum dangling from the circumcised tip. He holds her small waist, takes a breath, and slides inside her tight vagina with ease. Their groins meeting with a meaty 'smack!'.

“AAAAH…!”

The ginger girl lets out an animalistic grunt. Brie takes photo after photo as the two kids lose their respective virginities and mate like rabbits.

"Yessss! Ooooh! S-soo g-goooood!" The little girl coos. Her voice wavering as the boy pistons inside her, rearranging her insides.

Dedos rails the nine-year-old girl faster and faster, clenching his teeth. Barreling towards a mighty and very public orgasm. Possibly the strongest in his life despite its short duration.

Panting, he opens his eyes, sees the pizza earring swinging from Dots’ ear, and stops dead.

“‘I-Idiot’!?"

The ginger girl opens her eyes. She looks over her shoulder and finds herself staring face-to-face at her missing big brother.

“‘Dipshit’!?"

Time seems to stop as the siblings stare wide-eyed at each other. Brie keeps taking photos.

"Jesus, this is gold," she mutters.

Suddenly, Dots pulls out and jumps atop the ginger boy with a high-pitched squeal, making both stumble and fall to the ground.

Stranding him, she reaches under, finds his penis, and slides it back inside. Continuing where they left off. Riding him as if her life depended on it.

“W-wait!” The ginger boy gasps over the ‘smack-smack’ of her little sister’s groin against his pubes. “Ugghh! We can’t…!”

“Shhh! In a minute! Let me cum first! I’m so c-close!”

“Meee tooo…! AAAAaaah!”

“EEEEeeeehhhh!!!”

The journalist documenting the sex act watches amazed as the two kids yell in a mutual orgasm. Their groins melting together, spewing fireworks.

Slowly, they float down from their orgasmic high and embrace. Their small hands roaming each other's bodies. Panting from the effort.

Then, they start to cry, succumbing to the realization of finding each other on such an unusual place.

“I missed you!”

“Me too!”

She kisses his forehead. Then grabs his left hand. Her eyebrows raise when she sees his ring and pinky finger are of a darker skin color.

"Did you...?"

"Y-yeah. It's a long story."

"Uh, uh." She kisses both fingers. "I want to hear it."

"I want to hear your story too."

She smiles. A bright, joyful smile. One Dedos would enjoy every day for the rest of their long, long lives.

“Okay. But first, can we do it again?” She says licking both fingers, moving his hand downwards, between their bodies.

He chuckles and glances at the giant digital clock across the yard. Less than an hour left.

“Y-yeah. I think we have time.”

THE END

People chant alongside the timer.

TEN!

NINE!

EIGHT!

SEVEN!

A stereotypical, white picket fence, Caucasian family stumbles past the last checkpoint and enters The Feast. It's the same family who embraced in a heartwarming moment on the news hours earlier. The parents rush to disrobe their adorable-looking boy out his pristine shorts and button shirt.

“Hurry! It’s almost time!” Squeaks their young daughter pointing at the giant clock. Her short pigtails moving up and down.

Finally naked, the boy's parents shove him forward as if late to a soccer game. They try to find an available girl-hole for him to pluck his little penis but it seems impossible. Everyone is already taken!

The mother’s eyes open wide. “Peggy! Quick! Take off your clothes!”

The little girl jumps back. “WHAT!? I don’t want people to see my bottoms!”

“Please sweetie! Just this time! We'll use the money to pay your therapist.”

“After we pay the credit cards debts.” Mutters the father helping undress the girl.

“No daddy!”

“Timmy! Come here!” Waves the blonde woman spreading her daughter’s legs apart. Her eyes bulging. “Get inside!”

SIX!

A seaside restaurant at night. Fairy lights illuminate the cozy establishment.

A few customers chant along the countdown.

“Disgusting…” mutters Karen on the other end of the restaurant, sitting alone. An empty plate and beer bottle on her table.

She eyes the small crowd around a large TV and notices a man with sunglasses with both hands inside his pockets. Pretending to watch the LIVE feed along the rest.

“Anything else Ma’am?” Says a nine-year-old waitress taking her dishes away. A freckled boy with a mop of messy black hair and bright eyes.

The old woman blinks, surprised to see him there.

“No, I'm good sweetheart… Say, why aren’t you out there?” She points at the screen.

The young waitress follows her finger. On the TV, a gooey, pink tentacle monster slurps several boys at the same time. Bringing them to the edge of orgasm before grabbing a nude girl and inserting her, like a LEGO piece, into their cocks as they cum. The artificial squid then throws the kids aside and does the same with a new trio. The audience at the restaurant clap.

The boy shrugs. “I don’t know. It’s not my thing.”

“You don't want a million dollars?”

He shrugs again. Puts a tablet with the total of her dinner on the table.

“Sure, who doesn’t? I wouldn’t need a second job that way. But, not like that.”

He points at the screen showing a reel of the unbelievable sex acts happening inside the yard. People at the restaurant ooh-ing and aww-ing with each new one. All except for the man with sunglasses.

Karen chuckles. “You remind me of my son. He was also stubborn like that.”

“Was?” The boy rubs his arm. “Is he… Dead?”

She shakes her head.

“No. He’s still out there. Somewhere. Haven’t seen him in a long, long time.”

“Oh...”

Karen puts both hands under her chin and smiles, dismissing the issue.

“So, tell me, how would you rather make a million bucks?”

The boy ponders it for a moment. His expression brightens.

“With one of my drawings! Wanna see?”

“I would love to.”

Excited, the boy runs to the back of the shop. Karen’s smile fades away. Eyes locked on the man trying so hard not to watch her. His hands toying with a heavy object inside his pocket.

FIVE!

The end within sight, people go the whole hog. Everyone joining the final sprint before the finish line.

Groups of boys gangbanging girls in complex, acrobatic poses, and configurations. A voluptuous 13-year-old girl buried beneath a blanket of naked elementary-school kids.

A middle school girl on her knees moving back and forth between penises in her mouth and ass, like a seesaw.

An eight-year-old girl with twin braids impaled in the air by a fat fourteen-year-old boy. The size difference making her look like a sex doll or a fleshlight.

Twin teenage girls, one of them pregnant, take turns sitting on the cock of a young boy on the floor. His head trashing from side to side.

A long, daisy chain of humping bodies snaking across the yard, connected by their groins. A human centipede slithering between the larger crowd.

A carrousel of girls, from youngest to oldest, arranged in a ‘loop’ of pussies atop a rotating platform. Surrounding the ring, boys fuck them in a sequential dance, enjoying a new vagina with each thrust. The design inspired by a Lost Boy obsessed with firearm's mechanisms. Next to the contraption, the representative of the Guiness World Records gesticulates wildly. Telling the reporter how many world records this kid’s invention just broke.

FOUR!

The young waitress comes back with a stack of papers. In his rush, he throws the drawings across the table.

Karen takes her eyes off the man with sunglasses. Her eyebrows raise.

“Oh! Wow…”

Before her, intricate, beautiful designs in various paper types and traditional methods. Most are tattoo designs in graphite and colored pencils. Yet a few are watercolor landscapes that seem taken out of a museum.

She grabs a postcard-sized painting of a sunrise overlooking a flooded town. A sight most people associate with out-of-control global warming. Now shown from a completely new perspective.

The yellows and salmons mix perfectly with the long shadows of the half-submerged buildings. Stars and space trash pepper the black-purple sky. The crescent moon with a single drop of green paint under one of its horns, hovering over the water. As if about to plunge inside. It made the apocalyptic scene look… Beautiful.

“You got talent kiddo. I’ll give you that… Is this from around here?”

The boy nods, still gathering his papers. “Uh, uh! A friend took me there once. I think he lives-” He leans over the old woman and points at a building. “Here.”

“A friend uh? Must be nice…”

The boy nods. “Yeah, he’s great! But I haven’t seen him in a while. I thought sperm traffickers got him, but I’ve been watching the feed all day and he hasn't appear-” He stops. “Um, Ma’am? Are you crying?”

Karen shakes her head.

“No, no sweetheart. I’m just tired.” She waves the small watercolor. “Can I keep this?”

“Uh… I don’t know if-”

“Here,” she spins the tablet with the bill and inputs some numbers. “I’ll buy it from you, as a tip. Wish I had more with me.”

The boy grabs the device. His eyes bulge like plates.

“M-ma’am! My painting is not worth THAT much!”

She smiles. “It is it to me.”

“I’ll refund you!”

“Nonsense. Don’t waste your life waitering people. There are machines that can do that. Now go kiddo. Go home and keep on drawing.”

“But-”

“Quit this job. Right now. Get out of here.” When the boy doesn’t move, she hisses in a piercing, threatening manner, like a snake.

“NOW!”

The kid jumps back, scared. He nods, picks the rest of his drawings, and walks away.

Decades later, museums and private collectors would bid millions over those papers. Historians pointing at his scribbles as the first gleams of the optimistic sentiment that swept the XXII century. Humanity raising from the ashes and swollen waters. Glancing at the raising horizon with a clear, hopeful view.

The man with sunglasses splits from the crowd watching the TV, hands in his pocket.

He’s not the only one. Two more bounty hunters dressed as civilians appear on the back of the restaurant.

Karen smirks and leans back on her chair. The pistol under the table. She closes her eyes, controlling her breathing, visualizing how to use each bullet.

Three against one, possibly more. Not bad, she had fared worst odds.

Most importantly, she had a goal now. Finding his son. And she needed to stay alive to do that.

“Here we go…” She mutters, springing into action.

THREE!

Small Timmy pumps in and out of his small sister. The blonde girl hiding her red face with both hands, dying of embarrassment. His father keeping her body steady. His mother holding the boy by the waist, quickening his thrusts.

“Come on sweetie! You can do it. Almost there!”

"Uh, uh, uuuuhhhh!"

TWO!

Around the yard, hundreds of boys shriek as their orgasms strike in unison. Moans and yells of pleasure bounce inside the cavernous space. A children's choir in a Cathedral of Lust. The money on the trust fund plummeting at a dizzying speed.

Even the boy’s sister feels a rush of adrenaline from the end approaching. She grabs the boy’s sweaty face and squeaks.

“Cum Timmy! Cum inside me!”

“Uuuuh! Aaaah! AAAAAH…!”

ONE!

“UuuuuhhhGGGGggaaaAAAAAH!”

ZEROOOO!

A thunderstorm of claps and cheers sweeps the world.

The blonde kid's parents high-five and jump in each other’s arms.

“I'm so proud of you!" The mother says separating the panting, sweaty siblings. She hugs them both and grows stern. "And not a WORD of this after today! Understood!?”

Both kids nod.

Around the yard, boys and girls stand on shaky legs from within piles of buttocks, limbs, and panting tummies. Elementary-school girls coated in dry sperm clap. Social workers, nurses, and doctors slump on the floor, exhausted. All eyes on the giant screen across the yard listing the time and money left.

00:00:00

$998,230.34 USD

Across the world, people join in the celebration. Town plazas explode in cheers not seen since the first successful Martian landing.

People hug, high-five, and hug inside bars, schools, and factories. Fat, balding men inside their goon caves pause their furious masturbation to clap as well, caught in the moment.

Impaled atop a softening penis, Rebecca straightens her torso and licks her lips. Her curly hair coated in boy cum. Sperm flowing out her anus. The remnants of thousands of mini orgasms still sparkling inside her coochie.

Dozens of exhausted boys surround the black girl, milked dry. A berserker at the end of a battle.

Shaking, feeling cold for some reason, Becks looks to the side expecting to find Samantha in a similar condition. She could really use a hug right now.

“S-am! W-we d-did it…!”

She stops. The ‘crater’ of boys next to hers is empty. The blonde thirteen-year-old girl is nowhere to be seen.

“Sam…?

Rebecca tries to stand up, but her legs are too tired. She falls on the stomach of a boy who lets out a tried ‘hoof!’

“Sam!?” Becks repeats, alarmed. A sinking feeling inside her chest. A horrible sensation that her new girlfriend, the most beautiful, amazing, delicious girl she ever knew, is gone.

“SAAAAM!?”

***

The white submarine is silent. Everyone inside the prison yard is gone. Only the feds remain.

The giant vessel is now a crime scene. Reconstructing its many secrets a titanic task that would take months.

Two female FBI agents break inside cabins on the lower decks, guns ready. They're looking for any ‘pirates’ still hiding in the megalithic, damaged structure. It’s highly unlikely they’ll find any. The ship’s crew blended in the crowd that swarmed the submarine soon after it crashed. It’s how they seemed to ‘vanish’ without a trace.

Still, their superiors wouldn’t step a foot inside the ship until they were certain they wouldn’t find some crazed individual hidden inside. And so, here they were, kicking a thousand doors.

“Clear!”

The two women step out the empty cabin and move to the next. One agent kicks the door open and sweeps one side of the room with her iron sights. The other agent follows and sweeps the opposite side. It’s a tedious, repetitive task that grew old long before they cleared the first deck. And there were dozens of them inside this monstrous ship!

“Clear!”

Another door. One of the FBI agents kicks it. Only this time, the door doesn’t bulge. Without missing a beat, she produces a small thermite explosive and blows the heavy lock away. This wasn’t their first encounter with an armored door. It swings open.

She steps inside. Immediately, her heartrate spikes from a shadow in her peripheral vision. There were people inside! Yet dealing with them was her partner’s job. She had to make sure there weren’t enemies on the other side of the room.

Her gun sweeps the area. A large yet spartan cabin. Possibly the captain’s quarters. The air is surprisingly cold. A desk, a computer. Naval decorations on walls and cupboards. Old photos, document boxes, nautical maps. Forensics was going to love this place.

“Clear!”

Heart pumping, the FBI agent dares to look behind her, at the small bed where she saw ‘someone’ out of the corner of her eye.

Her partner is already standing next to the bed. Her pistol pointing away from it. She’s leaning over the individual under the quilt.

A suicide? Pills overdose? Only a corpse could sleep through all the noise they just made.

“Who is-?”

“SHHH!” Her partner hisses. Finger on her lips.

Confused, the FBI agent walks closer and realizes it's not a person on the bed but two. And they're children.

An Asian boy with white hair spooning a Hispanic one. Their hands intertwined. A heavy blanket over them. Both kids between ten to twelve years old. Completely immobile.

"Are they dea-?""

"No, they're not!" Her partner hisses. She shakes the shoulder of the kid acting as big spoon. "Honey? Wake up."

The other FBI agent jolts.

"Watch it! They could be armed!" She hisses. Wait, why was she hissing?

"Armed!? Look at them!"

The boy with short platinum hair grumbles. Waking from the deepest of sleeps.

"Mmh...? Whadisit...?"

"Wake up honey. You're inside an active investigation site. We’ll take you to-"

The kid doesn't seem to care. He hugs the other boy tighter.

"Ten mur minutss..."

"Honey. You can't-"

But the preteen has already fallen asleep. Snoring lightly.

The other FBI agent raises her arms in a 'now-what?' kind of way.

Her partner shrugs.

"Hey, it's a big ship. We can circle back to this deck later."

The other agent hesitates. She looks at the sleeping couple but is unable to wake them up again. The two kids sleep peacefully in place, like little angels. It seemed wrong to disturb them. Evil even.

"Alright, back to the grind."

"Roger."

Both women close the door, carefully, and move to the next cabin. They position themselves to kick the door when one smirks and points back.

"Are you sure you want one of those? You'll be such a softy."

"Shut up.”

“’Wake up honey…!’. Pfff! You don’t even talk to your cat like that.”

“I said shut it. I only want a child for my Masters degree."

"Right, right... That's what eeeeveryone says."

Her partner rolls her eyes and kicks the door open. They storm inside.

"Clear!"

Back inside the cabin, Miguel wakes up from a weird dream.

“Something happened...?"

Caro squeezes him. Her arms around his neck and chest. His soft butt pressed against her crotch. His body is soft and warm. The top of his head smells amazing, like cookies. She could stay like this forever.

"No. It's nothing."

"I fell asleep..." He rubs an eye. "I was telling you where I come from."

"Shhh... Tell me later."

"Oh no! We didn’t have sex! Did we miss a million dollars?"

"I don't know. I guess we did.”

“But-”

“Shhh, I already have what I wanted. I found you... I won't lose you again."

Miguel nods. He snuggles back in Caro's arms.

"Promise?"

She kisses his head.

"Promise."

Not long after, both are back asleep.

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