I Woke Up in a Reverse World Utopia with a 10,000 to 1 Ratio-Chapter 10: Build a Bitch

My heart races as I sprawl across our new living room sofa, transfixed by what’s playing on the massive television screen. The hero, if you can call him that, struts across the frame wearing nothing but a billowing cape fashioned from some new world flag. The stark white upper half and charcoal black lower section ripple behind him like wings, the golden DNA helix emblem gleaming in the center as if blessing his activities.

Which, at the moment, involve enthusiastically thrusting into a moaning woman while three more wait their turn, all looking at him with expressions of worshipful gratitude.

"Your contribution ensures humanity’s future," gasps the current recipient of his attentions, her eyes rolling back dramatically. The production value is ridiculous, crystal clear high-definition that captures every drop of sweat, every exaggerated facial expression.

I shift uncomfortably on the couch, trying to ignore how my body’s responding to the scene. The movie. "The Last Sons of Tomorrow" has been playing for twenty minutes, and it’s basically government-approved porn dressed up as inspirational cinema. The plot, such as it is, follows the "heroic journey" of a particularly virile male citizen fulfilling his sacred duty to impregnate as many women as possible.

"Your genetic material is a gift to our dying species," purrs another woman as she runs her hands across Flag Cape Guy’s chest. "Let me worship you properly."

Jesus Christ. I grab the remote and flick through the channels, but it’s all variations on the same theme. Documentaries about breeding programs. Historical dramas about the Fertility Pandemic with plenty of gratuitous sex scenes. Talk shows discussing optimal positions for conception with live men demonstrating.

Every single program hammers home the same message. Men are rare, valuable resources with one primary purpose, to fuck and reproduce.

I can’t help but notice the irony of my situation. Here I am, sporting a hard-on while watching government propaganda that’s telling me exactly what my new role in society is. And the worst part? Despite knowing it’s manipulation, the scenes are still hot as hell. The women in these productions are gorgeous, their bodies perfect, their enthusiasm infectious.

But none of them are Kate.

I click through another channel and find myself watching what looks like an educational video. There’s a young man, probably my age, standing in a room similar to mine but with a strange addition, a smooth, circular opening built into one wall.

"Reproductive Efficiency Solutions," announces the clinical voiceover as the guy approaches the hole, looking nervous but determined. "For males experiencing social anxiety during reproductive duties, the Discretionary Contribution Portal offers an alternative method of genetic donation."

My jaw drops as I watch the guy, who keeps glancing anxiously at the camera, position himself and begin thrusting into the wall opening. The camera maintains a weirdly professional distance, like this is some kind of medical demonstration, but there’s no mistaking what’s happening.

"Studies show that some male contributors experience performance anxiety when faced with direct interaction," continues the voiceover as the guy’s movements become more frantic. "The DCP allows for direct sample collection without unnecessary social pressure."

I can’t look away as the guy’s face contorts, his movements becoming erratic. Then he lets out this primal groan that definitely wasn’t in the script, his whole body tensing as he finishes.

"Holy shit," I whisper to myself, utterly transfixed. A glory hole. An actual, government-approved glory hole. Something about the anonymity of it, the pure focus on physical sensation without anything else has always seemed incredibly hot in concept to me.

"Discuss with your guardian if a Discretionary Contribution Portal might be appropriate for your situation," the voiceover concludes as the guy pulls back, looking weirdly relieved.

I’m so absorbed in the commercial that I don’t hear the door open behind me. It’s only when Kate’s voice cuts through the room that I realize I’m not alone anymore.

"I see you’ve discovered our educational programming," she says, and I nearly jump out of my skin, scrambling to change the channel.

My fingers fumble with the remote as I twist around to face her. Kate stands just inside the doorway, a tray of food balanced in one hand, her lips curved into an amused smile.

"I wasn’t... I mean, I was just..." I stammer, feeling my face burn hot enough to melt steel.

"No need to be embarrassed," Kate says, gliding across the room with that effortless grace that never fails to make my pulse quicken. "The programming is designed to educate men about their patriotic options and responsibilities."

She sets the tray down on the coffee table, the scent of something savory making my stomach growl despite my embarrassment. Her eyes flick to the screen where I’ve hastily changed to what appears to be some kind of cooking demonstration.

"It’s quite remarkable, actually," she continues, gesturing toward the TV where a woman is now teaching a visibly nervous young man how to prepare a protein-rich meal. "All the information you need about fulfilling your sacred duty to humanity, presented in formats that inspire rather than intimidate." Her voice drops slightly, taking on that official tone she sometimes uses. "These shows remind men that reproduction isn’t just a biological function, it’s the highest form of patriotism a man can demonstrate."

I swallow hard, trying not to think about the glory hole commercial I was just watching. "I was just channel surfing."

Kate’s smile turns knowing as she settles beside me on the couch, close enough that I can feel the warmth radiating from her body. "The Discretionary Contribution Portal is actually quite popular," she says casually, as if discussing the weather. "Some men find it less... emotionally taxing than traditional coupling."

My face burns hotter. "You saw that, huh?"

"Just the tail end," she admits, reaching for the tray. "Lunch?"

"For me, it’s not really about anxiety," I say, scratching the back of my neck. "It’s more that... well, a glory hole just seems inherently hot, you know? The mystery of not knowing who’s on the other side..."

Kate’s eyebrows rise slightly, her lips parting in surprise before transforming into a delighted smile. "Ohhh," she purrs, leaning closer. "The higher-ups absolutely adore kinky subjects. It shows initiative and enthusiasm for your duties."

Something about her approving tone sends a rush of confidence through me. Before I can second-guess myself, I reach out and pull her onto my lap in one fluid motion. Kate lets out a small gasp of surprise, but doesn’t resist, her body warm and soft against mine.

"Would right now be a good time to..." I start, my voice dropping to a husky whisper.

"We could," she cuts me off, placing a finger against my lips. Her eyes darken with promise as she shifts slightly on my lap. "But we’ll have more time tonight. I need to return to the office after we eat to complete some paperwork."

I gulp, suddenly very aware of her weight on my lap and the promise of what’s to come later. "Tonight then," I agree, my voice embarrassingly thick with anticipation.

Kate smiles, her finger tracing my bottom lip before she slides gracefully off my lap. "Eat your lunch," she says, gesturing toward the tray. "You’ll need your strength."

I’m barely halfway through my sandwich when Kate reaches into a bag and pulls out a sleek tablet. She sets it carefully between us on the table, her movements deliberate and precise. When she powers it on, the screen illuminates with a grid of faces, women’s faces, arranged in neat little squares.

"What’s this?" I ask, though I have a sinking feeling I already know.

Kate’s finger glides across the screen, scrolling through what appears to be an endless catalog of women. Row after row, face after face. Some smiling professionally, others looking serious and composed. All staring back at me from their digital squares.

"The Department requires you to select five compatible females for scheduled reproductive sessions," Kate explains, her voice taking on that clinical tone she uses when discussing official matters. "Beginning Monday, you’ll be expected to engage in procreative intercourse with one woman each day, Monday through Friday."

I nearly choke on my sandwich. Even though I knew this was coming, hearing it stated so plainly makes my stomach twist into knots. I set down my food, my appetite suddenly gone.

"Five women?" I repeat, my voice cracking slightly. "Like, different women every week, or...?"

Kate’s perfectly nail taps the screen as she scrolls through another row of faces.

"It’s entirely up to you," she explains, her voice steady and professional. "You can keep someone on rotation until they’re impregnated, or select different women each week. Most men prefer variety and choose a new five every week."

I stare at the endless grid of faces, each woman looking back at me with hopeful eyes. The sheer number is overwhelming.

"How do I even begin to choose?" I ask, my throat suddenly dry.

Kate’s lips curve into a small smile. "The system makes it filterable. We’ve designed it to accommodate all preferences."

"What kind of filters?"

"Anything, really," she says with a casual wave of her hand. "Eye color, height... bust size. Whatever criteria matters to you."

I shift uncomfortably on the couch, hyper-aware of Kate’s proximity as I contemplate scrolling through women like I’m shopping for shoes online.

"Can I filter for... style?" I ask hesitantly.

Kate nods, looking pleased by my question. "You can request them to wear whatever you like. Professional attire, casual wear, specific uniforms, many women are quite accommodating to preferences."

My mind races with possibilities, and before I can stop myself, I blurt out, "What about kinks?"

"Yes," Kate confirms without hesitation. "You can do that too."

My eyes widen, and I must look shocked because Kate quickly adds, "Anyone with violent kinks is filtered out during pre-screening, of course. The Department takes safety very seriously."

I look back at the tablet, scrolling through more faces. Each represents a real person who’s been evaluated, categorized, and presented for my selection. It’s simultaneously terrifying and intoxicating to have this kind of power.

"This is a big decision," I murmur, feeling the weight of it settling on my shoulders.

Kate studies my face, her green eyes searching mine. "Would you like me to pick for you?" she offers gently. 𝗳𝚛𝗲𝕖𝕨𝕖𝗯𝚗𝚘𝕧𝕖𝗹.𝗰𝗼𝕞

I look up, meeting her gaze. "Would that bother you? Having to choose women for me to sleep with?"

She moves closer, her thigh pressing against mine. "Of course not," she says softly. "It’s my job to take care of you, Tyler."

The distance between us vanishes as she leans in, her lips hovering mere inches from mine. I’m drawn toward her like a magnet, unable to resist the pull. My heart hammers in my chest as our lips meet, tentatively at first, then with growing urgency.

The tablet slides forgotten to the cushion beside us as Kate’s hands find my face, cradling it between her palms. The kiss deepens, hungry and desperate, months of fantasy colliding with the reality of her taste, her touch. Her tongue slides against mine, claiming me completely while her fingers thread through my hair.

I pull away slightly, breathless from our kiss, my hands still tangled in her auburn hair.

Kate’s eyes darken as she pulls back slightly, studying my face with an intensity that makes my skin tingle. Her fingertips trace the outline of my scabbed eye with feather-light touches.

"If you leave it up to me," she says slowly, her voice dropping to a silky whisper, "you might never get to experience anything better than what I can offer you."

There’s a warning in her words, but also something else, a challenge, perhaps, or a test. I meet her gaze without hesitation, my heart hammering against my ribs.

"No one else in this world could ever offer what you do, Kate," I tell her with absolute conviction, the words tumbling out before I can overthink them. "Not even close."

Something shifts in her expression, a flash of something wild and possessive that should terrify me but instead sends heat rushing through my veins. Her lips curve into a smile that borders on manic, her pupils dilating until her eyes are mostly black with just a thin ring of green.

"Just keep that up, okay?" she breathes, her fingers tightening in my hair almost painfully. "Keep making me feel like I’m the only woman in the world."

I melt under her crazed stare, utterly captivated by this glimpse of something raw and primal beneath her composed exterior.

"Always."