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Becoming a broodmare. For fascism!

Complementarity

Always on the lookout for masculine characters!
Joined
Apr 19, 2016
Location
Italy (I'm fluent in English, tho)
Germany won WW2
A despotic government controls our Country, and many others. It recently instituted an innovative National Eugenic Program meant to improve its citizens. Every single person's genetic makeup is systematically mapped and registered into a public database. The technology is there, it just needed someone to push its boundaries.
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A few specimens are selected for the experimental stage of the long-term upscaling process of The Project. Given the circumstances, other people aren't used to the idea of marriages arranged by the Government. Gossip and sensationalist news reports inappropriately increase the awkwardness surrounding the pairings, as it's obvious to everyone that the betrothed barely even know each other and are simply meant to be together for primal breeding purposes.

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As mentioned, the press is fascinated by the stories of these pioneers. Here's a reportage, recently published on a local newspapaer:
John Turnbull is a simple, strong laborer, selected by NEP to beget a new generation of superior blue-collar workers and recently married in a local church. When contacted by our editorial staff, he accepted to meet us.
As soon as we met him, we definitely were impressed by his potent frame and had no doubt on why the Program decided to choose him, out of many applicants. When we pointed that out, the man had a laugh with us, then confirmed his support to fascism, which celebrates the absolute superiority of patriotic manliness. He's always been a rugged man, the Stallion explained, motivated by a strong desire to build a family. With no interest in romance, he simply wants to honour traditions, settling down and becoming the dutiful patriarch of a large family, the same way his father did, and his father's father before him. He couldn't do this on his own, of course, so he decided to get a womb for himself the easiest way possible, by applying for the Program.
The man didn't even blush or showed signs of discomfort when asked about the intimate details of his relationship with his wife. Even if John specifically married his wife to breed, he told us, he's neither used to having sex frequently, nor he really wants to. He allegedly mates once a month, only when his wife ovulating. "What's the point otherwise?" he specified. His strict morals prevent him from having sex for pleasure.
John's wife was present during our interview, silently listening as a proper female would, so we decided to ask her about her life with John. Her hesitance in admitting she loves it clearly hid the fact she wouldn’t be able to ignore the natural attraction she feels, which will necessarily turn into affection, once her husband will successfully make her pregnant with a little John.
While wrapping our conversation up, the man clarified he considers his bride as a mere womb to fill and as a housemaid, there to take care of him, of his house and of his future children, so we wished his wife a barefoot and pregnant future, reminding her of how lucky she is. Not every female in this country enjoys the privilege of becoming heavy with child of a strapping stallion, a fascist champion.


A date with a stranger
A couple sits at the table of a cheap restaurant. They just had dinner.

Around them, people whisper: “…part of the National Marital Program…?”; “The government paired them together…”; “…damn Eugenics…”; “…breeders for the Nation…”; a pair of girls giggle.

Elise, the young girl, awkwardly looks down at the tablecloth. The stranger in front of her introduced himself when they met, an hour earlier, but she was so tense she forgot his name immediately. Now she keeps her legs crossed and straightens her elegant red sheath dress, making sure her breasts are not too exposed, then caresses her wavy brown hair rested on her left shoulder, looking around. She’s definitely overdressed for the kind of place the man took her to, but she knows that’s not why she catches people glancing at her. She used to hate her conservative parents for signing her up for a breeding program when she was little, but she accepted her fate long ago.

What she can’t quite accept right now is being in front of an unpleasant, lumbering oaf.

The suitor is a strapping, bearded guy in his early 30ies, with a powerful, burly physique, probably forged by years of intense labor. His shirt is slightly unbuttoned on his chest, making some of his thick chesthair come out, while its sleeves are rolled up his hairy forearms. He’s man-spreading and his big hands are heavily rested on the tablecloth, confidently owning the space around him.

He keeps starring at the girl in front of him, wishing he would have gotten something a bit more curvy and less petite, while rolling a wooden toothpick in his mouth and burping occasionally.

“… Easier to handle, I s’pose…” He mumbles.

“I beg your pardon?” Elise asks. No reply. “Well… It’s pretty late and I have to attend lectures tomorrow, so…” the girl, finally says, breaking the awkward silence. The stranger frowns inquisitively now, so she continues: “I go to college, you know...”

“Oh, I see… A fancy chick. Well, no more college and no more work. You stay home and be my housewife. That clear? When I come home every day I want to see a clean house and hot meal on the table. That’s the way it should be.”

“But… I could be way more productive if I studied and eventually got a job that…” Elise tries to reply, shocked, but the deeper, firmer voice of the stranger covers hers, harshly: “Then what? You’ll have to take care of our children once… I knock you up”. He rubs his crotch at the word.

“But…” Elise tries to protest.

“Shut up!” the stranger slams his fist on the table, making everyone around the restaurant turn towards the couple. “I decide. End of story” his last words on the matter echo in the sudden silence that drops in the restaurant, then he gets up: “Come, I’ll show you my place. And I’ll show you your place as well”.

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Elise is looking up at the man laying on top of her, between her warm thighs. Her hard nipples rub against his wifebeater, her grey eyes are hypnotized by the swaying, thin golden necklace hanging from his neck. She tried to struggle, but he ended up pinning her delicate wrists on the sheets, and the more she flailed her smooth legs, the more she got wet, turning him on, making him lunge more aggressively, stretching her damp sex with his girth.

Now she just lets him assault her flesh, carving his form into her tight pussy, making her his. She feels vulnerable, completely defenseless while being overwhelmed by the violence of this sexual assault, by a man relinquishing in his primal rapture. His thick, hairy balls feel heavy with semen when they slap against her moist sex, as she grabs the sheets and the man makes the headboard bang against the wall. Growling like a rutting beast, he throbs inside of her, planted balls deep inside of her warm slit. Suddenly, he buckles, as if shot by an invisible bullet. He moans as if he was dying, while his loins release the essence of life, making Elise squeeze her eyes, turn her head to the side at the sensation of white-hot semen rushing inside of her, pumped in powerful jets against her cervix.

In a few moments, everything is over. Elise feels the man's warmth inside of her, part of it dripping on her thigh. She can almost feel his swimmers penetrating her womb, racing for her egg. A repressed part of her desperately wants to get pregnant with his child, the child of a strong, dutiful man that will always take care of her, even if she's just a womb to him, even if she'll have to deal with his authoritative nature.

“Look at me” the imposing voice states, while a rough hand grabs her chin: “You’re mine now. I’ll provide for you, I’ll make you swell with my child. Be a good girl now and stay put while my cum settles. I'm going out to meet my mates at the pub”.

The girl stays put, as asked, catching her breath. The man is heading out, but he turns back for a moment, asking: “What’s your name again?”.
 
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