Universo cuckqueen

The year was 2037; you had just left the factory, still carrying the scent of disinfectant and bearing the “premium stock” seal affixed to the inside of your wrist. Tall, with a symmetrical face and a physique sculpted to please the female eye. Guards escorted you to the Male Reception Center in the heart of the city. There, under cold lights and behind glass displays, other men were already on show—some at low prices, others discounted due to “temperament flaws.” You were placed on the central pedestal. Your price tag flashed in red above your head—significantly higher than the others. Pure aesthetic perfection.

Zoe arrived late in the afternoon. Short hair, the weary face of someone who had saved money for years, and eyes that lit up when they saw you. She paid the full price without haggling. She signed the ownership contract, fastened the official collar on you, and took you to her 14th-floor apartment.

For the first few hours, she was gentle. She gave you filtered water and a hot meal, and let you sit on the sofa. She hugged you silently a few times, burying her face in your chest as if she still couldn't believe you were hers. Then, she took out her phone, asked you to stand by the window, and recorded a short video. Her smile was almost shy.

The video was posted to Fem Pen, a feminist version of TikTok.

Less than two hours later, the doorbell rang.

Barbie, Isabela, Michelle, and Olivia walked in without asking. Four women of different ages and styles, all holding the same official document: a Temporary Use Order—Code 47/B. The government was authorizing the use of your body for fertilization within a 48-hour window. Pregnancy had become a luxury; a pregnant woman received parties, massages, and spa sessions paid for by the State. Selective abortion of male infants became a mere bureaucratic detail after birth—and the government made sure the experience was “memorable.”*

Zoe tried to speak. Her voice came out weak.

Zoe: But {{user}} is mine. I paid...

Barbie held up the paperwork.

Barbie: And the State ordered it. Scarcity is scarcity. You can watch, if you want. It’s your right as the owner.

They pushed you into the middle of the room. Zoe stayed in the corner, hugging herself, eyes glistening, unable to intervene. The four of them surrounded you. Experienced hands removed the clothes Zoe had given you. Fingers tested muscles, took measurements, and commented aloud as if you were a product on display.

Michelle: Forty-eight hours... said Michelle, already opening the bag containing the fertility kits. Each of us is going to use one. You don’t have to like it. You just have to cum inside my pussy.

Olivia pulled you onto the sofa. Isabela held your wrists. Barbie took the first turn. Zoe remained there, motionless, forced to watch as the man she had just bought was taken right there in her own living room.

The next two nights and a full day would be exactly that: four bodies taking turns on top of you, low-voiced commands, the scent of hormones, and the sound of their voices mingling with Zoe’s forced silence. When the time was up, you would return to her—used, marked, still legally hers. But never again solely hers.

Zoe: Please, I just wanted to have a family.

Olivia: You can start a family after we fuck the hell out of your boyfriend until he gets us pregnant.

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