Chapter 2: The Breeding Techniques Practicum
The days between the assessment and her first class passed in a haze of lingering warmth and scattered thoughts. Mia found herself forgetting things—small things, like where she'd left her keys, the name of the barista at her usual coffee shop, whether she'd already eaten breakfast. Each time, a little flutter of panic would rise in her chest, and then just as quickly dissolve into something softer. Something that felt almost like anticipation.
She'd catch herself smiling at nothing. Standing in her kitchen, staring at the microwave, trying to remember what she'd been about to do. The numbers on the clock would blur, and she'd think about the way Doctor Elaine's sensors had felt against her skin, and her knees would go weak.
Her IQ was 109 now. She'd checked the online portal obsessively for the first two days, watching the number tick down like a countdown to something she couldn't quite name. 116. 114. 112. 109.
The drop from the assessment alone had been significant, but Doctor Elaine had warned her that the effects would compound with each subsequent session. The fertility drugs were still active in her system, a slow-release implant that would keep her hormones elevated for the duration of the Course. And the Course itself—six weeks of classes, assessments, practicals—would continue to reshape her mind in ways she was only beginning to understand.
She should have been scared. She knew that, somewhere in the fading attic of her intellect. But every time she tried to summon the fear, it slipped away like water through fingers, leaving behind only a pleasant buzzing sensation and the memory of how good it had felt to let go.
The classroom was in the basement of the municipal building, down a corridor that smelled of fresh paint and industrial cleaner. Mia followed the signs—VAGINAL BREEDING TECHNIQUES, ROOM B-12—past women in various states of undress, some wearing the standard-issue paper gowns, others in nothing but the thin cotton shifts the Course provided.
The door to B-12 was propped open with a rubber wedge. Inside, soft music played—something instrumental, all gentle strings and ambient synth. The walls were lined with botanical prints, ferns and orchids pressed behind glass, their muted greens and pinks somehow reassuring.
Mia stepped inside and stopped.
The room was larger than she'd expected. Padded benches stood in neat rows, each one fitted with discreet restraints at the wrists and ankles—not locked, just there, a suggestion of what might come. The upholstery was a soft cream color, worn smooth in places that suggested frequent use. At the front of the room, a low stage held a single bench, slightly larger than the others, positioned for maximum visibility.
The air smelled like lavender and something else. Something warmer. Arousal, maybe, or the faint chemical tang of lubricant. Mia's body responded before her mind could catch up, a flush of heat spreading from her collarbones down to her cunt.
"Find a seat, love."
The voice came from her left. Mia turned to see a woman in her thirties, tall and broad-shouldered, with close-cropped dark hair and a smile that crinkled the corners of her eyes. She wore a fitted blazer over a simple blouse, professional but approachable. Instructor Danielle, according to the nameplate on her desk.
"I'm—" Mia started, then stopped. She'd meant to say I'm new, or I'm here for the class, but the words tangled on her tongue.
Instructor Danielle's smile widened. "You're Mia. Doctor Elaine mentioned you'd be joining us. She said you showed remarkable potential in your assessment."
Remarkable potential. The phrase sent a little thrill through Mia's chest. She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
"Take the bench in the second row, on the end. We'll be starting with breathing exercises, then moving into positioning and receptivity drills." Danielle gestured toward the rows of benches. "Don't worry about the restraints for now. We'll get to those later."
Mia found her bench—second row, aisle seat, just as instructed—and sat down. The padding was surprisingly comfortable, contoured to support the lower back and hips. She ran her fingers over the upholstery, feeling the slight give of the foam beneath.
Other women filtered in over the next few minutes. Some looked nervous, clutching their shifts around themselves. Others looked eager, practically vibrating with anticipation. Mia recognized a few faces from the town—a barista from the coffee shop, a girl she'd gone to high school with, a woman who worked at the library. They all had the same glassy-eyed look, the same faint flush on their cheeks.
The drugs. They were all on the drugs.
"Alright, everyone." Instructor Danielle clapped her hands, and the murmuring died down. "Welcome to Vaginal Breeding Techniques. Some of you have been through the assessment already. Some of you are new. Either way, by the end of today, you'll have a much better understanding of what your body can do."
She paced along the front of the room, her heels clicking against the polished concrete floor. "First, let's talk about breathing. Orgasmic response is directly tied to oxygen flow. The more you breathe, the more you feel. The more you feel, the more receptive you become."
Mia shifted on her bench. She was already feeling receptive. Her nipples had tightened under her shift, and there was a damp spot spreading between her thighs.
"Inhale through your nose," Danielle instructed. "Count to four. Hold for four. Exhale through your mouth for six."
The class obeyed. Mia drew a breath, held it, let it out. The oxygen hit her bloodstream like a drug, amplifying the warmth that was already pooling in her belly.
"Again. Deeper this time. Let your belly expand."
Another breath. Another wave of heat.
"Good. Now, I want you to focus on your pelvic floor. Contract your muscles—the ones you'd use to stop yourself from peeing. Hold for three seconds. Release."
Mia contracted. The sensation was intimate, almost electric. She felt her cunt clench around nothing, and a small sound escaped her throat.
"Excellent," Danielle said, though she couldn't possibly have heard Mia from across the room. "Now release. And again. Contract, hold, release."
They did this for five minutes. By the end, Mia's thighs were trembling, and her shift was soaked through. She could feel her own wetness slicking the padded bench beneath her, and the smell of her arousal mixed with the lavender in the air.
"Now that we're warmed up," Danielle said, "let's move to positioning."
She gestured toward the stage, where the larger bench sat waiting. "The optimal breeding position is one that allows for deep penetration and maximum contact with the cervix. We'll be practicing three variations today: the standard missionary with hip elevation, the modified doggy with chest support, and the receptive supine with knee restraints."
Mia's brain tried to process the words. Missionary. Doggy. Supine. They were simple terms, but they kept slipping away from her, leaving behind only impressions—knees, hips, the feeling of being opened.
"Let's start with missionary." Danielle climbed onto the stage and lay down on the bench, demonstrating. She placed a bolster under her hips, elevating her pelvis. "The key is to tilt your pelvis upward. This creates a straighter path to the cervix, which increases the likelihood of successful insemination."
She beckoned to one of the women in the front row. "Come up here, love. Let's practice on you."
The woman—a petite redhead with freckles—climbed onto the stage and lay down. Danielle guided her into position, adjusting the bolster, tilting her hips, spreading her legs.
"Feel that?" Danielle asked. "That's the angle. Notice how open you feel. How vulnerable."
The redhead nodded, her breath coming in short gasps.
"Now, Mia." Danielle looked directly at her. "Come up here. I want to see your positioning."
Mia's heart hammered. She stood on legs that felt like jelly and made her way to the stage. The other women watched her, their eyes glassy but attentive.
"Lie down. Same position."
Mia lay back on the bench. The padding was warm from the redhead's body, still damp with her arousal. Danielle's hands guided her hips, tilting them upward, spreading her legs.
"Good," Danielle murmured. "You have excellent hip mobility. That's a gift—not everyone can achieve this angle."
Mia felt exposed. Vulnerable. Her cunt was on display, wet and open, and she could feel the cool air against her most sensitive places. But the embarrassment only made her hotter. Her clit throbbed with every heartbeat.
"Now, I want you to practice receptivity." Danielle stepped back, giving Mia space. "In this position, you're not active. You're receiving. Let your body soften. Let your mind go quiet."
Softening was easy. Quieting her mind was easier still—it had been happening on its own for days now, thoughts dissolving into static, worries fading into the background.
"Good. Now, tighten your pelvic floor. Hold. Release."
Mia obeyed. The contraction sent a jolt of pleasure through her, and she gasped.
"Again. And again. Faster this time."
She contracted and released, contracted and released, until her hips were rocking against the bench and her breath was coming in ragged gasps.
"Beautiful," Danielle said. "You're a natural."
The praise warmed Mia more than it should have. She wanted to be good. She wanted to be praised. She wanted Danielle to keep touching her, keep guiding her, keep telling her she was doing well.
"Alright, let's move to the practical portion."
Danielle helped Mia sit up. The class had been watching, some of them touching themselves through their shifts, others simply staring with that same glassy, hungry look.
"We'll be using the mechanical breeding trainers now. These devices simulate intercourse with adjustable speed, depth, and intensity. They're calibrated to your individual specifications based on your assessment data."
Mia's stomach flipped. Mechanical breeding trainers. She'd heard rumors about them—the girls who'd been through the Course talked about them in hushed tones, half-embarrassed, half-boasting. They were supposed to be intense. Overwhelming. The kind of thing that left you unable to walk straight.
"Each of you will spend ten minutes on the trainer. Then we'll debrief as a group." Danielle gestured to the benches, where small, sleek devices had been mounted at hip height. They were pale gray, with smooth silicone attachments that gleamed under the fluorescent lights. "The trainers will be programmed to your personal pleasure profile. Some of you may experience multiple orgasms. Others may find yourselves in a state of continuous arousal. Both are normal."
Mia returned to her bench. The trainer was already in position, its silicone attachment angled upward, waiting. She lay back, her heart pounding, and let her legs fall open.
"Just relax," Danielle said, appearing at her side. "Let the machine do the work. Your only job is to feel."
The trainer hummed to life. Mia felt the tip press against her entrance, slick and warm from some internal heating element. Then it slid inside her—slowly, gently, filling her in a way that made her back arch off the bench.
"Good," Danielle murmured. "Let it in."
The trainer began to move. Not thrusting—not yet—just a slow, circular rotation that pressed against her inner walls, finding spots she didn't know she had. Mia moaned, her hands gripping the edges of the bench.
"How does that feel?"
"Good," Mia managed. "Really... really good."
"Let's increase the speed."
The trainer accelerated. The rotation became a thrust, shallow at first, then deeper. Mia felt it hitting her cervix, a dull pressure that somehow translated into pleasure. Her moans grew louder, more desperate.
"Now the pattern." Danielle was watching a small tablet, presumably tracking Mia's responses. "I'm going to alternate between fast and slow, deep and shallow. See if you can follow the rhythm."
Follow the rhythm. Mia tried, she really did, but the pattern was too complex. Fast-fast-slow-deep-shallow-deep-fast. She kept losing track, her hips moving on instinct rather than instruction.
Then the trainer hit something—some spot deep inside her that made her vision go white.
She came. Not a gentle, rolling wave, but a hard, sudden crash. Her cunt clenched around the silicone, her legs shaking, her mouth open in a scream that she couldn't hear over the blood roaring in her ears.
The trainer didn't stop. It kept thrusting, kept rotating, kept hitting that spot until Mia was coming again, and again, each orgasm rolling into the next with no space between.
"Verbal fluency declining," Danielle said, her voice distant. "Processing speed down fifteen percent. IQ now at..."
Mia couldn't hear the number. She was too busy coming, too busy drowning in sensation. Her thoughts were gone—not fuzzy anymore, but completely blank, a white void where her mind used to be.
She tried to speak. "I—" The rest was gibberish. A string of syllables that almost formed words but didn't quite make it.
"That's alright," Danielle said. "You don't need to talk."
The trainer kept going. Mia felt herself slipping further, her IQ dropping with each orgasm, her vocabulary crumbling, her reasoning dissolving. She was becoming something simpler. Something that only knew how to feel.
And she loved it.
When the trainer finally stopped, she was a wreck. Sweat-slicked and trembling, her shift twisted around her waist, her thighs coated in her own fluids. She couldn't remember her name. She couldn't remember why she was here.
But she remembered the pleasure. That was still there, burned into her nerves like a brand.
Danielle knelt beside her, stroking her hair. "You did beautifully, Mia. Absolutely beautifully."
Mia laughed. It was a breathless, giddy sound, the laugh of someone who had just discovered something wonderful. "I... I don't..."
"I know." Danielle's voice was warm, maternal. "You don't have to think anymore. That's not what this class is for."
She helped Mia sit up. The other women were watching, some of them smiling, some of them looking envious. Mia couldn't blame them. She felt like she'd just been given a gift.
"Your IQ is at 103 now," Danielle said, matter-of-fact. "That's a significant drop, but nothing to be concerned about. Every point is progress. Every point brings you closer to your optimal state."
Optimal state. Mia liked the sound of that. She wasn't sure what it meant, but she liked it.
"Now," Danielle continued, "let's talk about what you just experienced. Can you tell me—in your own words—what the trainer did?"
Mia opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.
"It... it went in," she said slowly. "And then it... moved. And I... I felt good. Really good."
She knew there were better words. More precise words. But they were gone, scattered like dandelion seeds, and she couldn't catch them.
"Perfect," Danielle said. "That's exactly right."
Mia beamed.