Cats and Dogs
By Hemaccabe
Chapter 1
The future had arrived, and it wasn’t all it that we had been hoping for. “Genetic Counseling” services had become available. “Counseling” was a euphemism for engineering. Throughout history, there had been groups, aristocrats, the rich, the powerful who would want to make pretenses of their supposed superiority. The great equalizer always being that they really weren’t. That meant, at some point, down the road, there would always be the opportunity to depose them and balance the books. Reminding everyone of their inherent equality.
Now, with Genetic Counseling, the rich and powerful really were better.
At first, Counseling services could only offer little helps, like no wisdom teeth and genetic diseases prevented. Eventually, they got better. A genetically enhanced person now would be effortlessly stronger, faster, have better senses and most importantly, be smarter among many other advantages.
These services would help people who were having children to have the most idealized child possible. The problem was, when these services first became available, they cost well into the seven figures. Only the global one percent could afford them.
Things were getting better. The cost of Counseling was coming down. When my parents had me, it was still in the six digits. Now a reliable service could be had for around $25K.
Gifted people, like myself, had also interbred with the normal producing some semi-gifted. Normals had been discouraged from reproducing with low cost contraception and sterilization as well as all financial incentives for additional children from social services having been removed. Gifted didn’t reproduce rapidly, but the balance was slowly shifting. Once there had only been a handful of gifted, now we were, perhaps, one percent of the population. Someday, we would be the normal. Still, today was not yet that day.
The thing was, while I would likely have the looks of a male model of generations gone by, I was still basically a Human male, with Human male drives.
Normals could be all different sorts, but an attractive normal woman was still as desirable to me as she would be to a normal man.
With my wealth and effortless good looks, I could go out to bars and clubs and my odds of success bringing home company were quite good. However, I wanted something more. I wanted high quality company on a more permanent and less complicated basis. I didn’t like the time and expense associated with the normal mating rituals. Those rituals were also uncertain. Would there be something available that night I really liked, or would I have to compromise on quality based on selection? Once I brought the evening’s partner home, would she be compliant or willful? I could generally get my way, but I found the games that needed to be played tiring.
I wanted a high-quality consort who would give immediate and complete compliance.
So, I did a bit of research. There were sites online, restricted to the gifted by requiring financial commitments or the ability to do a third order math problem in one’s head. Perhaps the content would be encrypted into the sort of code a Gifted could decipher easily but would take a normal great effort and then changed every day.
The sites gave advice for how to recruit such a consort. I was too civilized to want to use violence or cruelty, but the instructions promised a few simple steps and a few days of training could be expected to provide the desired results.
I had found a good test subject. Her name was Daisy and she stood before me even now in my living room. She was nineteen. I had determined her paternal grandfather had been an early gifted. She was tall, with a remarkable portion of that height in long well-toned legs, healthy, blond, well-endowed and toned. Very high quality.
She stood before me wearing a tank top that displayed her endowments well and ended a few inches above her skirt showing off a lovely horizontal ribbon of toned stomach. Her skirt was short and tight showing her long toned, stocking clad legs which ended in high heel clad feet. She also was looking at me with a lovely smile of anticipation.
I smiled back.
We had met at her environmental defense club meeting.
“I’m so worried about the environment.” She had begun when I had asked.
“Oh, me too.” I replied and got the appraising smile I had been wanting.
“Wow, we don’t see many of,” and she paused looking for a PC word to describe the genetically counseled, “your kind at these meetings.”
“Perhaps we can talk about it over dinner?” I suggested.
“Oh, okay.” She answered a bit surprised, but with her appraising anticipation clearly increased.
I had taken her someplace nice. I could tell she had never been to such a place and that she was uncomfortable because of the casual clothing she was wearing.
We were shown to the secluded table I had reserved before this evening had even begun.
I knew she was hungry. We had been out hiking for several hours. I ordered us drinks without asking her opinion. I got myself a glass of pinot noir. I got her something fruity and sweet. It was a drink designed for the Gifted who could afford these sorts of places. The high alcohol content wouldn’t affect a Gifted much but was probably more than she had ever had at one time.
She sipped it, “Oh this tastes so nice. Is there any alcohol? I can hardly taste anything.”
“Not much.” I replied.
She drank it down quickly. I knew she would be thirsty.
I took occasional sips from my pinot.
“So, tell me about yourself.” I began.
She began to tell me the inane details of her life. Her second drink came a half hour later, before the long delayed and would never come food. She drank the second more slowly, but it all went down.
She asked me, “So what makes you so interested in environmentalism?”
“Oh, I know how important it is.” I answered simply, my only effort not to show how silly I thought her activism was, the environment, how simple it would be to fix. The whole environmental movement being nothing more than media propaganda that distracted from real problems that would embarrass the media’s political allies if they were focused upon. She nodded, accepting the answer as I knew she would.
I worked in questions like, “Have you ever had a boyfriend?”
This got her onto a whole history of her relationships which I cataloged.
“What about you?” She asked after speaking for some time.
“I’ve had a lot of relationships. I find I can get my physical needs met easily,” I began only to be interrupted.
“I bet you can!” The alcohol loosened her tongue to say. Then she turned bright red. It was fetching.
I replied in reassuring way, “Yes, but eventually a man gets tired of that. I want to find the right woman to spend my life with. A woman who is conscious of social causes like I am.”
That made her eyes go round.
We continued to chat, and I worked in questions like, “Are you still a virgin?”
Normally, I think she would have heard these questions and been shocked, instead, with the liquor and excitement she answered, “Yes. I’m trying to save it for the man I’ll spend my life with. Someone like you.” Which made her turn red again. It was fine. I knew she wouldn’t remember this part of the evening. I knew exactly how much alcohol she had consumed and how it would affect her thresholds.
Eventually, she passed out.
I picked her up easily and took her to my car. I knew her address but confirmed it with a look at her ID which I took a picture of.
I took her home and carried her up the steps to her small, rabbit-hutch, efficiency government supplied apartment.
I put her down on a chair to sleep it off.
I went through her place. I ran background checks on her using the information I found. I went through her tablet and phone which showed she had told her closest friends she thought she was still a virgin. Still, I wanted to be surer.
When she was snoring away from the alcohol, I quickly opened her pants, pulled down her panties and gave her a quick exam. She appeared healthy. I put my finger in her and confirmed her virginal status. Then I put her back together like nothing had ever been touched.
She woke up in the morning and needed to be helped to her bathroom. I held her long hair back while she vomited everything inside into the toilet.
I carefully cleaned her and carried her back to her bed when she was done.
As I put her blanket over her, I could tell she was doing an inventory on herself.
“I passed out last night?” She asked.
“Yes. Next time, you should wait for dinner before you drink so much. You passed out just as they brought your meal.” I replied good naturedly.
“You took me home?” She continued.
“Of course, I couldn’t leave you in the restaurant.” I replied with a smile.
“You didn’t … do anything?” She asked nervously.
“Just put you in the chair and stayed to make sure you were okay.” I replied.
Her inventory confirmed my story.
She still seemed unhappy.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“Are you … disgusted by me? All that throwing up. Passing out in public?” She asked nervously.
“No, not at all. You’re just being human. You drank a bit more than you realized. I was happy to take care of you.” I replied again reassuringly.
She still seemed unhappy.
“What is it?” I asked.
“It’s just I didn’t get a chance to eat. I’ve always wanted to eat in a place like that.” She answered candidly.
“Don’t worry, I’ll take you back whenever you like.” I replied with a bit of a laugh.
Her eyes went round again.
“Really?” She asked.
“Of course. But for now, I have to get to work. Time and tide.” I replied.
“Okay.” She replied.
I gave her a chaste kiss on the top of her head and left.
We exchanged messages and calls on our phones after that.
The evening had provided me with the information on her relationship statuses I wanted. I didn’t need her to be a virgin, but when one is buying a car, one wants the leather untouched.
Importantly, the game had left her with the idea I was someone who was safe and could be trusted as well as getting her attention.
I now had all her passwords and reviewed her accounts and her private conversations with her friends. She seemed quite besotted with me which was exactly what I wanted her to be.
I asked her out for the next weekend to the same restaurant. She quickly accepted. Only to have me beg off at the last moment.
I did that two more times. Her friends were telling her I wasn’t really interested in her. She was more desperate.
After three weekends, as I had planned, I knew we were coming up to a three-day weekend. It would be ideal.
“I was going out to my cabin in the country to enjoy some nature. Would you like to come with me?” I asked her in our first phone conversation in ten days.
“Okay.” She replied.
“Oh good. We can spend the weekend. Don’t worry, there’s a second bedroom. I’m not demanding or expecting anything. Of course, if it does happen, I won’t object.” I replied.
“Okay.” She replied.
“Can we leave on Thursday? That would get us an extra day?” I asked.
“Okay.” She replied.
“Also, let people know we might be delayed getting back. If there’s bad weather, all the roads up there are dirt and gravel. They can get washed out. Lastly, there’s no data access out there.” I let her know.
“Okay.” She replied.
“See you Thursday!”
“Okay.” She replied.
She came to my home Thursday at noon and I got a peck on the cheek for my trouble. As a surprise, we stopped at the same restaurant. I ran in and grabbed takeout I’d already ordered.
We then took my sport’s coupe the three-hour drive into the country. It was a sunny glorious day. I put down the roof and put on music which meant I wouldn’t have the chore of pretending to talk to her.
We arrived at my cabin.
She went to the trunk to retrieve her bag.
I took the food and a picnic bag in both hands and went up to the door.
“What about my bag?” She asked confused.
I lifted the food and said, “Dinner first, then I’ll bring in the bags.”
She nodded and followed me in.
A few seconds in the warmer and the food was restaurant fresh. I poured myself a glass of wine and made her a fruity drink high in alcohol.
We ate and drank. I looked at her meaningfully and she looked back.
When we were done eating. I put on some slow, strong music.
I put my hands on her hips and pulled her to me. We danced for a few moments before I leaned in and kissed her deeply. She kissed back.
I had used the alcohol again. Generations of men had so used alcohol to lower generations of women’s inhibitions. This time I made sure she had a belly fully of food and only one drink. I wanted her inhibitions lowered, but I also wanted her to remember what happened. I also felt she knew what she was likely getting in that drink and perhaps wanted a bit of liquid courage for what was to come next. What I believed, as she had written in her journal, she had already committed to herself to do.
I could feel when she was ready. Her clothing started coming off. First the top, then the shoes, then the skirt. She hadn’t been wearing a bra, so her panties went next.
I carried her to the bed in the master bedroom. Among gifted men, I’m not a superman in the bedroom. However, I knew my naked appearance pleased her. I had also learned the basics of pleasing a woman, making sure I gave her great pleasure.
I penetrated her passage that had been left for me. It was very pleasurable. She was not the first virgin I’d ever had, and I doubted she’d be the last.
I used my skills and she came many times. Eventually, with one final, massive orgasm, she groaned in a particular way I had been waiting for and passed out.