The Dystopian "One Child Policy"

"Evening," I say as you crack the door to your apartment open, "routine check." That's all I repeat all day long. You know the drill; the military and the police force have been looking for drugs, weapons, anything that threatens the state, anything that could start off a rebellion. I'm good at my job, cool headed, showing little emotion, not cruel but fair. Anything bigger than a kitchen knife is counted as a weapon, resulting in a fine, or worse, time in a cell.
"Evening...officer," you say and open the door so I can step in. My colleague is behind me, a silent shadow.
"Identification," I reply as I step in, look around. We're on the second floor of the six story building; we still have a lot of units to go through. Your place is small, clean, smelling sweet. There's flowers on the kitchen table and a candle burning.
"You are aware that open fire isn't allowed?" My colleague addresses you. Your eyes meet his, then mine. While you're looking for your ID, I walk towards the candle, lick the tip of my thumb and forefinger and kill the little flame. He looks at me and I gesture for him to keep on looking. I don't do this for you. I do it for me: no need for a report, no wasted time.
Finally, you step up to me and hand me your identification document. As you stand in front of me, I can smell you, soft, feminine, calming. I scan over your document, then look at you. You're short, the dress you wear hugs every curve of your body, especially the curve of your breasts; there seems to be nothing in between your skin and the soft fabric, nipples obvious, not hard, but just *there*.
I catch how my gaze is lingering, so I snap myself out of it while my colleague walks around, checking every corner, every drawer, every dresser. You stand in front of me and smile. You're 5'2, blue eyes, dark, long hair, unmarried, no kids. I hand the document back to you and for a moment our eyes lock. You smile almost suggestively, but subtle. I'm employed by the state. My job is to control its citizens; everyone hates our guts. Women usually keep quiet and men sometimes try to fight us. And when they do, they regret it. But I rarely meet an unmarried, childfree woman who looks like you.
"Why are you not married?" I ask because I have to.
"My fiancé died in the war before we could make it official." I make a note in my notebook and nod. No emotion. "Which is why I haven't had the chance to have kids either."
"You know of the requirement of the one child policy?" I ask, raising my eyebrows.
"I do," you reply seriously.
"Why haven't you registered for..." I clear my throat, it's not something I usually have to ask. 98% of the women I see at your age have kids. "Why haven't you registered for the service of the state to have a child?" The impregnation state service.
"I haven't gotten to it."
I frown and check your document istanbul travesti again. "You've had plenty of time..." I say and then look over your head at my colleague who signals that your apartment is clear. I nod at him. "Using the state's service isn't required either. Anyone will do."
"What if I don't want just anyone to be the father of my future child?"
My eyes cut to yours, gaze held. Excuse me? How dare you speak up like this? "Your concern is not important. There is a one child policy that you have to comply with," I tell you, my tone stern and short.
"Yes, sir," you reply and look down between us, obviously uncomfortable. The air between us is thick, sizzling even. I cannot help but notice the attraction I feel toward you. You're a free spirit, I can tell that much. A danger for our society. But you're also beautiful, feminine, childless...and seemingly very fertile.
I hand back your ID. "We'll have to return in three months to check if you've complied with the policy or else we'll have to enforce other consequences. Is that clear?"
Another nod, "clear, sir."
"Good day to you, miss." It's the last thing I say before my colleague and I leave your apartment. One last look at you. My God...you look so effortless and so ready to have a baby.
*My. Baby.*
--
We're done checking the building just after 9 o'clock in the evening. It took longer than expected. The sun has gone down already. No one is expecting me at the base...so I tell my colleague that I'll do one extra round in the building before heading off myself. "Sure," he says and leaves. I take a moment standing in one of the hallways of the building. Low ceilings, two flickering lights above my head. I can hear people fight, laugh, cry. All day my thoughts have been consumed with the thought of you...childless. With those perfect hips to deliver a baby. Why has no man claimed you yet? You're *tiny*. It'd be easy to breed you by force, surely. And you're obliged to have at least one child anyway...
I start heading downstairs, to the second floor, where you live. I pass a resident and nod in greeting. They nod back, although they appear to be intimated and surprised at my presence so late at night. My heart pounds when I knock on your door. I hear you shuffle inside before you call from behind the door, "who is it?"
"Military apartment check," I answer. If I get caught doing what I'm about to do off duty...I'm *fucked*.
You crack the door open, wide eyes gazing up at me. I can tell that you recognize me from before.
"I'll have to come in, miss," I say. Without asking for an explanation, you step in and open the door further. Looking left and right to check whether someone is watching, I enter your apartment and tightly close the door behind me. You're not in your dress anymore. Instead, you're istanbul travestileri wearing a long, white nightdress that is shorter than the required *past the knee* length.
"Sir?" You break the silence as I stare down at you. So vulnerable. I take a step forward; you take a step back. Toward the wall. Your tits move when your back hits the wall. "Did you forget something?" you whisper. I did. I forgot to leave my load inside you.
"You're in violation of the state's one child policy..." I reply and place my hands on either side of you against the wall. You have to crane your neck up to look at me. You don't look scared...instead, you appear to be intrigued. My eyes are hooded with arousal. You smell so sweet...clean, feminine. For a moment, I glance over to your kitchen table. You lit that candle again. God... You. Little. Rebel.
I cup the side of your neck in a quick movement and press my body to yours. You tense up against me, those soft breasts squished against my hard body. "You'll get in trouble if you're not pregnant next time I come here.." I tell you, my tone low and dark. Your eyes close in instant submission, making my dick *throb*. This is not going to take long. I'll just do my duty, as a man, no matter whether I can get in trouble for this or not... fuck. it. You can hear my belt unbuckle when I slide my other hand between us. Zipper rushing down too. I pull out my hard on. I'm ready for this. You better be too.
I reach down, cup your ass, lift you up and then adjust my grip underneath your thighs. Nightdress riding up. You let out a surprised gasp against me, suddenly eye to eye with me. I bet you *know* that my genes are the best you're gonna get for your baby. When I try to remove your panties, I realize you're not wearing any underwear... Jesus Christ. I've never met a woman like you. You better get pregnant with my child.
I line us up and look you right in the eye when I add more pressure to breach your pussy. Your folds aren't wet, but your insides are. I wonder if you thought about me. You don't tell me to stop, all you do is press your lips together so you won't make a sound... I slide my hands to the underside of your knees, open your thighs further and then press deeper inside.
Quick gasps. "Oh *God*," you moan and let your head drop back against the wall. "It's a lot," you gasp, hand hitting against my chest. I don't care... I roll my hips to penetrate you further and then start fucking you. Your boobs bounce against me; your fingers hold on to my shoulders, my biceps. The longer I fuck you, the wetter you get. I love watching the expression on your face, switching from discomfort to pleasure and back. You'll have a soldier's baby. I'll *make* you comply with that one child policy. Mark my words.
The next time I drive in, shaft all slick, your eyes suddenly pop open. travesti istanbul There...hit your cervix. "*Shit*," you hiss. A woman shouldn't be cursing. A woman shouldn't not wear any underwear. Or a nightdress that is as short as yours. I roll my hips again, staying deep inside your pussy to hit that spot, to let my tip kiss your cervix. The sounds you make turn from moans to drawn out, high pitched whimpers. I bet your neighbors can hear through those thin walls. Can hear that you're getting *fucked*. Your toes curl, thighs tense underneath my grip. I moan, close my eyes, and keep pounding you into the wall. I'm getting *closer, closer, closer.* My breath comes out in hitches while my body feels like it's on fire, drawn tight like a spring and ready to release.
I don't really care about your pleasure, but I can hear and feel how much you love it. Your hands try to grip onto me and finally settle on the sides of my neck. And then, just as I'm about to pump my seed deep into you, your thighs start to tremble, feet and toes pointed. Staring up at me in shock, your pussy contracts around me, tensing, releasing, over and over again. As you cry out loudly, your impromptu orgasm forces me over the edge. I grunt against your ear, the sound so deep and primal that you pant against my shoulder, pressed into the wall. Streak after streak of my thick load squirts out against your ripe cervix. I can't think. I can barely breathe. You're still shaking, whimpering, desperately trying to regain control. I breathe against you, shuddering as a last bit of come spills out into you. There you go...
I stay inside you for a moment longer until I let your legs back down. Releasing the left one, then your right one. Your knees buckle as your feet touch the ground; your fingers catch the jacket of my uniform to keep upright. I tuck my cock back in, zip up, buckle my belt. We stand together in silence for a couple more breaths, until I say, "I'll be back in a couple of months."
You nod, smoothing out your nightdress, avoiding my eyes.
"Good night to you, miss," I finally say to excuse myself, step away, grab the door handle, and leave. Done my duty as a man. But if anyone sees me now, I'll surely lose my job.
--
Three months later, my colleague and I are back at your building. My heart rate picks up as we knock on your door. One...two...three...four...five seconds pass by before you open it. Our eyes meet and then my gaze immediately drops to your pregnant belly. A surge of excitement rushes through me, heart pounding and my cock thickening at the sight.
"Miss," I greet you. "Routine check."
You step aside and let us in, your hand protectively holding your bump. You're practically glowing. My colleague sets off to search your apartment while we're in the room alone. I break the silence. "You're expecting?"
You nod and smile. "I am. It's a boy."
I almost smile, but then stop myself. "We will have to come back to check up on the one child policy once you've given birth."
"I understand," you reply and bite down on your bottom lip.
"All clear," my colleague calls. I nod at him.
"Good day to you, miss."