A Stitch in Time Saves Nine

I squeezed her butt again. "Well, as you point out, we don't have to worry about that little issue, not as long as I have your derriere as an alternative option for intercourse."

"Honey!" Frankie protested again. "Not here!"

I guess the trip to the museum made Frankie and me horny, because, by the time the DNA scrambler had reassembled our bodies at home, we were both "hot to trot," as they said in the old days (although why anyone would associate jogging with fucking is beyond me).

However, in just under an hour, we had an engagement we couldn't postpone. The Council of Extended Existence had ordered us to appear before them to argue our case for another nine-year extension of our lifetime. With everyone everywhere fucking everyone else, the world is in a population crisis. To survive as a species, we have to curtail the amount of time that anyone is allowed to live. Everyone is guaranteed a minimum life expectancy of twenty-one years, but, after that, he or she has to justify any extensions that the Council may award him or her, and, after the first extension, it becomes increasingly difficult to make one's case. If we're granted another nine years of life, this will be our third extension. We're hopeful, but not overly so.

Maybe the chance that we'd lose our case and be euthanized also added to our intense need to breed. In any case, whatever the reason, we were half mad with lust by the time our scrambled bodies were reassembled and we were home again from our trip to the museum.

We could make love, I told Frankie, but we'd have to settle for a "quickie."

Frankie set her clitoris for a fifteen-minute orgasm, and we proceeded to fuck.

I'm an ass male--or hemale--and Frankie is gracious--or submissive--enough to receive me in this manner. Knowing our time was limited, she assumed the position quickly, kneeling on our float-a-bed and dropping to her elbows so that, her legs spread wide and her beautiful, sleek buttocks high in the air, she presented her anus to me.