Chapter Text
“You’re twelve, Tucker. You’re not supposed to feel like this already,” Mr. Greer said, his voice low, almost a whisper, but laced with something sharp, something predatory. The dim light of the storage room flickered above them, casting long shadows that seemed to stretch and twist like something alive. Tucker’s heart thudded in his chest, the sound almost deafening in the small, confined space. His gym shorts clung to his legs, damp with sweat, and the air smelled faintly of dust and teen boy musk, but also something metallic—like fear. “I—I didn’t mean to—” Tucker stammered, his voice cracking as he backed up against the cold metal shelves. His mind raced, fragments of what had just happened jumbling together like pieces of a puzzle he couldn’t quite fit. How had it all gone so wrong so fast? He’d only been bragging, hadn’t he? Just telling the other guys in gym class about how he’d been jerking off and shot cum, actual semen, for the first time. It wasn’t something he’d planned, it just happened, and now… now he was here. It was embarrassing, sure, but it was also cool, in a way. Proof that he wasn’t a kid anymore. That he was growing up.
But Mr. Greer had overheard. And now here they were.
Mr. Greer stepped closer, his polished loafers clicking against the concrete floor. His tie was loosened, the top button of his shirt undone, and his breath smelled faintly of coffee. He tilted his head, studying Tucker like he was some kind of specimen under a microscope. “Do you know how special you are, Tucker?” he asked, his voice smooth, almost soothing, but it sent a shiver down Tucker’s spine. “You’re at the perfect age. The most fertile. The most valuable.”
Tucker’s stomach churned. He’d heard the rumors, of course. Every kid had. About boys being taken, about the black market, about the money people would pay for… well, for what he had. But it had always seemed like some far-off horror story, something that happened to other people, not him. Not Tucker.
“Please,” Tucker whispered, his voice trembling. “I just want to go home.”
Mr. Greer smiled then, a slow, crooked grin that didn’t reach his eyes. “Oh, you’ll go home,” he said softly. “Eventually. But first… first, we’re going to have a little chat. Just you and me.”
It had started innocuously enough. Just another Tuesday morning, the sun streaming through the blinds of the classroom, the faint hum of the air conditioner in the background. Tucker had been doodling in his notebook, half-listening to Mr. Greer drone on about the Industrial Revolution. He liked Mr. Greer, honestly. He was young, for a teacher, and he had this way of making even the most boring topics seem interesting. He cracked jokes, told stories, and always seemed to have a kind word for everyone. He was the kind of teacher kids actually liked.
But then gym class happened.
“Dude, I’m telling you, I woke up hard and started to jerk off, then it happened, like a fountain of cum, I must have shot 15 times,” Tucker had exaggerated, his voice a little too loud, a little too eager. The other boys had laughed, some of them snickering, others making mocking gagging noises. Tucker had grinned, basking in the attention. It wasn’t every day he got to be the center of the conversation.
“Gross, man,” one of the boys said, wrinkling his nose. “What are you, some sort of fag? Why tell us about your love spunk unless you want one of us to come over next time and eat it up, faggot.”
“Oh, shut up, Mason,” Tucker shot back, laughing. “You’re just jealous because you’re still waiting for yours.”
The laughter had echoed through the locker room, but Tucker hadn’t noticed Mr. Greer standing by the door, his arms crossed, his expression unreadable. “Tucker,” he’d said, his voice cutting through the chatter like a knife. “Stay behind after class. I need to talk to you.”
The other boys had exchanged glances, some of them smirking, others rolling their eyes. Tucker had felt a flicker of unease, but he’d shrugged it off. Maybe he’d been a little too loud. Maybe Mr. Greer was just going to give him a lecture about being more respectful. Whatever. It was no big deal.
Except it was a big deal.
Now, standing in the storage room with Mr. Greer looming over him, Tucker wished he’d kept his mouth shut. Wished he’d never said a word. The air felt thick, heavy, like it was pressing down on him, and his hands were clammy, his breath coming in short, shallow gasps.
“You don’t have to be scared, Tucker,” Mr. Greer said, his voice soft, almost gentle. He reached out, brushing a strand of hair out of Tucker’s eyes, and the boy flinched, his heart racing. “I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to help you. To make sure you’re… taken care of.”
Tucker swallowed hard, his throat dry. “I don’t need help,” he whispered, his voice barely audible.
Mr. Greer chuckled, a low, dark sound that sent a chill through Tucker’s veins. “Oh, but you do,” he said. “You don’t even know how much you need it. You’re special, Tucker. Do you understand that? Special. And there are people out there who would pay a fortune to have what you’ve got.”
Tucker’s stomach twisted. He didn’t want to be special. He didn’t want any of this. He just wanted to go home, to crawl into bed and pretend none of this had happened.
But Mr. Greer was still talking, his voice smooth, relentless. “The first time, Tucker. That’s when it’s the most potent. The when when your young teen semen is most valuable. And you’re right on the edge of it. I can’t let that go to waste.”
Tucker froze, he wanted his dad, he felt so vulnerable and afraid and didn't know what to do next. His chest felt tight, like he couldn’t breathe, and tears stung the corners of his eyes.
Mr. Greer’s smile widened, but there was nothing warm about it. Nothing kind. “Oh, Tucker,” he said, his voice almost a whisper. “You are going to enjoy this, I know a group who will pay five times the amount the FertSperm company pays out. Think of it, your family could be wealthy, you could be set financially for the rest of your life, and all you have to do is jack off into a cup once a day. Starting today.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, glass container, holding it up to the light. Tucker’s breath caught in his throat as he realized what it was for.
“No,” he whispered, shaking his head. “Please, no.”
But Mr. Greer was already stepping closer, his smile turning almost tender. “It’ll be quick, Tucker,” he said softly. “You're 12? A soft breeze of wind could make your young sensitive cock pump out your balls' load. You'll love this, I promise.”
Tucker’s vision blurred, his legs trembling as he the older Mr. Greer kneeled between them, removing his shorts revealing his young, musty, scarecely-pubed teen boy cock. Mr. Greer had waited for a moment like this ever since the news broke about the male fertility crisis. He decided to enjoy his spoils and savored the taste of the 12 year old's ball sack on his tongue, lapping his sack. Tucker froze in ecstatic fear, the sheer amount of pleasure paralyzied him, he was being molested, but his young teen boy hormones would not let him protest. Mr. Greer hungrily lapped at the teen boy's sack, then up the small cock shaft, swallowed the tip, then the entire cock and balls into his mouth.
It took only a few seconds and young Tucker exploded inside the older man's mouth. Shot after shot, rope after rope of potent, fertile, 12 year old teen boy sperm shot inside the older man's mouth which his greedily savored, then swallowed. He knew this was a crime-- to waste any fertile semen was a crime against humanity's future. But he didn't care.
When the boy finally finished cumming, Mr. Greer sat up, wiped his mouth, looked at the boy, and made a sinister grin. He reached into his pant pocket, pulled out a syringe, removed the cap and ever so swiftly jabbed it into Tucker's thigh. Tucker yelped, but the paralytic sedative worked quickly, and he was out.
Mr. Greer felt his thick cock harden in his pants as he watched the helpless unconscious beautiful teen boy beneath him. He removed his pants, stroked his aching cock, spit into his hand which he then furiously rubbed onto the leaking head of his cock. He lifted the sleeping boy's legs to his chest, aimed his steel hard cock do the young boy's virgin hole, and slammed inside with one brutal, guttural thrust.