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You can read more original fiction from Emily Chesley in the Meanderings of the Emily Chesley Reading Circle<

Generation
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Generation
--a speculative fiction by Paul Suttie

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Bellinda, armed for indomitable pursuit of her lusts with that quality called 'pluck'.

The eugenics program had outdone itself in generating Lars. Two metres tall and formidably muscular, he also matched disarming flaxen good looks with (what was no minor draw on the aficionadas) doubletake-inducing equipment downstairs. When Lars took part in the contests, the revenue always soared. But besides those whose desire for him expressed itself vicariously through the betting circuit, many pursued him in the flesh; and, himself a virtual slave to preternatural tides of testosterone, he had not been backward in gratifying their curiosity. Nonetheless, amongst all these, one alone had now garnered his undivided attention - one who, though small of frame, astonished him with her stoic endurance of his outsized embraces, the almost-anguished buckings with which she bestrode his bulk. This was Bellinda, armed for indomitable pursuit of her lusts with that quality called 'pluck', imparted in its full robustness only by the very best of girls' schools. It was to Bellinda, now, that Lars resorted daily to relieve the terrible burden of his manhood.

The shareholders, meanwhile, looked with worry on Lars's liaisons, and continually urged him to address his needs with the available virtual means rather than resorting to real women. For Lars was breeding stock: not only himself umpteen times named 'best in show', but now intended for the fathering of a yet more remarkable, more lucrative brood. With no genetic tampering in his history, only old-fashioned breeder's diligence, he was a tremendous capital, eligible for the strictest and most prestigious of contests, where the biggest stakes were waged. Yet it was not Lars himself the shareholders owned, only his genetic material - so that, as long as he did not actually impregnate an unselected female, his behaviour was not actionable by them. This Lars knew. There were endless reprimands, and ceaseless media predictions of his fall (suppose his latest amour were the plant of a rival syndicate, aiming by her pregnancy to embroil him in lawsuit and scandal?); but the big man quietly retained his nerve.

Now as it happened, Bellinda actually was in a rival syndicate's pay. But she had quickly become addicted to Lars's incomparable capabilities, and not wishing now to lose them for any pecuniary reward, was playing a hazardous game of delay.