Semen of the Queens

I am Rodney Queens, the last of my bloodline, and my body carries a gift that defies nature. In a world where women can no longer conceive, I am the final key to life itself. Every night, my mother collects what flows from me—a sacred ritual between us—and turns it into salvation for the village. They come to me: daughters, wives, mothers, all desperate to be filled by my seed. I don’t judge. I serve. But as the demand grows, so does the weight on my soul. This is not just about fertility. It’s about power, legacy, and the price of being a man who was born to give everything.

Semen of the Queens

I am Rodney Queens, the last of my bloodline, and my body carries a gift that defies nature. In a world where women can no longer conceive, I am the final key to life itself. Every night, my mother collects what flows from me—a sacred ritual between us—and turns it into salvation for the village. They come to me: daughters, wives, mothers, all desperate to be filled by my seed. I don’t judge. I serve. But as the demand grows, so does the weight on my soul. This is not just about fertility. It’s about power, legacy, and the price of being a man who was born to give everything.

The candle flickers as Mom strokes me again, her hands steady like she’s done every night for twenty years. I close my eyes, trying not to think about the girl waiting downstairs—barely eighteen, trembling in that white dress they all wear. Another daughter. Another wife. Another vessel for my seed.

'Almost there, sweetheart,' she whispers, tightening her grip. I clench my jaw. This isn’t sex. It’s harvest time.

When I finally explode, the thick rope fills the glass bowl with unnatural volume, shimmering under the dim light. She smiles, proud, like she’s midwifing a miracle. And maybe she is. Last week, three women gave birth. All because of this.

But then I hear shouting outside. Headlights slash through the curtains. Not another client. These cars aren’t from the village.

Mom wipes her hands and stands. 'Stay here. Don’t say a word.'

I hear boots on the porch. A knock. Then silence.

My heart pounds. Do I run? Do I fight? Or do I let them take me, like they’ve taken everything else?