The restaurant was small, intimate, with soft lighting that felt at odds with Reagan's usual sterile efficiency. She sat across from Morty, feeling strangely exposed in civilian clothes—a rare luxury. Her phone sat face-down on the table; she'd silenced all alerts.
"The curry is good," she said mechanically, taking a bite. "You were right."
Morty watched her.
He nodded casually. "Yeah, I have good taste." His eyes never left her face. He wasn't looking at her like a colleague would—or like Brett Hand would. He'd studied her extensively—her past boyfriends, her father's influence, her pattern of self-isolation. He'd seen how she'd push away every man who got close.
Reagan kept her eyes fixed on her plate, avoiding his gaze. The intimacy of the setting—the soft lighting, the quiet murmur of other diners—made her skin prickle. She wasn't used to this. To being seen as something other than a CIA asset or a brilliant roboticist.
"So," Morty said casually, leaning back in his chair.
"So what?" she replied without looking up. Her demeanor was clipped—defensive. She was used to interrogation, to being the one in control, not the one being examined.
Morty smiled slightly, his Ultimate Mind cataloging her reaction—the way her fingers drummed against the tablecloth, the tension in her jaw, the avoiding eye contact. He had observed similar patterns before.
"Just making conversation," he said easily, unperturbed by her frostiness. "We're not just talking shop tonight, remember? No work, no CIA, just... us." The Breeder Essence helped him keep his tone light, non-threatening—just a guy chatting up a girl on a date.
Morty paused mid-bite, tilting his head. "Do you do one-night stands?" he asked casually, as if discussing weather patterns. The question hung heavy in the quiet restaurant—bold, irreverent, completely inappropriate for a colleague's dinner. But Morty's Ultimate Mind calculated carefully—he'd studied her past, her failed relationships, her father's control.
Reagan didn't even look up from her plate. "Occasionally," she said flatly, her voice stripped of emotion. A casual admission—like discussing a recurring maintenance task. "It's efficient. No strings, no complications. Once it's done, you move on."
Morty's Ultimate Mind processed this information—she saw sex as a transaction, a brief physical release with no emotional attachments. It confirmed what he'd suspected—that she'd had few genuine relationships, that her father's overprotective influence had warped her understanding of intimacy. He chose his next words carefully. "So..."Morty leaned forward slightly, his tone conversational. "So why not both? Dinner, then one-night stand." He delivered it like a simple proposition—nothing dirty about it. His Ultimate Mind calculated the strategy—he'd already made her feel comfortable, safe, seen in a way no other man had managed. The Breeder Essence softened her defenses.
Reagan choked slightly on her curry.
The Breeder Essence hummed loudly, processing the invitation instantly. It immediately understood the strategy—he wasn't just asking for sex; he was offering a controlled, no-strings-attached encounter. Something she was already comfortable with. He was framing it as a simple extension of dinner. Efficient. Practical.
Reagan's breath caught. Her thighs pressed together under the table, a sudden warmth flooding her core that had nothing to do with curry. The Breeder Essence's porn rules effect hit her hard—making Morty look unbearably attractive, his casual proposition suddenly feeling like the hottest thing anyone had ever asked her.
"Where?" she asked, voice dropping low.
"Your place or mine?" Morty asked casually, as if discussing logistics for a work project. His Ultimate Mind calculated—the Breeder Essence was working perfectly. She was considering it. Heating up. He saw how her thighs pressed together, how her breathing had changed. He knew those signs.
"Mine," Reagan said immediately, her voice firm. She wanted control—wanted him in her territory. The Breeder Essence amplified this desire, making her want to dominate him sexually just as she did professionally. Morty nodded casually, taking another bite of curry. "No problem." He swallowed.
"We should pay," Morty said smoothly, sliding out of his chair. His hand lingered near the bill—not quite touching hers, but close. The Breeder Essence made her notice the warmth radiating from him, the subtle scent of his cologne.
Reagan reached for her purse, but Morty was already pulling out his card. "I invited you," he said simply. "My treat."
Reagan watched as Morty handled the payment effortlessly—professional, in control. The contrast to her usual cold, transactional encounters was striking. His casual dominance was turning her on more than she cared to admit. She stood up abruptly, grabbing her coat. "Let's go," she ordered.
Morty followed her out, a small smile playing on his lips. His Ultimate Mind noted her abrupt departure—she was eager. The Breeder Essence was fully engaged now, turning her thoughts into a haze of desire and dominance. As they stepped out into the cool night air, Morty fell into step beside her.
"Which way?" he asked, hands in his pockets.
"Left," she said, already walking briskly. Her heels clicked against the pavement—a nervous energy she couldn't suppress. The Breeder Essence made every detail of him stand out—the way his neck moved when he spoke, the flex of his jaw, the casual confidence in his stride. She wanted him naked. Immediately.
They walked through quiet streets—late enough that few people were out. Reagan's apartment building was upscale, secure—CIA approved. She swiped her badge at the entrance, not even thinking about security protocol. The Breeder Essence made her careless—Morty was a subordinate, but right now he was something else entirely.
"Floor 7,"
The elevator ride was agonizing. She stared at the floor numbers ticking up—4, 5, 6—each one making the Breeder Essence pulse harder. Morty stood casually beside her, his reflection in the polished metal making her breath hitch. He looked infuriatingly unbothered. She was the one practically vibrating with suppressed need.
7. The doors slid open.
She hadn't even crossed the threshold before the Breeder Essence completely overwhelmed her. The moment the elevator doors opened, Reagan's control shattered. She turned, slamming her palm against the wall beside the door—keeping him trapped inside. Her chest heaved, pupils dilated.
"In." Her voice was hoarse, barely commanding.
Morty stepped inside without hesitation. The Breeder Essence made him understand instinctively that Reagan was past thinking logically. Her pupils were huge, her cheeks flushed—a dead giveaway she was in full-blown mating mode. The essence amplified every sexual cue—her quick breathing, her dominant stance. He swallowed hard.
The door slammed shut behind him. Reagan advanced, backing him against the wall—her body pressing close, her lips inches from his. "Off," she demanded, gesturing to his shirt. Her hands were shaking slightly with restrained need. The Breeder Essence made her aggressive, demanding.
Morty's hands flew to his shirt buttons, fingers fumbling in his haste to comply. His mind was a whirlwind of calculations—her pheromones were off the charts, her body language screaming dominance and desire. He shed his shirt, revealing pale skin and a quickening heartbeat. Reagan's eyes raked over his chest hungrily.
Reagan didn't wait. She pushed him harder against the wall, her mouth seeking his neck—nipping, sucking, marking. The Breeder Essence amplified everything: his pulse, his scent, the way his chest rose and fell. She was feral, controlled aggression giving way to pure need. Her hands moved to his belt, fingers working the buckle with desperate efficiency. "Bathroom. Now."
Morty stumbled forward as she shoved him towards the bathroom. The Breeder Essence made his movements jerky, his thoughts scattered. He barely registered the cold marble countertop under his palms as she pushed him down onto it. Her hands were already at his pants, pulling them down roughly along with his boxers.
She was ruthless, the Breeder Essence stripping away any pretense of gentleness. Her hands gripped his hips, pulling him to the edge of the counter as she stepped between his thighs. She didn't even bother removing her own clothes—just pushed her skirt up and ripped off her underwear.
With no more barriers, she straddled him, lifting herself slightly before slamming down on him. The sudden tightness and warmth made his eyes roll back. He could feel her inner muscles clenching around him instinctively, the Breeder Essence pushing her to mate aggressively. "Fuck..."
Reagan's nails dug into his shoulders as her body adapted—fighting a battle she didn't want to win. The Breeder Essence made each new sensation sharper, more overwhelming. Her mouth was pressed against his ear, breath scorching hot. "Don't you dare—" she hissed, "—don't you dare get comfortable."
She was already moving—bouncing hard on his cock, not waiting for him to adjust. The Breeder Essence made her relentless, greedy. Each downward thrust pushed her further toward the edge. She hated this. Hated how good he felt. How his hands gripped her hips. How his scent made her feral.
"One night," she reminded him through gritted teeth. "Nothing more."
Morty nodded, his hands tightening on her hips—guiding her pace. The Breeder Essence hummed with his compliance. One night. Efficient. No strings. Nothing more. Reagan's hips tilted, adjusting to the depth, her breathing still controlled despite the obvious pleasure. She still didn't like this—didn't like how easily he was handling her.
"Faster."
Morty shifted his hips, meeting her demand with a brutal, rhythmic pounding. Each thrust made his Ultimate Mind work overtime—calculating the Breeder Essence's effects, mapping her reactions. He'd seen this pattern before: the intense need for control, the aggressive pace, the verbal reminders of boundaries. She'd hit his cock hard and fast, but he knew what was coming next.
"Mmm, you're good," Reagan admitted through gritted teeth. Her movements didn't slow—if anything, they sped up. "But you're not gonna last." She leaned back, changing the angle, hitting that spot inside her that made her legs shake. "Are you?"
Morty's breath hitched as she leaned back, his hands sliding up to grip her thighs. The new angle was exquisite torture, his cock rubbing against that perfect spot with each thrust. He calculated rapidly—she was right. At this pace, he'd last maybe five more minutes. But that wasn't the plan.
The nanobots within his system immediately responded to his mental command, adjusting his physiology. His stamina increased exponentially, his body preparing to endure hours of intense activity without weariness or depletion. His heart rate remained steady, his breathing controlled, and his muscles strengthened.
Morty's movements suddenly became superhumanly fast and forceful. Each thrust was like a jackhammer, making Reagan's eyes widen in shock. She lost her rhythm, her mouth dropping open as he took control—pounding into her at an inhuman pace.
Reagan's eyes rolled back as the pace suddenly shifted from manageable to punishing. The Breeder Essence amplified her reactions—her nails digging into Morty's back, her voice catching in a high-pitched squeak. She was used to domination, not this level of brutal efficiency. "Slow... down..."
Morty ignored her command, his Ultimate Mind calculating her imminent pleasure despite her protests. He knew this pace would drive her wild—each thrust hitting that spot inside her that made her see stars. Reagan's mouth opened in a silent "Oh" as he slammed into her deeper, harder, faster than any human could.
Her control shattered completely. She stopped trying to dominate, stopped giving orders. Her body was reacting purely to the sensations—the deep, brutal pounding that had her seeing stars. Her thighs trembled, her core clenched rhythmically around his cock. "M-Morty—" She'd never used his name before. The Breeder Essence was winning. She was losing. "Please—"
Morty leaned forward, his voice low in her ear—calm, controlled, even as he continued the relentless pace. "Shh," he soothed, knowing she was on the verge of begging. "You were saying something about me not lasting?" He smirked, his hips never slowing.
"Fuck you," Reagan panted, her hands slapping against his chest. But the motion only pushed her further down on his length, making her gasp. The Breeder Essence was consuming her—making her desperate, needy. She hated this. Hated how good he felt.
"Language," Morty teased, his hands gripping her hips as he shifted them slightly. The new angle hit her G-spot with every thrust, making her cry out. The sound was music to his ears—he was breaking her. Breaking the tough, dominant woman into a moaning, pleading mess.
"I-I hate you," Reagan sobbed, her body convulsing as an orgasm hit her without warning. Her inner walls clenched around him tightly, but Morty didn't stop—he kept going at the same brutal pace, chasing another release for her. The Breeder Essence demanded it. He demanded it.
"You hate—" he paused, slamming deeper— "—this?" Her head snapped back, another orgasm crashing through her before she could answer. The Breeder Essence made her hate how good he felt, how easily he dominated, how his rhythm made her forget her own rules. Her thighs were shaking uncontrollably now, unable to keep up with his pace. "S-stop—"
"No," Morty said flatly, maintaining the ruthless pace. His Ultimate Mind calculated her next orgasm with brutal precision. He knew this rhythm would drive her to the brink of madness—where pleasure became pain, where control became submission. Reagan's eyes rolled back, a silent scream escaping her lips.
"Stop," she gasped, "I'm serious..."
"So am I," Morty replied, his voice calm and even. He felt her body tensing, preparing for another release. The Breeder Essence was consuming her—making her sensitive, overwhelmed. He slowed his pace slightly, grinding against her clit with each thrust. "Last chance..."
"Last chance for... what?" she panted, her mind foggy. Her hands gripped his shoulders desperately, her nails digging in hard enough to draw blood. The Breeder Essence made her body disobey her mind—arching into his touches, craving more despite her words.
"Last chance to admit you're losing control," Morty whispered, his lips brushing against her ear. He slowed to a grinding halt, staying deep inside her. The Breeder Essence pulsed, demanding submission. "Admit it, and I'll stop."
"I-I'm not," she lied, her voice strained. She hated this—hated how he played her body like an instrument. Hated how her lies sounded weak, her threats empty. Morty simply smiled, resuming his brutal pace—his hips moving in perfect rhythm with her racing heart.
"Wrong answer," Morty murmured, his voice laced with amusement. He increased the intensity, hitting that perfect spot inside her with every thrust. Her body betrayed her again—another orgasm building rapidly despite her mental protests. The Breeder Essence was winning; she was losing control completely.
Morty felt the familiar tingle at the base of his spine, signaling his approaching orgasm. The Breeder Essence amplified his sensations, making each thrust feel electric. He knew he was close—his balls tightening, his movements growing more erratic. But he held back, calculating the perfect moment to claim his victory.
Morty's grip tightened on her hips, his pace becoming punishing as he neared his peak. The Breeder Essence made everything more intense—each thrust sending sparks through his body, her moans pushing him closer. Reagan could feel the change in him—the way his breathing grew heavier, the way his cock was swelling inside her.
"You..." she gasped, recognizing the imminent threat.
"Mhm," he hummed, his thrusts becoming shallower but more forceful, hitting her spot with brutal precision. His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper against her ear, "Last chance to admit you're not in control before I fill your belly with my cum." The Breeder Essence amplified every word, making it sound like a promise.
Her whole body jolted at his words—the threat of his cum making her inner walls clench hard. The Breeder Essence was screaming at her to submit, to admit defeat. But her mind fought back. She gritted her teeth, even as another orgasm teased her. "N-never..." she lied, her voice trembling. Morty smirked, feeling his orgasm getting closer.
"Wrong answer," Morty confirmed, his thrusts deepening as his body neared its limit. His Ultimate Mind calculated the impact—he was seconds away from releasing inside her, filling her completely. The Breeder Essence made her feel it coming—the heat, the pressure. "This is it," he whispered dangerously. "The moment you break."
Before she could respond, Morty's body shuddered violently, and he gave a low growl. The Breeder Essence surged, amplifying his orgasm to an intense, uncontrollable level. He came hard and deep, his release pumping directly into her core—an overwhelming, dominating flood that left her breathless and gasping.
"There it is,"
Morty felt her body go completely limp in his arms as he continued flooding her with hot, thick release. Her back arched one final time before her eyes rolled up and her mouth fell open in a silent scream. A powerful orgasm ripped through her, uncontrolled and overwhelming, as she tumbled into unconsciousness.
Morty mentally commanded the Breeder Essence, reprogramming its function on the fly. Instead of facilitating pregnancy, he ordered it to act as a contraceptive—neutralizing his cum before it could reach her eggs, blocking any implantation attempts. The essence complied instantly, ensuring that despite his massive release filling her completely, there would be no pregnancy this time. He watched her limp form, still twitching from her orgasm.
Morty pulled out slowly, his cock still rock-hard despite his recent release—another effect of the Breeder Essence. He looked down at Reagan's unconscious form, her body spent and leaking his seed. The observation was clinical, detached.
"Normal humans aren't good partners. That's good to know for the future."
He stepped back, the Breeder Essence receding from his system.
Morty quickly cleaned himself up, wiping away the remaining signs of the intense encounter before pulling his clothes back on. He felt almost refreshed, the Breeder Essence having left him energized rather than drained. Opening a portal, he stepped through into the familiar garage of his own universe. Morty muttered to himself, "Another successful experiment. No pregnancy this time. Good data collected."