It is the year 2054. Male contraception finally made it through the clinical trials and is now commercially being sold. It's price fluctuates because it has to be cheaper than the market selling price of a newborn.
You ease yourself into the bed, making sure not to tear the brittle mattress material. Your carcinogen-free subscription ended a few months ago and now your matress' secretes harmful compounds into the already stale air. It doesn't need to, but it turned out that people are willing to pay for a cancer-free mattress so the manufacturer put them in. You can even pay with newborns, making the mattress usage somewhat of a circular process.
The composite waifu laying next to you is unrecognizable. The site you got it from used your public brain profile, analyzing your entire psyche with AI to ensure you get a sexual product that precisely caters to your personal sexual niches. Sadly you didn't delete the part about your traumatic childhood parental issues properly and the big tittied composite organic laying next to you doesn't stop complaining about how "bad of a choice it was to become a TikTok tradwife and sell the 18 kids bΓ©fore the newbown market boom, because thats just poor investment". The composite resembles nothing really. Classic AI obesity. It got fed too much of it's own content and it has lost all semantical and visual connection to meaning.
Accepting that you spent all your company scrip on the darn composite you decide to go down on it anyways. The contaception switch in your balls needs to be flicked first. Impregnating a composite waifu is regarded as copyright infringement. It is heavily enforced because the AI guild is the last remaining functioning Union. You flick it through the skin of your sac and it links with your brain implant. You remember Eunich Premium expired again and it reminds you that you have to watch three ads before your balls can turn off. You don't understand any of the ads. Theyre catered to the fucking composite, who due to your preferences, is french. The chip in your brain makes your mouth dictate the ads to the composite laying next to you. The composite listens to the advertorial, nods when hearing some great deal and whips out a tablet to order two pizza's with none pizza left beef.
You still haven't had sex.
