The Matriarchy officials arrived precisely at noon, their crisp black uniforms a stark contrast to the faded walls of the apartment. Three women entered with tablets and scanners, their faces impassive as they methodically examined every corner of the small living space.
The lead inspector, a tall woman with silver-streaked hair pulled into a severe bun, directed her attention to Andrew immediately. Eva stood nervously beside his makeshift crib, hands clasped at her waist while Amara hovered nearby.
"Cultivator A-3, six months of age," the inspector recited, running a scanner over Andrew's body. The device beeped and displayed readings that Andrew couldn't see from his position. "Physical development appears within acceptable parameters."
The second inspector documented their food supplies while the third measured the room dimensions, muttering calculations under her breath.
"You understand this is a mandatory assessment," the lead inspector stated, not looking up from her tablet. "Male cultivators must demonstrate appropriate developmental progress at each six-month interval."
Eva nodded. "Yes, ma'am."
"The next evaluation will be conducted in precisely six months. We expect to see continued progress in motor skills, vocalization, and cognitive development." She finally looked up, her gaze clinical as it swept over Andrew. "Your ration allocation remains at premium level provided the cultivator continues to thrive."
After twenty tense minutes, the officials departed, leaving behind the scent of antiseptic and authority. Eva collapsed onto a chair, exhaling loudly while Amara performed a little victory dance.
"We passed!" Amara twirled, her skirt flaring. "Six more months of premium rations!"
Andrew watched their relief from his crib, his mind wandering. These evaluations meant little to him beyond the momentary disruption. His current helpless state frustrated him—unable to speak, barely able to sit unassisted, entirely dependent on Eva and Amara for everything.
But this wouldn't last forever.
As the summer heat gave way to autumn's cooler embrace, Andrew found himself contemplating his future in this strange world. The restrictions of infancy were temporary inconveniences. Soon enough, he would walk, talk, and establish his own life. The adult knowledge locked within his infant brain provided him a roadmap others lacked—he understood the value society placed on him not as a burden, but as an advantage he could leverage.
Nighttime brought Eva and Amara's whispered conversations, unaware of his comprehension as they discussed the future.
"When he's older, the breeding requests will come," Eva murmured, stroking his hair as he pretended to sleep. "The Matriarchy will demand access."
Amara snorted softly. "They'll have to get in line behind me."
Andrew processed these exchanges with detached amusement. Their world's desperate shortage of fertile males had created a sexual economy where he represented the ultimate prize. Eventually, women would compete for his attention, his genetic material, his favor.
While the sisters worried about Matriarchy regulations and breeding programs, Andrew's concerns were more practical. He needed to reach an age where he could exercise choice, where his adult mind could finally match his physical capabilities. The coming years would require patience as he navigated childhood in a body that housed knowledge far beyond its years.
He had no intention of becoming merely a "bread machine" as the Matriarchy might desire. The biological imperatives of this world aligned conveniently with the prospect of enjoying encounters with beautiful, willing women. The competition for his attention—sometimes comical in its intensity even now—would only grow fiercer as he matured.
For now, though, he remained trapped in infant helplessness, biding his time while the world moved slowly around him. These mandatory evaluations and the sisters' anxieties were merely the background noise to his internal countdown—marking time until his body caught up with his mind.
Time continued to pass. Andrew grew slowly. Another month has passed. Amara and Eva got used to Andrew and he got pretty used to their naked bodies. Amara would even deliberetly spread her legs to show her pussy to him. When Eva was not looking she even gave him a chance to touch it. Andrew did not mind and got his whole hand inside her and moved it in and out a few times. Amara did like it very much.
Another month dissolved into the past, marked by the rising and setting of the moon that cast a soft, ethereal glow through the apartment window. Andrew's world remained confined to the small living space, yet his awareness expanded each day. He learned the rhythm of Eva's gentle footsteps, the lilt of Amara's boisterous laughter. He tracked the shifts in their moods, the subtle differences in their morning routines. Most significantly, he familiarized himself with their bodies.
Initially, their casual nudity surprised him, a stark contrast to the ingrained modesty of his previous life memories. But in this society, clothes were practical, not moral. The heat often demanded minimal coverings, and the small apartment offered little privacy. Their figures became as familiar to him as the pattern on his blanket. Eva, with her strong, rounded curves, moved with a fluid grace. Amara, smaller and more compact, possessed a vibrant energy that animated her every movement.
Amara, particularly, shed any lingering inhibitions where Andrew was concerned. She held no pretense of shame or secrecy around him. She would change clothes, sometimes linger, her hands on her hips, admiring her reflection in the dusty mirror. Andrew, propped in his crib, observed it all.
One sweltering afternoon, Amara lay splayed on the worn rug, a light dress barely covering her. The fabric bunched, revealing the dark triangle between her legs. She stretched languidly, her eyes locking with Andrew's. A slow, knowing smile touched her lips. She spread her legs a little wider, an invitation in her gaze.
Andrew felt a familiar thrum of his own burgeoning physicality, a nascent response to the display. He made a small gurgling sound.
Amara's smile widened. She remained there, casually exposed, as if daring him. He watched, fascinated by her boldness.
Later that week, while Eva stepped out to collect their rations, Amara picked Andrew up, settling him on her hip.
"Curious, aren't you?" she whispered, her voice low. She padded into the small bathroom, sitting on the edge of the tub. She pulled her dress up, her legs parting easily. "Come on, then." She guided his small hand, warm and soft, towards her.
Andrew's fingers brushed against coarse hair, then slick, yielding flesh. The scent surrounded him, clean and intensely feminine. He complied, his hand moving tentatively. Amara sighed, a soft sound. She kept her eyes on his, a playful challenge in their depths.
He pushed his whole hand inside, the warmth encompassing his tiny fingers. He moved it, slowly at first, then with increasing confidence, imitating a motion he vaguely recalled. Amara's breath hitched. She arched her back slightly, her head tipping towards the ceiling. Her grip on his waist tightened. A low moan escaped her lips.
He watched her face, the flush that spread across her cheeks, the way her eyes fluttered shut. This reaction, this intense physical pleasure, registered as raw data in his developing brain. It aligned with his understanding of human desire, a powerful current that ran beneath the surface of their lives.
When Eva's footsteps sounded in the hallway, Amara quickly adjusted her dress, her eyes still sparkling with a mischievous light. She lifted Andrew, pressing a quick, firm kiss against his forehead. He remained silent, his small hand still tingling from the intimate contact. The experience solidified his understanding of the power he held, even in his current limited form. He was not just a cultivator, a future father. He was a vessel for primal urges, a catalyst for pleasure. And Amara, it seemed, was very much aware of it.
Andrew did it on purpose. For Amara to not be a smartass. He was an infant, but if she was trying some stupid stuff with him he would just do something crazy. He did not mind, because as an infant he could potentially shove all his hand up to his shoulder in there and no one will say anything even if Eva will see it. She would scold Amara for it, but not him. Time continued to pass until Andrew became one year old.
Andrew recognized the gleam in Amara's eyes whenever Eva left them alone—that particular smile that meant she'd try something inappropriate again. While part of him enjoyed these encounters, her smug superiority grated on him. She treated these moments as if she were cleverly manipulating an infant, unaware that behind his baby face lurked an adult consciousness calculating his own advantages.
The next time she settled him on her lap, cooing those sickeningly sweet words while guiding his hand, Andrew decided to change the script. He waited until she relaxed into the familiar rhythm, her eyes half-closed with anticipation, before plunging his entire arm forward with surprising force. His tiny limb disappeared almost to the elbow.
Amara yelped, jerking backward and nearly toppling them both. Her eyes flew open in shock as she scrambled to extract his arm.
"What the—" She stared at him, bewildered and slightly alarmed. "How did you...?"
Andrew met her gaze with innocent blinking, but allowed a small, knowing smile to form on his lips. The message was clear: he wasn't merely a passive participant in her games.
Her cockiness diminished after that incident. She still engaged in their private activities, but approached him with a newfound wariness, as if sensing the calculating mind behind his infant eyes. The power dynamic shifted subtly—she no longer acted with complete control of their encounters.
Once, when Eva nearly walked in on them, Amara's panicked reaction provided Andrew with another opportunity. As she hastily adjusted her clothing, he deliberately smeared his wet hand across her bare thigh, leaving an unmistakable trail of evidence. Eva's sharp eyes caught the glistening streak, and Amara endured a blistering lecture about appropriate boundaries.
"He's a baby, for God's sake!" Eva had shouted, her usual gentleness evaporating.
"I wasn't—he just touched—" Amara stammered, unable to explain without incriminating herself further.
Andrew merely gurgled, playing his role perfectly while enjoying Amara's discomfort. She shot him a bewildered glance, clearly wondering if his actions had been deliberate.
These small rebellions gave Andrew satisfaction during the frustrating months of physical helplessness. His mind remained sharp while his body slowly, painfully developed. He learned to sit unassisted, then crawl, exploring the apartment's limited space while cataloging its features with adult comprehension.
Eva documented each milestone meticulously for the Matriarchy's records, unaware of how deliberately he timed his achievements. He calculated exactly when to demonstrate new skills—not too advanced to trigger suspicion, but enough to maintain their premium rations and favorable status.
The seasons changed, marking time's passage. Winter's chill gave way to spring warmth, then summer's sweltering heat returned. Through it all, Andrew observed, learned, and planned. He absorbed the patterns of this society through Eva's conversations with neighbors, through the announcements that crackled over community speakers, through the whispered discussions between the sisters late at night.
On the morning of his first birthday, Eva decorated their small table with a handmade banner. She'd fashioned a cake from their precious sugar ration, its surface glazed with a thin layer of sweetness. Amara bounced around the room, her energy infectious despite the complicated history between her and Andrew.
"One whole year!" Eva scooped him up, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "My perfect little man."
Andrew allowed himself to enjoy their celebration while silently acknowledging the milestone's true significance: one year down, perhaps around ten more before he could fully claim his autonomy in this female-dominated world. The clock was ticking, and patience remained his greatest asset.