Go Broncos!

Forced milking, humiliation, kidnapping

A water polo team finds themselves in an involuntary milking situation.

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Go Broncos!

Phil looked ahead as the tunnel approached. He hated it. A mile carved through solid rock. No radio, no phone, no way of communicating with the outside world at all in case of emergency.

He’d been driving through it for 20 years now; more than a dozen times a year and nothing approaching trouble had ever occurred but he still felt a sense of foreboding as it approached. This time, his apprehension was to be justified…

 

Behind him, he heard the raucous sound of a team that had just earned a well-deserved victory in the state water polo championships. Thirteen players plus coaches, assistants, and supporters brought the total number of passengers up to just over 40 people, all laughing and joking in the happy aftermath of a hard-fought match.

 

Phil drove several teams from Graves Academy to their meets around the country. The football team was the worst; all testosterone and crude humour. But he quite liked the water polo team. They were just as athletic, but the sport tended to attract less jockish boys.

He pressed the transmit button that would relay what he said into his headset mike to the public address system on the bus.

“Guys, we’re about a minute away from the tunnel. If you’re on the phone I suggest you make it quick. Signal will be gone soon.”

 

Coach Sam stood. The adults tended to sit at the front whilst the students sat at the rear where they could talk in privacy.

“Okay boys, hear that,” he said to the rear half of the bus. “Kiss your moms or girlfriends goodbye, and tell them you’ll be home in 90 minutes!”

He smiled and the noise level rose a few decibels.

“Or boyfriends, eh Wyatt?” one of them joked.

“I didn’t know you had a new boyfriend James,” Wyatt shot back to the amusement of the surrounding students.

“Burn!” someone said.

Coach Sam grinned at their good-natured banter. They were a great bunch of guys. No malice in any of them.

A minute later, the bus entered the tunnel.

 

For the first quarter of a mile, the journey continued as usual. Then up ahead, Phil saw a flashing blue light. He slowed as he approached. It was a police van, stopped in the middle of the road. In front of it was another bus. A cop stood in the road and waved the team bus down as it approached.

Phil pulled over, then tugged on the handle that opened the door. The cop who had pulled him over called him out of the bus, and as soon as Phil was outside, two more policemen entered.

The passengers split their attention between the two men who had boarded the bus, and the one outside who was having a conversation with the bus driver. The dialogue became animated. Suddenly there was a blue flash and Phil dropped to the floor where he lay writhing in pain.

On the bus, the boys gasped in shock before switching their attention to the two cops on the bus.

One of them addressed the passengers.

“Alright, we’re with the FBI. We have it on good authority that this vehicle is being used to smuggle drugs. My colleague here is going to walk down the bus collecting your phones and other electronics, including games devices.”

Coach stood up.

“My name is Sam Williams. I’m the coach for this team. Do you have some form of identification?”

“Sit down Sam.”

“No, I’m responsible for these…”

He didn’t finish the sentence before he went the same way as the driver.

The cop addressed the rest of the bus.

“Now does anyone else want to take a painful nap?”

The passengers were silent.

“Good. Now please give your devices to my associate. If I catch anyone holding out and keeping ANY kind of communication device, you’ll end up like your coach and your driver, and let me tell you now, there are much slower, more painful settings to these things.”

He held up a small device that looked like a Star Trek communicator.

 

His colleague passed along the bus with a canvas bag, and one by one, every single passenger handed over their phones and other electronics. One boy even offered his inhaler. The man looked at it with a humourless smile.

“I think you can hang onto that.”

 

Once the cop had collected the passengers’ electronics, he took the bag outside and placed it in the back of the police van.

The cop climbed back onto the bus and stood to the side of the aisle facing the passengers whilst his colleague addressed them once again.

 

“Alright, now I want everybody to leave the bus and get onto the other vehicle over there. Adults leave first. Students afterwards.”

He looked at the boy with the asthma then said, “Don’t forget to take your inhaler with you.”

He stood back and gave them room to leave and a few minutes later, they were all on the second vehicle.

When they were all onboard, another policeman boarded the bus they had all just vacated.

 

The original cop boarded the second bus and addressed the passengers.

“We’re going for a little drive. I want everyone to put his hands on the headrest of the seat in front and keep them there. Don’t for even a nanosecond think about any heroics. You WILL lose, and then it will be VERY bad for you.”

He moved to the other side of the aisle, and he and another man stood facing down the bus as a third cop sat in the driver’s seat and pulled away, followed by the police van and their original bus.

Ten minutes after the convoy began, their bus turned off the road and they never saw it again.

“These are no cops, Wyatt whispered to Jackson. “Our other bus just turned off up the mountain.”

 

 

Two hours later, deep in the mountains, they pulled onto a driveway, at the end of which stood a complex of modern buildings. It looked to the passengers as though they had arrived at a luxurious but well-hidden resort complex. They passed through a security gate. The entire area was surrounded by a mesh fence with signs warning that it was high voltage.

The bus drove down a ramp into an underground parking area. When it had stopped moving, the cop addressed the passengers.

“Alright, anyone not old enough to buy alcohol please follow me off the bus.”

The teens filed off the bus behind him, following him down a short corridor, through a door and into a large arena. It had a black polished floor and there were strange metal devices lined up in a circle on the inside of the arena.  Half a dozen more cops brought up the rear.

 

“Okay I want everybody to get undressed, and I mean everything. Right down to the skin. You have two minutes.”

The teens looked at each other nervously, moving slowly.

“You just wasted 15 seconds scratching your asses. I am not fucking around here!” the cop shouted.

The young men quickly undressed. Two men in white uniforms collected their clothes and took them away.

 

The man spoke to the students again.

“As you have no doubt guessed by now, I am not a policeman. My name is Drake. Mr Drake. You will do precisely what I tell you at all times. If you disobey even for a second, you will be severely punished. From now on, you exist solely to entertain our clients. If you perform well and do as you are told, you will be well treated, even rewarded. If you behave very well, you may eventually earn your freedom. You no doubt noticed the electric fence on the way in. The voltage is high enough to knock you out and almost certainly high enough to cause you permanent injury. There is NO escape, so don’t even try.”

The boys looked each other. The implications of his speech were almost mind-numbing, and they were still shocked at seeing coach and the driver dropped.

They stood self-consciously, covering themselves with their hands.

“Let’s get one thing clear,” Drake said, “there is NO point whatsoever in hiding your privates. Here you HAVE no privacy. Our clients enjoy seeing their boys naked and that’s exactly how you will be, at all times. Now drop your hands to your sides.”

As he spoke, a small army of uniformed men poured into the arena.

The boys reluctantly lowered their arms.

“And one other thing. You only speak when you are spoken to. Otherwise you do not speak to me, to the staff, and certainly not to the clients. You may speak to each other when you are in your quarters. Now let’s start with a group photo.”

A man approached with a video camera and pointed it at the boys, first capturing a group shot, then walking around, and filming each young man one after the other, zooming in to show each one’s face, body and genitals. To the boys’ humiliation and disgust, the video feed was displayed on each of dozens of 50-foot screens that hung on the walls all around the arena, showing each of them in intimate detail.

“That’s going to each of our guests as we speak,” Drake explained. “Later, each of you will be filming a more personal introduction so that they can decide which of you they want to spend more time with.”

 

He nodded to the uniformed men, each of them was wearing a plain white psychiatric nurse’s uniform with a name badge sewn onto the breast. Two men approached each boy and led him to one of the devices that circled the arena.

Jackson was led to one about 30 yards away. He played left flat. To his right, was Spencer, the lanky goalkeeper, and to his left, Dan, a utility player who spent most of their matches on the bench hoping to be subbed in. Dan had worked hard to get onto the team. He was a former muscle jock, and his dense muscles did not serve him well in the pool. Jackson bet that Dan was no longer happy about having made his way onto the team.

 

When Jackson arrived at the perimeter of the arena, he finally got a clearer look at the device that stood there. It was like the frame for a humanoid robot, but with none of the outer plating that would make it solid. It was made of tubular matt-finish steel.

It had a flattened metal spine, divided into articulated segments and the spine was attached to cross pieces at hip and shoulder height. From both ends of the cross pieces extended what were unmistakably metal limbs, with restraint loops at ankle, knee, wrist and elbow height. The arms were raised and spread, making a narrow X shape with the legs, which were also spread.

Beneath the legs and above the hands were non-slip rubber-coated plates, and beyond them, right at the end of the limbs there were rubber tread feet attached to the plates via short pistons.

 

“Turn so that you are facing outwards and step up onto the on the foot plates,” one of his escorts instructed him.

Jackson looked at the man’s name badge: Mr Stanfield, then at his face. It showed no compassion. The teenager turned towards the men and apprehensively backed towards the frame. He stepped up onto the rubber plates.

Jackson looked at the other man’s badge. “Mr Gillen.” He made a mental note so that he could report them when… Jackson realised with a sinking feeling that the names were either fake, or he was never going to be freed.

 

The two men stepped forwards and adjusted the height of the frame so that it matched Jackson’s five-foot eight body. Then they started securing him into it, starting with his ankles and working their way up: knees, waist, chest, neck, and elbows. His wrists were too high to reach.

Jackson heard a ruckus and he looked to his right. Dan had his legs restrained, but now he looked angry and one of the escorts had a grin on his face.

“Keep your fucking hands off my junk!” Dan shouted, raising his hands to ward off the man.

Without further warning, the other man stepped forwards and aimed his device at Dan’s groin. The muscular young man’s eyes flew wide open in shock and he was paralysed with pain. The man kept firing for ten seconds and Jackson could see Dan’s circumcised genitals visibly shrinking. His scrotum tightened, the skin wrinkling pulling his nuts tight to his body for protection. His penis shrivelled as though he had been swimming in an arctic lake until it was little more than a fat, cut nub protruding from his groin above a small satsuma-sized scrotum.

When the man finally stopped zapping the teenager’s groin, Dan let out a deep groan and his upper body collapsed forwards. The two escorts caught him and secured his chest in the frame to keep him upright. Jackson noticed that Dan was wetting himself, involuntarily allowing a stream of urine to fall from his now-diminutive penis.

The two men finished restraining Dan’s arms and legs, then when he was tightly strapped into his frame, the grinning man stepped forwards and groped the muscular boy’s scrotum, working Dan’s testicles away from his body. Then he squeezed them in his fist until Dan grunted. He continued squeezing until tears of pain rolled down the teenager’s cheeks.

“Don’t. Speak. Again,” the man said. “Do you understand?”

Dan stared at him, his mouth clenched in a tight-bellied snarl against the pain. The man squeezed harder.

“Do. You. Understand?” he repeated.

Dan nodded tersely, resentment and hatred on his face. The man released Dan and the teenager let out a gasp of relief.

 

“There’s always someone,” Mr Stanfield said to no-one in particular, shaking his head and grinning.

He held up a small remote and pressed a button. To Dan’s surprise, although he’d not even seen motors on it, his metal frame started to bend at the waist and shoulders, lowering his arms towards the ground. The knees also bent to maintain his balance. His arms were forced out in front of him, then when the rubber arm ends were a foot from the ground, Jackson toppled forwards landing on the rubber feet. He was now down on the floor on his hands and feet. Both were pressed against non-slip rubber plates, and the limbs were tipped with piston-mounted rubber feet.

Mr Gillen stepped forwards and locked the wrist restraints around Jackson’s arms. The boy was now firmly secured into the robust frame with no possibility of escape.

“What are you doing to us?” he asked, looking up from his dog walk position.

Stanfield said, “You were told not to speak. If you do it again you will be severely punished.”

The man walked behind Jackson and cupped the young man’s testicles. Then he closed his fist lightly.

Jackson looked across at Dan, his junk was shrunken by pain to the size of a boy just starting puberty. And now his own nuts were in the palm of Stanfield’s hand. A quick squeeze was doubtless all it would take to make HIM lose control of his bladder as well. The threat was clear. He had no doubt that these men had the power and the willingness to cause him immense pain and there was not a thing he could do to protect himself. He said no more.

 

Stanfield released Jackson’s testicles and walked to an alcove behind the place the frame had stood. Although the teenager’s neck was secured and the metal frame rose like a headrest behind him, he could still turn his head. He saw the man lifting equipment from the alcove.

“Eyes front boy,” Gillen ordered.

Jackson turned his head back to the front. He could hear and feel something being attached behind his neck. An arm, attached at both sides was swung into place over his head, and locked when it was in front of his mouth. It had a ring of metal in the middle that was currently nine inches away from Jackson’s mouth held on adjustable arms. The teenager assumed that the ring would be forced into his mouth as some sort of gag but the men had other ideas.

Stanfield held up a very realistic latex dildo where Jackson could see it clearly. Jackson looked at it with dismay. It was only four inches long, but thicker than his own boner. It was realistically coloured and had a perfectly sculpted glans; cut like his own. It had a circular attachment at the base.

“You might as well get used to sucking cock now. You’re going to be doing a lot of it.”

He attached the dildo by the base to the ring in the headpiece.

“Mouth open,” Stanfield said.

Jackson looked at the dildo with undisguised disgust but he knew that he was powerless and resistance would only earn him pain. Reluctantly, he slowly opened his mouth and Stanfield slid the adjustable mount forwards, inserting the chubby rubber cock between Jackson’s lips. He locked it off when the dildo was just two inches inside. The objective was not to deepthroat the boy – that pleasure was reserved for the clients – rather it was to place a dildo on his tongue, where he could feel it constantly, reminding him that he was now nothing but a sex toy: a mouth and a hole to be used as his masters wished.

The warm dildo rested on his tongue and there was nothing he could do to avoid the constant sensation of a cock on there. The dildo was not so thick that Jackson could not open his mouth wide enough to avoid touching it with his lips at least, but as time passed and his jaw tired, he would inevitably close his mouth, and to his mind it would feel as though he was voluntarily wrapping his lips around it. He would fight the feeling, pushing it away, arguing to himself that he had no choice. But the longer his mouth remained in a fellatio position, the more his subconscious would start to believe that had accepted his fate; even that he actually wanted it.

 

Stanfield pressed another button on his remote and the frame moved opening Jackson’s legs wide, giving easy access to his genitals. Gillen knelt beside Jackson’s flank and attached a small piece of equipment to the left thigh bar. On the end were two small metal plates on hinged ends. The man raised the plates until they were pressing against Jackson’s pubis, two inches above and to either side of the root of his penis.

Gillen nodded to his colleague and Stanfield pressed a button on his remote. Jackson immediately felt a low voltage current passing into his body. He looked at Stanfield with an expression of panic.

“Not to worry kid, it’s not going to hurt you. The clients like to see guys with low-hangers, not tucked up, fearful little nuts like you have now. This sends a current to your cremaster nerves, makes the muscles relax so your balls will dangle nice and low.”

Jackson could already feel his scrotum relaxing and his nuts drooping. It felt very strange to have his body’s most intimate functions manipulated with such ease, but there was a lot more to come.

Mr Gillen placed a small self-adhesive sensor pad on the base of the teenager’s spine. Then he reached between the boy’s legs and tapped the nuts that now dangled freely. Jackson felt them swinging like marbles in a sack.

 

Stanfied said, “Okay, now it’s time for the bit that the clients love. Most boys hate it. At first. But you’ll grow to love it.”

He nodded and Gillen started attaching something to the metal frame in the small of Jackson’s back. It was a multi-part arm just like the arm of an angle-poise lamp. On the end was a dildo attached to a piston. This one was not quite as thick as the one in Jackson’s mouth but it was a full 8-inches long and deeply grooved along its entire length. Gillen adjusted it until it was facing Jackson’s hole, then he spread the boy’s ass-cheeks with his fingers.

This was exactly what Jackson feared. It was clear from the start that this whole set-up was sexual, but he had hoped against hope that it would not go as far as taking his cherry. He was not excessively macho, but his hole was sacrosanct. It was a threshold that he never wanted crossed, especially in the company of his team mates. His ring felt exposed, and although the temperature was pleasant, the air on his hole seemed cool. Then he felt the end of the self-lubricating dildo touching his ring-piece. He grunted in disgust.

Stanfield said, “It’ll rip you up if you fight against it. It’s going in either way. It would be better if you relaxed.”

Jackson felt nauseous at the thought but he recognised to truth in the man’s words and he forced himself to breathe slowly, relaxing his sphincter to ease the dildo’s passing.

Mr Gillen continued applying firm and steady pressure, allowing the kid’s hole to open at its own pace. This was always the slowest part of the preparation. After a few months at the resort, the teens’ assholes would open with ease. That would make them slightly less appealing fuck partners, but by then they would have the skills to please the guests in many other ways.

Jackson felt his hole gradually relaxing, opening wider and wider as more of the dildo’s curved glans worked its way inside. He let out a choked yelp as his hole was stretched the last bit, then the dildo slid inside him, the circumcised glans bumping past his sphincter. He could feel it passing up inside him; feeling strangely like taking a satisfying shit, but different. The head reached his prostate. He trembled as it touched, giving Gillen the signal not to push it in any further. The man locked the arm off, setting the dildo’s inner range of motion then he nodded to Mr Stanfield and his partner pressed the remote. The dildo pumped in and out of Jackson’s hole. The young man felt the nerves in his sphincter fluttering as the grooves bumped past it, and on the inward stroke, he felt a unique feeling, like wanting to pee as it pressed against his prostate.

Stanfield changed the dildo’s cycle and it entered Jackson to the limit of its movement, then pumped quickly, moving in and out with just an inch of travel, massaging just the boy’s prostate. White fluid dribbled from the boy’s limp cock to the polished floor. Gillen looked at the boy’s involuntary discharge and nodded.

Stanfield turned off the dildo pump but activated a secondary mode. A current started to feed gently into Jackson’s prostate. The teenager felt his cock stiffen and rise. In just half a dozen heartbeats, it was straining, parallel to his stomach, like a finger pointing the way forwards. He tried as hard as he could to will it away, but he had absolutely no control over it, and as long as the current flowed, it would remain achingly hard. Across the arena, 45 feet away, Jackson could see three other boys with straining cocks.

 

Gillen attached another device to the left thigh bar. It was an extendable rod with a chrome ring on the end measuring four inches in diameter. The ring had eight inwards-facing nozzles distributed evenly around its inner circumference.

He raised it over Jackson’s dangling balls, locking it in place half an inch above them, surrounding the neck of the boy’s scrotum.

“You’re gonna like this,” Stanfield informed him. “It’s a mixture of ultrasound and electric. I’m certain you’ve never felt anything like it.”

“Now what?” Jackson thought to himself.

He didn’t have to wait long to find out.

Stanfield activated the ring, and immediately languid blue sparks like electricity in a plasma ball started coming from the nozzles, moving in hypnotic slow motion across his scrotum, making the hairs prickle and stand up, tickling every part of his sack.

At the same time, he felt a low, rapid vibration deep in his testicles. It reminded him of a time when he stood too close to the bass speaker at a party whilst it played drum and bass.

Jackson couldn’t help himself; he let out a long shivering sigh of pleasure at the unexpected sensation. It was a sound of deep satisfaction, like a man finally sitting after 18 hours working on his feet without a break.

Stanfield grinned.

“Yeah they all do that. And the best bit is, you’ll never get used to it. That’s why most guys quickly come to love the broncos.”

Under normal circumstances, Jackson would have thought to himself, “Broncos? What the hell are broncos?!” But as it was, he could barely think straight and he was breathing in shuddering gasps as his dangling balls were overcome with a continuous feeling of sexual euphoria.

Stanfield looked at him.

“Intense huh?”

Jackson couldn’t speak even if his mouth had not been filled with a latex cock, but he let out a little alto “Hnnn” sound of acknowledgement,

Stanfield turned the testicle coil off.

 

Gillen positioned yet another device, this time attached to the right thigh bar. It was yet another ring much like the one around Jackson’s scrotum, except it was larger. He positioned it so that it surrounded the boy’s hard glans at a distance of an inch or so all around. Stanfield gave it a quick test and the same blue plasma arcs played along the head of Jackson’s penis. He immediately started jerking and straining in the frame as every millimetre of his glans was tickled. Stanfield grinned and turned the stimulator off. It wouldn’t do for the boy to blow his load before the event started.

Gillen finished his preparations by attaching two small transparent suction cups to the boy’s chest. They covered his nipples. Jackson could immediately feel his nipples being sucked, standing pert against his chest. They were small and brown, but they stood out against the gentle curves of his pectoral muscles.

“Oh, you’re going to need this too.”

He injected the boy’s flank with a large syringe of liquid.

“Sexual stimulant,” he explained. “Makes your balls produce sperm a hundred times faster.”

 

All around the arena now, dozens of men had started to take seats. The arena was 100 feet across, with dozens of giant screens on the walls on all sides.

Cameras that were automatically locked on each of the students fed to a central control room, where controllers displayed video of each of the boys, focussing on the most interesting at any given time. The sensor pad attached to the base of each teenager’s spine could detect an impending orgasm, automatically switching to a view of that boy as he came.

 

All around him, Jackson could see his team members and fellow students shuffling on all fours away from the edges of the arena. Then he was walking inwards as well, his frame under Stanfield’s control. He took thirty small steps forwards, moving him about twenty feet from the arena edge. To his dismay, he saw himself displayed from a side view on a large screen opposite. His dick looked as hard as it felt. He blushed with shame but there was nothing he could do to escape or hide his genitals. Then the event began.

 

Every one of the devices attached to each boy’s body simultaneously activated. Jackson’s balls started buzzing and tingling, the dildo in his asshole started pumping in long, slow strokes, and the stimulator on his cock started to do its thing. Jackson gasped at the intensity of the titillation his body was receiving.

One moment he was aware of the almost delicate tingling on the surface of his scrotum as the plasma sparks drifted across its almost hairless surface. He could feel the small hairs there standing up and following the current like plants chasing the sunshine. Then the much more intense feeling deep in his balls would rip his attention away, threatening to overwhelm him and make him blow his load on the spot. Then he’d become aware of the dildo, sliding in and out of his hole, his sphincter trembling as each ridged passed, ending with a brief moment of heightened pleasure as the tip brushed his prostate. And throughout each stroke, the gentle current emanating from the tip; a light wave passing along his rectum.

 

Standing on the spot, his frame started to rock backwards and forwards as the front and rear pistons alternately extended then contracted. The motion made his dangling testicles swing like the clappers in a bell during a wedding chime. He became aware of them as he never had before. He didn’t have particularly large testicles, but he was acutely aware now of their weight and heft within his soft sack as they swung back and forth.

The rocking of the frame matched the rhythm of the thrusting dildo so each time the rear legs lowered, the dildo was at the limits of its inwards travel. Although Jackson had no control over the rocking, he felt as though he was deliberately impaling himself on each forwards stroke of the dildo, and to his dismay, it felt good. There was nothing he could do to mitigate the feeling. His waist was strapped tightly into the frame, and each time it rocked backwards, the dildo jammed into him. He couldn’t tense to resist; he couldn’t twist away; he couldn’t even lift or thrust his hips away. Soon, he surrendered to his total powerlessness as the machine repeatedly took his cherry.

 

In less than 30 seconds, he felt himself ejaculating hard, unstoppably spraying his load up past his face and onto the black polished floor in 13 powerful gushers. The moment his orgasm commenced, the sensor at the base of his spine detected it and activated the orgasm program. The frame’s pistons started to expand and contract violently alternating, and causing Jackson and his frame to leap off the floor like a spirited colt at a rodeo, jumping front legs then rear in a desperate bid to dismount an unwanted rider.

His lean leg muscles and biceps strained to resist, but served only to launch him higher, working in time with the frame’s incredibly powerful pistons. His arms bucked first then his legs, rolling in the air and landing back on the ground hands first. The frame continued leaping and bucking for 30 seconds, the dildo at his rear impaling him violently now, and the one in his mouth squirting warm nutrient goo onto his tongue as though it was also ejaculating.

He moaned in a continuous exhultation of ecstasy, punctuated with grunts each time the frame landed on its front legs, pushing the air out of his lungs hard enough to produce an “oof” on each landing.

Beneath, his balls and cock swayed wildly, scattering his jizz like a farm labourer scattering seeds in a field.

He temporarily lost his mind, any ability to hold a rational thought wiped in the violent orgasm and the explosion of motion.

 

Around him other players, and the students that comprised the team’s entourage were also bucking as each one reached his own erotic threshold. None of them managed to last beyond the one-minute mark…

The arena was filled with the moaning and grunting sounds of their uninvited orgasms. The staccato oofs of their landings breaking up the generally harmonious chorus of moans.

 

The shiny floor was awash with cum. None of the teens had ever ejaculated as copiously nor as hard before. Several of the boys literally produced fountain of cum, ejaculating in a near continuous squirt that, apart from the colour, was indistinguishable from urination, puddling the floor with shot glasses-worth of semen.

When the first round of orgasms was over, the floor was sprayed, drenched, pooled with enough boy cum to seed the entire nation.

Several of the cameras slowly panned over the splats and streaks that covered the floor now. Some it was thick, some thin and watery. Some had launched six feet or more from its owner, and even the weakest had travelled four feet, the result of expert stimulation that even the most self-disciplined of Hindu Sadhu could not hope to resist.

 

When the sensor detected that Jackson’s orgasm had finally finished, the pistons returned to their former rocking motion. His formerly-virgin asshole was stretched wide around the dildo, no longer painful, but fluttering in involuntary pleasure in response to the ridged dildo. He realised now that there was finer structure to it – thin ridges on the ridges, each no thicker than a pencil lead. Without the generous and constant supply of greasy lube, they would have been like a rasp, shredding the lips of his hole, but with it, they created much more subtle sub-harmonics of pleasure that made his body strain for more and hardened his straining cock still further.

Jackson noticed the cock in his mouth. He’d long since lost the willpower to stop his lips touching it. Instead as he moaned and groaned in response to his unbidden euphoria, it was as though he was massaging it with his mouth, each groan suckling it as a sex starved woman sucked on her lover’s cock.

 

Then he noticed another subtle effect. The ultrasound on his cock was vibrating deep inside the head, stimulating nerves that his fist could never reach when he jacked off. It was intensely arousing; comparable to a violent wank when he was incredibly horny but short of time. The kind of wanks that made him blow his load with volcanic power, and left his face covered with his own cum. But there was also another sensation. He realised that there were jets of cool air continuously playing across the surface of his glans along with the plasma sparks. Once he noticed it, he wondered how he’d ever missed it. It had a cooling effect that countered the deep vibrations, but it also put him in mind of a person’s head near his dick, blowing softly on his helmet.

 

Then his attention was drawn back to his balls. Always, his attention came back to his balls, wherever it was briefly pulled away to. He’d never considered himself testicle fixated. He didn’t so much as touch them when he masturbated, but now, extraordinary waves of bliss surged constantly through each one, radiating out throughout his entire groin, up into his abdomen, and down the tops of his thighs. The entire area glowed with warm, erotic pleasure.

 

Although he was rendered mostly insensible by the constant stimulation, washed away in a continuous tide of rapture, Jackson went through brief periods of lucidity, when he would become aware that a boy somewhere in the arena was bucking again, as another orgasm was forced from him. He lost count of the number of times he’d personally cum.

He noticed that his image frequently appeared on one of the many screens. Sometimes a side view, sometimes one showing his ridiculous, goofy cum face. He was unfamiliar with the view of himself from the rear, but that appeared even more often, his dangling nuts oscillating between his thighs.

 

Jackson could not also help but occasionally watch with curiosity the cocks of his friends and team mates. Despite his muscles, Dan was not particularly well hung, but to Jackson’s immense surprise, a shy, skinny guy called Jake who helped with the team’s practice scheduling and fund raising was packing over ten inches, swinging like a third leg between his thighs.

In the stands, the audience could look at the large screens, or they could opt to zoom in on a particular bronco using the pads that each of them held. Throughout the resort, patrons who were otherwise engaged could also watch via their tablets.

 

Jackson started to buck again, spraying his slop in front of him as his hyper-stimulated testicles and prostate produced semen even faster than he expended it. He came hard – just as hard as the first time. Then three minutes later, he came again, and again, and again. And in between, cum drooled continuously from his cock. Like all of the broncos, thanks to the stimulant and the ultrasound, there was no limit to the number of orgasms his body could produce, but with each one, his mind floated a little further away, gradually disconnecting from anything except the pleasure between his legs.

Around him, his team mates, all fit and strong, joined him, as they slowly coated the arena in cum.

 

It was three hours and more than 70 powerful orgasms later when the frames were finally turned off. In the stands, there was a scene reminiscent of a Roman orgy as the audience masturbated and played and fucked in accompaniment.

 

Stanfield and Gillen walked up to Jackson. Gillen quickly removed all of the accessories that had been attached to the frame, then he released Jackson’s wrist restraints. Without the dildo in his ass, Jackson’s cock deflated like a punctured rocket balloon. Semen continued to dribble stickily from its eye.

Stanfield used his remote to lift the boy to his feet and he steered him back to his starting place at the edge of the arena.

Then he and Gillen removed the last restraints, freeing the young man from the frame. Jackson collapsed forwards, as the boys always did after three hours of non-stop milking. 70 orgasms was enough to turn even the most dedicated onanist’s legs to jelly, and now that that the stimulation had ceased, the root of Jackson’s cock ached as though it was being gripped in a vice. Both his testicles and his penis drooped low, flaccid and lifeless now that their vascular supports had been removed.

 

Stanfield and Gillen reached up and caught Jackson before he could fall to the ground. They stood beside him, supporting him under his armpits, draping his arms around their shoulders.

The two assistants slowly steered Jackson towards one of the arena exits. As they walked, a small army of naked men entered carrying mops and squeegees ready to clean up the lake of teen cum that covered the arena floor. Jackson barely had the strength to keep his head up, but he looked at the men. They looked forlorn. Then he noticed something else; none of them had balls. Their dicks hung flaccidly down like wet noodles, but behind there was nothing.

Each of them bore fresh name tattoos on his chest. As Jackson was half-helped, half-dragged from the arena, he looked at the harrowed face of one of the men. His chest bore his name. Sam. It was coach Sam! Their eyes briefly met. Both had endured a traumatic afternoon. Coach’s eyes were red rimmed. Jackson looked down just before he was carried from the arena. Where coach Sam’s nuts should hang was nothing but a tight sack and a neat cauterised scar.

 

Stanfield spoke.

“Well done kid. You put on a good show. Quite a few of the guests showed an interest. I think you’re going to be a very busy little cocksucker over the coming months.”

“Yeah,” Gillen agreed. “And that tight ass of yours is going to get a LOT of use.”

Jackson’s mind whirled as they helped him away, laughing as they went.