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Milking college – An Interdimensional milking prequel – Part 1

 

forced milking

New students at an off-world future college discover that it’s a front for a semen collection operation.

 

Milking college – An Interdimensional milking prequel – Part 1

Inspired by the South Park Mars episode and the outstanding animations of Itakami on pixiv

 

“Greeting students. Welcome to Gliese 1-A-62!”

The dean gave the students time to applause and they responded as he expected.

“This is the foremost college on the planet. You have travelled here from all over the sector. You are among the most promising students within a 25-light year radius. The sons of the wealthy can buy places for their children anywhere they like, but here on Gliese 1-A, students who have grown up in the care system; orphans through no fault of their own, also receive the finest education and a unique opportunity to contribute to the future of mankind. Out here, on the rim of the sector, we provide a unique single-sex educational environment, but before I spend any more time eulogising about the wonderful campus we have created here, I think it’s best if you see it for yourselves. You have been divided into cohorts of twenty students and allocated dorm floors. Your belongings are already being taken to your rooms, but before you go and join them, your proctors will take you by cohort, on a short tour of the campus.

 

Carter turned to his designated room-mate Jaxon.

“I could do without this. I just want to get settled and relax. And maybe go to town and see where the women hang out!”

“Yeah, but they ARE giving us all fully-paid scholarships. I guess it’s only fair that they get to show off the place first.”

“Yeah, I guess so. But a year in stasis and not even any,” he mimed masturbation, “has made me horny as Falwell!”

Jaxon grinned at the reference to the notoriously promiscuous 21st century preacher. The man’s name had become a synonym for out of control lust. Jaxon knew he was going to get on great with Carter.

 

Their dorm proctor arrived. He looked as though he was in his 50s – still young and in good shape.

“Hello guys. My name is Mr Haas. You are all from cohort 32 I hope?”

The students in Clark’s group affirmed that they were.

“Pacing. If you’d like to follow me, we can start the tour.”

As soon as the group was outside the hall, he added, “I know that you’re probably wiped out after travelling. It’s a shame the portal relay system hasn’t reached this far out yet. Anyway, we’ll make it quick. You already know where the dorms are. I’ll quickly show you the canteen, the library, the common area, and the classrooms, and the research labs then we’ll be almost done. If you don’t ask too many questions, we can get the main tour done in 25 minutes.”

 

True to his word, 23 minutes later, the group stood outside a heavy Plasteel door.

“This is the final part of the tour. The college provides invaluable research and other services to the Human Expansion Program. Inside is the hub of our operation.”

He opened the door and gestured the 18-year olds inside. They found themselves in a wide, 30-foot-long corridor. The proctor pressed a button to open another door at the other end and the first door closed.

“Come on through to the viewing gallery and you can see what we do.”

He led the boys into a long room. It measured 15 by 60 feet, and one wall was completely made of glass. As the new students saw what was behind it, a ripple of amusement passed among them.

The room beyond was vast; the size of a sports hall. Inside, hundreds of young men stood at upright computer workstations tapping away at keyboards positioned at stomach height. Some of them waved their hands in the air operating gesture controllers.

“What are they doing?” one of Carter’s fellow students asked.

“Ahh, Weelyum isn’t it? Good question. They’re studying. Some are working on course work, others are processing infrared galaxy survey maps to help the Expansion Program.”

The proctor stifled a smile. He loved this game; the one where he pretended not to notice what else was unusual about the hall.

“Umm, not that Mr Haas. What’s that stuff on their dicks?”

It was the only question on the minds of any of the viewers.

 

Each of the young males in the hall was wearing a collar and a belt around his waist. Both were made out of the same Plasteel as the walls, which made them virtually unbreakable. Attached to the belt were numerous devices. The most obvious of which were two pulsating orbs, each larger than a large grapefruit. The orbs rhythmically contracted and expanded, and were positioned where the workers’ testicles should be.

Above the orbs, attached to the belt at right-angles was a shaft that apparently housed their penises, with an end cap that span in a circle for a number of rotations, before spinning back the other way a similar number. Each penis housing was a different length and girth, clearly customised for the size of the penis within.

In front of each worker, hanging like an IV bottle, a glass collection bottle was mounted, and it was connected to the end of the penis tubes by a suction pipe.

Each male wore a catheter that fed into their bladders via permanent ports inserted into their lower abdomens, ensuring that they didn’t have to stop being milked for pee breaks.

Lastly, a small piston pumped in and out beneath and slightly to the rear of each worker, and it seemed all-but certain that the pistons were driving in and out of their rectums.

Every so often, one of the young men would stop working. Some would lift their heads towards the cavernous ceiling and let out a long trembling sigh, their eyes closed; others would moan and support themselves on the metal workstation platforms while their groins thrust back and forth. Carter could see several of the young men’s legs start trembling uncontrollably for 30 seconds or more. Regardless of the way that they expressed it, it was clear that the men were experiencing powerful orgasms; a fact confirmed by the constant slow drip, drip, drip of semen into the bottles; which increased to a temporary flow as they ejaculated.

 

“Oh that,” the proctor said, playing innocent. “We’re collecting their semen.”

Carter looked at the bottles, they were the size of small water cooler bottles and some were over 25 percent full.

“How much are you collecting?!” he asked, voicing the amazement of many in the group.

“Most will provide a minimum of 1.5 litres per day – that’s about 3 pints for those of you from the old post-USA planets.”

“Holy shit!”

“Is that why the things on their nuts are so big?” someone else asked.

“Yes, the pumps are only a little larger than their testicles. They constantly massage the donor’s testicles, forcing sperm from them. It takes about six months to grow a donor’s testicles that size. We have an optimised growth program. Once each testicle reaches the size of a softball, we generally stop enhancing their size because they become too unwieldy for the donors to walk with, although we have a few notable exceptions. So long as the donors can produce at least two pints per day, we’re more than happy. Our bulls can manage FAR more than that, but they’re very much in the minority. Over there,” he pointed at a cute blonde who looked as though he might only just be old enough to drive.

“Daniel can produce 9 pints a day, every single day.”

In a conspiratorial tone he added, “Horniest kid I’ve ever known.”

“How old is he?” someone asked.

“Ummm, I think he’s your age.”

 

“Don’t they mind us watching them?” another boy asked.

“Oh, they can’t see us. This is chameleon glass. On their side it looks like a normal wall.”

“So how many times a day do they… ejaculate?” Carter asked, searching for the correct medical terminology.

“Approximately once every 5 to 10 minutes. They work a 4-hour shift. Then an hour for lunch. Another 4 hours. An hour off for dinner, then another 4 hours milking in the evening.”

“You make them cum for 12 hours a day?!” Carter said, in awe.

One of the boys did a quick mental calculation in his head.

“So, they cum at least 70 times a day?”

“Oh yes, but very few ejaculates less than 100 times a day,” the proctor explained.

There was another ripple of amazement among the new students as they considered the enormity of what these workers were managing.

“Can they take a break if they need it?”

“No, their bodies are optimised for sperm production, and it’s too expensive to develop them only to allow them to be milked part time.”

 

Carter couldn’t help but think of the young men as cattle. Not proud bulls lording it around the farmyard, but factory-farmed cows, having their udders, or in this case, their enormous balls, drained for long hours.

 

“Mr Haas, you called them “donors” why would anyone choose this?” someone asked.

The proctor smiled.

“Okay guys, that’s enough questions for now or we’ll never get done. I’ll answer any more questions you have during orientation. For now, follow me please.”

 

He walked through a door at the other end of the room then along a 75-foot corridor and into another viewing room. In this one, over 50 young men were standing naked in front of what looked superficially like some kind of exercise machines or arcade games.; plastic machines with low bodies and a horizontal bar across the front just above waist height. Poking out of each machine at the front was a cylinder with lights along its side. On top of each machine was a horizontal media screen.

In front of each machine, a naked young man stood, holding the horizontal bar with both hands, his body angled downwards towards the machine, as though positioned ready to do some kind of easy push ups. All of the males were wearing light headphones and the same rectum-penetrating pistons as the donors in the previous room.

Most of the youngsters were thrusting their hips rhythmically into the tubes, jamming their rigid cocks into soft rubber linings. The lights on the side of each tube lit and went on and off in time with the thrusting. The young men were red and exhausted.

“This is the endurance room,” Haas said. “As I mentioned earlier, we have a testicular enhancement program. This is one half of it. When the donor hears a buzzing in his headphones, he must start copulating with the tube. Each tube is lined with warm, lubricated rubber, and it feels almost exactly like a tight vagina. Or the inside of a boy’s rectum, if you’re that way inclined.”

He looked around at the students and smiled as he noticed at least a third of them adjusting his hard  penis, or standing unaware of the erection that now bulged the front of his trousers.

He continued.

“The buzzer is replaced by a quiet beeper, and the young men must thrust their penises in and out of the tubes in time with the beeps. The beeps come at various rates, sometimes quite slow, in cycles lasting up to 30 minutes, sometimes very fast in much shorter cycles.”

Even as he spoke, one young man started fucking the lubed tube before him with the vigorous enthusiasm of a horny kid’s first fuck, hammering his dick into the tube as though his life depended on it. And as continued thrusting, he looked at the screen in front of him with a wide-eyed, almost manic stare.

“What’s on the screen. He seems very interested in it?” someone asked.

“Ah, it’s gay pornography. Teenagers fucking most likely.”

“Gay porn? Why?”

“Because males actually become more aroused watching other males. It doesn’t take many months to turn all of the donors into homosexuals.”

Carter frowned at the information and looked at the boy in the room in front of him. His testicles were huge, but his scrotum was almost spherical. Two pads that looked as those they were made from metal tape were attached to his testicles.

“And what’s that on his balls?” Weelyum asked.

“Inhibitors. They stop him from orgasming.”

“So, he fucks the machine for hours but he can never cum? Sounds like torture.”

“Well, as I said earlier, our program is designed to maximise the size of our donors’ testicles as quickly as possible.”

“And what’s that around their necks?”

“Okay, I said I wasn’t going to answer questions any more, but I’ll answer just this one more,” Mr Haas said. “The collars deliver an electric shock. If the donors don’t fuck at the required rate, or they let go of the handle, or they stop watching the screen, we give them a shock. The longer they resist, the more powerful the shock gets. Every young man eventually complies.”

“I thought he said they were donors,” Carter whispered to Jaxon as the proctor lead them to yet another viewing room.

 

In the final room, dozens more young males sat on comfortable vinyl pads on the ground, each in his own station. Each young man had his arms secured above his head, and restraints around his waist holding him in a seated position. Each ones’ knees were pulled wide apart, and each had a fierce erection. Although it seemed likely judging from the size of their genitals, that most were not prepubertal, none of them had hairs under their arms or anywhere on the groins.

“Smooth body, clean body,” Haas said, as though reading Carter’s mind. “This is the first stage in their processing cycle; the stimulation room. The donors alternate between this room and the endurance room for the first three months.”

“What does it do?” a student asked.

“Oh, this one is quite simple, we keep the boys in a state of constant arousal for 12 hours per day. The inhibitors prevent them from attaining orgasm. This room is the one most responsible for their testicular growth.”

Jaxon frowned.

“Do they get to cum when they leave?”

“Oh no, they don’t get to orgasm at all before they progress to the milking room. They wear the inhibitors constantly and they can’t be removed. The constant arousal forces their testicles to grow as they fill with undischarged sperm. The inhibitors don’t even allow them the release of nocturnal emissions; what you might know a “wet dreams”. They spend three months here and in the endurance room. Another 3 months just in the endurance room, and then they are ready for milking.”

“I bet they are!” someone said, and everybody laughed.

“6 months horny and they don’t get to cum once though,” Jaxon mused, “I think that would just about drive me crazy.”

“Actually,” the proctor said, “if you look closer at their faces, you’ll see that most of them are in a trance-like state.”

Carter looked at the donors. Many were staring into space or straight ahead. Some even stared, drooling at their own twitching and jerking penises, like famine victims looking at a banquet as their cocks tried desperately to orgasm. There were puddles of precum on the cushions they sat on, and at least a quarter of the drooling males were slack-jawed, their expressions completely vacant.

“They’re playing gay porn on the monitors again,” Jaxon said to Carter.

Carter looked at the screens that lined the room in front of each boy. “Even if they do manage to stay sane, the screens are constantly making them even more horny. Poor bastards.”

Then Carter noticed something that really made him pay attention.

“Weren’t those two guys in the hall with us earlier?” he whispered gesturing to two of the donors.

Jaxon frowned.

“I dunno, were they?”

“Yes, I’m sure they were.”

He addressed the proctor.

“Mr Haas, where do you get the donors from?”

The proctor stood by a door at the other side of the room.

“Oh, they come from all over the sector,” he replied vaguely.

“But why would they volunteer for this?”

Haas frowned.

“Volunteer? Who said anything about volunteering? They’re all orphans who hoped for a free education. Young men that nobody would miss, especially out here on the rim. They’re all selected for the quality of their intellect.”

He stepped through the door and looked at Carter with a thin smile that made Carter’s blood run cold.

“Boys just like you in fact.”

The door shut behind him and the room fell silent, as though nobody in it could not believe the implications of what they had heard. Then it erupted into angry life. The boy nearest the door where the proctor had exited, tried to open it but it would not open.

“Locked!” he said.

Another boy tried the entrance door, but it also refused to react to his proximity, nor would either door respond when the manual access panels were touched. And already, the odourless gas was silently filling to room.

The students rapidly started collapsing to the floor.

“Gas!” one boy shouted. “Cover your…” but he never finished the sentence.

Carter looked around for his roommate, but before he could find him, darkness stole his consciousness.


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