Forced arousal, milking
A runaway is forcibly milked
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This story is a stand-alone follow up to Milking Bus only available to Patrons
Tom felt the weight of his phone in his pocket as he walked along the side of freeway. He hadn’t turned it on in three days. He didn’t want anyone tracking his movements. But soon, his precautions would count for nothing. A police cruiser approached from behind and drew up 10 feet ahead of him.
If he’d thought about it, Tom would have walked on the other side of the road, towards the traffic, so that he could see all approaching vehicles. Then maybe he could have avoided the police.
A lone cop climbed out of the driver’s side and walked around the front of the vehicle.
“Hello son, what are you doing out here? It’s dangerous walking along the freeway alone.”
“I was just hiking,” Tom lied.
“Along a freeway? I’d have thought one of the trails would be a better choice.”
“I guess but I’m headed for Rockford.”
“Ahh, I see. Can I see some ID please son.”
“I don’t have any.”
“Okay, what’s your name?”
“Connor. Connor Williams.”
“And where you from Connor?”
“Hmmm, that’s over 100 miles away. And it’s a Friday. Shouldn’t you be in school?”
Tom frowned, feigning indignity.
The officer looked at Tom’s smooth cheeks and lip. His expression turned to one of mild scepticism.
“I see. And what’s your address Connor?
“Why do you need to know?”
“Just to make sure you’re on the level. Not broken any laws. That kind of thing. Nothing to worry about. Assuming everything checks out, I can give you a lift to the next off ramp and you can continue your hike from there. You really shouldn’t be walking on the verge.”
“Is it illegal to walk along the freeway?”
“No, but it’s really not a good idea. Some nasty things have happened to boys alone on the freeway.”
“I’m not a boy,” Tom said.
“Young guys,” the cop corrected with a friendly smile. “No offence meant.”
“No problem. I live at 1255 Freeman Road.”
“And that’s in Waitfield?”
Tom nodded and the cop unclipped his radio from his chest and called his controller.
“Hello despatch, this is Jason, listen, I have a guy here walking along the freeway. Can you just run a check on his details.”
Tom considered turning and running off into the woods while the cop was distracted, but the last thing he wanted was to signal his guilt or trigger a manhunt.
“Yes, his name is Connor Williams, of 1255 Freeman Road in Waitfield.”
He waited a moment for the despatcher to come back to him.
The cop looked to Tom
“What’s your date of birth Connor?”
“July 18, 2005,” Tom responded, making up a date on the spot.
“July 18 05.”
Tom waited while the despatcher replied into the policeman’s earpiece. The cop looked at him. As he spoke Tom’s heart sank.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Look I’m on 233, a couple of miles south of the intersection with 160. I’m gonna bring this guy in for further interrogation. He looks younger than he’s claiming. I’m betting another he’s another Code 42. I’ll be back at the precinct in 15.”
Tom frowned at the cop as the man hung up the radio.
“What’s a code 42?”
“Innocents. Boys and girls who don’t like the government’s daily masturbation policy. Is that anything you would know about?”
“What do you mean?”
“You wouldn’t be taking to the road to avoid your daily jerk off would you?”
“What, no, that’s crazy, I mean, why would I?”
“I can’t place your accent son. Have you moved here from somewhere else?”
“Yeah, Canada. We moved here a while ago.”
“Uh hmmm. They don’t have as much crime up there do they?”
“Errr, I don’t know. I used to live in Tecumseh. It’s kind of rural. I don’t think there was a lot of crime.”
“Must have been a shock when you came here and had to get milked every day I bet?”
“Yeah, it was.”
“And when was that?”
“I dunno. I was about 15,” Tom responded.
“So, six years ago?”
“I guess,” Tom answered, feeling as though he was getting drawn deeper into his lie.
“Except Bill 825 was only introduced two years ago.”
“Oh. Maybe I was…”
Tom trailed off. There was no way to square the circle.
“What did you say your date of birth was again?”
“July 23 2005.”
“You said 18.”
The cop smiled kindly and ushered Tom towards the back of the cruiser. He opened the back door.
“Get in the car son. We’ll sort this out back at the precinct.”
At the front desk, Tom stood next to the cop who had picked him up. The officer on the front desk was filling in the booking form on a computer.
“Okay Conner,” the patrol cop said, “I’m just going to pat you down. Anything I should know about before I do so?”
“No,” Tom responded sullenly.
The cop patted him down, searching for anything he might be carrying. He quickly discovered Tom’s wallet. He opened it and laid the contents out on the front desk.
The booking officer said, “Fold over wallet, blue, Toronto Maple Leafs logo. Contents; two hundred annnnd 43 dollars, one family photo.”
Jason quickly discovered the phone.
“Are you sure you want to continue this Connor? You know we’re quickly going to find out your real identity with this phone.”
“I already told you who I am.”
“Fair enough. Can we have permission to look inside your phone – it’s quicker than a search warrant.”
“No, no way.”
He handed the phone to the booking officer. The other man examined the exterior closely.
“Phone – Iphone – red – small crack in bottom corner of screen. What model is this son?”
Phil logged the phone then dropped it, along with the wallet and cash into a large zip lock bag along with the small back pack and change of clothes that Tom had been carrying.
“Am I under arrest? What for? How long am I going to be here?” Tom asked.
“Well, if your details check out, you’ll be out of here within a couple of hours. If not, well it could be longer.”
“But why? I wasn’t doing anything. I was just walking along the freeway. There’s nothing wrong with that is there?”
“It’s not advisable, but to be honest son; and I know you’ll find it hard to believe, I’m more concerned about YOUR wellbeing. If you’re a runaway, I want to know why. It’s not safe for a young guy to be walking along the freeway. You could end all this right now if you want to change your story and give me something I can check on?”
Tom considered it, but he was damned if he planned to return home only to be milked like a damned cow every day, letting everyone see his junk on the way to school. It was perverse and it wasn’t right!
“I already told you the truth,” he said.
“Okay son, well we’ll find out soon enough. Is there anyone we should call to confirm your story?”
“No,” Tom said emphatically, and his tone only increased Jason’s belief that there was something going on in the background.
The booking officer took Tom’s fingerprints.
“These will be destroyed if nothing comes up,” he said.
“Okay Conner,” Jason said, “Follow me.”
“Where are you taking me?”
“You’re going to be our guest while we check out your details.”
Jason held a door open and invited Tom to walk through. He led the teenager to a barren room with grey gloss-painted brick walls and a heavy steel door.
“I’ll be back with a doctor right away. Do you want a drink?”
“Water please,” Tom said, struggling to maintain a tactically minimal level of civility. “Why do you need a doctor?”
“He’s just gonna give you a check to make sure you’re in good health. It’s for your own protection.”
The cop left and Tom looked to the stark toilet. There was not even a seat. He wondered what the end game of this situation would be. They couldn’t hold him indefinitely without a reason surely?
There was a bunk. It had a thin plastic-coated mattress. Tom examined it to make sure he wouldn’t catch something off it. It was lightly stained, but nothing that looked fresh. He sat down and waited for the cop to return.
Fifteen minutes later, the man obliged, accompanied by a second cop, and another man in a white jacket.
“This is doctor Rutherford.”
Tom noticed that the doctor was carrying a piece of equipment.
“What’s that for?” he asked, pointing to it.
“I’ll explain it when we’re done with the check-up. Can you please strip down your underwear.”
Tom glanced at the second, larger cop nervously, and stripped down to his underwear; he preferred briefs over boxers, but ever since he’d discovered he was to be robotically milked every day on the journey to school, often in the presence of teenaged girls, he’d taken to wearing boxers. To his mind they were more fashionable, although he’d prefer that nobody outside the male changing rooms ever got to see him in his underwear, much less naked.
The doctor quickly performed a basic examination: heart rate, blood pressure, pupil response, reactions, and so on. Then he said, “Drop your boxers please.”
“Need to check for hernias and any other issues.”
Tom knew what a hernia was, but he couldn’t imagine what other issues the doctor might be referring to. He glanced at the two watching cops, then self-consciously lowered his boxers, revealing his far-from impressive golden-brown cock.
The doctor looked at Tom’s genitals, then reached down with a gloved hand and cupped his testicles.
“Turn your head to the side and cough.”
Patiently, the doctor replied, “Checking for a hernia. Don’t want you coughing on me.”
Tom followed the doctor’s instructions. It felt weird having a man groping his balls while two others watched, but Tom stared at the wall, studying it as though what was happening to him was of no interest whatsoever.
Rutherford released him and stepped back a little.
“You trim your pubes?” he asked.
The doctor turned to Jason.
“His testicles are no more than 14 mils. Pubes not spread to his thighs or belly. Penis relatively slender. This young man is not 21 years old. I doubt if he’s even 18.”
“That’s what I thought doc,” Jason said. “He claims to be 21. Just like they all do.”
The doctor chuckled.
“I called his parents. The boy he claims to be is still at school.”
Jason turned to Tom.
“If you’re going to borrow someone else’s identity, make sure they’re not 15 years old. Looks like you’re going to be with us for the weekend at least son. Can’t get a search warrant for your phone until Monday.”
“I can’t stay here. I’ve done nothing wrong. I want a lawyer.”
“How are you going to pay for a lawyer?”
“Then I want a phone call.”
“Certainly. Who do you want us to call?”
Tom’s mouth opened and closed as he unsuccessfully tried to think of someone that would not immediately blow his cover.
“That’s what I thought.”
Jason picked the device that the doctor had been carrying up from the floor and held it out to Tom.
“I’m gonna need you to put these on son.”
Tom looked at the device.
“What is it?”
“Masturbation shorts. You’re clearly under 21, and that means that you’re mandated by law to masturbate at least three times every day. These will ensure that you meet your quota while you are our guest.”
Tom looked at the device with distain.
“I’m not putting that on.”
“I’m sorry son, but you ARE. It’s up to you whether you do so of your own accord, or we force you. It’ll be much less pleasant for you if we force you.”
“This isn’t RIGHT!” Tom protested. “You can’t just jerk guys off any time you like!”
“To be honest son,” Jason said, “I agree with you, but it’s not up to me to set the law – only to enforce it. Now this is your last chance. Are you going to put it on, or are we going to put it on for you?”
Tom backed towards the corner of the room, covering his groin behind his hands. Jason sighed and nodded to his colleague.
The man approached the naked teenager and there was a brief, one-sided scuffle at the end of which, the man had dragged Tom back to the centre of the room. Jason pulled Tom’s arms behind his back and secured them with metal cuffs.
Tom squirmed like a caterpillar as Jason wrapped both arms around his legs and lifted him off the floor. The doctor slid the shorts up his legs and Tom’s shouting and struggling intensified. The shorts actually looked more like a robotic diaper, with a front and rear assembly. As the doctor lifted it into place between Tom’s legs, he reached between Tom’s thighs and lifted the teenager’s penis and testicles upwards so that they didn’t get trapped. When the shorts were as high as they could go, the doctor adjusted the waist band, locking it into place so that they could not be removed.
Mike put Tom back onto his feet.
“So much easier when they have a waist like this,” the doctor observed. “I hate using the dildo as the main lock.”
Tom’s eyes widened as he heard the word “dildo,” and he redoubled his futile struggles. The doctor moved to the rear, and Tom felt the man spreading his ass cheeks.
“It’s easier if you don’t fight it,” Rutherford said.
Then something cool and slimy was pressing against Tom’s hole. He squealed as it pushed into him, but all too soon it was buried inside. The doctor turned a recessed lock and the head of the dildo expanded to the size of a billiard ball in the teenager’s rectum, holding it firmly in place.
The doctor returned to the boy’s front, and removed a reinforced glass panel to access the device’s inner workings. Within, there was a complicated mechanism that was divided vertically in two. The doctor pulled the two halves and they slid apart to reveal Tom’s genitals nestled behind, pulled up towards his stomach like a swimmer’s privates in a pair of speedos. Once freed, they flopped downwards.
In the lower part of the device was a stiff rubber ring hinged at the rear. Rutherford opened the ring and it divided in two equal halves. The man gripped the struggling youth’s testicles and pulled them down beneath the ring, then he closed the ring around the neck of Tom’s scrotum, and the two halves clicked into place, trapping his testicles beneath. The doctor pushed the ring downwards as far as Tom’s testicles would allow. They were not particularly large, and they bulged beneath, as his scrotum got tighter. When they were are low as they could comfortably go, the doctor lifted a rubber massage cup up from below, until it was pressing firmly against them, locking it into place.
“Okay, let’s see what we’re dealing with here,” he said.
He pulled a remote from his pocket and pressed a button on it. Tom immediately felt a tingling in his hole as a low voltage electrical current started pulsing into his prostate. There was also a high frequency buzzing as the dildo started vibrating. He instantly redoubled his efforts to be free, disturbed by the unexpectedly pleasurable sensation, but Mike held him like a bear applying a death grip and Tom felt like a little toddler struggling in his daddy’s arms.
He could feel the excitement rapidly building between his legs, and his brown dick quickly filled with blood, lifting its head, this time pointing upwards under its own power as its internal pressure lifted it.
It was slender, five inches long, so hard that it curved slightly upwards. He’d thought that the milk bus had made him hard, but somehow he was even harder now.
Doctor Rutherford slid a hollow tube down over Tom’s boner, adjusting it until just the glans was visible above. Although Tom didn’t have much girth, his helmet was much thicker, coloured a deep crimson, bloated with blood, with a gently curved coronal ridge that led back to the shaft.
The doctor pressed another button, and Tom felt something soft within the cylinder pressing firmly against his shaft as its hydraulic lining inflated. Soon his penis was tightly gripped by the cylinder, which had adjusted to the thickness of his straining meat. The doctor pushed the cylinder towards Tom’s belly, and it locked into place within the device.
“Almost there,” he informed Tom conversationally, as though it was news that the teenager would be happy to receive.
The doctor adjusted a slider, lowering another ring over Tom’s glans. This ring was made of steel and on the inside, there were multiple circles of tiny inwards-facing latex posts like the tendrils of a sea anemone. Tom felt them slide slimily over the head of his penis until they were just over the lower 25% of the glans, lightly touching the sensitive skin.
“Okay, that should do it,” the doctor announced. “Let’s just give it a quick test.”
He pressed a button labelled T on the remote and Tom flinched as dozens of tiny rubber nodules started moving up and down beneath his confined testicles, whilst the cup they protruded from vibrated in tiny circles. He gasped at the unexpected sensation.
The doctor gave a small nod and pressed the T button again and the movement stopped. Pressing S activated similar motion all along Tom’s shaft. He felt it swelling and he involuntarily tensed with excitement. He looked down, dismayed to see his glans grow shiny as the root of his dick strained. It looked like he was deliberately making himself horny, but nothing could be further from the truth.
It was bad enough to be naked with a boner in the presence of three grown men, but the fact that two of them were cops; burly pinnacles of masculinity, while he was just a scrawny kid in comparison; and not even a kid with a decent dick, made it worse. Since moving to America 3 months earlier, Tom had spent a lot of the time indignantly furious while he was masturbated in the presence of whoever’s vehicle he happened to be travelling in that day. But right now, his indignance was joined by a deep sense of humiliation, and the latter emotion was winning.
“Annd the final test,” Rutherford announced, deactivating the shaft massager.
He pressed the G button and the ring of lubed tendrils surrounding Tom’s glans began swaying in random patterns; their heads circling, making figure 8s and zig-zagging, the tips lightly stroking Tom’s glans. He gasped, shocked at how effective they were at turning him on. The hands were bad enough but this was… well this was a whole other level.
“Yup, that seems fine. Most guys find that after a day of this, they decide it’s better to comply with their federally mandated daily masturbation session.”
Tom clenched his jaw. He hated being lectured.
Rutherford pressed a green button and all of the stimulators activated at once. The effect was instant. Tom let out a long sigh and went limp in Mike’s arms, almost sliding through the man’s grip. Jason smiled. The boys all went weak at the knees like that. The first blast of ecstasy was completely overwhelming.
After half a dozen seconds, Tom grunted softly, as he adjusted to the initial wave of knee-trembling pleasure. He straightened his legs, supporting his own weight.
“Yup, working just fine,” the doctor said, trying to be cooly professional, but he was suppressing a smirk.
It didn’t matter how tough or macho the guys acted when they were brought in, they were all quickly reduced to quivering jelly by that initial run.
Rutherford reached for the front of the device one last time, and replaced the cover, locking it into place. Once it was secured, he nodded to Mike.
The large cop said, “Okay son, I’m going to take the handcuffs off now. Don’t do anything silly.”
He removed the cuffs and Tom immediately reached for his rear. They all did. Even gay kids didn’t like being sodomised in public. Tom’s fingers met a smooth surface. The dildo was buried inside him, and even the lock was recessed. There was nothing for his fingers to gain purchase of.
“Take it out!” he snarled.
“Sorry son, I can’t do that, and now I know you’re lying to me, I’m going to have to wait until Monday no matter what you say.”
Tom scowled at him.
“I’ve done n…nnnnnothing wrong.”
He was already having trouble speaking.
“Then you should have been straight with me when we first spoke. I’m willing to bet my next pay-check that you’re a runaway. Too shy or uptight for your daily jack off. I guarantee after 3 days in masturbation shorts, getting a hand job on the way to school will seem like nothing in comparison.”
“Three days!” Tom exclaimed. “What about using the bathroom, or eating?”
“You’ll get two breaks a day.
“But I can’t. There’s no way I can nut that much.”
“Who said anything about nutting?” Jason said.
He laughed as he and Mike exchanged a look. He placed a bottle of water on the bunk.
“We’ll be back at 6 for your first break.”
Tom stood, squirming, his knees collapsed inwards, shuffling from foot to foot as though he was last in line for an urgently needed bathroom break. He looked at the cop with an ugly grimace.
All three men left the room.
As soon as the doctor and the two cops had left the room, Tom was left with nothing to distract him in the quiet cell from the masturbation shorts he was wearing. His first thought was to try again to remove them. He reached behind the waist, seeking the locking mechanism, but the flat lock was robust with no obvious keyhole. After a few minutes of fiddling, he realised it probably had an electronic mechanism and he gave up.
He was uncomfortably aware of the dildo jammed into his asshole and expanded. He could feel it deep inside him, filling him, constantly buzzing; touching him in a place he’d never been touched before. It felt strange; good, like a sexual tickle, but he didn’t want to feel good in that part of his body, and it felt like he was being fucked as if he was a homo.
He reached further back between his buttocks in hopes of extracting the dildo. He could feel a recessed area in the otherwise smooth metal surface of the shorts as they passed between his legs, following the line of his perineum. There was further bumpy topology inside the depression, but there was nothing he could grip with his fingertips. He leaned forwards trying to see, but could not angle his head far enough between his legs.
He examined the masturbation shorts. They didn’t look like shorts to him – more like oversized briefs, or a giant metal diaper. The realisation made him feel even more ridiculous.
Tom put his hands on the waistband on either side, and tried to push the shorts down by force. The waistband was snugly tightened just above the crest of his hips. He inhaled but nothing could reduce the radius of his hip bones. After five more minutes seconds of concerted shoving, wriggling, shimmying, and contortion, Tom came to the unsurprising, but nevertheless disappointing conclusion that the shorts were not coming off unless the doctor removed them.
His genitals felt crazy-horny. He never imagined it was possible to be so expertly and completely aroused. The milking bus was bad enough, but at least there, the purpose was simply to get him off quickly and efficiently. True, it had sometimes been used to force multiple orgasms, but this was another order of magnitude more arousing.
He was already breathing heavily, his inner thighs trembling in response. He bent and looked at the glass panel covering his genitals. His helmet looked so shiny, and seeing the tiny tendrils stroking it somehow made it worse.
There were times, back in Canada, when he viewed his penis dispassionately, almost analytically during masturbation, exploring its hardness, or shape, and once even dipping a fingertip into his cum so that he could taste it. But this was different.
As he briefly examined the tendrils moving in hypnotic swirls over his glans, the sight turned him on more, like watching himself wank in his bedroom mirror. But he didn’t WANT to be more turned on.
He adjusted his attention, looking instead at his bulging testicles. They also, were shiny, the skin of his scrotum stretched over them in their confinement, the skin darkening to a rosy red as a result. They were squashed against the bottom of the cup but not enough to cause discomfort; just enough to ensure that he couldn’t avoid the tiniest vibration emanating from the nodules beneath.
Tom reached down to the glass panel and tried to remove it. It had a push-push release and lock system, but like the rear mechanism, the doctor had electronically sealed it, and it refused to yield to Tom’s distracted fumbling.
Eventually, he gave up, resigning himself to the stimulation. He sat on the bunk scowling, his wide-parted knees drawn towards his chest and his back against the cell wall. How long until he came, he wondered. How many times? He was already horny. Would he be wanked until he couldn’t cum anymore? Then what? He knew from much solo experience that after he’d cum, he lost interest almost immediately. Sometimes, he stayed horny for another time around.
He supposed that the shorts wouldn’t feel so bad afterwards – maybe just an annoying tickling that wouldn’t stop. Or perhaps it would detect his lack of interest and stop. But what was it that cop said, “Who said anything about nutting?” What did THAT mean?
He didn’t like the way that sitting down seemed to jam the dildo further inside him, so he turned and lay on his side, but laying with nothing to distract him, it seemed as though his brain was drawn constantly from his nuts to his dick, to his asshole in a continuous random cycle. After a while, he gave up pretending to ignore it, and stood up, his grimace returning and intensifying. He was just seconds from nutting now. Should he surrender to it, and hasten it so that he could relax, or was resistance a better choice?
He decided on the latter. It just didn’t sit right with him to allow himself to be controlled. Maybe if he could distract himself?
Tom stood up and paced around the small cell, examining its interior; the 6-inch porthole in the door, and the thick frosted glass brick windows, high up on the far wall. His attention drifted to the graffiti – most of it was crude, some insulting the police. He wondered how anyone had gotten a pen into the cell considering the way he was searched.
“Some of that’s pretty funny isn’t it?” a female voice behind him said.
He whirled around to see that Jason had re-entered the cell, and there was a woman standing in the doorway holding a pen and clipboard. He immediately covered his privates.
“There’s no point covering. I’m going to see in a few seconds. I’m Miss Shaw. I’m a welfare officer. I’m here to make sure you’re properly being taken care of as you appear to be a minor.”
“I’m not a minor I’m 19.”
“You said 21 earlier,” the cop said.
“No, I said…”
“If you’re 19, you’re still bound by Bill 825.”
“No, I’m 21. I… I got confused.”
“You’re really not very good at this are you?”
The cop looked at him with a sympathetic smile.
“You’re not cut out to be a criminal.”
“I’m not a criminal.”
“That’s good to know. I don’t suggest you ever become one you’re a terrible liar.”
Tom looked crestfallen. He knew he was busted but he refused to go back to a life where every school and college-aged teenager was forcibly masturbated by machines at least once a day.
The woman interjected.
“Anyway, I need to make sure that you being treated well. How long have you been here?”
“I don’t know; 30 minutes, an hour maybe.”
“And have you been mistreated or abused in any way?”
Tom looked at the cop.
“Yeah, they made me wear this stupid thing.”
He gestured towards the metal shorts.
“Yes, it’s a requirement for minors. Apart from that…”
Tom scowled at her, fidgeting and shifting from foot to foot.
“What do I have to do to get out of here?” he asked. “This thing is annoying.”
“I’m afraid I can’t help with that, but as I understand it, you’re here for the weekend now.”
“Can’t you at least get them to take this thing off.”
“No can do. The whole point is to teach you a lesson so you don’t try to avoid your daily auto-masturbation in future. Most boys find one session with the masturbation shorts is enough to ensure compliance in future.”
“That’s fucked up,” Tom mumbled, not rebellious enough to swear directly to her face.
“Move your hands,” she said.
“Move your hands from the front please. I need to see.”
“Why?” Tom demanded with a frown.
She sighed. “Because I like looking at teen cock!” she thought to herself sarcastically.
“Because I need to make sure it’s fitted properly. That you’re safe.”
He glared at her for a few seconds, then up at the cop. Jason had seen it all before. None but the most brazen of guys liked getting their junk looked at in this kind of situation. He gave Tom a sympathetic, “I get it but what are you gonna do?” shrug. Tom looked away. He hadn’t expected the cop to be an ally, but he still hoped that the man might show some male solidarity. Eventually, Tom moved his hands reluctantly from his groin, folding his arms defensively.
Miss Shaw looked down at his groin. The masturbation shorts always made her smile inside. They made a boy’s junk look like it was some kind of captured animal on display in a zoo; a cobra frozen in a permanent rearing position, just about to strike or spit its venom. But she knew this was one snake that would not get to spit – at least as long as it was in captivity.
The boy’s helmet was bigger than the rest of the shaft, turning purple. She knew he must already be feeling frustrated; if not at the prolonged erection, then at the unresolved horniness. She could see the tiny massage rods working on the glans, and she knew from hearing the comments of many others, that they felt better than any blow-job; targeted precisely at the part of his glans that was the most sensitive; right around the flared coronal ridge.
“Are you done?” Tom demanded.
“Not long to go,” she answered making notes on a piece of paper on the clipboard she was holding.
His shaft was encased in a hollow metal tube. To her, it looked like a splint, wrapped to help him keep his dick up, but she knew it didn’t need any help supporting itself. The tube was much bigger than his shaft, designed to accommodate a wide thickness of penises. The length was also adjustable, configured so that just Tom’s aerodynamically-shaped glans was exposed, sitting on the top like a strawberry. The vibrating nodes within only served to make his already-hard erection even harder, teasing all along sits length, and all around it. Normally, when he touched the shaft, there was a little bit of give in the sides; but not now. He could feel the blood coursing within. Without him straining or clenching his rectal and perineal muscles, it was savagely hard. He didn’t need to touch it to know that.
Shaw looked lower. Beneath, the boy’s testicles bulged, pressed against the vibration cup. He was perhaps just touch smaller than average, if her estimation of his age was accurate. He was lucky that he wasn’t one of the freaks with nuts like chicken eggs. They seemed to have a particularly frustrating time wearing the shorts, as though bigger nuts meant more horniness.
“Still,” she mused, angling her head as she scrutinised his bulging scrotum, “they didn’t stay locked up for three days. Kid’s gonna lose his fucking mind!”
She was impresssed that he was showing such composure. Sometimes, when she arrived after just 30 minutes, she’d find a young guy red from head to toe, sheathed in sweat, and bobbing in the corner of the cell like a crack addict going cold turkey.
“It’s pretty intense isn’t it?” she observed.
Tom managed to keep the contempt from his voice. He didn’t want to piss off someone who might be able to help him.
“Yeah,” he said, failing to fully hide the resentment from his facial expression.
He could feel the dildo in his hole, teasing him. It felt like being raped in public.
“I’ll be honest, most guys are roasting by now,” the woman said, “I’ve even seen some boys who were so horny they were crying. You must have excellent self-control, or…”
She watched his expression.
“Is it even turned on? Some boys are resistant. Maybe they should turn it up?”
“No!” Tom immediately said. “It’s on, it’s on!”
Shaw smiled. Just because she was tasked with their welfare, it didn’t mean she couldn’t mess with the boys.
“Bitch,” the cop, Jason thought to himself.
He knew she didn’t even have the authority to increase the intensity, but she got off fucking with the boys.
“Ahh, okay,” she said. “On a scale of 1 to 10, with 1 being ‘barely noticeable,’ and 10 being ‘very horny,’ how intense would you describe the masturbation shorts’ effect on you?”
Tom dropped his hands to cover his privates, but she shook her head. He folded his arms again, revealing the inverted arrow shape formed by his genitals.
“20,” he said grumpily, with no sense of irony or sarcasm.
“Hmmm, well, then I commend your self-discipline.”
Tom was damned if he was going to give them the satisfaction of seeing him squirm or beg. He sensed that this woman especially, didn’t really have his best interests at heart.
Jason had seen her in action many times before, and he had more than a sneaking suspicion that she had more than passing sexual interest thinking about them when she got home after a runaway welfare visit.
“Okay, last thing,” she said. I just need to take a few photos for the records.”
She pulled out a small digital camera and Tom immediately covered up again.
“Sorry kid,” Jason said, “but she has to do it. They have to keep a record that you were well treated. Just get this out of the way and we can leave you.”
“What happens to the photos after you let me go?”
“I imagine they are archived somewhere just in case you ever claim you were harmed in our custody.”
“There’s gonna be photos of my dick around forever?”
“I don’t mean anything by this Connor,”
Jason glanced at Tom’s groin.
“But you’re nothing special. Nobody’s going to be interested in your nude photos.”
“Then why does everyone ask for nude selfies?”
“Hah, you got me there son. Either way, she has to take the photos, so let’s not make this harder than it needs to be. No pun intended.”
Tom stared at the cop without amusement.
“Just stand with your hands by your sides,” the woman said.
Tom was appalled at the thought that nudes of him would exist in some police database, where anyone with access could look at them; it literally made him feel queasy. It would have made him feel far worse to know that they were added to Shaw’s private collection before reaching that database.
But he was feeling unbearably horny, and he didn’t want to start whimpering in front of her. He dropped his hands to his sides, struggling to give the impression that he was relaxed, but he couldn’t hide the tension in his abs as he strained against the churning excitement in his groin.
He glowered at her with the full resentment of an unjustly detained prisoner as she took three full body shots from front and rear, before dropping to a knee and moving close to take a few more of his genitals. Nothing could feel weirder to him, than standing there with a throbbing boner while she snapped it with the same casual cheeriness as a tourist in Florence photographing the statue of David. Visions popped into his head of her sharing the photos with her friends as they all sniggered at them. And yet his dick stood infuriatingly hard, as if screaming “Look at me, look at me.”
Eventually she was done and she rose to her feet, resisting the urge to run a tongue over her lips. The kid wasn’t big, but he so fucking hard. She’d love to join the shorts in scrambling his brains with a bit of tongue action of her own.
“All done. Maybe I’ll see you again before you are returned home.”
Tom didn’t answer. He was unsure that his voice wouldn’t crack, betraying his emotions. He was undeniably furious, but he also felt a raw sorrow, trapped into this humiliating injustice. But intermingled with them both, was an animal lust; not for her, or anything in particular, but a general feeling that he wanted to grab his dick and savagely pound it until he blew his load in a spectacular eruption of adolescent jizz. A momentary image flashed across his mind; blowing his load like Ol’ Faithful, right into her face from here. That would wipe the smugness from her expression, especially as she left with his cum all over the front of her blouse, making it see through, revealing her… no stop! Don’t think like that!
He looked away from her, red-faced feeling guilty, like he did when his mother had caught him with an obvious boner. He was sitting at his desk, supposedly doing homework, but he’d let horny thoughts get away from him, when she walked into his room without knocking, only to find him sitting back with a lap pole tenting his joggers. He panicked and covered up, and she acted like she hadn’t seen it, but she never again entered his room without knocking first and giving him time to prepare himself.
Miss Shaw smiled at him. She correctly realised that something had gone through his mind. She wondered what it was, hoping it was something erotic involving her.
“Okay young man, well try not to get too horny,” she said, knowing that he was 100% certain to be climbing the walls soon enough. “I’ll see you in a few days.”
Shaw and the cop left the cell, and the second they were gone, Tom breathed a sigh of relief, clutching at his covered groin. If he could only touch himself, that would be something. He was certain if he could just come once, it would be bearable. He let out a low moan of frustration that he’d been holding in for the last five minutes.
He’d spent the past 40 minutes resolutely resisting the effects of the masturbation shorts. He used every technique in his arsenal; distraction; tensing against it; even doing sit ups and press ups, but now he was rapidly approaching the limits of his self-control as the constant arousal became too much for him.
“Oh my gooood!” he moaned, collapsing back onto the bunk with his knees spread. He knew from prior experience of the milk bus, that he was powerless to prevent himself being forced to orgasm. Truth was, the helping hands system used on the bus had been trained with the help of the very most disciplined Chinese tantric monks and Indian sadhus, and by the time it was released to market, even those world-class experts in sexual self-discipline could not resist giving up their seed when the hands demanded it. An inexperienced, quick-to-arouse teenager had zero chance of keeping his semen.
But the masturbation shorts were designed with a different objective in mind. Their goal was not to induce an orgasm, as Tom naively expected; it was to punish the wearer with pleasure so that when he was eventually released, he would accept the state-mandated, daily robotic masturbation as the lesser affront. Usually, a single day was enough to achieve the desired result, with a recidivism rate of less than 1%. Tom had the misfortune of being picked up at the start of a weekend, so, while he didn’t yet know it, he was going to experience three times the usual application.
He lay on the bunk, staring up at the ceiling, squirming his pelvis as the lubed tendrils stroked his glans. They pressed just firmly enough to be arousing, but not enough to abrade the skin. The sensation was infuriating. If they would just press a little harder, he’d blow his load, then their power over him would be diminished, but this; this was sheer torture. He hated being masturbated in public, but better a quick orgasm than this endless edging.
The vibration in his testicles was a whole separate sensation. The deep oscillations seemed to penetrate all the way through to the core of each one, and it felt as though the cup was urging them to give up their seed. He felt certain that they were being driven towards a rapid and irresistible orgasm, yet something was preventing the inevitable.
And then there was his asshole. Tom had heard of bulls being milked of their semen by breeders. He didn’t know it, but they were drained by similar mechanics. An electro ejaculator in their rectums shocked their prostates, triggering an orgasm.
There was also an ejaculator in Tom’s hole, sending continuous pulsations of gentle electricity to his own prostate. It had the additional feature of a gentle vibration, buzzing insistently against his G spot. It felt as though, with just the tiniest bit more current or vibration, it would instantly trigger an orgasm, but it was an orgasm that would never come.
What Tom did not know, was that there was a small electrical pad built into the shorts near the base of his spine. It monitored the signals from his brain to his genitals, and just as his brain sent the unique signal that triggered an orgasm, the pad sent a command through his spine that shirt-circuited the instruction.
He was so horny; so unbearably; brain-scramblingly horny. He felt the orgasm coming. At last, here it came. He felt the surge; the rush in the base of his cock; the clenching of his testicles; the explosion in his brain as his body prepared to fulfil its primary biological imperative; to reward him for spreading his genes and perpetuating his genetic line, but then… nothing. All of the physical indicators of a huge, desperately-needed and satisfying orgasm surged together in perfect unison, but at the final moment, his libido cooled from the boil. Not a lot – certainly not enough to provide meaningful relief; just enough to prevent his genitals from passing over the edge.
He thrust his hips urgently up into the air, frantically trying to force his body to cross the threshold. All the necessary elements were there. But, he… just… couldn’t… finish! He thrust his hips faster. He even clenched the buzzing dildo with his asshole, but nothing was enough.
Tom let out a child-like whimper of disappointment, but the shorts showed him no mercy, relentlessly teasing his helmet. Clear liquid started to drool from the eye of his penis, but he no longer cared – the only thing on his mind was his desperate need to cum.
Tom’s parents were by now, used to seeing their son squirming in ecstasy when they daily activated the milking hands in their MPV as they were forced to do by law. But even with that experience, they were shocked by the sight that greeted them.
Their naked son lay on the cell bunk writhing in slow motion, his entire body a blotchy red, drenched in sweat, arching his hips up into the air, intermittently thrusting in slow motion as he desperately tried to achieve the orgasm that his body had been denied for three days. But he had not merely been denied; he had been pushed right to the very limits of sexual excitement, then prevented from the release that he wanted, NEEDED with every fibre of his being, and held there, at ecstatic, tortuous levels of physical euphoria.
Before being forced into the masturbation shorts, Tom knew that it could be frustrating to be horny without nutting. Time in school back in Canada, sitting with a boner that wouldn’t go away had taught him that lesson. But he’d never have believed that he could become so horny; so desperate to blow his wad, that he’d temporarily lose his mind.
But now, he twisted and moaned, staring blankly, wide-eyed up at the ceiling, his body craving release, acting on pure instinct, while his mind had long since withdrawn, retreating instead to a place where it was partly disconnected from what his body was feeling.
His balls churned, his shaft throbbed, his asshole pulsed, and his dick-head tingled, but his mind had closed down, so that it was as though his consciousness was in a cotton padded room, smothered and foggy, only vaguely aware of the body nearby, yearning with every fibre for relief; for resolution.
“What the fuck?!” his father exclaimed. “What have you done to him?”
“As I explained the phone Sir,” the officer said patiently, “he’s spent the weekend in masturbation shorts. They take him right to the edge of orgasm and hold him there for hours. It’s very frustrating, but the idea is that he will accept the government’s daily masturbation prescription in order to avoid a repeat of this experience.”
Tom’s mother approached her son and dropped to a knee. She could see his purple swollen glans behind the glass shorts. She put a hand on his arm and moved her head close to his.
“Tom, darling, are you okay?”
Tom continued writhing, oblivious to her presence. A grimace contorted his face, his lips drawn back in a rictus of desperation.
“TOM,” she repeated louder, but again he showed no awareness of her.
She turned to the officer and frowned.
“What’s wrong with him?”
“Nothing’s wrong. Our physician has kept a constant eye on him. He’s simply in a boner trance.”
“Sorry Ma’am, the medical term is ‘erotically induced orgasmic denial catatonia’ but a ‘boner trance’ gets to the point quicker. You’ll excuse my bluntness, but he’s basically in a stupor because he’s incredibly horny but he can’t cum.”
She looked at her son. Saliva drooled from his open mouth falling to his chest and down his neck to the plastic mattress.
Her frown deepened.
“How long will it last? Will he be alright?”
“Once we take the shorts off, he’ll start to come around in about 15 minutes, but it can take a couple of hours or more, and over 24 hours to fully return to normal.”
“Are there any after-effects?” Tom’s father asked.
“Well, he’ll almost certainly jerk himself stupid for the next few days, so you’ll want to give him a wide berth and keep plenty of lube on hand so he doesn’t rub it raw. His testicles will probably be permanently slightly larger and hang a little lower, but not by any amount worth being concerned about. He’ll also experience spontaneous erections at a far higher frequency than before; typically four to six times a day for at least the next three to six months, before returning to normal. After that, other than a change in his attitude, no, there will be absolutely no lasting effects.”
Tom’s parents were torn between relief that their runaway son had been found, and the fact that he’d been tormented all weekend. They exchanged a look between them, and decided that discretion was the better part of valour. They could decide whether or not this needed further action later. For now, all they wanted was to get him out of this place.
“Okay, can you get him out of that thing so that we can get him home please.”
The charge officer turned to the doctor who was also waiting patiently, and gave the man a small nod. This time, the doctor was wearing latex gloves and carrying a metal tray and a wad of commercial-grade blue paper towels. He pressed a red button on his remote, and unbeknown to Tom’s parents, apart from the inhibitor, all of the mechanisms inside the masturbation shorts came to a stop. The doctor pushed Tom onto his side, so that the teen was facing the wall, then he unlocked and removed the dildo, giving it a quick towel wipe before placing it onto the metal tray. Tom’s father noted with distaste that his son’s asshole remained stretched wide open, revealing the rosy tunnel within.
The doctor rolled Tom onto his back. Tom continued squirming and bridging as though he was still being stimulated. His mother looked down at her son’s groin as the doctor worked.
“What’s that liquid in the front?” she asked.
The sealed glass enclosure was awash with clear liquid.
“Pre-ejaculate,” he replied flatly, “Most people call it precum.”
Her eyes widened.
“That much?” she said looking at the pint of precum sloshing stickily behind the glass panel.
“That’s just since this morning. He’s produced five times as much since Friday. That’s why hydration is so important.”
The doctor picked up a bottle attached to a hose with a press fit at the end. He inserted it into a valve on the shorts between Tom’s legs, then pressed a button on the bottle. A pumped purred into life and the precum was quickly drained from the glass housing surrounding Tom’s genitals. His father watched in amazement at how much his son had produced.
Doctor Rutherford opened the glass front of the shorts and lifted the glans stimulator off Tom’s penis, before pulling the shaft massager away from Tom’s body. Freed of its restraint, Tom’s still-encased penis twanged outwards like a metal ruler twanging on the edge of a desk. His mother half expected it to make a “Doi oi oing!” sound.
“He’s so hard,” his mother observed.
“Yes, the devices are perfectly designed for optimal arousal,” Rutherford explained.
He opened the penis shaft tube, and ugly veins bulged along Tom’s cock. There were purple pressure marks all over it in regular circles and rows where the massage nodes had pressed.
It felt strange to her to be paying such close attention to her teen son’s aroused genitals. She’d seen him naked many times as the milking hands attended to him, but she never paid close attention, preferring to downplay it as much as possible, but now she wanted to be absolutely certain that he had not been harmed in police custody.
Doctor Rutherford picked up a glass flask, rolled Tom so that he was facing them and slid the end of the flask over Tom’s penis.
“What are you doing?” Tom’s father asked.
“I’m about to turn the orgasm inhibitor off. The results are instantaneous. Unless you want to be escorting a very sticky young man home, this is the cleanest solution.”
The doctor pressed another button on the remote and the inhibitor pressing against the base of Tom’s spine switched off. Although Tom was no longer being stimulated, more than 72 hours of constant edging provided him with an compelling need to ejaculate. The very moment that the inhibitor was deactivated, that need was finally realised. It started with a single explosive ejaculation, then Tom thrust his hips hard towards Rutherford as his body endeavoured to impale and impregnate a female who was not there. The initial huge spurt was followed by a second, far more sustained gusher; a continuous flow like a faucet turning on, that lasted for ten seconds uninterrupted. Although he was still in euphoric stupor, he growled like a dog mounting a bitch. His cum sputtered then a third flow, equally protracted and voluminous followed, then a fourth, and a fifth, and a sixth.
“Oh my god,” his mother said watching her son pump his load into the flask, “it’s like he’s peeing!”
“Yes, it really is quite impressive how much a young man can ejaculate with the proper stimulation,” the doctor observed with clinical detachment. “Whenever I see this, it reminds me that the government is so right to ensure that this energy is not permitted to build up, before manifesting in less constructive ways.”
Eventually, Tom stopped ejaculating and writhing.
“He’ll sleep well tonight,” the doctor said, lifting the flask where Tom’s parents could see it.
He waved the flask around, sloshing its contents. There was almost an inch of semen in the bottom of the three-inch diameter container. Tom’s mother and father looked at the sticky, semi-opaque liquid. Until now, the consistency or volume of their son’s ejaculations was of absolutely no interest, but seeing it like this, his father expressed what they were both thinking.
Doctor Rutherford placed the flask on the tray alongside the other equipment. He released Tom’s testicles, then pulled the shorts off him. The teenager’s groin was completely covered with sticky precum. The doctor picked up a wad of paper towels, and gripping the boy’s hard shaft, he thoroughly cleaned the teenager off.
“Would you help me dress him please?” he said to Tom’s father.
Rutherford lifted the boy from the bunk, holding him upright while Tom’s father pulled his boxer’s up. His son’s penis was still fiercely erect. The man tried to push it down so that he could tuck it inside the boy’s boxers, but it barely moved.
“Hard as nails,” he said to his wife.
He pulled the stretchy material over the top, and it stood upright like a small child wearing a ghost sheet.
He and the doctor continued to dress Tom until the boy was fully clothed.
“Okay,” the charge officer said, “You good folks are free to go. There’s no charges. No point criminalising young men for being modest is there?”
“Well, that’s something,” Tom’s mother said.
The doctor handed her a piece of paper with a phone number and a web address on.
“He should start to come around soon, but if he hasn’t started to wake up in three hours, or his erection has not disappeared by tomorrow evening, call me okay?”
She accepted the card with a nod.
“If you feel the need, you can find information on that site about how to cope with his emotions after his stay with us if he has a problem. He’ll likely be resentful and may even be tearful for the next few days. You are expected to resume his masturbation schedule tomorrow.”
His father lifted Tom in his arms, facing the teenager towards him, wrapping the boy’s legs around his waist, and crossing his hands beneath Tom’s bottom to support him. Tom’s head rested on his father’s shoulder, and he was limp as a rag doll but his father could feel his son’s fierce erection pressing against his stomach.
“Oh, there is one more after effect I forgot to mention,” Rutherford said as Tom’s father carried his son towards the cell door. “Your son will experience spontaneous orgasms for the next few weeks to a month. You might even need this on the way home.”
He handed Tom’s mother a wad of folded paper towels.
“Unless he is comfortable wearing diapers, I suggest that he keeps spare underwear on hand – it’s going to get messy.”