Forced milking, humiliation, kidnapping, futuristic

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The Coalition milks the latest batch of Joos cows.

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Brett heard the commotion first. He pulled short of kicking the tattered soccer ball he was about to pass across the dusty ground, and he and his companions turned as one towards Northern Hab, a collection of rickety post-apocalypse shacks with corrugated metal rooves.

There was shouting; some angry, some fearful. Suddenly Willy came sprinting between two buildings.

“Harvesters!” he screamed.

That was enough to galvanise the three young men who were kicking the ball between them. Leaving the ball where it lay, they turned and sprinted in the opposite direction of the habs.

“Warrens!” Drake shouted.

It was a good plan. The Warrens were a maze of alleyways between makeshift buildings surrounding the pleasure district. None of the friends were old enough to dip their cocks there, but Drake had paid a double food ration to get his stroked. He’d gone hungry for two days, but he considered it a price well worth paying.

The fleeing teens turned as one towards the Warrens. A moment before entering the first alleyway, Drake glanced over his shoulder. 50 yards away, he saw three Stingers bounding into the dustbowl clearing that they had just vacated. Just ahead of the first, a man in his 20s fell to the ground.

The Stingers were dog-sized quadrupedal robots, gazelle-like in the lightness of their movement. On their heads were optical and lidar scanners, and above, were two six-inch, forwards facing barrels. One fired a laser; although Harvesters were not interested in causing harm except for defence.

The youths disappeared into the Warrens and continued running as hard as they could, turning left and right, hoping to place a maze between them and the Harvesters. You never knew how many people the Harvesters wanted; sometimes they were satisfied with a handful; other times, they took every young male from a neighbourhood. They were not interested in children, but nobody knew exactly where the line fell or why. The only hope was to put distance between you, then find a place to hide, hoping to wait until their raid was over.

“I can’t keep up!” Willy said.

“Run faster!” Niles urged.

“I can’t go any…”

His sentence was interrupted by an exclamation of shock. The other three turned and saw him fall to a Stinger 30 feet behind. There was no point going back for him.

Nobody knew why the Harvesters took their victims, and the victims never returned once they’d been taken. There was speculation; they were used for food; for medical experimentation; to be used as pleasure slaves; or even just as a punishment.

The Young State had done so much to harm to the rest of the world, it was only a matter of time before the rest of the planet combined to send the State back to the stone age. Entire cities were nuked, others levelled by weather modification systems, and deep core destabilisers that caused earthquakes and even volcanoes.

The entire war lasted two days. “Shock and awe” as politicians from the Young State had once arrogantly boasted, but now THEY were the ones on the receiving end, and it was worse than their greatest fears. Even their submarines and space weapons were taken out, only to sink to the bottom of the sea, or fall into the atmosphere in molten balls of fiery debris, fried in place with EMP pulse weapons that their adversaries had developed in secret.

And when the war was over, the population was reduced from hundreds of millions, to less than ten, living in shell-shocked settlements that were no more threat to the world, than a kitten was to a T Rex.

“Split up!” Brett screamed, and they separated, running into different alleys.

Drake continued running. He wanted to reach the sump, a jerry-built processing plant that provided water for the district. He considered clambering up onto the roof where he hoped the Stingers couldn’t climb, but he’d heard the Harvesters had bumble bees; aerial spotter drones, and he would only be making a more visible target of himself.

Suddenly ahead, a Stinger bounded into the alleyway. It looked one way, then towards him. There was no slow motion, cinematic moment, nor an opportunity for Drake to negotiate with it. It instantly fired a dart from its second barrel. The dart hit Drake in the leg, burying itself with a small barbed hook, then there was a massive encephalitic pulse that shorted his brain. He fell, instantly unconscious to the ground.

The Stinger glanced at him only long enough to verify that he was down. A light on its flank flashed, and the dart flashed three times in answer. The Harvesters would trace it and collect the unconscious youth. The Stinger bounded away in search of another victim.

When Drake regained consciousness, he was being carried along a corridor by another robot. It stood four feet tall, and walked on six legs. Drake was in a metal basket hanging beneath its belly with his hands strapped to his sides. He was naked, laying on his face, resting in a mesh basket that comprised the cage. He was aware that his cock and balls dangled through the mesh but there was little he could do about it. Without clothes, he had nowhere to hide them.

He looked around, there were multiple carriers walking in a line. He could see that the other captives were similarly exposed, pricks dangling between the bars, swaying as the robots scuttled along.

The robots emerged into a large hanger. It was filled with people, male and female. They were all working or otherwise going about their business. They all had the tanned or dusky skin of people from the Southern Territories. The Young State had sneered at people from their part of the world for decades; denied their citizens admission; and arrested and brutalised them as though they were nothing but criminals. But now their star had risen. They were members of the Global Coalition, and as the nearest state, they took great pleasure in their new status. They had learned their lesson well: people from the Young State were not treated as humans any more.

The robots walked across the middle of the hanger, heading directly for their destination, heedless of the modesty of their cargo, but the involuntary passengers were not heedless. Drake was painfully aware of his male parts dangling, bouncing, and swaying on plain view for anyone who cared to look. And look they did. As the carriers passed, each nearby worker turned to watch the procession, and to a one, they all looked at the genitals of the captive males, as though they were the only parts of any interest.

Drake was relieved when the robots carried his group into another quieter corridor, and from there, into metal-walled room that measured 50 feet across. His robot stopped, but the others continued through a bay door that slid shut behind them.

The basket holding him dropped on one side rolling him to the ground. Two technicians waited, and they lifted him to his feet. Drake looked around. He recognised three people in the room; Willy, Niles, and Brett. There was also a fourth person he did not know, but he looked to be a similar age to Drake and his friends. Each of them was restrained in a custom frame, with his arms raised and spread in parody of a Mexican wave. They sat on curved steel supports. Chairs would be too generous a term. They were smooth, matching the curves of each young man’s buttocks, divided into two halves that left their rectums unobstructed.

Each young man’s leg was restrained with a thick rubber shin strap. Their shins were lifted high, level with their waists, and the straps were pulled apart and backwards, spreading their thighs wide.

The war occurred before Drake was old enough to attend high school, but if he had, he might have thought that his friends looked like frogs, pinned to dissection tables, legs pulled unnaturally wide apart, exposing their genitals; presenting them for unimpeded access.

But that wasn’t the most disturbing part. Each of them was naked, the hair on their heads cropped, the hair on their groins completely absent. He could see that they were each erect, cocks eagerly protruding from their groins. And over each cock, and cylindrical device was pressed, surrounding the erect members.

His friends and the fourth youth were squirming slowly; not so much in pain, as in unwanted ecstasy. He’d never seen Willy in orgasmic pleasure before this moment, although he’d seen it on Niles’ and Brett’s face when they stroked together. He recognised it on Willy and the other young man’s faces, even as they watched his arrival. Their bodies were being forced into pleasure in spite of their dire situation, and they couldn’t fight the physical sensation no matter how much they might try.

“What are you doing to them?” Drake demanded.

The technicians ignored him, and instead dragged him to the last remaining station. It was central to the other four, which were arranged in a semi-circle. A supervisor pointed a small weapon in his direction.

“This is a Taser. It will drop you dead in your tracks. It will fry your brain. It’s also EXTREMELY painful. We’ll have to clean up your shit and piss if I have to use it. Don’t make me use it.”

The technicians removed the arm restraints.

“Arms up,” one of them said.

Drake complied, and they strapped his arms into the restraint.

“Sit.”

Drake looked behind himself at the curved steel supports. The technician pushed his chest and he fell backwards onto the seat.

The other man attached the rubber straps to his ankles, then pressed a button on the frame. Drake felt his legs lifting, then they spread wide. He grimaced as the spread reached the limits of his hip flexibility before stopping.

Drake felt appallingly vulnerable now, with his genitals dangling unprotected between his wide thighs.

A technician ran a palm-sized electric razor over Drake’s head, and in seconds, Drake was reduced to near baldness.

He felt something cool hitting his skin and looked down to see liquid being sprayed onto his genitals. He frowned, bewildered at the purpose of the liquid. A moment later, a hose sprayed his groin and his pubic hair washed away with the water, leaving him as smooth as a little kid.

Drake wondered why they didn’t use the liquid on his head too.

There was one more detail of his friends’ restraint that Drake had failed to notice, but which he was now about to discover it for himself. One of the technicians knelt down, and Drake felt the man’s fingers spreading his butt cheeks. Then there was something firm pressing against his hole. It was more pointed than a cock, but not sharp. It was insistent, slick with lube. He felt the narrow head trying to gain entry to his virgin sphincter. Drake grunted and tried to stand away from it.

“There’s no point doing that,” the supervisor said. “It will follow you, and when you eventually tire and sit back down, it will just be deeper inside you. Of course, if you LIKE getting fucked…”

Drake frowned again, processing the man’s words. He hated the conclusion it drew him to, but the logic was unassailable. He sat back on the seat as the dildo pressed against him. Not trying to avoid it felt like acquiescence, and THAT felt like he was somehow eager to have his hole penetrated.

The dildo slowly pushed into him. He felt his sphincter lips reluctantly spreading, then it breached them and he felt it moving deeper. He grimaced as he felt it go. It was ridged but not for his pleasure. Each rib was a step that made it harder to casually remove, while expanding his ass-lips a little further. Soon, it was lodged inside him. It only penetrated five inches, but it felt like a lot more, and it was five inches more than he wanted.

Then he felt a low buzzing current inside him, right on his prostate. His cock responded immediately, rising and growing hard. It lifted its head in half a dozen powerful surges, jutting from his groin at a right angle, like an arrow eagerly pointing the way. Drake felt humiliated to show his hardness to these men, ashamed of how easily his cock could be forced to stand up and perform for them.

He was circumcised – one of the last remnants of a religion that was the misbegotten child of a far older Middle Eastern religion that no longer mattered. But now, the unprotected glans stood proud, its shiny surface ready for a biological purpose it had not yet experienced. Young women were not eager to fuck in the camp, when the consequences might be an unwanted mouth to feed.

His cock twitched, no longer elevating, but becoming increasingly firm with each small shudder. The glans looked potent, sleek, ready, but it was not going to fulfil its intended purpose, although his body would not care about the difference.

A technician stood before him and rotated a steel arm up from the floor. On the end was one of the penis tubes that milked the others. The man pushed the tube and it slid over Drake’s cock. It was slimy inside, just as the dildo was. Drake felt soft latex slide over his glans. The hole was tight, gripping his hard shaft. Soon the tube was pressed against his pubis. The technician glanced to the supervisor, and the other man nodded. The technician pressed a button on the shaft of the cylinder in response, and Drake immediately felt it come to life. The end of the tube slowly started contracting and relaxing, like a mouth sucking on his glans. The remaining length of the tube slowly contracted and released, massaging Drake’s shaft like a firm hand firmly squeezing and releasing.

Drake made a sharp intake of breath, shocked at how good it felt. He didn’t WANT to feel that good in the captivity of their enemies. He tried to pull his pelvis back; draw his back away from the artificial lips that noshed on his glans with the expertise of a 50-year-old hooker. Even if his wide spread legs allowed him movement, (and they did not), the dildo in his hole pinned him in place.

His glans felt ridiculously sensitive. Not painfully so; the lubricant made sure of that, but he could feel the massager working on his helmet, and there was nothing he could do to pull away from it.

He started panting, his expression a mixture of pleasure and distress. His body was not his to control any more. Dispassionately, the men stimulated him, watching like a farmer watches a bull as he collects its semen. He was in the throes of ecstasy, and the supervisor was looking at a clipboard. The contrast between their mental states was stark: Drake was losing his mind with lust, while the supervisor was almost bored.

To Drake’s right side, Niles groaned as he came again, and beside Niles, Willy, his tone husky, and higher, started whimpering as his body was stimulated to new heights. And then it was Drake’s turn. His first mechanically-induced orgasm almost made him pass out with the intensity of it.

His spread thighs increased the intensity, making him feel as though his body was going all-in on a powerful pelvic thrust.

He groaned and cried out like Mormon girl getting fucked for the first time. He squirmed as much as his restraints allowed, but he could no more pull his hole from the dildo, than he could remove his cock from the cylinder. That was the worst of it. In his fist, there were alternating moments as his inner knuckles brushed past the rear of his glans, when the intensity was diminished, even if only for a fraction of a second. And he could always slow down or stop pumping if the intensity grew too much. But now, the arousal was continuous, there were no nanoseconds of relief; the stimulation was constant.

The feeling on the body of his shaft felt as though it was being squeezed. It was not so much pleasurable as insistent, making his glans swell as the blood was forced to the end. Then he noticed that in addition to the soft noshing sensation that touched every part of his glans, there was suction. The image of a woman trying to suck the cum from his dick flashed into his mind, but he pushed it away. He didn’t WANT to add fantasies to the experience. He was already unbearably aroused.

Drake’s expression alternated between a frown, a grimace, and an angelic skywards look, like he was a saint looking to the heavens. His brain didn’t know how to handle that much pleasure, and it went on and on.

A narrow, flexible transparent tube leading from the end of the cylinder filled with white as he provided the first semen donation of very many to come. It piped Drake’s cream down to a collection drum that was shared between all five young men.

The supervisor didn’t care which donor had produced which sperm. They were not collecting for breeding purposes. Manjoos was a very popular food supplement and the Harvesters could never collect enough to fulfil demand. Pigs loved it, and it made their bacon sweeter. The animals were not particularly discerning, but synthetic semen just didn’t have the same effect on their meat.

The supervisor looked at Drake’s groin.

“Good, we’ll ramp their arousal up to 300% over the next fortnight. Pretty sure we can get half a litre a day from them inside a year.”

“Even the little one?” his colleague asked, looking at Willy.

“Oh yes, slow-release, subdermal Nadgrow implants will have all their balls the size of grapefruits in three months.”

Drake didn’t know what a “subdermal implant was,” but grapefruit sized balls sounded disturbing, and half a litre sounded like a hell of a lot of spunk to give up in a day.

“Of course,” the supervisor continued, “they’ll have lost their minds long before that.”

The technicians laughed, and all three men left Drake and his companions alone with the milkers.

As he watched them go, Drake could feel the milker relentlessly massaging and sucking his glans, and he knew that he would never, ever be able to resist its demands…