Everything about the office was expensive: the carpet, the desk, the view. Viktor Nilsson sat looking out across the river, stroking his short beard, lost in thought. A few years ago his company had been on the edge of collapse, but then his chief chemist Dick Arkwright, while working on something completely different, had isolated H-12. Viktor smiled. H-12. That little molecule had already made him a great deal of money. It was fast becoming the most sought-after ingredient for all kinds of cosmetics and the patent on it was worth a fortune.
The intercom buzzed, interrupting his reverie. He swung his chair round and pressed the button. “Yes?”
“Mr. Nilsson, Dr. Arkwright would like you to come down to the lab if it’s convenient.”
“Thank you Melissa. Please tell him I’m on my way.” Nilsson stood up, brushed a speck of dust off his suit lapel and passworded his computer. He wondered what the good Doctor wanted.
The lift doors opened directly onto the lab, and Arkwright was standing there practically buzzing with excitement. “Ah, Mr Nilsson. I have something to show you.” He led Nilsson to one of the lab stations which, like most of the others, had a microscope on it, surrounded by electronic equipment. “Look at that!” He indicated a computer screen at one side.
Nilsson bent down closer to the display and looked at the spreadsheet. “Fascinating,” he said after a few moments. “What exactly is it?”
“We’ve made an important discovery. The percentage of the N-acetyl-D-glucosamine component of Trans Hyaluronic Acid synthase is eight times more concentrated in this sample of Cowper’s fluid than in the ejaculate!”
Nilsson straightened up. “Stop. In English please.”
Arkwright composed himself. “Sorry.” He thought for a second. “Erm – we’ve found that the concentration of our H-12 product can be up to eight times greater in precum than in the actual semen!”
Nilsson’s eyebrows rose. “Really? Eight times? In precum ? Great heavens. Why has this not been discovered before?”
Arkwright looked sheepish. “Well, probably because all our research has been concentrated on the semen itself. Our instructions have been to refine the H-12 from that. It was an accidental contamination of a sample that alerted us. We’ve tested precum before, of course, but results have been nothing like this. The thing is, Mr Nilsson, the record of this particular sample shows that the subject spent much longer than usual very close to cumming. I don’t know why – perhaps he was fighting the machine for some reason, or maybe it wasn’t working right.” Arkwright was clearly excited. “It might be an idea to ask Damien to run some tests.”
Nilsson nodded slowly. “I see. Eight times, you say. Can H-12 be extracted as easily from this? And is it in a form that we can use?”
“Oh yes. More easily, if anything - the carrier is thinner. And H-12 is H-12. It’s the same thing exactly.”
Nilsson was staring into the middle distance, thinking. Now his eyes refocused on the Doctor. “Thank you, Doctor Arkwright. Let me have a detailed report please – but also with a translation into language I can understand.”
“Certainly, Mr Nilsson.”
Viktor was thoughtful as he took the lift back up to the top floor. Eight times? Good grief. If this were true, there were many changes that would have to be made.
The report was on his desk a couple of days later. It was true - and the proof was in his hand. Granted this was only a single sample, but it pointed in the direction of very interesting research. For a moment Nilsson tapped a thoughtful finger on the papers, then punched a number into his phone. “Hi Damien, it’s Viktor. I have a job for you.” A corner of his mouth lifted. “You may find it of interest.”
* * *
“The problem would be sensing when a subject is on the edge of orgasm. It’s actually a lot more complicated than it sounds – there are a great many factors which influence it. A lot of variables.”
Damien Stewart was the company’s chief technologist – it was he who had designed the machines in the semen extraction booths that they were using now – and Viktor suspected that the man had an interest in his work that was above and beyond that required for his job.
He and Viktor were sat in Damien’s living room, drinking coffee.
“We can do a lot with skin conductivity,” said Damien enthusiastically. “Breathing, heart rate, blood pressure, muscle tension – actually many of the same things that lie-detectors make use of – but for this we’ll have to be much more accurate.”
As things stood at the moment, the extraction units in the booths consisted basically of male milking machines with rubber cylinders which brought the subject smoothly and quickly to orgasm. There was nothing especially complicated about them, and little in the way of sensing had to be done, other than to detect when a guy had actually cum. Then the machine simply switched off, his spunk having been collected by gentle vacuum, for processing.
However, to keep a subject close to cumming without allowing him to ejaculate was an entirely different thing - and much more difficult. But the computers in the facility used neural nets rather than the usual CPUs - this had been decided on, when the place had been built, for ‘future expansion’ reasons - and Nilsson was very glad that that had been the case, because not only would much more sensing be required now, but the system would also have to learn. The net was perfectly capable of doing that, but it would have to be completely reprogrammed. That was Viktor’s area of expertise. If Damien could come up with a working system, Nilsson could get the computers to do it.
Nilsson nodded. “Right. Well, work on it, Damien. Top priority, you understand. And let me know when you have something usable, then I can start thinking about how to reprogram the net.”
* * *
As it turned out, progress was surprisingly fast; Damien called Nilsson to a demonstration a week later. It was at his house, but in a room Viktor hadn’t seen before.
Viktor raised his eyebrows. “Restraints?”
“Yes. They’re necessary. Keeping a guy close to cumming is impossible if his hands are free – he gets to the point where he can’t stop himself from finishing himself off otherwise.”
“I see. It looks a bit… kinky.” He ran his eyes over the straps attached to the black leather-topped table.
“Well we could change the colour of the tables. Pink or yellow perhaps.”
Nilsson chuckled. “No, actually I like it. It looks suitably,” he searched for a word, “sexy. Ok. Show me.”
“Come into the control room.”
The control room was just a small walled-off part of the main room with a wide window in it. The door opened in the larger area and two guys entered, one leading the other. The one behind was naked and blindfolded.
“Blindfolded as well?”
Damien nodded. “In case he feels self-conscious. He can’t see us. Also, for some reason it seems to make a subject more responsive.”
They watched as the guy was put onto the table and strapped down. A thicker and tighter strap went over his pelvis. “That one’s to stop him from humping the machine,” said Damien.
“He’s already got an erection,” observed Nilsson, as the guy attached electrodes to various parts of the subject’s body, and placed an expanding sensor band over his chest.
“Yes. It’s the second time this guy’s been on the machine. He knows what’s going to happen to him.”
Viktor nodded slowly. For some reason he felt the stirrings of an erection himself.
“Obviously I’m going to have to control this manually as the computer hasn’t been reprogrammed yet, but all the sensors are working, and it’s actually not too hard to ride the machine by hand – so you should have no problem writing a program to do it.”
“Ok. Whenever you’re ready.”
The guy who’d brought the subject in nodded through the glass window and left the room. Damien set the controls and switched the machine on. “I’m actually letting the program as it is do its thing to start with. Then, when he gets close to orgasm I’ll take over.”
The rubber cylinder began to oscillate slowly, moving up and down the length of the guy’s cock.
“I’ve switched off the semen collection and instead there’s a constant slight vacuum, to collect his precum.”
Viktor nodded again. His hard-on was becoming slightly uncomfortable. He adjusted himself discreetly.
On the table, the guy was beginning to squirm slowly in pleasure. Damien was keeping a very close eye on the sensor data coming in from the computer. There came a point when he breathed ‘yes’ and pressed some buttons. The rubber cylinder, Viktor noticed, slowed down.
“OK – he’s fairly close now. I’m riding it manually from here on.” One of Damien’s hands was on a slider, and he was constantly adjusting it a millimetre at a time. His other hand hovered over a button.
“What’s the button for?”
“Ah. Well, if he gets too close and I think I’m not going to be able to stop him from cumming, that will give him a short shock. Not exactly painful, but enough to distract him sufficiently to abort the orgasm.”
“Torture too,” smiled Viktor.
Damien chuckled. “Hardly that. But it’s enough.”
“Why does he have to be kept close to orgasm? Isn’t just being horny enough to produce precum?”
“Yes, but the closer a guy gets, the more precum he produces. Also – if Dr Arkwright’s results are right - it looks like the product may be in higher concentration then too.”
“Interesting.” Viktor’s own erection was now full.
On the table, the guy was struggling more strongly. His hands repeatedly fought to get to his cock, and the wide strap was straining as he tried to thrust his hips to fuck the cylinder harder.
“Isn’t it dangerous to keep a guy too close to cumming? Heart rate, blood pressure and all that?” Asked Viktor.
“I don’t think it would be a good idea to keep him that close all the time. But I have full readouts of everything here, and I’m being careful.”
“But you’re not a medical doctor.”
“True. You’ll have to get the med guys in before you write your program. For now, I’m erring on the side of safety: keeping him well back from the edge, and taking him even further back every thirty seconds or so.” He glanced up at Nilsson for a moment. “I’m actually quite experienced at edging guys.”
Viktor looked at him, and smiled. “Something you like to do in your spare time?”
“Hmm.”
“I wondered why you had a table with straps on in your house.”
Damien chuckled.
“Now, see that number - top right of the screen? That’s the rate of precum collection. Watch.” His finger raised the slider slightly and a moment later the subject’s struggling became even more violent as the rubber cylinder increased its speed. The number on the screen rose slowly until Damien backed the slider off again. “And that number below it is the total amount of precum collected, in millilitres.”
Damien stopped the cylinder completely, and allowed the guy on the table to back off from the point of orgasm. As he did so, they saw the subject shake his head, and heard an anguished moan of frustration come from him.
“How long have you had someone on here?”
“Last time, this guy was on it for an hour.”
Viktor winced. The thought of needing to cum for that length of time was something he didn’t want to contemplate.
“But I don’t see any reason it couldn’t be a great deal longer.”
With their present system, a donor spent about fifteen minutes in a booth, then it was cleaned, and the next one came in. This was going to be very different, Viktor realised. “Does the production rate decrease with time on the machine?”
“I haven’t been able to determine that formally so far. I would have thought that it’s bound to, but in actual fact, in the first test with this guy, at the end of that hour the rate was higher than at the beginning.”
“Really? Good grief.”
Damien continued to operate the machine for another few minutes, and then Nilsson gave a grunt. “Ok. This is extremely promising. Thank you for the demonstration.”
“Seen enough? Ok. I’ll collect the precum sample for the chemists to check, then I’ll make him cum and switch off.” He changed the position of a couple of switches, waited until a light came one indicating that the sample had been stored, then pushed the slider up further - and the guy on the table yelled as he came immediately into the mouth of the cylinder. Damien signaled his colleague to return and release him, then he turned to Viktor.
He looked slightly sheepish. “This is a bit embarrassing to tell you, Viktor, but I’m actually very experienced in a lot of things you’d undoubtedly think of as kinky.”
Viktor’s mouth curled up at one side. “Why am I not surprised, Damien?”
Damien chuckled. “You know, there are guys who would pay good money to be strapped to that table. With more straps.”
“You’re suggesting we charge our donors for this?”
Damien gave a short laugh. “No, not at all. What I’m saying is that there are a lot of guys who would give their right arm to be on that machine for hours – some of them would even want not to be allowed to cum at the end of it.”
“You’re joking.”
“Not at all. I know quite a few myself.
“So what are you saying?”
“I’m saying that it might be a plan to rethink your donor strategy. Instead of paying thirty guys a day to come and be milked, we could discreetly advertise for donors who really want this, and have each one on for a lot longer. It would save cash, and also it would produce a lot more of your product.”
“Hmm. Well, if that’s true it would certainly make economic sense.” Nilsson thought about it. “Ok. I’ll start redesigning the program – can you let me have the data from your two sessions as a start, please? - and see if you can assemble some guys who would want to do this. We’ll see how things look in a week, then we can start testing the program and tweaking it.”
Damien nodded. “No problem.”
* * *
Viktor was on his way to the extraction suite, but his first stop was to see Dr Arkwright in the lab. “Hi Doctor. How are the latest results?”
Arkwright was beaming. “Come see.” He led Viktor to a computer terminal which showed a graph. Halfway along the time line the production shot up sharply to its present level. The doctor put a finger on the change. “That’s when we swapped over to the new system. It’s unbelievable!”
“And the quality?”
“Exactly the same. It’s the same H-12, so processing is identical. But, the concentration of it in the new samples is over seven times higher than it was!”
“Really? Than much difference?”
“Oh yes.”
Nilsson shook his head in wonder. “Well, good. I think raises for everyone may be on the cards very soon.”
If Arkwright’s grin were to get any bigger, thought Viktor, the man’s face would split. Nilsson smiled back, and returned to the lift.
Viktor was, he had to admit, a bit apprehensive about this. The extraction suite was on the third floor. We’ll have to think about renaming it if this takes off, Viktor thought to himself with a smile. To either side of a carpeted corridor at the end of which was an office, there had previously stood frosted glass-walled booths, each containing a bed, along with an extraction unit on castors. The last time he’d been here guys had been entering and leaving these booths from time to time, accompanied by male nurses. Now, however, the corridor was empty. The frosted glass walls had been replaced by solid black ones, and the lighting was red. Only the frantic moans and groans coming from the booths gave any indication that the floor was occupied at all.
Viktor quietly opened the door of the first booth he came to. A guy was writhing on the table, struggling and fighting the straps that held him down while the rubber cylinder – the latest version of which was much more complicated than the previous one – sucked and teased and tickled and worked on his desperate cock. The guy’s head was enclosed in a tight black leather hood, and it also sounded as if he were gagged.
In the next booth along the same sort of thing was happening. Viktor looked into all of the booths, one after the other, and saw that similar scenes were being repeated in all of them. He closed the last door and walked into the office at the end of the corridor. This was all very strange, he thought, but judging by the sounds they were making, the subjects all seemed to be enjoying themselves immensely.
Benson looked up from a bank of screens and smiled. As a medical doctor he was responsible for the safety of the subjects, and he also managed the scheduling.
“How’s it going, Joe?” Viktor asked.
“Hello sir. Excellent. Your latest adjustments are working very well. The guy in booth three has been there since 9 am.” Viktor looked at the wall clock: it was almost 2 pm.
“Really? Good grief. And how is production?”
“Very steady. It doesn’t vary much at all.”
“No problems then?”
“No problems, sir.”
* * *
Viktor took a sip of his scotch, put the glass back on the table and turned over a page of the report he was holding. They were in Damien’s living room again and the technologist was relaxing in the chair opposite, waiting for him to finish reading.
“Well.” Viktor took a final glance at the last page and leaned back in his chair. “That is interesting.”
“I thought so.”
“It would mean a redesign of the tables. And more computer tweaking.”
“It would. But it would be worth it.”
The report Viktor had been reading contained the results of the latest experiments Damien had conducted in his home ‘laboratory’ – or the ‘torture room’ as Viktor privately called it. It seemed that it was possible to increase both the production of precum and also the concentration of H-12 even more by getting the subject much closer to the point of orgasm than previously – in fact to within a hair’s breadth of it – and then, riding his involuntary responses, quickly modulating the stimulation for several seconds before backing it off a little more to allow recovery for a short time – and then starting the whole cycle again.
Also, the introduction of prostate stimulation was, according to the results, very efficacious. And there were other things too.
Viktor considered this. If the numbers on the report were to be believed, the production of H-12 could be increased markedly - and in even higher concentrations yet. This meant more money for everyone, not least the shareholders.
He nodded. “Ok. Run another two weeks of tests, and let me have the results. If they confirm what this says, and the med reports say it’s safe, we’ll do it.”
* * *
Eight weeks later the two were sat in the same room, along with Dr Armstrong, a psychologist. Viktor had another report in his hand. “We’re going to need actors.”
“Indeed,” nodded Armstrong. “The kidnap scenario is a very powerful sexual fantasy.”
For the first two weeks after he’d signed the papers Davy had been looking over his shoulder almost constantly, but it had been over a month now, and he no longer thought about it very much. In theory it could still happen at any time – and he was disappointed that it hadn’t already done so; he guessed they’d decided that he wasn’t suitable for some reason.
When it did happen, of course, he wasn’t ready for it at all.
They came out from behind a black van as he walked past one night, in front of him and behind him. Boys in black leather and masks, and holding things in their hands. “Don’t struggle,” one of them said.
He struggled. He struggled as they grabbed him, as they hooded him, as they cuffed his hands behind his back and as they held him helpless, manhandled him into a van and drove off with him. He struggled on the floor of the van too, at one point he almost managed to work the hood high enough to enable him to see – but every little detail had been carefully designed to make the whole thing as frustrating as possible: just before he was able to see anything useful, a hand had slowly pulled the blindfolding leather back down over his face. His legs weren’t tied, and that was intentional too: as he tried to kick, leather-gloved hands held him just sufficiently to make him swear in impotent rage. The journey took a long time, and occasionally one of the boys held a cloth over his mouth and nose under the loose hood, with something that smelled like it could be chloroform. It undoubtedly wasn’t – it didn’t knock him out - but just the smell of it made him feel even more controlled, more helpless.
By the time the van came to a stop Davy had a raging hard-on in his jeans. He only partly understood this – he was straight and these were guys. Weeks ago a friend had seen the advert on the noticeboard in the leather club, and had told him about it. It had sparked Davy’s interest; he’d always been fascinated by the idea of abduction, and he had a healthy interest in leather and bondage, but he’d imagined it with girls. However, the thought of experiencing it – and of being edged, which was something else he’s always wondered about – had got the better of him. His stonking erection had made him sign the consent papers.
They rolled him, blind and struggling on the gurney, up a couple of floors and along what felt like a corridor; then into a room where they stripped him and strapped him down to a table of some kind. The light, loose hood was replaced by a tight gag, followed by a much more industrial hood of very thick, heavy black leather, with what had looked like an anaesthetic mask attached to the front of it.
His cock was still hard so it didn’t have to be encouraged before the cylinder was placed over it. As it went in, he felt the head pass through small, soft things all around it. Something else was fitted over his balls, and then he gasped as a cold, slippery dildo of some kind was gently but irresistibly pushed into his arse through a convenient hole in the table. He squeezed as hard as he could to keep it out, but failed. Had he been free, he would have yelled and run out of the room at that point – he’d never had anything up his arse and hadn’t realised that was part of the deal.
The straps over him were very tight – there was one over his pelvis that was particularly so. He struggled experimentally but got nowhere. Nothing happened for a while, and then he felt the cylinder on his cock come to life. It began to stroke and suck up and down the entire length, and whatever those small things were at the end started to tease the head. Initially they were all over it, but after a few moments they seemed to gather into clumps and work only on a few spots – but those spots were exactly the right ones.
The thing over his balls started to move too. What felt like thin rubber fingers began to stroke them and tickle them. There were also bits that were working on the insides of his thighs, right at the top, and something else gently teasing the soles of his feet.
As if that were not enough, the dildo revealed so-far unsuspected talents: he felt it begin to curve inside him, and move further in. It seemed to search around for a moment, then it came to rest on a spot where - he just knew - if it moved at all, he would either scream, or cum. It remained motionless for a while, and then it began to vibrate.
From initial outrage, Davy was quickly changing his opinion to one of very enthusiastic acceptance. This felt good. Oh fuck, this felt good.
In less than a minute he was close to cumming. This was going to be the best orgasm of his life. Fuck - he had to get one of these machines.
The neural net was monitoring everything carefully – all the sensors were inside the rubber cylinder now; it had been months since it had been necessary to stick electrodes to a subject’s body or to place expansion sensors over his chest – and with millisecond accuracy it stopped all stimulation, leaving Davy flailing, closer to the point of orgasm than any human, however experienced, could have got him. Every cell in his body had prepared for orgasm, but it didn’t happen. It was withheld. Suspended helplessly on the very brink of ejaculation, Davy had never felt frustration as inexpressibly intense as that in his life, and he gave vent to a scream.
If he’d thought that was bad, what happened next was even worse: the cylinder started to move once more, then the level of stimulation began to fluctuate. It went up and down erratically, not just holding him on the very edge of orgasm, but producing intense spikes of need that, had any one of them been a millisecond longer, would have pushed him over the edge. These were more ecstatically wonderful than he could have imagined; his breathing was fast and shallow, and his concentration was focused on nothing else but them. When it had done this for a while there was a tiny pause – and then one especially intense spike during which every muscle of Davy’s body tensed and he held his breath in preparation for the orgasm that was beginning – except that it didn’t. Instead, the stimulation suddenly stopped altogether, causing frustration of such unbearable acuteness that Davy screamed into the gag. The computer allowed him to recover for the shortest possible time, and then repeated the whole exercise.
The neural net started with a cycle that had been found to be effective on most subjects, but then it learned . It learned an individual’s responses; it learned the timings and techniques which he could resist the least; it monitored his blood pressure, his heart rate and many other things, and it learned the minimum recovery time that was safe for him. In short, it learned how to cause a particular subject the most unbearably intense pleasure possible – and therefore the most agonising frustration when it reduced the stimulation to deny him the longed-for orgasm.
It did this because all those months of testing had proved one thing: that the concentration of H-12 was directly linked not only to the closeness to the point of orgasm a subject could be held, but also to the frustration he experienced. The over-the-top restraints, the hooding, the ‘kidnap’ and the treatment on the journey here had all been designed to maximise the eventual frustration the subject felt. And it worked. It worked wonderfully. Since the latest techniques had been employed, the company’s production of H-12 had skyrocketed. The shareholders were well pleased.
Davy gasped as he smelled something in the mask over his face. He didn’t know what it was - he’d never heard of poppers - but he realised that it was beginning to amplify his feelings of helplessness, of being controlled, of being used – and all of that, together with the tight restraints and the hood, was making him feel like a sex-crazed, orgasm-obsessed slut. And the things in the cylinder were working on his cock in the most delicious ways imaginable. It was pure, intense pleasure, and the only thing he was capable of thinking about was achieving orgasm. He lived only for that. Nothing else mattered.
The machine continued to work on him. Precum was flowing out of his cock in a steady stream. It ran through a clear plastic tube and into a small collection tank. When that was full a counter on the computer advanced, a valve opened, and the tank was emptied into another tube which ran out of the booth, down through the floor and into a larger glass container in the processing plant below, where it was joined by the output of the other booths.
Davy knew nothing of all this, however. He moaned as the cylinder began to work on his cock again, sucking and moving - the tiny things teasing the head irresistibly; as the dildo began to vibrate on his prostate once more; as the rubber fingers on his balls and his bare soles resumed tickling them. He could feel the leather straps holding him down to the table, the wrist cuffs allowing his outstretched fingers to reach to within a few millimetres of the sucking, teasing cylinder on his cock. He was conscious of the gag in his mouth, making begging, pleading, threatening - any communication at all – impossible. He was continuously aware of the heavy leather hood enclosing his head, pressing over his face, holding it in an inescapable grip of helplessness. And of the mask over that, able to make everything much worse whenever the computer decided to administer the gas.
He had no idea how long he’d been on that table so far. Ever since the machine had started on him he’d been incapable of rational thought. This was pure sex, free of complications of any kind. No gay / straight obstacles: any human male in his position on that table at that moment would be reacting in exactly the same way. Every few seconds he experienced the heights of pleasure as he was brought inhumanly close to orgasm, followed by those acute spikes of ecstasy – and then the very depths of anguish every time that orgasm was withheld. In the rare moments when he was able to think coherently he wondered if he would ever be the same again.
Hours ago he’d lost track completely of how long he’d been there.
* * *
The machine paused, there was a quiet click, and then it started again – but this time it didn’t stop. In gagged, hooded silence he thrashed about in the restraints as he felt the longed-for orgasm finally take hold of him. The feeling of his spunk pumping out of his cock was indescribable: it was such intense, concentrated pleasure that it was almost too much to bear. It went on for a long time.
He lay on the table shuddering. Although he’d never experienced such pleasure before, the accompanying agony of repeatedly-denied orgasm had been so horrendous that he wanted to get as far away from this room as possible – quickly.
They’d left him for ten minutes to calm down, and then they’d removed the hood. When it came off he saw that they’d darkened the room substantially so he didn’t have to squint. A doctor with a stethoscope around his neck checked him over, and pronounced him Ok. The doctor left, the lights came up and two masked heavies entered the room. They released him from the table.
One of them looked at the name card over the bed. “Enjoy that, Davy?” He chuckled, then handed him a sheet of paper. “That’s a list of vitamins and supplements you should take between now and your next visit.”
“My next visit?”
“Yeah. Your next visit. You signed up for a year.”
“A year?”
“Yep. It’s in the contract you signed.”
Davy panicked. “What? Fuck that! If you think I’m -”
They jumped him then, hooded him again, and took him down to the van. They’d dealt with guys like him before.
Guys who never read the small print.