Reprogramming
Jake slumped against the cold wall of his cell after the handler shoved him back inside, the door clanging shut with that familiar, final thud. His legs buckled beneath him, the powerful thighs that had once powered him through defensive lines now trembling like jelly. He slid down to the floor, his broad back pressing against the unyielding surface, sweat still trickling down his chiselled abs in rivulets that pooled at his navel. The milking session’s aftershocks rippled through him, his sturdy cock hanging heavy and spent between his legs, the broad head still flushed a deep crimson, veins faintly throbbing as if echoing the machine’s relentless grip. His balls ached with a hollow tenderness, emptied for the day but already hinting at the serum’s insidious refill, a subtle swell building even now. Seventy millilitres. The quota haunted him, a marker of his body’s surrender.
He dragged himself to the bed, collapsing face-first onto the thin mattress, the sheet rough against his skin. The VR headset’s visions lingered like ghosts in his mind: the straight porn starting innocently enough, women writhing in ecstasy, their bodies a familiar conquest. But then the morph, the twist that made his stomach churn, features shifting to masculine forms, ripped guys with bodies like his own, hands and mouths exploring in ways that shattered his straight world. Each climax had come harder, the machine allowing release only when the gay scenes overwhelmed him, his thick ropes of cum splattering the vial as shame burned through the pleasure. Why had it felt so intense? His mind rebelled, but his body remembered, a traitorous twitch stirring his shaft even now. He punched the mattress, frustration boiling over, his biceps flexing in the dim light. “This isn’t me,” he whispered, but the words rang hollow, the erotic confusion seeping deeper.
Memories of Ryan flickered unbidden: the swimmer’s lean form in the communal chamber, his sleek cock engulfed by the machine, moans echoing alongside Jake’s own. Ryan had been there from the start, a fellow campus king, their straight conquests shared in laughs over beers. Now, separated, Jake wondered if Ryan endured the same, his endurance in the pool twisted into endless edging. The others, Tyler, Alex, Brad, they were out there too, bit parts in this solitary hell, their presences felt but distant. Jake’s hand drifted to his chest, fingers brushing his nipples, hard from the chill or perhaps the lingering arousal, sending an unexpected spark down to his groin. He snatched his hand away, cursing under his breath. Sleep finally claimed him, fitful and fevered, dreams of machines and morphing bodies blending into a haze of unwanted ecstasy.
The buzzer jolted him awake, the door unlocking as the handler entered with the tray. Jake swallowed the shakes and pills mechanically, feeling the warmth spread through his veins, his balls growing heavier, fuller, the enhancers priming him for the day. His sturdy cock stirred, lengthening against his thigh as he was led out, naked and exposed, the corridor’s chill doing nothing to quell the rising heat. The milking suite awaited, the restraint chair a throne of torment, Harlan already inside, his grin sharper than ever. “Jake, my star. Your production yesterday was exceptional, exceeding baselines by twenty percent. The VR clearly motivates you. From now on, it’s a permanent addition to your installation. No more morphing; we’ve locked it to pure gay content. It unlocks your full potential, you see. Your yields prove it.”
Jake’s blue eyes widened, rage surging as the words sank in. “What? You can’t… that’s not why…” But Harlan’s revelation hit like a tackle, the implication clear: his body’s heightened response to the gay porn had sealed its fate, the machine’s data betraying him into this twisted permanence. Straight as he was, the thought of endless immersion in those scenes made his stomach twist, yet his cock betrayed him, twitching at the memory. The handler strapped him in, thighs splayed wide, his quarterback build secured, balls hanging full and ready, the sturdy shaft already half-hard in anticipation.
Harlan fitted the VR headset first, the screens igniting with immediate gay porn: two muscled athletes in a locker room, bodies slick with sweat, hands roaming over pecs and abs, cocks hardening in tandem. The audio filled his ears, deep grunts and moans syncing with the machine’s activation. The sleeve descended, warm and rippling, engulfing his thickness, ridges conforming to his veins, suction drawing him deep. But today, new attachments appeared: small, sleek machines clamping onto his nipples, suction cups with internal rotors that began to play gently, circling and tugging the sensitive peaks. Jake gasped, his broad chest arching, the sensation electric, arousal spiking as the cups stimulated him, hardening his nipples to points.
The edging started slow, the sleeve stroking upwards, swirling around the broad head, pre-cum beading into the vial at eye level. The nipple machines aroused him further, gentle pinches alternating with soothing sucks, waves of pleasure radiating down to his groin. In the VR, the athletes kissed roughly, one dropping to his knees, mouth enveloping a thick shaft much like Jake’s. “No… turn it off,” Jake growled, but his hips bucked, the gay scenes winding him up, the machine holding him at the brink. His balls churned with fullness, the serum amplifying every tease. Resistance flared, but the nipple devices pinched sharper, forcing a spike of pain-pleasure that pushed him closer.
Harlan watched, adjusting controls. “The nipple stimulators are new for you. They arouse to build, pinch to force climax. Perfect for stubborn subjects.” The session intensified, the sleeve pumping faster, ridges massaging his veins relentlessly, the VR deepening: the athletes now in BDSM gear, one bound and milked by hand, cum spurting in arcs. Jake’s nipples were toyed with mercilessly, the cups sucking hard, then pinching to elicit gasps, the erotic overload shattering his focus. His sturdy cock throbbed within the grip, the broad head swelling, and with a final pinch to his peaks, the machine allowed release. Jake roared, thick ropes pulsing through the tube, filling the vial with eighteen millilitres, his body shuddering as the gay porn looped seamlessly.
Relief was fleeting; the machine resumed edging, the VR resetting to another scene: a group of jocks in a frat house, bodies entwined, cocks stroked in unison. The nipple machines played softly at first, arousing him anew, circling his sensitive buds until they ached with need. Jake’s abs rippled, sweat gleaming on his skin, his straight mind screaming denial as the porn wound him up, men pounding into each other with grunts that mirrored his own. The fullness in his balls demanded outlet, the sleeve teasing without mercy. Pinches came sharper, forcing him over the edge again, cum erupting in heavy spurts, the vial climbing.
Again and again the cycle repeated: gay porn immersing him in scenes of male dominance and submission, the machine edging his sturdy shaft to the limit, the nipple devices arousing with tender sucks and forcing climaxes with calculated pinches. By the fourth extraction, Jake was lost in the haze, his quarterback build quivering, nipples red and swollen from the play, each pinch sending jolts that milked more from him. The VR showed athletes like him, bound and harvested, machines on their cocks and nipples, yields collected in vials. His yields soared, thicker loads than before, the permanent gay content unlocking depths he hadn’t known.
Harlan noted the data, pleased. “See? The installation suits you. Quota nearing.” The final round built to frenzy, the sleeve pumping wildly, nipples pinched in rhythm, the porn climaxing with a group milking orgy. Jake thrust into the machine, his roar echoing as the last ropes filled the vial to seventy, his essence swirling visibly. The devices retracted, headset removed, leaving him gasping, cock glistening, nipples throbbing, balls tender.
The handler unstrapped him, leading Jake back, his mind fractured further by the locked-in gay porn, the nipple play etching new erotic pathways. Alone in his cell, he collapsed, the day’s vivid extractions replaying, his straight resolve eroding under the harvest’s grip, chapter by chapter.
