Chapter 6: The First Restraint
The dimmed lights of the Harvest Facility’s main chamber cast long, eerie shadows across the five examination tables, where Jake, Ryan, Tyler, Alex, and Brad remained strapped down, their naked bodies on full, humiliating display. The initial inspections had left them exposed and measured, their cocks still semi-erect from the teasing touches and the persistent effects of the arousal serum, balls heavy and full with unnatural promise. The air hummed with the low whir of ventilation systems, mingling with the ragged breaths of the athletes, each one fighting the betrayal of their own flesh. Harlan had promised rest, but it was a cruel joke; the cooling gels applied to their shafts only heightened the sensitivity, leaving them throbbing gently, denied release yet perpetually on the edge. Hours had passed in tense silence, the group exchanging glances of shared outrage and unspoken fear, their straight minds reeling from the violation.
Now, as the lights brightened gradually, Dr Harlan re-entered the chamber, flanked by Victor and the handlers, their muscular forms a stark reminder of the power imbalance. Harlan’s sinister grin returned, his eyes sweeping over the captive jocks with predatory appreciation. “Gentlemen, I hope you’ve had time to reflect on your new roles. The inspections were merely preliminary; now we establish your baselines for semen production. Manual stimulations to start—nothing too mechanical yet. We need to see how your bodies respond naturally, how much you can yield in a single session. Protest all you like; it only adds to the data.”
Jake strained against his cuffs, his broad chest heaving, the slabs of his pecs flexing as he pulled. His sturdy cock lay heavy against his thigh, the thick shaft with its subtle veins still half-hard, the broad head glistening faintly from the gel. His balls ached with that injected fullness, a constant reminder of the harvest to come. “You’re not touching us again, you freak,” he snarled, his blue eyes locked on Harlan. But the doctor merely nodded to Victor, who approached Jake’s table with a vial of lubricant and a pair of gloved hands. The burly assistant’s fingers were thick and calloused, his black uniform clinging to his own impressive build, biceps bulging as he prepared.
Victor poured a generous amount of the warm, slick lubricant onto his palm, the scent of it filling the air—musky and faintly chemical, designed to enhance sensitivity. He wrapped his hand around Jake’s shaft without preamble, the grip firm but not rough, stroking slowly from base to tip. Jake’s cock responded immediately, thickening in the handler’s grasp, the veins pulsing as blood rushed in. “Get off me!” Jake shouted, his hips bucking involuntarily, abs contracting into sharp ridges. The sensation was maddening—straight as he was, he’d only ever felt pleasure from women, but this clinical touch ignited something primal, his balls tightening with unwelcome need. Victor’s thumb circled the broad head, teasing the slit, coaxing more pre-cum to bead and drip. Stroke after stroke, the pace building, Jake’s protests turning to grunts, his powerful thighs tensing against the straps.
The others watched in horrified fascination, their own arousals stirring anew from the sight and sounds. Ryan, next in line, felt his sleek shaft twitch against his stomach, the prominent central vein throbbing as he anticipated his turn. “This is sick,” he muttered, green eyes wide, but his body betrayed him, cock lengthening slightly. Harlan moved between the tables, clipboard in hand, noting volumes and responses. “Fight it, Ryan. It makes the yield richer.” A handler approached the swimmer, lubricant in hand, and gripped his long, tapered cock, the skin warm and smooth under the glove. The stroke was deliberate, up and down the elegant length, thumb pressing along the vein, making Ryan arch his back, his lean abs flexing like coiled springs. “No… stop,” he gasped, but the pleasure built relentlessly, his balls churning with that swollen fullness, pre-cum slicking the handler’s palm. The touch mimicked a lover’s, but twisted in this captivity, his straight conquests a distant memory as waves of forced arousal crashed over him.
Tyler, the wrestler, roared like a caged beast as his handler stepped up, his brutish cock already stirring, the rugged veins standing out as it hardened in anticipation. “I’ll kill you for this,” he bellowed, his barrel chest expanding with each furious breath, arms straining the cuffs until his veins popped like ropes. But the handler ignored him, coating the thick shaft in lubricant, the grip encompassing the girth easily, stroking with a twisting motion that teased the textured surface. Tyler’s blunt head flushed deeper, the foreskin retracting fully as the pace quickened, pre-cum oozing steadily. His massive balls hung heavy, rolling with each stroke, the fullness making every sensation amplified. Grunts turned to low moans, his eight-pack rippling as he fought the building climax, the humiliation burning hotter than the pleasure. Straight dominance reduced to this—manual extraction in front of his mates, his body yielding despite his will.
Alex whimpered as his turn arrived, his gracefully curved cock quivering against his thigh, the delicate veins tracing patterns that flushed with arousal. “Please… I can’t,” he begged, hazel eyes pleading, his lithe body trembling in the restraints. The handler’s hand was gentler, almost mocking in its care, slicking the arc of his shaft and stroking along the curve, thumbing the sensitive ridge of the tapered head. Alex’s hips jerked, abs etching sharper lines as the pleasure mounted, his neat balls tightening with overproduction, pre-cum dripping in thin strands. The touch exploited his responsiveness, edging him closer, his protests dissolving into soft cries. He’d always been the quick one on the track, but here his stamina was tested in a new way, the forced arousal chipping away at his straight facade, the shared vulnerability with the others adding an erotic layer he couldn’t ignore.
Brad, the giant, endured last, his substantial cock a commanding presence even at rest, the pronounced veins bulging as the handler approached. “You won’t break me,” he rumbled, grey eyes defiant, his massive frame testing the table’s limits, shoulders rolling with restrained power. But the lubricant-coated grip enveloped his long shaft, stroking firmly from base to the bulbous head, the wide slit parting to release a steady flow of pre-cum. Brad groaned deeply, his ladder abs contracting, thighs like pillars tensing as the pace built. His enormous balls swayed with each motion, heavy and full, the ache intensifying into exquisite pressure. The handler used both hands, twisting and pumping, exploiting the texture for maximum stimulation. Brad’s straight world fractured further, the sight of his friends being similarly handled fueling a twisted camaraderie, their collective moans echoing in the chamber.
Harlan monitored closely, directing the handlers to edge them—bringing each to the brink without mercy, then pausing, noting the frustration in their data. Jake was first to break, his sturdy cock pulsing in Victor’s fist, the broad head swelling as ropes of thick cum erupted, splattering his abs and chest. The yield was collected in a vial, Harlan nodding approvingly. “Good volume—over fifteen millilitres. And that’s just the baseline.” Jake panted, humiliated, but the serum kept him hard, ready for more. Ryan followed, his sleek shaft spurting long jets, the handler milking every drop, his lean body shuddering. Tyler exploded with a roar, his brutish cock unleashing dense, viscous loads, balls contracting visibly. Alex cried out as his curved length released in arcs, the sensitivity overwhelming. Brad, last, groaned like thunder, his substantial endowment flooding the vial with impressive quantity, the bulbous head throbbing.
But it didn’t end there. Harlan signalled continuation. “Multiple extractions for accuracy.” The handlers resumed, stroking relentlessly, the athletes’ protests weaker now, bodies slick with sweat and cum, cocks hypersensitive post-orgasm. Jake endured a second round, his thick shaft stroked to another climax, yield slightly less but still potent. Ryan’s long cock was teased mercilessly, his endurance shining as he yielded again. Tyler fought hardest, but his meaty girth betrayed him, spurting once more. Alex’s curve was exploited, bringing him off quickly. Brad’s massive length required firmer handling, but he too submitted, loads extracted over and over.
By the third round, exhaustion set in, but the serum ensured responsiveness, balls refilling unnaturally fast, the fullness returning. The chamber filled with moans and slick sounds, the straight athletes’ resistances crumbling under waves of forced pleasure. Harlan noted it all: “Excellent baselines. Your bodies are adapting already.” As the session wound down, the handlers cleaned them roughly, leaving them spent yet still aroused, the promise of machines looming. The erotic tension lingered, their impressive forms heaving, cocks softening but not defeated, the harvest’s grip tightening. Tomorrow would bring more, the milking escalating, their straight worlds eroding one extraction at a time.
