Jake vs the VR
Jake lay on the narrow bed in his dimly lit cell, the fluorescent light above flickering intermittently like a cruel heartbeat. His body ached from the day’s relentless session, every muscle in his quarterback frame protesting the hours spent strapped to that infernal chair. The milking machine’s hum still echoed in his ears, a phantom vibration that made his sturdy cock twitch faintly beneath the thin sheet. He stared at the ceiling, the camera’s red light blinking back at him, a constant reminder that he was never truly alone. Sleep had eluded him for hours, his mind replaying the extractions over and over: the warm sleeve engulfing his thick shaft, ridges massaging his veins, the broad head swelling as ropes of cum were siphoned into the vial. Sixty millilitres. The number burned in his thoughts, a humiliating benchmark of his body’s betrayal.
He thought of the others, briefly. Ryan, with his lean swimmer’s grace, probably enduring something similar in his own room. Tyler’s brute strength, Alex’s lithe speed, Brad’s towering presence, they were all just shadows now, occasional figures in this nightmare that centred on him. Jake wondered if they dreamed of escape, or if the serum twisted their nights too, filling them with unwanted arousal. His own cock stirred again, hardening slightly against his thigh, the serum’s effects refusing to fade. He reached down, gripping it roughly, not for pleasure but in frustration, feeling the familiar thickness, the subtle curve that had once brought women to their knees. Straight as they came, he’d always been the conqueror, pounding into eager bodies, spilling his seed with triumphant grunts. Now, it was extracted like some commodity, his balls refilling overnight with that unnatural fullness, heavy and tender, ready for tomorrow’s harvest.
A personal ache gnawed at him, memories of campus life flashing like taunts. Sarah’s curves pressing against him, her moans as he thrust deep, his impressive prowess leaving her spent. But here, in this underground hell, that power was turned inward, a weapon against his will. He tossed and turned, the sheet tangling around his powerful legs, sweat beading on his chiselled abs. Eventually, exhaustion claimed him, dreams blending freedom with captivity: running the field, only to be strapped down, the machine’s sleeve descending, stroking relentlessly until he woke with a start, his cock fully erect, pre-cum dampening the fabric. The buzzer sounded, signalling the end of the night, if it could be called that. A handler entered with the tray: shakes, pills, the routine enhancers that made his groin warm, balls swelling with promise. “Session time,” the man grunted, leading Jake out, naked and defiant, his sturdy shaft swaying heavily between his thighs.
The milking suite awaited, the same cramped chamber, the restraint chair gleaming under the lights. Harlan was there, his sinister grin welcoming. “Good morning, Jake. Rested? Your yields yesterday were solid, but today we push boundaries. Quota: seventy millilitres. Struggle if you must; it only enhances the data.” Jake’s blue eyes blazed. “Go to hell.” But resistance was futile; the handler secured him in the chair, straps biting into his wrists and ankles, thighs splayed wide, exposing his groin fully. His cock dangled invitingly, the broad head already flushing as the serum kicked in, balls hanging full and heavy, churning subtly with overproduction.
Harlan aligned the machine, the sleeve warm and rippling, engulfing Jake’s thickness with a hum. Ridges conformed to his veins, suction drawing him deep, vibrations starting low. The edging began, slow strokes building tension, the broad head teased until pre-cum beaded and trickled into the vial at eye level. Jake fought it, clenching his abs, his quarterback build straining against the bonds, muscles rippling in futile effort. “I won’t… give in,” he growled, hips still as stone, mind willing his body to resist. The machine adapted, slowing further, holding him on the precipice, the psychological dilemma sharpening: yield for release, or endure the tease? His cock throbbed within the grip, veins pulsing, the fullness in his balls an insistent ache, but he held back, denying the climax.
Minutes stretched into agony, the sleeve swirling endlessly around the head, ridges massaging the shaft without mercy. Sweat poured down Jake’s chest, tracing the valleys of his pecs and abs, his blond hair matted to his forehead. Harlan watched, nodding. “Impressive willpower, but unsustainable. Time for assistance.” He signalled the handler, who approached with a sleek VR headset, slipping it over Jake’s head despite his thrashing. “This will help you along. Tailored simulations to break your focus.” The screens flickered to life, immersing Jake in a vivid scene: a straight porn fantasy, a sorority girl on her knees, her lips wrapping around a cock much like his, sucking eagerly. The audio moaned in his ears, syncing with the machine’s rhythm, the sleeve stroking in time with her movements.
Jake’s resolve wavered, his sturdy cock hardening fully, the visual aid amplifying the sensations. “No… not this,” he muttered, but his hips bucked slightly, chasing the stroke. The edging intensified, building him higher, the girl’s image grinding against him, her breasts bouncing as she rode. His balls tightened, the fullness overwhelming, pre-cum flowing steadily into the vial. But as the climax neared, the scene morphed subtly: the girl’s features softened, her body shifting, becoming more masculine, a ripped guy now, his mouth on Jake’s shaft, muscles flexing. Jake’s eyes widened behind the visor, shock rippling through him. “What the fuck?” The machine wound him up further, ridges pulsing faster, the gay porn deepening: the guy thrusting, cocks rubbing together, moans turning deeper, more guttural.
The psychological twist hit hard, Jake’s straight mind reeling, but his body responded, cock throbbing wildly within the sleeve. The morphing porn synced perfectly, the machine allowing release at last: Jake roared, thick ropes erupting, splattering into the vial, the display climbing to eighteen millilitres. Relief surged, but the machine resumed edging immediately, the VR resetting to straight porn: another woman, bent over, begging for his length. Jake panted, spent yet hardening again, the serum refuelling him. He struggled anew, resisting the build-up, but the tease dragged on, the machine holding him at the edge until Harlan intervened. “Again,” he said, and the headset intensified, the straight scene morphing once more into gay erotica: two athletes, bodies like his, grinding, one milking the other with firm strokes.
Jake’s resistance crumbled under the assault, the machine winding him up, the porn’s moans echoing his own grunts. His abs contracted, thighs straining, the fullness in his balls demanding outlet. Release came again, harder, cum pulsing through the tube, vial filling further. Again and again the cycle repeated: straight porn to lure him in, morphing to gay as the edging peaked, the machine allowing climax only when the twisted visuals overwhelmed him. By the fourth extraction, Jake was a mess, body slick with sweat, cock hypersensitive, balls tender from the repeated draining. The porn blurred boundaries, his straight identity fracturing with each morph, the erotic confusion heightening the pleasure.
Harlan adjusted the machine midway, increasing vibrations, the sleeve tightening to exploit every vein. “You’re adapting, Jake. Yields improving.” The fifth release hit like thunder, thick loads swirling in the vial, nearing seventy. Jake’s moans filled the suite, the VR’s gay scenes lingering longer, athletes in BDSM restraints, milked by machines and men, mirroring his reality. He thrust into the sleeve, chasing the end, the final spurt pushing the quota over. The machine retracted, the headset removed, leaving Jake gasping, his sturdy shaft red and glistening, balls emptied but aching.
Harlan patted his shoulder. “Exceptional. The VR suits you; we’ll use it more.” The handler unstrapped him, leading Jake back to his room, legs unsteady, mind swirling with the morphed images. Alone again, he collapsed, the erotic echoes persisting, his cock stirring faintly. The others remained distant, but Jake’s solitary harvest deepened, the milking eroding his straight world one twisted release at a time, the promise of more looming.
