Date: Thu, 8 Mar 2018 13:46:18 -0500 From: Robert Heard Subject: The Milking Pod Back in my grandparents' day young people were told to look to the future. The future was bright and filled with endless possibilities. Well, the year is now 2073 and things aren't so bright. The United States, in fact the entire world, has gone through some very tough times in recent decades. Things started deteriorating back in the global crash of 2036. From what I've been told by my grandparents and history teachers, the sky was the limit. Business was expanding, nations were trading freely, and citizens were optimistic about their lives. Then everything changed. In the middle of 2035 the crops of the world were struck by a then-unknown virus. Farmers around the globe lost their crops. And I'm not talking about just a season, I'm talking everything. The virus spread through all agriculture: vegetables, fruits, grains. If it grew, it was affected. And without the agricultural production of farmers, ranch animals suffered and died as well. This in turn tanked the already-depressed financial markets. Scientists eventually found a cure, but not before the world's food supplies had been largely destroyed. Since that time America and the world over have been struggling to recover. Roughly 90 percent of the populace now lives in some level of poverty and the remaining 10 percent are rich. Actually, 9 percent are rich, 1 percent are classified as ultra-rich. My family is in the 90 percent. I live with my family in the Midwest in the state of Ohio. A century ago this area was known for its manufacturing, but that ended in the late 20th century. After that we recovered and became known for agriculture, but that ended too, of course. Today, like most everywhere else, we struggle to find work where we can. Long-term full-time jobs can be scarce, especially if you're not a skilled worker. Unfortunately my family doesn't have the money to get educated beyond the basics. But having said that, life isn't all bad. I live with both my parents who find various part-time jobs in our city, part of the Cleveland-Akron District. Mom and dad work a variety of jobs to make ends meet and provide for us kids. There's my twin sisters Anna and Amber, both 17, and me, 14. We try to find work after school to help pitch in, although my parents still hold out hope of us getting an education and subsequent employment. It was late-morning on a Friday and I was having lunch outside the school with my friend Marcus. We typically ate together and had done so since elementary school. "Hey man, what's wrong?" Marcus asked. "Hmm? Oh, nothing," I lied. "We've been friends for six years. I know when something's wrong. What is it?" he persisted. I put my sandwich down and had a swig of my pop. "It's just stuff at home. I heard mom and dad talking last night. Money is tight and dad might not have a job much longer," I said. Marcus sat there silently for a moment. "That sucks, man. I'm sorry," he said. Marcus' family was by no means rich, but his father was a childhood friend of a local businessman, so he typically had pretty secure employment. "So what are they going to do?" he asked. "I don't know. I wish there was something more I could do, but they don't want me dropping out of school to work," I answered. Marcus sat there quietly, a look of deep thought on his face. "What are you thinking?" I asked. "I don't know. I was just thinking -- well --" he trailed off. "Go on," I said. "I'll take any idea you have." He looked at me with a wry smile. "Any idea?" "Well, let's hear it first," I smiled back. "I, uh -- I can't believe I'm going to say this, but -- well, the Chinese place is always hiring," he said sheepishly. I stared at him, a look of surprise and bemused disbelief. Now at this point I need to tell you about "the Chinese place." Specifically, the corporation in question is named Seminal Beauty. About ten years ago they started as a cosmetics company in China. They were renowned for their face creams that seemed to work miracles. In fact, they were so popular that some ultra-rich actually flew to China on private jets just to purchase the super-expensive facial products. Then about seven years back the company went global, opening stores and clinics around the world to cater to those who could afford their products. The Cleveland-Akron District still had a demographic of wealthy people, so we got a clinic. Everyone wondered what their secret was. Rich women and celebrities raved about their products. Everyone had seen the before-and-after pictures on their infomercials. A small jar of their facial cream could sell for as much as 500 credits, an unaffordable luxury for most people. But the ultra-rich just kept buying it, swearing that it was as close to a miracle as you could get. Then five years ago the BBC International broke the story. They had been conducting a nine-month long undercover investigation into the company and their products and had discovered their secret. Seminal Beauty's secret ingredient turned out to be -- wait for it -- semen, specifically semen from teenage boys. Apparently our stuff was an amazing moisturizer and skin rejuvenator. After the initial shock and a number of crude jokes, sales remained high. People were still amazed by the product and didn't care where it came from, they just wanted it. Which brings us to the present. Several years back Seminal Beauty opened a clinic in my city. In addition to selling their popular products, the clinic also served as a collection facility. Yes, that's right. The company would pay young guys to -- how do I say it politely? -- "donate" their semen for the company's use. Word is they paid pretty well, but many people refused to set foot in the place due to the perceived stigma. I continued to stare at Marcus. "Are you serious?" I asked. "Well, yeah," he muttered. "I mean look, they pay money, Steven, hard credits. And word has it that they pay well. And they're always looking for new donors." Well, he had a point, I had to admit. But my parents would never go for such a thing, I told him. "So don't tell them," he chided. "You pick up odd jobs after school and on weekends. Just bring the money home and tell them you got paid well. If they're as hard up as you say, they won't ask too many questions." "Maybe," I answered. We finished the rest of our lunch in relative silence and headed back inside when the bell rang. I spent the rest of the day and evening thinking about what Marcus had said. If the rumors were true, donating at the clinic would bring in some much-needed money. I visited their webnet site out of curiosity and everything seemed pretty straightforward. Basically if you were a teenage male in generally good health, you qualified -- same-day donation, same-day pay. Somewhat reluctantly and with a tinge of hesitation, I decided to check them out. I rose early Saturday morning, got ready, and headed out before anyone else got up and could ask me too many questions. I rode my bike across town to the clinic. It was a large white building, very white, I observed. I rode around to the side entrance that was designated for donors, parked my bike, and looked around one final time before walking inside. The inside was beautiful, I thought. Cut stones adorned the floor and dark wood paneling covered the walls. I walked across the lobby to the reception desk. "May I help you?" a pleasant woman asked. "Uh, yeah," I mumbled. "I -- uh --" "First-time donor?" she asked with a smile. "Yeah," I answered. "All right. Here," she said, handing me a digital tablet. "Fill this out and bring it back. After that we'll have you watch a short video explaining the donation procedure, and then we'll get you started." I took the tablet over to a leather chair in the adjacent waiting area and sat down. The questions were pretty basic. They asked my age, height, weight, and some general health questions. I filled the form out and brought it back as instructed. "Excellent, Steven," she said, looking at my name on the form. "Just wait here a moment and we'll have someone come for you." A minute later a young man emerged from a pair of double doors in the back and walked up to me. "Hi there. You're Steven?" he asked with a smile while extending his hand. "Yeah," I said in a low voice, taking his hand and shaking it. "All right. I'm Michael. Well, come on back and we'll get you started," he said, leading me to the back of the room. We passed though the same double doors that he had just come through and I was shown into a small room with a view screen. I was instructed to sit in the chair as Michael started the mandatory video. It was pretty dull, basically explaining how my donation would be used for their products. It also showed the donation room where today's business would actually take place. The video lasted about ten minutes. "Okay. What did you think? Do you have any questions?" he asked. "Uh, no, I don't," I answered. "All right then," he said, handing me a hospital-type gown. "Why don't you take off all your clothes and put this on." He left the room as I stripped down, placing my clothes in a plastic bag, and slipped on the gown. Unlike most hospital gowns, this one actually covered me, I noted in amusement. A minute later Michael returned. "Okay, Steven, let's head over to the donation room and get started." He walked ahead and led me down a corridor to another pair of double doors. We entered and I stopped momentarily to take in the sight. The room was as the video showed but I was surprised by the size. "Pretty impressive, huh?" Michael asked. The room had four rows of donation pods, as they were called. They were fairly sizable pods, about the size of a small mini-car and kind of resembled a large egg. They were a shiny black plexiglass and there were a lot of them. "There are 36 units in this room. And yes, they're all in use," he said as he led me down the aisle. We arrived at a unit toward the end of the row. The door to the pod was open. Inside was a comfortable-looking leather seat and the collection unit apparatus. I stared with embarrassment at the contraption, wondering what I had gotten myself into. "Don't worry, Steven. Everyone is nervous their first time. Why don't you step inside and take a seat." I moved forward and stepped into the opening. "Oh, wait, you'll need to remove this," he said, slipping the gown off of me. I stood there butt naked and somewhat self-conscious. "All right, have a seat," he said. I complied, putting my naked ass down in the black leather seat. I noticed immediately that the seat was warm. At least it's comfortable, I thought. Michael stepped into the pod after me. "Now let's get you situated," he said. He positioned my arms and legs at certain points on the chair, then reached up and pushed a blue button. Immediately U-shaped plastic-composite bands came out of the chair, clamping around my wrists and ankles. "Hey, what's this?" I asked nervously, pulling at the restraints. "It's nothing," he said, "just standard procedure. The wrist and ankle cuffs keep you still and in place during the donation so you don't damage the collection unit. They'll come off as soon as you're done." I looked around as Michael pressed some more buttons. In addition to the leather seat there was a view screen located in front of me. Michael reached around me and pulled out an adjustable bar made of the same plastic-composite material with a distinctive-looking contraption on it. "Now for the last part," he said, smiling. "Pardon me while I get this fitted." He pulled the plastic bar across my midsection and positioned it right above the tip of my penis. Then he pressed yet another button, this one creating a vacuum in the collection tube which sucked my penis inside and secured it firmly around the base. The apparatus was about eight inches long and made of a see-through material. According to the video I had watched, the outer shell was hard while the inner sleeve was a soft plastic-like material. The space between the two was filled with a nanotech liquid polymer. Once my member was in the device, Michael leaned over and pushed a yellow button. I immediately felt the inner sleeve tighten around me. "Okay, Steven, we're ready," he said, leaning back. "I'll start the pod and it will take care of everything else. The view screen is interactive and voice commanded, so if you need anything or want to stop, just say so, okay?" "Okay," I answered, still nervous and embarrassed about being here. "Relax, Steven," Michael said. "Lots of guys do this. In fact, many of them come back. It's designed to be a pleasant experience." And with that he stepped out of the pod and closed the door. I noticed a sticker on the door that said "soundproof." Well, that was nice, I mused, in case the guys in the pods next to me get a little too loud. The view screen in front of me came on showing an ocean-blue screen with colorful tropical fish. A soothing female voice began speaking. "Thank you for donating to Seminal Beauty. Your donation is appreciated. Semen extraction to commence in three, two, one..." The polymer between the outer shell and inner sleeve came to life. I watched astonished as the nanotech liquid flowed around my cock and began to slowly stimulate me. It was like a thousand little filaments leisurely drifting along my length and tickling my head. The sensations were totally new and immensely pleasurable. Within the first half-minute my prick was totally erect and tingling in anticipation of what was to come. At least I would get a good cum out of this, I thought. The extraction device was doing its job well as far as I was concerned. The gentle stroking was slow enough to cause waves of intense pleasure but not quite enough to make me cum. Despite my initial misgivings, I was genuinely enjoying this. I could see why guys came back. After about ten minutes I was getting close. So did the pod apparently. The view screen voice returned. "Semen donation imminent." I felt the polymer fluid increase its stimulation speed. Damn, this thing was designed by experts. It was perfectly stroking my cock, better than my hand ever did. "Semen donation in three, two, one..." I tensed up and spurted -- hard. "Ugh! Ugh! UUGGHH!!" I moaned and grunted as my jizz shot into the tip of the extraction device, suddenly thankful that the pod was soundproofed. I watched as the apparatus hummed and sucked my spunk out of the tip and through a tube to an unseen location. Shit, that felt good. I sat there quietly recovering as I waited for the pod to stop its insane teasing. It had felt really good but I was also now incredibly sensitive. Then the soothing voice came on again. "Semen extraction to commence in three, two, one..." "No!" I yelled. "I'm done! I can't do it again!" But the pod didn't respond. "Stop!" I commanded. But again, no response. I sat there helpless as the apparatus continued to tickle and stroke my now-hypersensitive cock again, attempting to once more milk me. The sensations were intense beyond belief. I was writhing in the seat and pulling futilely against the restraints, but to no avail. I was here for the duration. The extraction device continued doing its emotionless job, thoroughly working my teenage rod up and down. The nano-liquid seemed to focus with laser-like intensity on my head and ridge areas, which was absolute torture. Having experienced one orgasm at the whim of the apparatus, my cock head was sensitive, excruciatingly so. But the pod didn't care. It had only one job to do and it was doing it mercilessly. After what seemed like an eternity, the voice came back. "Semen donation in three, two, one..." Once again my body stiffened and spurted, a pretty big amount for a second cum, I thought. Apparently the excitement of getting off without using my hand was really arousing me. I watched again as I shot multiple ropes of cream into the receptacle, my body convulsing in relief as I was drained a second time. Finally the machine stopped. Thank God, I thought, gasping for air. I sat there quietly as I recovered, the only sound was my own ragged breathing. Then the voice was back. "Semen extraction to commence in three..." "What?!" I exclaimed. "...two..." the voice continued. "No! NO!!" I screamed. "...one..." Again the extractor hummed to life, the polymer making its tortuous journey up my penis, swirling around my impossibly sensitive cock head, then sliding back down my shaft. I closed my eyes and gritted my teeth, trying to keep from screaming. It didn't work so well. "Stop!" I yelled to the view screen. "Please, STOP!!" I cried. No response. The machine was apparently stuck in a loop of some kind. How long could I endure this? I wondered. As the device continued to stroke me, I continued to cry out both in pleasure and hypersensitivity. "Ohh! Ugh! No!! PLEASE!! NO!!" But my pleas fell on deaf ears. The donation pod continued to mercilessly stroke my member in an apparent attempt to milk me of every last drop of my male fluid. And for the third time I felt my orgasm begin. My body once more tensed up and convulsed violently in the restraints as my youthful semen made its way along my urethra. I braced myself for what I knew would be a mind-bending, body-wracking cum. My orgasm hit me like a freight train, the intensity greater than I have ever felt or could even imagine. I opened my mouth and screamed helplessly to no one who could hear, tears welling up in my eyes and blurring my vision, my hips thrashing wildly into the collector. "NO!! AARRGGHH!! AARRGGHH!! AAARRRGGGHHH!!!" I screamed until my voice cracked and gave out. What was left of my splooge -- and I'm amazed that there was anything -- spurted and dribbled from my hopelessly overworked cock into the receptacle. The machine dutifully siphoned it out, once again draining me. I sat there still secured to the device, my chest heaving and my body drenched in sweat. The voice returned again. "Semen donation complete. Thank you for volunteering." Volunteering?! my mind screamed. I was milked dry!! Feedback is always welcomed and responded to. My email is orbl1415@gmail.com. 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