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Sharing the slightly traumatic, almost always embarrassing first experience with a younger brother, cousin, or friend was another rite of passage they all shared. The panic over being watched, the nerves knowing that an employee was just on the other side of the closed door, knowing exactly what was happening between you and the containment pitcher. He had heard first-time stories of being unable to get it up or else of popping off so quickly they nearly missed the mouth of the jug.
After the first time, it got easier. The first truck, the first year of school, the first serious relationship. Everything was subsidized by that passive second income, and it mattered not how good one’s job was or the balance of one’s bank account. It was an avenue of upward mobility other species couldn’t boast, and not getting paid for what would be going down the shower drain was patently idiotic. They had to swallow down being made a product, but at least the commodification came with the financial perk.This, though . . . this was different. He’d shared the tight space of a milking joint waiting room with his brethren before, but usually, none of them were seeping the front of a barely-closed paper hospital gown in pre-cum.
He listened to the same spiel being repeated when two of the other bullmen’s names were called —This is the same process you will follow if you’re accepted into the program. Enter the room, and please remain on the upper level. You can disrobe from the waist down and then get comfortable on the bench. A technician will join you momentarily —before his own was called.
Lies. Misinformation. A bedrock of deception. The technician had already been in the room when he entered, leaving him no opportunity to disrobe in a way that might preserve a modicum of his dignity. Straddling the milking bench was a different story.Dignitywas not a part of the process. It was very much like settling into one of those massage chairs he had occasionally availed himself of when traveling, passing by the appealing-looking stand at the airport and treating himself to a neck massage before catching his connection. He had never needed to fit his cock and balls through an opening on the massage chairs, though, and wondered again if the fact that he was already rock hard would be yet another mark on his file.
“Please let me know if the pressure is all right for you,” the voice of the technician echoed up from beneath him. “If you experience any discomfort during your session, just let me know.”
He wasn’t sure what exactly he’d been expecting. Maybe it would feel like a clinical examination, much like the one they’d just administered in the small examination room. His balls being manipulated, his cock squeezed a bit before being fed into a sucking cylinder . . . It might be akin to a routine physical in that he might be asked to turn his head and cough.
Instead, it felt like exactly what it was — an oiled-up hand dragging down his stiffened shaft, slickening his cock. When they pulled up slowly, ensuring every inch of his meat was lubricated, he was unable to hold in his choked groan.
The gloved hands didn’t stop until they cupped his testicles, pulling them down, away from his body, staving off a premature eruption. When they began to stroke, he’d understood. Why they had gone through these lengths, why they’d spent such a clearly absurd amount of money on this facility, why it was so plush. The ring of the tech’s gloved hands rolled over the base of his cockhead, tightening to squeeze over his swell, and his balls retightened as his eyes rolled back.Because they’re going to make a fucking fortune.
He never ejaculated as hard on his own as he did with a partner, not unless he’d spent a significant amount of time edging himself, working his cock with the aid of some visual stimulation. That sort of slow self-pleasure was time-consuming, though, and he rarely had the extra hour to spare. A quick tug in the morning, once or twice in the afternoon, and again at night, and he was normally good to go.This, on the other hand . . . this was going to make him come as hard as he did on the sporadic nights he had someone in his bed.
The technician was wringing his cock, their hands moving in a constant flow. The rhythm alternated between long strokes and a fast, concentrated movement over his head. He liked a bit more pressure into his root and a more targeted attention on his glans, but considering this was the first milking he was receiving, he thought the overall results were as good as having sex for the first time with someone new. It was almost as good as fucking, he’d decided as the technician began to jerk him in earnest with a steady downward pull.Thiswas going to make him drain his balls, and he understood why the pharmaceutical company had put this system in place.You don’t realize your earnings potential, gentlemen . . . but you will.
What Rourke hadn’t realized at the time was that he’d begun to thrust. His hips rolled, humping against the mouth of his chair’s glory hole, desperate to release the pent-up frustration the tour and exam had caused, his dry spell and long work hours catching up with him in a single, united focus — the need to come so hard, he might pass out from the exertion and loss of blood in his brain. He would have been embarrassed if he hadn’t been dizzy with desperation.
He couldn’t see the technician beneath him and thus had no warning when the sucking nozzle of the milking machine was applied to his cockhead, slurping his over-sensitive, lubricated skin into the depths of the stroker. He cried out when the mouth was worked down his shaft, his back arching as if he’d been electrocuted, the nozzle hose around his engorged erection the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth. The interior of the nozzle was textured, and the hydraulic pump of the machine sucked him with a force he was helpless to resist. A low moan gutted from his throat as his balls contracted, his cock jerking, muscles pulsing as he came.
The instruction had been to sign out at the same reception desk where he’d signed in, and an hour later, he’d still been sitting in a stupor on his own sofa in his rapidly darkening house. The form letter had come in the mail several days later, congratulating him on his inclusion in the program if he wished to go back, with an individualized sign-in number and alphanumeric password. All that was left to do was make his first official appointment.
***
Now the day was here, and he was crawling out of his skin, counting down the minutes like some horny teenager. It didn’t matter how rational his inner voice was, not when his balls ached and the slightest breeze on his cockhead might make him shoot his whole load.You should leave now; see if you can snag an earlier spot. Hell, see if you can snag two.
“I’m leaving, Leorna,” he announced, not slowing as he strode past the satyress’ desk. “I’ll be unreachable this afternoon, so don’tactuallyset any fires on purpose, please.”
The process for appointments was far easier than the orientation had been. It turned out he could check in from his phone or from a small kiosk in the lobby, not needing to speak to the receptionist until his number was called, leaving minimal time to sit there and let his nerves get the better of him. There was one other bull sitting in the room when he finally forced himself over the threshold, a ripple of déjà vu moved up his back, his hoof hesitating over the plush carpeting before remembering that it was bristly turf.
“Is this your first time?”
The other minotaur was a stranger to him. Cambric Creek and the surrounding communities boasted a sizeable bullish population, so it wasn’t a shock to not know this minotaur, but he would have been lying to himself if he’d tried to pretend he wasn’t relieved.
“First official, I suppose, if you’re not counting the orientation.”
The other minotaur leaned forward conspiratorially, throwing a glance over his broad shoulder as if to ensure there was no one hiding behind the sofa to eavesdrop. “This is my third. Brother, let me tell you, I almost couldn’t drive home after my first appointment. Don’t feel bad if you need to take a breather afterward. I don’t know who gave them the idea to actually jerk us off, but thank the stars they did.”
Rourke chuckled uncomfortably. Despite the fact they were all there for the same purpose, he didn’t especially want to discuss thecollectionprocess with anyone, didn’t want to think about it too hard, and didn’t like the way his cock twitched against his thigh at the other bull’s words.
“I won’t be going back to the place in Bridgeton, that’s for sure. Gonna buy my wife some earrings for her birthday. She doesn’t need to know the specifics.”
The bull laughed again, and Rourke was relieved when the other minotaur’s number was called. It didn’t matter if he was sitting there in agony, practically able to rest his chin on his cock. He didn’t want to think of this as an easy hand job, even if that’s what it was.
He wondered if he would have come home with earrings for the wife he used to have, if Veleena would have cared that they had been paid for by his orgasm, another woman stroking his cock.Probably not. She would have been happy with the earrings. And stop making it sound like you’re getting some happy ending massage. This is a medical procedure, and these are practically nurses.Even still, the implication that the pharmaceutical company had thought through the psychological angle of their clientele using the service for sexual gratification made him queasy.
Of course, they did. They want you coming back, coming back here specifically. Almost as good as fucking, you thought that all on your own.Hehadthought that, Rourke was forced to concede. This place wasn’t anything like your typical machine-tug joint. He hadn’t merely expelled a dribble of cum into a collection funnel; he’d ejaculated what had felt like a gallon, coming as hard as he did during sex.
And it’s not like you currently have anything to compare this to.The state of his love life wasn’t nearly as impressive as his professional accomplishments at that point, he was forced to grudgingly admit.You just want to get off, and this place was designed for that. And they’ll pay you to do it! Stop overthinking it. It’s better than drugs.
His cock was still stiff, and he tilted his hips for a cut of friction one more time before pushing to his hooves as his own number was called. Two more of his brethren were coming through the door, heads down, checking in at the kiosk as discreetly as possible.What was that the sylvan said? Get you in, get you out, get you on with your day.Getting off was a vital step the slogan was missing, but he supposed they couldn’t get everything right.
Chapter 2
“So,whatdoyouthink?” The big centaur across the table nodded meaningfully in the direction of a new juice bar that was preparing for its grand opening just off Main Street. “Pants or skins? They’ll be the third place to put up a sign if they do it.”
