Summer Intern Chapter 7

Author: lithium500mg
Title: Summer Intern Chapter 7
Date: 20 March 2015

Summer Intern Chapter 7

Waking up on our second morning with harness and woody-preventing groin armor, the bed looked like a Greek warrior orgy. Unlike the first night, some were sleeping face-to-face or embracing or both, with bare legs all over the place. Face-to-face risked a clash of metal cups, so front-to-back ended up the preferred arrangement throughout our internment. We were not yet into icky faggotty stuff. That might come later, at least as much as could be accomplished with armor both front and back.

The second day was much like the first starting with breakfast, cleanup and gold panning. We six got to know each other better, agreed on calling each other by our “numbers,” and discussed our student life and its often hidden suppression of homosexuals. There was much talk of how horny we were and how we couldn’t wait for Wednesday afternoon. Number Two wondered quietly whether we would actually get to shoot, and I chimed in that we hadn’t yet been lied too, at least as far as I could see.

Number Two found another gold nugget, and the six enchained Spartans gathered at his location on the dry streambed since it seemed the most promising. We joked about the Mother Lode, which we hoped would start Wednesday at 6:00pm. It did.

Tuesday night was about the same as Monday except the placement of bodies in the bed was changed. We agreed that the positioning would best be more or less random so that cliques didn’t form within our little group of chaste warriors. We worked out the selection method, and the system worked out for a little while, then some of us tended to pair.

Wednesday morning went along as usual. One thing. When I took a crap after breakfast I produced a giant log (I could feel it, not see it). The colon-emptying action rivaled an orgasm in making me happy. Cook was giving us food that was not only plentiful in fiber but seemed to lubricate itself on the way out. When we were allowed to talk directly towards the end of our internment, I asked Cook for the plan related to our nutrition, and I still follow that plan.

We left the Panamints earlier than the two days before, and, after a small snack, got ourselves fully cleaned up in anticipation of semen release. While we were in the showers, Control drove into the camp complex in the “Laboratory,” an overly-large caravan that even in America would be too large to be called a “recreational vehicle.” He parked it between the Office and the barn with its entry doors facing the Office. We lined up expectantly in the barn as ordered, and waited for what we absolutely could not wait for any longer. For me, my balls ached so much it was taking focus off my dick. I dreamed what it would feel like when the steel jock was released and my cock and balls were finally free.

Number Two went first. Welder led him around to the side of the Laboratory we couldn’t see while Supervisor watched over the remaining five. For what seemed like a very long time, but was only about ten minutes, not much went on. Then we heard a terrible agonizing scream, then a second scream, then a few screams that sound more like gulps. Another five minutes passed, and Number Six was led to the caravan, but we didn’t see Number Two.

I was anxious and getting scared, but kept in line. Number Six’s scream was more agonizing but not as loud. There was no second scream, only like scream-gulps. I was the third. As I rounded the caravan I saw Number Two and Number Six lying on the ground in the dust with their harnesses and steel jocks intact. They looked 100% spent, I might say “deflated.” Number Two was speaking softly but Number Six had not yet recovered enough to express rational thought. That is, unless you consider “Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Oh Sweet Jesus” rational thought. I stepped into the Laboratory.

The inside of the Laboratory was striking. There was medical-grade stainless steel all over, lots of instrumentation and blinking and non-blinking lights, bottles and flasks, and a strange polished stainless steel Saint Andrew’s cross made entirely of three-inch diameter (about 8 cm) tubing. The circular shape of the tubing made the cross look futuristic, as though Ming the Merciless from the planet Mongol was preparing to work on Flash Gordon’s virgin cock and balls.

It was apparent at first glance that I would be restrained on the big glistening X. It was apparent primarily because there were restraints for the wrists and ankles. My dick swelled at the prospect. The restraints looked comfortable, inescapable but comfortable. Control was dressed in a white lab coat. He signaled Welder to bring me to the cross, and I dutifully submitted to the tight spread eagle in anticipation of a giant shoot. My immediate concern was how I was going to be stimulated since my hands were high and wide, my legs spread-out painfully, and my chest pulled tight against the harness.

Control spoke softly. “I want to thank you for your contribution to our study.”

Meanwhile, Welder fastened my collar to a small chain across the upper part of the cross so that I was no longer able to look down. I would not be able to witness the shoot. Welder then removed the groin chain locks, lifted the jock and fastened it at my waist. I could tell that my dick was rock hard, and that it and my balls were loose and free. I wanted to yell “hurry up, get me off,” but fear of punishment and of punishment of my bed-mates kept me quiet.

Control continued, “You and your five fellow interns are very special to us. Your participation is allowing us to conduct studies that previously were not feasible. I hope you are enjoying yourself despite our somewhat unusual arrangements.”

Welder was now fussing with my dick, putting something that felt like silicone rubber over the swelled end and tip. Something also was attached to my shaved balls. I silently vowed that I would control myself and not yell like the previous two who could not manage their experience more quietly and less dramatically.

The dick-rubber started moving up and down my cock. At the same time painful electricity hit my balls. The nut pain overwhelmed the shoot response at first, then the need to shoot rose. The nearer I came to cumming, the more painful was the ball pain. I yelled out intelligible sounds, “Ahhhhggghhh.” My groin was in a dilemma; if I shoot, I might get my testicles fried. In a interval that felt like hours, I could not longer control it, and I exploded and injected my first load of cum into Control’s container. My scream made the most noise my lungs could muster. It lasted several seconds. A second load soon made its way through my body, and I tried desperately to ease its way by closing my splayed out legs. I screamed again, more like a very loud whimper. The whimpers continued until all movement and testicular electrons stopped, and I collapsed on the cross.

The semen was collected by injection into a cup which was subject to a moderate vacuum. When the last drops of cum were sucked out, Welder cleaned my now deflated cock and balls, not gently enough for me to refrain from more whimpers. He re-stuffed them back into the ring and chastity chamber, relocked the chains, and released me from the tubular X. I joined Number Two and Number Six in the dust. Number One, Number Four and Number Five followed, all screaming, all no doubt thinking they would be the one who would not cry out.

We skipped the cardio, had another good clean-up, then dinner. Control explained to us some aspects of the procedure. “We need to empty your reservoirs as completely as possible to provide accurate data for our research. You each responded well. We have developed methods to optimize orgasmic discomfort for maximum release. We electronically monitor your closeness to orgasm and feed that information back to the testicular stimulation circuit. I hope we did not exceed your capacity to absorb this stimulus. Today’s release will help us optimize the experiences to come.”

I felt I couldn’t take another one of these sessions, much less two-a-week. This foolish feeling lasted only a few hours. As Control had said correctly, 19 and 20 year-olds produce semen at a high rate. I believe that testosterone drops sharply after shooting, but it rebuilds quickly in athletic and fit guys like us. The harnesses and muscular tight bodies in contact all night pushed it further. Besides, I couldn’t help thinking of Number One and Number Six suffering on Ming’s cross, their ripped chests heaving against the chains, tortured for their male fluids. These two looked hot with their three day beards, which were fuller than those of the other four of us. Later we decided among us to refer to Control as “Ming.”

In future sessions, as we adapted to Ming’s procedure with reduced cum, the “Merciless One” enhanced his techniques and maintained production.