Summer Intern Chapter 8

Author: lithium500mg
Title: Summer Intern Chapter 8
Date: 25 March 2015

Summer Intern Chapter 8

You may remember that the study leaders referred to us six interns by numbers, One through Six. Our own nicknames were (1) Lefty, (2) Weeper, (3) Speedo, that’s me, (4) Swede, (5) Surfer, and (6) Ripped. We know our real names, of course, but we prefer to keep them confidential. Unknown to us was that photos and videos recorded our internship, including in bed, during games and recreation, and during semen release. As a rookie in the local fire department, I wouldn’t want to be identified with the videos online of my junk being stuffed into chastity while I hang limp and exhausted on Ming’s cross.

I ended my last notes shortly after our first orgasm of the Study, which occurred under high restraint. As Control intended, we were all drained of every drop of cum. The method of withdrawal included software and hardware designed to stimulate the maximum amount of man-essence each time. To do this the system produced a high amount of orgasmic pain, leaving most of us (me, at least) completely spent and wanting no more. I wanted out of the collar and harness, and I wanted to close my legs like a normal guy. As much as anything, I wanted that chain out of my ass.

This feeling lasted only until after the night’s communal showers. I began considering the mind-altering pain and pleasure and wondering how I would respond to another session. When Ripped washed my back and gave my butt a good rub, I relaxed. I could do without the collar, but the chains and metal and close association with my fellow buff warriors kept me going. I wanted a repeat.

I got my wish with the second withdrawal on the following Saturday. The screaming was a longer cry-out as I had experience in the timing and level of all the sensations, and had an idea of what to expect. I couldn’t help shouting before the electricity on my balls began peaking because I knew it would hurt bad, and I wailed uncontrollably during the whole process. I was again left spent.

The level of cum was reduced, as the interval between orgasms for me was shorter Wednesday to Saturday than my previous seven days. I came only once, and the tremor to my brain was less than Wednesday’s. I now thought that two-a-week sounded pretty good.

On Sunday, rather than going to pan gold in the Panamints, Control scheduled “The Game of the Five Ropes” and a grooming period. I’ll describe “grooming” a little later as it included shaving and body painting. To jump ahead a little, it enabled an interesting field trip from the Panamint Valley (Inyo County) to Ridgecrest (Kern County’s second most populous city). We displayed our near-naked Spartan harnessed-and-collared bodies at a picnic in a public park, and then at the Home Depot home improvement store. That happening was still a few weeks away.

The Game of the Five Ropes is a military-style exercise where we six Greek warriors compete for five ropes. The one who doesn’t get a rope is staked out spread-eagled on the dusty ground for the pleasure of the five winners. Since there are five ropes for only four limbs, the extra can be used at the winners’ option. Our usual option was to use the fifth rope as a gag.

Five Ropes involves crawling under a rope net set about 50 cm (about 19 inches) above the ground. The net was six meters wide (about 20 feet) and 15 meters long. While military folks crawl with their rifles, we had nothing to carry through except our collars and harnesses and steel jocks. The collars are sufficiently tight that it slows the crawl since head movement is restricted.

First, we oiled up each other with sunscreen, and, after assuming a bare-foot sprinter’s posture at the starting line, headed for the net, fell forward onto our chests, and started the crawl. The steel cups between our legs dragged along the ground slowing our progress and leaving a groove in the dirt under the net. The ground scraped the pecs that pushed out from the harness chains, and we all took dirt into our steel jocks. The race was exhausting, taking a total commitment of the arms and shoulders and legs. Number Six was the winner.

I was the slowest, and got the first stake out. The five winners pounced on me, dragged me to where four iron spikes had been stuck in the ground, and tied me down. We all were covered in dust and dirt that stuck to the sunscreen, and I got extra dirt shoved up my butt as they dragged me by my open legs. Since I was the first, the rope-tying was amateurish. Welder came up to the stake-out and showed the five how to tie rope restraints in a proper way, and arranged the fifth rope so that the knot was in my mouth. He then covered my face with a couple of wet towels. So far, losing seemed like fun and made my cock fill its trap, and made my cock and balls try to test the tensile strength of the cock ring.

The fun dispersed when Welder provided some tools for the winners; tongue depressors to work the bottom of my feet, and clips to torture the nipples. Welder told us (while I was waiting for my uncertain future) that from now on The Game of Five Ropes was handicapped, with Number Three (as the loser) receiving the most advantage. The others would receive advantages according to their finish in the first race. In the next game, all six of us would be equally likely to lose. This plan was meant to restrain the torment of the staked-out faggot since all were likely to be losers in future contests.

On the other hand, the spread eagle should be sufficiently unpleasant that the stretched-out Spartan will not want to repeat, and thus give his maximum effort to obtain one of the five ropes. This strategy maintains the high level of exercise provided by the Game. It also kept it highly competitive and lots of fun.

First I got the nipple clips. They were specially made with circular pincers so that they surrounded the nipples symmetrically rather than clamped them flat like a clothespin. I yelled through the gag and towels but got no relief. My focus was on withstanding the tit pain when they went to work on the bottoms of my feet. I forgot the tit pain and strained the ropes trying to get away from the foot torture. At first it seemed like fun, but then it wasn’t and I begged for them to stop. They didn’t until I started sobbing. The nipple clamps stayed on for what seemed like a very long time, but was probably like a half an hour. I cried out when they came off, and I was left staked out for about another hour. I would try much harder next time to get one of the five ropes.

That night I went to bed with nipples that were not only sore but seemed more prominent. I put myself next to Number Six, Ripped, who had hardly any nipple protrusion at all. I jammed my steel cup hard into his rear until it hit the butt chain, and then started to pinch his micro-nips, trying to see if they could be encouraged to grow. He didn’t pull away. I heard some peeps from him, but couldn’t tell whether he was weeping or just enjoying the attention and wanting more.

I mentioned in my earlier notes that we six were not only nearly identical in height and weight, but also in having small nipples. By that I meant small in circular area. The protruding part of my nips are prominent and hard, sticking out of my chest aggressively and, when I am not bare-chested, forming a two-point base on my pecs from which it appears my T-shirt hangs. Number Two, Number Four and Number Five are like me while Number One and Number Six have nipples that barely scratch the surface of their incredibly muscular chests. Their time as staked-out losers gave us a chance to “improve” this decorative feature of their fronts, at the cost of their severe discomfort.

As was usual, a few of us wanted to talk a little in bed before going to sleep. That night Number Five (Surfer) began chatting about his life, and how he had planned to be a Roman Catholic priest. He said he had now come to his senses. This internship had quickly taught him that he didn’t want to wear a collar for the rest of his life, didn’t need to feel guilty about orgasm, and could enjoy having a lively cock. He liked what he called “The Society of Men,” and he even admitted to liking the often skin-to-skin environment of our internment.

After a short delay when most of us had begun to drop off, Number One (Lefty) said quietly, “You know, me too! I was going to become a priest. I think I’m regaining my sanity, and my capacity for rational thought.” I rolled over and kissed his beautiful muscular and now-tanned butt. The internship was producing interesting results already. The next semen release would be in three days. I was thinking “only 68 hours to cum.”