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Review This Story || Author: Doctor Flotsom

The FSRA

Part 4


Sperm Producer



  I bounced along in the back of a van, my orange jumpsuit covering most of the evidence showing the last three days of torture. I had been given a decent meal before having my wrists chained to my waist and then led to the van where I was chained to an eye bolt in the inside back compartment. There was enough slack for the bouncing to hurt, not enough to move and get comfortable.



  For some reason, the guards at the prison had not removed the anal probe, and at random intervals from 5 to 30 minutes apart I received a jolt of searing pain deep inside. It would last 2 or 3 seconds, and then subside, allowing me to recover. This legacy of Vicki, my torturer in the prison, was to stay with me a little longer, it seemed.



  After an 8 hour drive, we arrived. I had no idea where we were, as the van had no windows in the back. The doors opened and I was unlocked and pulled out in to a hot, dry desert with nothing but a dirt road extending miles behind us. I was led around the van, where I saw the low one story concrete building complex. It had a main entrance, and wings that extended in either direction. Small windows, high in the walls, were the only openings. Air conditioning rumbled on the top, for which I silently gave thanks.



  We entering the main building, and passed through a small lobby with a guard at the front wearing a white uniform with strange insignia. Turning to the left, we went down a small hallway and in to a clean room, completely white. I was chained to the wall and left. As the door clanged shut, the anal probe fired off again and I groaned, wondering if there was any way I could get it out myself with my wrists chained.



  I waited. It must have been an hour or more, based on the number of times I received a shock from the anal probe. Finally, the door opened and a tall woman with short blonde hair entered. She was wearing white clothes with insignia on them, not unlike the guard in the front. Her stern but beautiful face looked at me with poorly concealed contempt, though her attitude changed a little when she picked up a file folder and read it. She glanced at me, and said in a low, almost husky voice, "You have quite a referral here. I am not sure I believe it, but if its true, we will need to take care of you. Potential for a truly productive spermer..."



  The door opened and two other women entered. One was small, with long straight brown hair and very skinny. Her eyes were brown, and hard. The other was average height, a beautiful voluptuous body, sandy hair and deep blue eyes. She wore a white uniform like the others but hers had thin, light green stripes. A name tag on her white lab coat announced her as "Megan". The brown haired one's name appeared to be "Shari."



  The tall doctor unlocked my chain from the wall, and before I knew what had happened, Shari had stuck me with a cattle prod. The shock knocked me down and as I was recovering, the doctor and Shari worked efficiently to remove my jumpsuit. As the shock wore off and I began to gain control of my body again, Shair prodded me and I was again unable to move. Once I was naked, laying on the floor still drooling and unable to move from the shocks of the prod, Shair and Megan moved in with straps. Bending my arms up so my hands rested on my shoulders they placed the straps around my wrist and upper arm, securing my arms in that bent position. I essentially had nothing but arm stumps, my hands were now useless.



  The same happened with my legs, the ankles securely strapped to my thighs. I could now move, but could not walk, pick things up, or do much else except roll around on the floor. Which I did as the the anal probe fired again and I cried out in pain.



  The doctor examined me, and found the probe. "What the hell is this? No wonder he is acting so weird. Those idiots in the penitentiary..." She yanked, ripping the flexible probe out of my anus, and ripping some of my rectum along the way. I screamed a little, but was silenced by the cattle prod.



  "Megan, why don't you take him down the hall, show him his room, and get him settled."



  Megan attached a collar to my neck, along with a chain. She spoke in a high voice, almost like a teenager. "Come along now, and I will show you all you need to know. This isn't a friendly place, but I am sure its light years better than the prison. Now... get used to standing on your limb stumps. That’s the first thing. Roll over and get up..." here they pushed me over and got me up to where I was supported on my knees and elbows.



  "That's it. I am Megan, your Mint Striper. Think of me as a trainee around here, but I am really the main person that will help you get accustomed to your new environment. Now... let’s walk..." and she led me slowly out the door.  Walking, or waddling, on my elbows and knees behind this girl, like a pet, I flushed with embarrassment. She was being nice to me, but then again... it was clear I was actually being treated a lot like a pet, an animal of some sort.



  We stumped down the hall past a number of small rooms. She unlocked and opened a door to a room which was a plain white, like the rest of the facility, and furnished very sparsely. It had a mattress, a small toilet, and a water spigot and sink. All these were placed low to the ground, at my eye level as I stumped in on my elbows and knees. I was shown how to operate the sink with my mouth, and use the toilet. It became clear, very clear, that my current state of bondage was to be more or less permanent while I was at the facility.



  I began to ask about getting something to eat when she interrupted me. "Stubbies don't talk," she said. It wasn't a command really, more of a statement of fact. I was a stubby... and I didn’t talk.



  I stumped over to the bed, rolled over on my back and the door clanged shut behind me. As bad as this place was, I was in a private cell with a decent bed, my own toilet, it was clean and air conditioned, and I was beginning to appreciate it. I fell asleep soon after.



  Rudely awakened by the scraping metal sound of the door opening, my Mint Striper entered. She reattached the leash to my collar, and led me slowly out of the room. Traversing the long hall, we came to a larger room that was set up like an operating room facility. I began to shake with fear, as it appeared very similar to the torture chamber that had broken my mind just a day or two ago. The tall woman doctor was there, helped me on to a table, and set up a standard medical IV. In moments I was unconscious.




  When I awoke I was back in my own cell, and my crotch was sore. Investigation showed that a small tube had been surgically implanted, and while it was clamped off, it was obviously to be used for urination. I had been equipped with a urination bypass of sorts. With my arms and legs strapped up the way they were there was no way I would be able to unclamp the tube. I would be dependent on my Mint Striper or someone else to unclamp me and allow me to urinate.



  Food was pushed through a small opening in the door, a tray full of interesting smells, though the food was all mushy. Stumping over I lowered my head to eat. The mush made sense because without hands I needed something soft. But the food was good, better than the dog food and body fluid discards I had been fed in the last few days. I ate and drank my fill, then went back to the bed and collapsed again. Between the rest and food, I was beginning to feel stronger.



  I woke the next morning to severe bladder pain. I needed to pee, badly. My bladder was full, but clamped off by my newly inserted bypass. It was awful. I started to call out, asking for Megan to come and help me. Nothing happened for a while, until finally the door opened and the Mint Striper entered and poked me with a cattle prod. It knocked me to the floor immediately, and as I slowly began to recover, Megan took a ball gag, calmly inserted it in my mouth, and then thoughtfully stated again "Stubbies do <strong>not</strong> talk."



  I got the point. I was a stubby. I didn't talk. If I did talk, they would make sure I didn't talk any more. I grunted, and looked down at the space between my legs.



  "Do you need to pee? I suppose you might... poor thing. OK. Come over here..." she led me to the toilet and then reached down and unclamped me. A hard stream of urine came out and in a moment the pain subsided. When I was finished the clamp was replaced.



  I noticed that once again my penis was erect, almost painfully so. Jutting out at an odd angle, hard as a rock, it was unnaturally swollen. Megan reached down and stroked it kindly... murmuring something to herself about what a fine stubby I was. I was ragingly horny, aroused beyond belief. I could not understand why, but I wanted her, or any woman, so badly right then. There was something in the food, I knew it, but it didn't matter... I still wanted her. If I didn't get release soon, I was going to go insane.



  My Mint Striper left, and I started trying to roll or rub my penis between my thighs to get some satisfaction. It wasn't working, and I found myself crouching down on the floor and trying to hump the mattress. Anything. I was humping whatever I could find, my arousal was so complete and I wanted to orgasm so badly I was willing to use anything. I looked around the room, as my hips thrust against the bed. There was the faucet to the sink. It was too small... but damn, there was no other possibility. Stumping over to the sink, I was about to try squeezing my hugely erect member in to the small faucet when Megan entered again.



  "BAD! Bad, bad, stubby. Don't ever, ever waste your seed. That would hurt you so bad, anyway... you might lose your penis that way, and then what good would you be? Let's go see if we can help you some better way..."



  Taking my leash, she led me down the hall once again, and finally in to a large room with about 20 sets of strange looking platforms. Several other Stubbies (sperm producers....men...) were on top of some of these platforms. I could see something of what was happening.



  Each platform was a milking station. The stubby would rest, face down, on a kind of bed that was on a 45 degree angle to the floor (the head higher than the legs). Thus, they were able to look down at the floor, as well as up at passers by or at each other. There were slots with supports for their stunted arms and legs (strapped as mine were). Where their crotch was located the bed support ended, and their genitalia hung down. All had huge erections like mine, but had a small item of equipment on their penises. A small rod was strapped to the bottom of their erections which had electrodes at several points along the length of the penis, a ring fastened around their scrotum to help keep the rod in place, and a single electrode behind the scrotum. Their testicles were also large and distended, partly from the ring circling their scrotum, but it seemed likely they were engorged artificially with drugs, similarly to their (and my) penises.



  I wanted relief. I didn't care too much how I got it at that point, I wanted to have a climax, spurt my load, get past this huge, massive desire that was threatening to drive me insane. Obediently climbing on a platform, I positioned myself as the others were. Megan stroked my penis, murmuring positive sounds as if I were a pet. She strapped me in to the supporting bed at my waist, making sure I would not be able to move out of place. She then fitted me with a similar rod strapped to my erection and scrotum, and plugged me in.



  As the electrical current began flowing along my penis in a slow but regular pattern, she took a glass jar and placed it just below me, ready to catch any penile emissions. My head hung over the end of the supporting platform, and could see everything that she did to me. I could see my penis begin to throb with the stimulation, and in a few minutes my eyes had glazed over and I lost all sense of who I was or where I was as a huge orgasm rolled over me.



  My ejaculation seemed to go on forever, but when it finally ended, I could see the glass jar had a nice sampling of my sperm in it. My panting slowed, and I lay there, waiting, unable to move, wondering what was going to happen next.



  In a moment one of the other Stubbies started moaning, grunting, and then suddenly spurted from his penis in to a jar just like mine. Watching it happen was amazing... I had never seen another man orgasm before, and I stared with curiosity. Just as he was finishing, the process began with another man a little further down. Quiet moaning, followed by grunting, heavy breathing, the involuntary thrusting of hips, and finally a huge ejaculation of sperm flowing down in to the jar.



  It was quiet in the room. One of the other Stubbies was moaning, or whining, softly to himself, but there was no talking. I would have tried, now that the Mint Striper was gone, but I was still ball gagged. After about 15 minutes, it began again.



  The mild shocks, stimulation on the underside of my penis. The rippling, stroking effect starting behind my scrotum, then forward and up to the head of my erection, it didn't take long before I was drifting off in to my own land of sexual climax...  completed by the release of another load.



  This then was the day, the life, of a sperm producer. Resting comfortably, face down at a 45 degree angle, for hours, in a room filled with other sperm producers. Every half hour or so the electrical stim would begin, forcing more sperm from me. In between, I rested and heard the random grunts and moans of the others as they went through their own cycles of sperm production.



  It was torture in its own diabolically different way. The drugs they gave us in the food gave me a constant, painful erection and made me desperately aroused, willing to do almost anything for sexual relief. They also seemed to increase sperm and semen production, as could be seen by the swollen testicles. As a result, a sperm producer could produce a quart or more of sperm a day, orgasming at least 15 times a day.



  I was never allowed to talk, and quickly learned not to try. Moaning, whimpering, barking, mewling, panting... they were all allowed. But no speech. With the absence of speech and the animalistic treatment we received, I began to <em>become</em> an animal. Megan, my dear Mint Striper, was a good pet owner. She lovingly took care of me, sternly disciplined me and helped me adapt to being an animal with one basic purpose - to produce as much sperm as I could each and every day.



  You would think that being constantly horny, and able to climax 10, 15, 20 times a day would be heaven. It wasn't. It was its own kind of hell, painful and profoundly unnatural and degrading.



  Until one day, Megan did something different, unusual, and highly against the rules.




Review This Story || Author: Doctor Flotsom
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