The ceiling above is a criss-cross of red and black tiles forming wavy patterns. Spots of light dance across those tiles, receding as Cero's consciousness focuses. Was he hit in the head? Part of his mind, separate from the panic rising in his chest, wonders where he is. The last thing he remembers is running through the ruined city that is his home, knowing his pursuers are close even though he can't catch sight of them. Then...
It comes back to him, and Cero tries in vain to rise. Only then does he become aware of the steel collar round his neck, bolting him to the bed he lies on. He looks down the length of his body, and his mouth goes dry. Steel cuffs secure his wrists and ankles to a gleaming mechanical bed. Lights blink on sensors arrayed around him. On the left side of the bed overhangs what looks to be a curved touch screen showing his heartbeat, his respiration, more readings he can't make out. And, he notices with creeping terror, an ominous counter that reads "0 mL."
He knows where he is. The government finally caught him, like the old people warned would happen if he let himself be seen outdoors. He's in the Facility.
"Finally awake?" A woman's face comes into view, smirking down at him. Blonde locks tumble round her cheeks; a touch of evil lurks in her eyes. Twisting, he can make out the upper half of her body, a delicious swirl of curves wrapped in dark blue latex that accentuates rather than hides everything a man would want to see. The woman runs a finger along his inner thigh with a satisfied sigh. "You kept me waiting long enough. We're wasting the day, and we have a quota to meet."
"Please," Cero begins, unsure how to finish the sentence. Pleading won't do any good here. He's heard enough about this place to know there is no mercy at the Facility.
"Mm, I like begging," she purrs, and strokes his cheek. "My name is Mistress Kayla. You've been assigned to me as my new milch. Do I need to explain to you what that means?" She must take his silence for a yes. "It means we've brought you here to do your part to save the human race. You men are a hot commodity nowadays. Over ninety-nine point nine percent wiped out thirty years ago, so few born since--not enough to go around in civilized society--and who knows how few left wandering in odd places where law and order is a thing of the past. You were in the ruins of Chicago, weren't you? I hear that's where our team took you."
In his mind's eye Caro sees four women standing over him, dressed in matching grey and black uniforms tailored to blend in to urban environs. They chased him across a dozen blocks of old Chicago, working in tandem to herd him toward the center of an ever tightening circle. Far as Cero knows the others in his gang all escaped; he's the gazelle the lions separated from the herd. Crouched on the floor of a derelict convenience store with a sharp sting throbbing in his neck, he knows the hunt is over. One of the women holds a black polymer pistol, still pointed at him. Cero sees himself in that scene now as if floating above, watches himself scrabble toward the coolers with legs that suddenly feel a hundred pounds each. He sees the four women spread out to approach him from different angles so he can't bolt away, professionals finishing up a job. Before they even reach him his eyelids fall with the force of landslides, and he loses consciousness. To awaken here.
Cero strains at his restraints, willing his wrists to slip free of the cuffs. His chest puffs up to his chin, his teeth grind, he can almost feel an artery bulge in his neck. Nothing. The cuffs seem to be fitted into the bed, magnetically sealed if he had his guess. He couldn't break out of here if he'd spent every waking moment in the gym.
Mistress Kayla watches with a smug smile on her full lips. "None of that, now. You're going to need your strength." She waltzes around to the touchscreen on the other side of the bed. "Now, let's familiarize you with what this facility does. Let's see if you can be a good boy for me."
She keys in a sequence; a robotic appendage rises readily between Cero's outspread legs. Its central feature is a long, flexible tube, moved by a series of interlocking metal joints. The tube runs out of Cero's sight beneath the table, but he knows from stories it goes to a collection tank. At the near end of the tube is a clear chamber lined in a soft textured material, a pair of artificial labia marking the opening. Cero has heard of this device, the Facility's chief tool of trade--the extraction machine.
"Just one more thing before we begin," says Mistress Kayla. She takes a syringe from a nearby table and cleans a spot on Cero's leg with an alcohol wipe. "Just a little poke. You'll feel this kick in right away. It'll make you feel so much better. Just relax."
The needle is in and out before Cero can try to fight. His mind races, wondering what she just pumped into him. Something to make him more docile? Is he about to pass out again? But no--he feels warmth spreading through his body, a kind of pleasant flush like that first buzz off alcohol before you get drunk that makes his toes and fingers tingle. That sensation concentrates around his hips, then his groin, circling round its target as it were. Finally it strikes full force in his cock, which rises traitorously of its own accord to its full girth in moments.
Mistress Kayla purrs her approval, runs a finger along the underside of his shaft and rubs circles across his glans. Cero feels his cock jump under her touch, and can do nothing to stop it. "Excellent. Now we can begin."
The extractor descends and pauses with its silicon labia hovering a breath from Cero's glans. Warm lube trickles from the extractor, dripping down his shaft and balls. Mistress Kayla adjusts some settings on the touch screen and winks at him from her station. "I know you've done this with your hand before. There's not a boy who's ever come here that didn't. But have you ever done it with someone else? You are a young thing."
"Yes," Cero admits, "a couple times."
"Still inexperienced though, aren't you?" She changes another setting. "This will be just a bit more intense than that, at first. This is your first time, I want to break you in easy. You can't play with a busted toy." She bites her lip, and makes sure he sees her do it. "Then we'll turn the machine up more after you get used to the low setting, and what you've had won't compare at all." She blows him a kiss, and the extractor whirs back to life.
The machine engulfs every inch of his shaft in one slow, slick descent of its arm. His first thought is he didn't expect it to be so warm, like a real cunt. The texture lining the extractor's insides touches his cock in a thousand places at once, like the nubs of uncountable tongues flicking at his flesh. And it grips him tight--so tight that when the extractor lets him slide free of those artificial labia there's an audible
pop
that hangs in the air till the
squish
when his cock slides back in. For a minute it goes on like that, the machine slowly stroking him and letting him pop free for a moment before devouring him again. A familiar feeling rises in Cero, and he throws every ounce of will in his body at stamping that feeling down. No. No surrender.
Then on one pump the machine doesn't let him pop free. Instead it doubles down, becomes a steady stroke up and down his shaft that keeps his glans in that fist-tight grip the whole time. The suction draws him farther in, makes the textured grip even tighter. So much warm, slick pressure focuses on the head of his cock. The machine's grip is inescapable, incessant. Cero's toes curl, but he fights back the urge to cum.
