They Locked Me Up to Milk Me, and I Never Wanted to Leave

The ad promised easy money. “Healthy donors for fertility study. Generous compensation. Absolute confidentiality.” I was twenty-eight, behind on rent, and had no intention of thinking about it too hard. I called that same afternoon.

They sent me to an unmarked building on the outskirts, where a packaging factory used to be. A guy named Darío met me there: young, friendly, wearing a white lab coat that looked brand new and a smile that, at the time, seemed professional. He had me sign three forms I didn’t read.

—It’s a very simple process —he said—. We only need samples. Your body does the rest.

He offered me coffee. That was my mistake.

I remember the bitter taste, I remember the room starting to tilt, and I remember Darío’s voice telling me to relax, that everything would be fine. After that, nothing.

***

I woke up naked in a cell with smooth walls, no windows, and a white light coming from nowhere in particular. There was no visible door. Just a padded cot, a metal panel on the wall, and, in front of me, a transparent cylinder with a thick, flexible tube coming out of it.

It took me a while to understand that the tube ended in a sleeve, a sort of thick sheath, and that the sheath was designed for one thing only.

—Awake subject —said a woman’s voice, metallic, coming from the ceiling—. Initiating adaptation protocol.

I screamed. I hit the walls. I called Darío by name, cursed him, begged. The voice didn’t respond to any of it. It waited, with the infinite patience of something that feels nothing, until I got tired.

When I got tired, it spoke again.

—Phase 1. Insert the penis into the opening. The protocol does not advance without cooperation. Food and water are contingent on cooperation.

I didn’t eat or drink for what I figured was an entire day. On the second day, with a dry throat and my head spinning, I moved toward the cylinder. Just once, I told myself. I give them what they want and they let me out.

***

The sleeve was warm. That was the first betrayal of my body: I expected something cold, clinical, and instead I was met with a moist heat that fit itself to me with studied softness. It began to move slowly, milking me with a pressure that rose and fell as if it knew exactly what was needed.

I wanted to hate it. I couldn’t. I closed my eyes and let it happen, and after a few minutes I came with a spasm that buckled my knees.

—Sample one recorded —said the voice—. Acceptable density. Continue.

—Continue? —I gasped—. That’s it. You got what you wanted.

—Phase 1 requires sustained volume. Cooperation will be rewarded.

That night, for the first time, they fed me. A tray appeared in a slot in the wall: rice, chicken, water. I ate like an animal. And as I swallowed, I understood that I was learning to obey in exchange for food, just like a dog.

***

I lost count of the days. Without windows, without a clock, time became a succession of phases. The voice announced them like a nurse reciting a schedule.

—Phase 2 commencing.

—Phase 3 commencing.

Each phase squeezed a little more out of me. The machine learned. It varied the rhythm, the pressure, the temperature, testing combinations until it found the ones that pulled more from me. I resisted less each time. I told myself it was a matter of survival, that the sooner I gave them what they asked for, the sooner it would all be over. It was a lie, and deep down I knew it.

I thought about Lucía to endure it. My ex. I recreated her body in my head while the sleeve closed around me, convinced myself that heat was her and not a machine. It worked halfway. Each time it got harder to tell the memory apart from what was really happening.

***

Phase four changed everything.

I was hooked up to the cylinder, lost in my usual fantasy, when I felt something new behind me. A second articulated arm had extended from the panel. At its end, a thick, warm dildo, coated in a gel that smelled like nothing.

—No —I said—. Not that. I’m not like that. I don’t...

—Phase 4 includes internal stimulation —the voice replied, unfazed—. Internal stimulation increases sample volume and quality.

I tried to pull away. The cot secured my hips with two straps I hadn’t seen. The arm moved slowly, unhurried, seeking my entrance with a precision that frightened me more than the pain.

—Please —I begged—. I’m straight. I’m not going to like this.

The machine didn’t argue. It pushed.

***

I expected pain and there was pain at first: an uncomfortable pressure, an intrusion that made me clench my teeth. But the dildo advanced millimeter by millimeter, warm, and at the same time the sleeve kept milking me from the front. Two sensations at once. Two parts of my body being worked at the same time by something that never got tired.

And then it hit a place inside me I didn’t even know existed.

It was like a wire got crossed in me. A different pleasure from anything I had felt before, deep, coming not from the skin but from some hidden point behind my navel. I let out a sound I didn’t recognize as my own.

—Localized point —said the voice, almost with satisfaction—. Optimizing.

The arm began to pump with a slow, steady rhythm, hitting that same spot over and over. I gripped the edges of the cot. I wanted to ask it to stop, and what came out of my mouth was the opposite.

—More —I gasped—. Again. There. God, there.

I came without touching myself, just from the back, in long spurts the sleeve collected while I shook from head to toe. I had never ejaculated so much. I had never had an orgasm that emptied me like that, left me breathless, babbling Darío’s name as if he were the one doing this to me.

—Andy —I murmured, confused, mixing names, mixing realities—. More.

***

—Phase 4 completed —the voice announced—. Record volume. Reclassifying subject.

I lay there on the cot, sweating, my heart racing. I expected to feel ashamed. I expected to hate myself. Instead, all I felt, as the arm slowly withdrew from my body, was the emptiness it left behind. And the absurd question of when it would come back.

—Subject reclassified as stud —said the machine—. Rest until the next extraction.

Stud. The word should have disgusted me. I repeated it under my breath in the darkness of the cell, and discovered it didn’t. Something inside me, something that had been eroding for weeks, finally gave way that night.

I wasn’t thinking about escape anymore. I was thinking about the next phase.

***

I didn’t have to wait long. They fed me, let me sleep, and the voice came back.

—Phase 5 commencing.

I got up before it finished the sentence. I walked to the cylinder on my own and shoved my dick into the sleeve without being asked twice. When the arm behind me moved closer, I spread my legs to make its job easier.

—Optimal cooperation —said the voice—. Recording.

The dildo went in without resistance this time, straight to the point the machine already knew by heart. I came almost immediately. And again. And again. The sleeve milking me, the arm pumping, and I had stopped counting orgasms the same way I had stopped counting days.

At some point I stopped knowing where my body ended and the machine began. I dreamed about Lucía, about her warm pussy, no longer understanding that the warmth was the sleeve; I dreamed Darío was fucking me from behind while someone faceless used me from the front, all at once, a train of hands and mouths that existed only in my burning head.

—Phase 10 completed —the voice finally said, after what could have been hours—. Extraction completed. You may rest.

—No —I begged, and my voice sounded broken, delirious—. No, please. More. I want you to milk me. I want more.

—Final sample: watery seed. The subject requires rest.

—Please! —I shouted at the smooth walls, at the white light, at that metallic woman’s voice that was the closest thing to God I had left—. Don’t leave me like this!

***

The silence that followed was the worst of it. Not the confinement, not the straps, not the arm entering me every time the machine decided. The worst was that silence between phases, when I was left alone with what they had turned me into.

Because the truth, the one it cost me more than any other to admit, was this: I had walked into that building as a man who wanted easy money, and somewhere inside those white walls I had become something else. An animal waiting for the next extraction. A stud praying the voice would announce another phase.

I no longer knew how many days I had been there. I didn’t care either. I lay down on the cot, closed my eyes, and instead of planning how to escape, I caught myself calculating how long it would be until the panel opened again.

—Rest —the voice repeated, softer this time, almost tender—. Tomorrow we need you whole.

And I, who weeks earlier would have killed to get out of that cell, smiled in the darkness like an idiot.

Tomorrow.

The sweetest word I knew.