The Telemachus Story Archive

An Ill Wind ...
By Hooder

An Ill Wind...

The Omega variant was very different to the others. The previous ones had all produced flu-like symptoms of varying severity, but Omega didn’t. The only way to tell that you’d got it, in fact, was by taking a test, otherwise you didn’t know. It didn’t make you ill at all - no respiratory problems, nothing. In fact for quite a long time this variant wasn’t even honoured with a Greek letter of its own; it was assumed that, like many of the others, it wouldn’t be a problem. The scientists had become very good at designing vaccines; the previous variant, Psi, had been a real bastard - but they’d got even that one under control eventually.

And then it was discovered that Omega did , in fact, do something: it made 94% of human males sterile. It was blisteringly transmissible, and by the time the scientists were fully aware of it, almost everyone had it – and it turned out to be very cunning: it had thwarted their every effort to make a vaccine so far.

The global birth rate dropped precipitately, and alarm reigned. Newspapers were forecasting the end of Mankind and the people wanted something done. Governments imposed draconian measures and restrictions, held meetings in panic behind closed doors. Travel was stopped, curfews imposed. But nothing they did made the slightest difference. People continued to die at the usual rate, but now there were very, very few babies to replace them.

By June of the following year, despite frenetic research, the scientists were no further forward; every country was in total lockdown, and in a state of emergency. Police forces and the military were doing their best to keep civil unrest – even riots – down, but the world was not a happy place.

Viable human semen from the 6% of guys that were unaffected by Omega became a very valuable commodity indeed. Laws were hastily passed: the first one decreed that every male over the age of 16 must undergo a test. Those whose sperm was found to be viable would be put on a register.

Then, shortly after that, came a second law. This one compelled all of those on the register to attend one of the many stations that had been quickly set up, to have their semen extracted once per week, and put into frozen storage.

There was, of course, outrage at this. Shouts of ‘Police State!’ resounded. Many of these were from straights who had been horrified to learn that the extraction stations were staffed mostly by male personnel. These operatives had undergone a fast training programme on how to use the milking machines – huge numbers of which had been ordered from manufacturers of sex-aids. The factories lunged into action, the devices began to roll off the conveyors, and the NHS appealed for volunteers to man the extraction stations.

The need for genetic diversity was so urgent that the armed forces were brought in and given the green light to take men and boys to the stations even against their will – by force if necessary. The outcry in the general population that caused was enormous, but eventually most people came to the reluctant realisation that if the human race was to be saved from extinction, then it was necessary.

The majority of the donors were Ok about the idea, and voluntarily turned up at the stations – some were even eager – but many were not fine about it at all, and social media lit up like a Christmas tree.

Declan rubbed his leather-jeaned thigh. He’d come off his bike the previous week and the bruise still hurt. He looked at Johnny and Pete over the top of his beer glass. “You know, this could actually be fun.”

Declan and Johnny were bikers, Peter wasn’t – but they wore leather because all three of them were seriously into it.

“How come?” Asked Pete.

“Well, how do you fancy milking boys against their will – with the full approval of government?”

Four eyes opened wide. “How?” Said Pete.

“You mean… volunteering for the extraction stations?” That was Johnny.

Declan smiled. “Yup.”

Pete looked gobsmacked. “I never thought of that. It’s obvious!”

“You’re fucking right,” said Johnny.

“Not just milking boys, but kidnapping them, strapping them down, and milking them. And the vast majority of them will be straight boys, cos the gay ones have probably been fighting to get into the stations already.”

“Oh fuck yeah!”

“But there’ll be a lot of unattractive men as well…” Said Pete.

“True. But you take the rough with the smooth. And for this, guys don’t come much better qualified than us.”

They thought for a moment, then they all grinned. “Let’s fucking do it!”

It turned out that as volunteers they were not permitted to kidnap anyone, nor to strap them down. But they agreed that watching all those hunky military guys in their sexy cammo gear with the sleeves rolled up, bringing handcuffed and struggling guys in, was almost as good as doing it themselves. All of the stations had a few specially-equipped cubicles that were designed for use with subjects who held extreme views and were violently against the milking programme, and Declan worked in one of them (he had asked specially to be placed there and the programme organisers had been only too happy to accept his offer – guys didn’t usually want to work in them), so men and boys - swearing and fighting - would be brought into the cubicle, stripped, manhandled into institutional straitjackets without crotch straps, and forcibly restrained to the hospital beds before being handed over to the volunteers - the exhausted officers cursing as they left to get the next one.

Declan, Johnny and Pete were all gay, and experienced in BDSM in one form or another, and this meant that not only did they really enjoy their work, but that they could be possibly more creative with it than most of the normal straight volunteers were.

This creativity expressed itself most when their victim was a hot boy. With the unattractive men, the milkings were carried out as quickly and as efficiently as possible; but when a sexy boy was brought in and strapped down to the bed, they liked to take their time.

One such boy was looking up at Declan right now. Declan wished Pete and Johnny could see him – he was fucking gorgeous, and looked even better lying there in the off-white straitjacket and strapped down to the hospital bed – but they were both working in different stations the other side of town.

Declan smiled. “Hello. I’m going to make you cum, boy,” he said very slowly.

Fuck off you piece of shit!” The boy screwed up his face and spat. Declan dodged it, still smiling. “Like I said, I’m going to make you cum.”

The boy was furious. There were several reasons for this: first, he was straight and the idea of letting a gay guy anywhere near his cock was anathema to him; second, like most of the unaffected guys, he had made a lot of cash recently from women who were desperate to have a baby - and the thought of these guys getting it for nothing made him livid; third because he’d ranted at his mates that the whole thing was unconstitutional and there was no fucking way he would let them do it to him; and fourth because the process was against his will and the way they were doing it was so damn humiliating – especially this fucking straitjacket.

The boy’s muscles were tensing under the canvas as he tried to tear himself out of the restraints, making the dark brown leather straps around the jacket creak as he fought against them.

Declan picked up one of the plastic vials from the rack by the cool box on the table and held it up. “Fight as much as you want – your spunk is going in here. There’s fuck-all you can do about it.” He smiled evilly. “I know how to make boys lose control…” He put the vial back into the rack and pulled up a stool, then took the pair of long, shiny black rubber gloves, and slowly pulled them on while the boy was looking daggers at him. Gently, he took the soft cock in his rubber grip.

The teenager tore at the restraints and did everything he could to get that hand off him. He screamed, >“you fucking gay pervert! Get your fucking hands off of me you cunt!”

The straitjacket and the restraints holding it to the bed were strong and held him down with no problem, but Declan had to follow the movements of the cock as the boy fought to escape his fingers.

Like Johnny and Pete, he had made more guys cum than he’d had hot dinners; he was gay, and he knew exactly how guys’ bodies worked. He’d never tried milking a straight teenage boy against his will before, but he had no worries: he knew that whether straight or gay, a guy’s cock bypasses his brain totally, and this one looked to be about eighteen, so he would be easy. The only disappointment was that he was going to have to use the milking machine actually to collect the spunk, as that was required by the authorities – he’d have preferred to make him cum by hand – but a lot could be done to a helpless victim before that point was reached...

His rubber-gloved fingers tickled the smooth balls and moved slowly up and down the soft cock, feeling carefully. He stroked around the ridges, and ran his thumb over the frenulum. The only result this had was to increase the violence of the boy’s struggling and the volume of his swearing. After a while he let go of the cock and stood up.

“If I were straight, I’d probably keep on trying to get you hard like that. But I’m not. I’m gay, and I know that it would take a long time. Other measures are needed: things that will make it more... difficult for you to control yourself.” He picked up a hood from the table. “This is something us perverts use a lot. Makes you feel really helpless. You’re probably not into leather, but believe me, when this is pressing tight over your face, black leather gagging you, blindfolding you, making it a bit more difficult to breathe, you’ll suddenly find that you’re a lot more interested in it.” He leaned down and pulled the hood over the struggling boy’s head. It took a while, but he got it strapped on tightly. Muffled curses came from beneath it.

Declan waited, letting the hood do its work. He knew that the boy would be working out if he could still get air, and his body would be getting more and more sensitive as his mind forced him to concentrate on the only input it had now: touch. He would be desperately wondering where and when that first touch would come, what the bastard was going to do to him. Also the shiny inside of the hood would be pressing tight over his face, making him very aware of the smell of leather, and it would be dawning on him that he was now much more vulnerable, and even more helpless. The fact that he couldn’t see anything would also allow him to forget to some extent that he was in the hands of a guy. The feeling of helplessness would make his humiliation much more acute too – but that usually turned out to be a good thing as well.

Declan was aware of all this when he ran a single fingertip up the side of the boy’s left foot. At this unexpected touch the lad yelled, and his body jerked in the restraints. He’d known the guy would touch him and he’d been waiting for it – but he hadn’t known where, or when. When it happened it sent an electric shock through him. And apart from the unexpectedness of it, it infuriated him that another guy could make him react so violently just with a single touch.

Declan waited, then stroked another rubber fingertip up the inside of a bare thigh. Again the lad yelled, and the restraints creaked as he reflexively tried to close his knees together to keep the hand out. Another tense wait, and then Declan suddenly pushed his fingers up inside the bottom of the jacket and dug them into his sides. This caused a scream, and the lad struggled like a mad thing in the restraints.

Declan smiled; all of that had made the boy realise exactly how helpless – and how sensitive - he was now. He sat down again and took the soft cock in his rubber grip once more. This time he held it very gently indeed, and lightly stroked his fingertips over the most sensitive spots on it. Again, he teased the teenager’s balls at the same time.

In spite of the renewed struggling and swearing, it took less than a minute. With a smile to himself, Declan felt the first stirrings of erection under his fingers. He continued to work gently on the cock, and before very long it was fully hard. It was a nice cock: smooth and silky, with a large, uncut head. He concentrated on that head now, and after a while he was pleased to see a pearly drop of precum appear at the tip. He stroked a fingertip through it and coated the rest of the glans with it, then – just using two fingers and a thumb – he massaged the head lightly.

Declan grinned to himself as he watched the boy’s cock gradually winning the battle with his mind, as he knew it inevitably would. The gaps between the yells were getting longer and longer, and he was moaning more often now. The moans were interspersed with occasional, more quiet, cursing. The boy had also stopped struggling, and was slowly pumping his hips. Declan knew that horniness had overridden the teenager’s determination to resist, and had replaced it with the need to have his cock gripped firmly with an entire hand, and wanked. But he had no intention of doing anything like that. Instead he continued to work slowly on the head, using the precum as it appeared, to lubricate his rubber fingers, occasionally stroking - frustratingly lightly - down and up the entire shaft.

There was quite a lot of precum now, but Declan wanted even less friction. He squirted lube onto his glove and went back to work. This was much better: his rubber fingers glided smoothly over the increasingly desperate cock.

He pushed it down firmly, holding it with one hand over the base, the fingers and thumb deep in the creases at the side of the balls, and resumed work on the head with the other hand. He knew from experience that with most boys a cock held in this position was even more sensitive, and more horny. It seemed to be the case with this one, as a louder moan came from under the leather hood as he did it.

The lad was clearly getting close to cumming; his cock was jerking more frequently now and his hip thrusts – and his moans - were getting more urgent.

Declan had been strapped down himself many times in his life, in very similar positions to that of the boy, and so he knew exactly what everything he was doing felt like to him. With this in mind, he took the pair of leather jeans off the table, doubled one of the legs back, and pushed it between the boy’s bare thighs, up against his balls. Then he resumed working on the cock.

He had been correct when he’d assumed that the boy wasn’t into leather, but in his present state – tightly hooded with leather pressing over his face, strait jacketed, strapped down, helpless, and so horny from having his cock worked on – the additional stimulus of the cold, smooth, shiny leather between his thighs just added to it all. He let out a cry of lust as it made contact with his skin, and his hip-pumping got much faster.

Declan knew that the boy was very close. He let go of it, and pulled the leather out from between the boy’s thighs. The cock sprang back up - but he was too late: with a huge thrust and a yell, the teenager started to cum. Quickly, Declan grabbed it with his rubber-gloved hand and wanked it firmly – he didn’t want to give the boy a ruined orgasm. It jerked up and down as spunk erupted from it in great arcs that landed on the table and on the floor.

Shit. Declan continued to wank the boy, finishing him off.

“Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck!” The words from under the leather hood were muffled, but unmistakable.

Gradually his orgasm ebbed and he collapsed back onto the table panting, air whistling through the breathing holes in the hood.

Declan sat there looking at him.

After a while he wiped up the spunk, collecting as much of it off the table as he could and putting it carefully into one of the vials (he knew he shouldn’t do this, but it seemed a shame to waste it). Fuck – it filled three-quarters of the tube, and there was more on the floor. He placed the vial into the cool box, and then thought he’d better get the hood off. He removed his rubber gloves, but as he started to unstrap the hood, a reluctant voice came from underneath it. “I- I can go again…”

Declan’s fingers stopped in mid-unstrapping, an amused smile on his lips. It appeared that the boy had enjoyed this. A lot. “Oh,” he said. “Ok.”

The following half hour was an almost exact repeat of the first time, except that now the boy was cursing not because he didn’t want it, but because he was being edged repeatedly and mercilessly.

When Declan eventually decided that he’d better let the poor lad cum, this time he was more careful: he let the boy cool down for a while, then he placed the cylinder of the milking machine onto the hard, twitching cock and switched the device on. He took the leather jeans and moved them over the boy’s legs slowly, making sure they stroked over his balls. Moving up the table slightly so that he could reach, he put his free hand over the lad’s hooded mouth and pressed the black leather down hard, sealing the air holes and gagging him properly.

The teenager’s muscles tensed and with a muffled yell he came for the second time. Declan watched the milky-white liquid squirting into the end of the cylinder and traveling along the suction tube into the plastic vial attached to the side of the machine. This one it almost filled completely.

When it was over, Declan switched the machine off and removed the boy’s hood. His dark hair was matted, and sweat was running down a face that was beetroot red with shame. He looked up with frowning, angry eyes.

“You see? Straights don’t have all the fun,” smiled Declan. “What’s your name?”

The boy didn’t reply for a while. Then he sneered, and grumbled, “Dane.”

Declan nodded. There was a button on the table to signal that an extraction had been completed, and that the donor was ready to be removed and replaced with the next one. He ran his finger around it. “You’re a very sexy boy, Dane,” he said. “I reckon that I could really get you into leather.”

Dane let out a single snort. “In your dreams, fucking pervert,” he said.

Declan wrote his phone number on a piece of paper and put it into the pocket of the lad’s jeans. “Give me a ring.” He raised his eyes to the teenager and smiled. He nodded thoughtfully. “You’d look good in leather,” he said.

He pressed the button.

“Shit shit SHIT!” Declan was staring at his mobile.

Johnny and Pete looked up from their own phones. “What?”

“The fucking boffins have found a vaccine that works.”

“What? Shit. The bastards!”

“Takes a week or so, they say, but the sperm is viable again after that.”

Johnny sighed. “I suppose they’ll be closing the stations now.”

Declan scanned further down the article. “Already are doing,” he said.

They sat in gloomy silence for a while. At least Johnny and Pete did. Declan was thinking about that gorgeous teenager Dane. As Declan had guessed he would, he’d called eventually. Declan had sat smiling to himself at the embarrassed silences and the many false starts, and it had taken the boy a while actually to ask, but he was due in his playroom for the first time this afternoon. A sexy, virgin, straight boy – and a room full of very specialised equipment. The straitjacket hanging on the playroom door wasn’t canvas – it was made of black leather, but he was sure that Dane wouldn’t mind.

He smiled to himself. “Thanks, Covid,” he whispered.