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Mounting Pressure

by Lurker16

A big fat D. Clyde scowled at the email on his phone. The sender seemed legit. The address checked out with previous emails from college. So how could has grade have dropped so dramatically? He read it for a fourth time.

“Dear student,

The predicted end of semester grades for the following modules have changed:

SPORTS SCIENCE (0301)

Previous prediction: A (Lower band.)

New prediction: D.

Please contact your faculty or professor if you have further questions.

(I am an automated email. Please do not reply to me.)"

He wasn't the only person to get an email, as the group chat for his track team pinged with notifications. People were swearing and declaring if their grade had changed or stayed the same. Some posted screenshots like Clyde received. There was no change for most, but those studying a degree with a non-sport component had similar issues.

He rubbed his eyebrows and started a new email. The email address of his professor auto-populated after a few letters. Too many requests for deadline extensions had taught his phone exactly who he needed to contact. He sent off a “Hey sir what happened to my grade?" and kicked off his pants. The phone landed in a pile of dirty laundry.

He stepped into a shower and his muscles were glad for it. There were only three weeks until regionals. It was clear that if the faculty failed to perform then the college bigwigs would start pulling scholarships, teaching tenures and entire courses. The threat of having to up-sticks and transfer to whatever college would take him made running a twenty-four hour commitment. Plus if he was pulling D's in his only academic class then he had no chance of ending up anywhere good.

There was no time to worry about things like grades. All that mattered was working out, doing drills and keeping in the right headspace. Practice right, race right. Sleep well, race well. Eat good, race good. Hearing he was flunking wouldn't help any of that.

He sponged himself over and closed his eyes under the stream. A few scrubs and his arm went limp. His body was tired. He was tired. He had been improving his average times for sprints, middle and long-distance running up until a few days ago. Fatigue now meant he couldn't even pull the results he used to. Hurdles were a lost cause and relay had already picked a cohesive team for their line-up.

The coaching staff had been pushing him. There was a softness to their faces and eyes, like a type of pity. Maybe they knew he wasn't good enough, or maybe they had already started applying for new jobs. Still, something had to be done. Anything. Sports colleges were a mafia.

He lathered shampoo through his hair, moussing circles onto his scalp. His breathing slowed. The shower was a place to forget about life, not stress about it. After a long rinse, he teased conditioner through it into a second lather, before rinsing again. The bubbles raced down his body, swept between grooves.

He had always kept his hair longer than average – shoulder length, give or take a couple inches depending how he felt that year – taking care to shampoo and then condition it every other day. It had turned into a kind of ritual by this point. The staff had even joked he was their mascot, since his hair matched the dark mane of the stallion in their logo.

He stroked his fingers through it and grabbed a towel, drying his hands so he could check his phone. He free-balled through the communal hall to his bedroom with the towel wrapped around his head. Despite being out of work hours, his professor had replied to him.

“Dear Clyde,

Thank you for your brief message. Aligned with college policy, the course co-ordinator for each subject may now choose to alter the weighting of sports components against academic elements for better balance of student grading.

I mentioned this at the end of Tuesday's class, which you left early to go run. Your commitment to being a proud Stallion is admirable, but please do not neglect to grow your mind as well as your body.

Your D reflects the quality of your class work, performance during exams last semester, as well as your lack of laboratory work experience with a pre-approved company. The easiest way to resolve this is to complete your work experience (which is mandatory.) I've attached the necessary paperwork for the only remaining vacancy."

Clyde rolled his eyes and skipped the multi-line, multi-title signature from his professor and opened the first of two attachments. It was an ad for a fertility clinic, littered with happy testimonials from families and pictures of women holding pregnant bellies. Nearer the bottom, the company talked about their partnership with local colleges, as well as the quality of their services and stock. The address was a ten minute jog away, on the edge of campus.

The second attachment was a document detailing the post itself. It involved data entry, assistance with studies under lab conditions, the use of statistics software and report making: all things that Clyde had either never done before or sucked at. He flopped down on his bed and cupped his balls.

It was hard not to sigh. More things to worry about. More commitments that demanded his time. Now that his muscles had relaxed to a dull ache, a different type of tension built below. He rubbed his fingers over the top of his glans. His shaft pushed between his fingers and inflated. He held its underside.

His cock hardened and he smiled to himself. He squeezed around the base of his shaft like a makeshift cock ring until it grew rigid. A wide, bluish vein surfaced along its top and side. It thumped under his thumb. The longer he gripped, the lower his eyelids drooped. His breathing slowed on the inhale and sped up on the exhale. The head of his cock darkened from constriction. It tingled, forced to remain full mast while Clyde brushed his other hand over and around its sensitive length.

He softened his hold. Circulation rushed up and down, spreading a vascular vibration that he met with gentle tugs. Pre ebbed onto the underside of his glans.

Thoughts of naked midriffs drifted through his mind: soft skin with firm muscles beneath, in motion from exercise. Stroking faster, his imagination brought him breasts, first with erect nipples and no bra under a tight shirt, but then bouncing free. The person had no identifiable features, but his mind knew it was one of the women from the relay team. His minds-eye travelled down to her underwear.

He pursed his lips. It was difficult to imagine something he had never seen in person before. Instead, the sculpted back of her boyfriend took over, blocking the view. His brain recognised those muscles. There was no need to imagine. Strength training had paid off for them over the past three years. He had spotted that much while sharing the shower room on occasion, as well as other impressive things. Clyde jerked faster, each downstroke punctuated by a pap.

The male athlete blocked her almost completely now. His rounded buttocks pressed together, propped up by hefty thighs. He was thrusting into her – or at least thrusting into the imaginary space where she used to be. The athlete's balls swung back after each thrust, hanging low and large enough for him to notice that the left one was a little higher than the right. He fixated on the loose skin cradling them: how, after years of being so heavy and so full, his sack gained enough elasticity to bungee to and fro. So hot.

Hot.

Hot?

Clyde snapped upright, propping himself up with both hands. His cock lurched forwards, veering into the early motions of climax. He tensed his arms and neck, taken aback by how easily he indulged in another guy. His balls retracted, clinging to the underside of his shaft and ready to unload. No, no no. He twitched again. Then again. The point of climax was so close. It was inside him, below the base of his cock, a few inches inside. Any motion would set it off. Any thought would tip him over. It was a marble-sized hole in a hosepipe, defying the laws of physics to contain its leak. He stiffened and gripped the phone in his hand. He did not cum.

Right, his grades. All the nonsense going on with college. Yes.

He let his shoulders down. He uncoiled his body one segment at a time until he lay flat on his bed with his phone held above him. The pressure in his perineum receded. The more time that passed, the less he could feel his own heartbeat in his mouth. His cock swayed like a drunk before collapsing against his groin, drooling pre.

He should focus on his dilemma instead of some dude's ass. But trying to avoid thinking about it only made it pop back into his head, taunting him to grow hard again. Clyde cupped his balls to keep them warm. He scrolled through the correspondence about the work experience. There was a telephone number for the fertility clinic so he mashed it into his phone and sat on the edge of his bed. He wiped his length dry on the bedsheets while the line rang.

“Hayward Clinic, Wallace speaking, how can I help you?" The voice was friendly and attentive.

“Oh, uh, hi," Clyde said, “Actually, I thought you might be closed."

“Nope, we're still open."

“Uhuh." Clyde cringed at himself, now flaccid in his hand.

“Is there anything we can help you with?" Wallace said.

“Actually, yeah, there is I think," Clyde said after a too-long pause. “I think I'm meant to be working with you as part of my studies. I'm in junior year, Bayer College. It's a partnership program. The deadline is pretty close actually."

“Ohh," Wallace said as if remembering something, “Right. Well I'm Wallace and I usually work the front desk. It's nice to meet you, but it would nicer to meet-you meet you, if you know what I mean."

“Mhm."

“We can get you set up and sorted and get the ball rolling. Are you doing anything right now?"

Clyde looked down at his soft, squished scrotum. His groin was starting to ache. “Nope I'm totally free. I'm quite busy tomorrow though, but I could probably make it tomorrow quite late on."

“That's no problem at all. If you come 'round right now I'm sure we can squeeze you in for a quick one-to-one, get some paperwork sorted. The big boss is away home for the night but he's left all the forms for you here."

He could go over tonight, but it was some time after nine and it had been a stressful day. Before he could say anything, Wallace continued.

“You wanted to sign up for the donor program as well, right? We've got the legal stuff for that good to go as well. As long as your sample meets our criteria, which I think it should by the way because of your sports, we could get you going several times a week – or just whenever you like, no pressure. It's quite exclusive honestly. Big bucks involved."

“How much?" Clyde said.

“Big enough that if you win the genetic lottery and we really need you then you won't need to worry about student loans, probably. Buy yourself a nice farm somewhere. Anything you like, as long as you're fit and healthy. And there's perks!"

“What kinda perks?"

He laughed. “I can tell you more about it in person. Should I expect you in about twenty minutes?"

“Sure, sure. And when is the first payment, if I meet the regulations and things?"

“Listen I'll explain all the ins and outs when we go through your contract. Your work duties, too."

“Alright. Thanks for your help."

“No problem, Clyde. I'll go get things warmed up for your first sample."

Clyde had already started getting dressed before the call was over. He was curious. It was all very weird, but he would take whatever would fix the mess he was in. The strangest part was that the guy on the phone already knew his name, but then he guessed his professor had given them a heads-up. Being able to make some cash while working there was huge. His enthusiasm bulged against his pants while he walked there, eager to give its first 'sample.'

The building was unassuming. Simple signage hung from the inside of a single window. According to the displayed opening hours, they should have closed at eight. Clyde pushed open one half of a double door. A bell tinkled as he entered.

The interior was more spacious. He walked down a long lobby. Its ceiling was two floors high, decorated equidistantly with accolades, accreditations and oil paintings of open fields. Clinically white walls guided him to the reception desk, which was fronted by light brown timber in the style of a fence.

“Clyde!" Wallace said, walking backwards through a doorway with a trolley of flasks and medical glass. He parked it at one end of the desk and met him at the middle. “You were quick off the mark, eh?" He shook his hand, squeezed, and patted up his forearm. The lab coat he wore was unbuttoned atop mucky flannel. “Well, if your swimmers are as fast as your running then, well – but I guess we should call them runners then, otherwise we should have got a swimmer." Wallace laughed, taking in Clyde's features, rubbing over his shoulders and ruffling his hair.

Clyde nodded and leaned away. “That's me. Thanks for seeing me so late," he pointed to two stacks of paper on top of the desk, “Are these the contracts here?"

“Certainly are," Wallace said. He spun them around placed a pen in Clyde's palm. “This one's for college and this one's for eternal wealth and prosperity. Not really. But maybe. Let me know if you need any help." He nodded once, spun around and re-reversed the trolley back through the doorway. The soles of his boots had mud in the grooves.

Clyde was about to thank him, but he was gone. He puzzled over the contracts while bumping his bulge against the desk. Release was so close. All that stood in the way was some ink.

His name and personal details had been pre-filled, printed on the forms. He began the slog of reading and ticking. Health conditions? No. Family history of illness? Barely. By the time he reached the second page he was skimming the questions to decide if they wanted a yes or a no and filling the right box. Any time it asked him to sign, he signed. After a couple of minutes the checkboxes made way for essays of text and legalese. They sounded right enough so he signed them off. The donor terms and conditions seemed even longer, with the first pages being almost identical to the pile for work placement.

“We're all good to go," Wallace said, walking in and around reception. He opened a nearby door and held it there. “Are you coming?"

“Yup. Just finishing up," Clyde said, skipping through tens of pages to find lines to sign. He scribbled his name a couple of times, dumped the pen and followed Wallace through a short hallway.

“There are labs attached to each of our donation chambers," Wallace said. “We can teach you analysis, how to record the results, how to treat patients. The donor room is comfier though. You can pretty much consider it your office."

They entered a room lit by iridescent lamps. Its furnishings were wooden, with a burgundy carpet and a worn leather couch. Before it sat a dark hardwood table topped by Petri dishes and a bottle of lotion. Thick curtains covered two living-room sized windows. It was a change from the vertical blinds throughout the rest of the building.

“Cozy," Clyde said. “It's like a little house."

“That's exactly what we were going for. We based the rooms on different places in the boss's old farmhouse. Makes it more country, don't you think?"

“Oh, definitely." Clyde ran his hands over everything. It was rustic but clean. The only thing that stood out was a waist-height machine mounted against the partitioning wall between the room and an adjoining lab. A fist-sized hole protruded from its front, lined with a condom-looking material. He almost mistook it for a pommel horse. “What's this thing?"

Wallace leaned an elbow on it and smacked it twice on the side like a car salesman. “Something a bit more state-of-the-art. It's great for analysis and extraction, hooks right up to our systems and saves us a lot of time. Makes us more money, so we can afford to pay donors like you five hundred bucks for making a deposit in a glorified glory hole."

“Did you say hundred?" Clyde said, patting and poking at the machine's outer padding.

“That's per completion too. So if you're ever feeling a little" – he wobbled his neck and shook his head – “you can get a grand, maybe one-point-five. Best I've ever seen was two-and-a-half thousand in one go. Just sink into this beauty and go to town, no judgement here. Full disclosure though there are a couple cameras for safety, but that was all covered in your terms. Sound good?"

“Sounds like I'm gonna to end up with one arm bigger than the other," Clyde said, balancing between his toes and his heels. He really could pay off his student loans with this. Potentially even buy a house if they kept him on. “Is it weekly, monthly?"

“No no, any time you feel the urge, you come straight here. We'll sort you out with a lanyard so you can get access. Day, night, on your lunch break, between lessons. Honestly if you incorporate it into your stamina training for running you'll feel twice the benefit. And no need to wear out those precious arm muscles of yours unless you want to do it the old fashioned way," Wallace said, nodding to the desk by the couch. “Bess here will sort you out, and she feels sublime – I've been told, I mean."

Now that he was so close to the extractor, Clyde could see a tiny logo stitched at its edge. BesTech. He figured that was why Wallace called it Bess.

“I'll leave you to it," Wallace said. He eyed the tent between Clyde's legs and patted his lower back. He made for the door and disappeared into the lab. “Just take your time, do what feels right and have some fun," he called.

Clyde palmed the curved bulge between his legs. He grinned nervously, checking over his shoulder a few times to make sure he was alone. The more he palmed the further his worries trailed away. Finally, he could get some release. Everything was going to be fine. All he had to do was jerk off into a weird box, get rich and ace the academic year.

He pulled his waistband down, proud to see the hardness of his shaft unsheathe one throb at a time. His tip caught on the elastic, ricocheting back to slap against his belly. With a couple of tugs he leaked pre from his tip.

A strange mixture of giddiness and shyness tickled his belly. On one hand, he felt a sense of pride in being chosen to spread his seed. Wallace was probably taking in how hung he was and glimpsing the abs peeking out from under his shirt. Thinking about it made Clyde's chest puff out and his nostrils flare. He stood up straight and let his cock stand up with its own strength. A line of pre worked down the middle of his glans to glaze his shaft.

The other side of him felt more reserved, though. Was he alright getting off in front of another guy – and enjoying it? This was different from the locker room showers. He found himself shuffling closer to the donation machine, both out of lust and modesty.

Stroking took those thoughts away. It took everything away, steering him toward a wet rhythm that he couldn't help bucking his hips into. The clinic faded around him. He stared at the extractor as the sofa dissipated from his periphery. The rim of the hole protruded. Within, a mechanical iris of dark silicone dilated and contracted. The machine hummed and brought its synthetic sphincter to life. Lubricant glistened over it as it pulsed.

“Looking swell so far, big guy," said Wallace. His voice came smoothly from an intercom above the machine. Clyde throbbed a little at the praise, but shielded his shaft from the cameras he assumed were watching from every angle. “If you'd like, there's magazines or we can get you a laptop if you need a little 'encouragement.' You know what'll blow you away, though? See if you open that cupboard on the wall?" Clyde looked around, noticed a shabby looking storage space and nodded. Its handle was a small metal horseshoe. He opened it to an expensive-looking virtual reality headset. “There you go, well done. Now slip that bad boy on and you'll never go back to porn again."

Clyde was doubtful. He had used a VR headset once before in his first year at college and it was alright. Sure it was immersive, but he could never justify the price tag and he was always too busy with track to make proper use of it. The headset from the clinic was clunky and wide. Its straps were thick and made of dark leather. They dangled around the top and side of his head as he placed the black plastic goggles to his eyes. Its padding hugged the top of his head while he held it in place.

“It weighs a ton," Clyde said.

“Don't worry, you'll grow into it. Now if you go back to Bess and press the power button on the right side of the headset."

A few clumsy steps almost sent Clyde cock-first into the machine. Bess's hole swirled around his tip, leaking lube. It was warm and welcoming – eager, even. He jerked back, cock attentive.

“Easy, easy," Wallace said while chuckling.

Clyde laughed back, sweating. His tip tingled from where it entered the extractor. Heat infused with his glans and the uppermost part of his shaft, making even the open air feel like a caress. He huffed as the affected area twitched to solidity. Throbs buzzed beneath the lubed surface, each beat delivering a pang of pleasure that in turn caused more throbs.

He pressed the button and the headset chimed. A red apple appeared in the centre of the screen. Whirring, the straps over his head and around his upper neck tightened to fit. Clyde rolled his head around, impressed by how it adjusted and distributed the weight. He balanced with one arm on either side of the extractor. When the whirring stopped, two rectangular sensors extended like blinders from each side of the headset.

“Go get 'em, stud," said Wallace, muffled by the noise cancelling effect of the headset.

The apple vanished, replaced by a landscape. Clyde blinked. In the distance, wooded hills curved below the horizon. The sky was impeccably blue, dressed with thin white clouds that nullified the glare of the sun. The light was warm dandelion. It nourished the fields below, brightening cracked wooden fences and hand-made walls. It gave life to long blades of grass and wildflowers that bent beneath the breeze.

Clyde realised he was looking at a meadow through a small window. He was inside. Although he knew the sun was fake and the light merely pixels, his arm felt warmer when he held it under the rays. He moved his body as he pleased and his avatar followed. There were no noticeable discrepancies between how he should have appeared and how he did. He looked down, mapping out the veins and bumps of his erect cock against how he remembered and found nothing amiss.

With no hand controllers, walking seemed to be less straightforward. His movements were identical to how they were in reality. He stepped around, but straying too far from the extractor would cause him to bump into furniture or get lost. He tried gesturing his hands or marching on the spot but neither moved him from the picturesque scene of the window.

He was about to call Wallace for help when a combination of gesture and stepping made him move. One arm raising and one foot stepping on the spot seemed to do it, though only with opposite arm and leg. He alternated between left leg and right arm, and right leg and left arm, struggling with the unnatural motion until he settled into a stationary trot. After a while of trotting and turning, the headset knew when he wanted to go. All he had to do was think the trotting motion and what direction he wanted to travel.

The room was smaller than the one in the lab. Its floorboards creaked despite a generous bed of straw strewn across them. Wooden beams supported a corrugated metal roof, segmenting the room every few metres. Clyde reached out to them for balance, even though he was already steady against Bess. Strangely, it helped.

He breathed deep, which brought with it the scent of sawdust, fertiliser and fresh air. It defied sense that he could actually smell these things, but it was comforting, like the sunlight on his skin. It was easier for him to relax with pleasant surroundings. His length drooped downward, plump. All he had to do was sway his hips forward and he would be back inside Bess. His balls were heavy from their earlier edging.

A rustle came from behind. He turned back to the window he started at.

“Hey handsome, how's it hanging?"

The straw bedding below the window was now bundled high, with a busty woman of similar age to Clyde lying back in it. Her clothing looked renaissance era. She spoke sweetly and imperfectly, like a real person.

“Looks like it's hanging pretty hard and heavy to me," she said. There was a twang to her tone. She spread her legs enough to reveal the inside of her thighs. Smiling, she patted the bedding beside her.

Clyde felt the nerves coming back again. Rather than getting hard, he felt his balls retreat upwards. He walked close, looked her over and stood awkwardly.

“Are you Bess?" he said. He looked into her eyes. They were brown, until they were blue. The rounded features of her face seemed to fade and meld into a new shape. The transition was so smooth it felt natural. Her skin gained a subtle redness beneath the surface. The bridge of her nose protruded a little more.

More features shifted, the changes radiating from her eyes outward. The parameters of her appearance tweaked and tailored themselves to Clyde's physical reaction. Her jaw squared off. Her shoulders broadened. In a blink, her cleavage smoothed itself into the rugged texture of an open-button shirt. Long blonde hair receded to be short and dirty-blonde.

It was remarkable – she was remarkable – so much so that Clyde leaned toward her. Her legs spread further, less seductive but more of a lounging pose. She wore dark blue pants and an unbuckled belt. She rested her arms behind her head and smirked, showing off her new changes.

“Actually," Bess said with a deep voice, “I'm Tek. And you're looking even harder and heavier than before."

A lump rose in Clyde's throat, like he had been caught doing something he shouldn't. Alongside it rose his cock. There was no mistaking that Tek had the appearance of a guy – a good-looking guy at that – but the usual doubts about his sexuality crept in. He fondled himself, unable to resist the magnetism of his grin.

Each stroke down his shaft made the thoughts melt away. The internal debate lowered in volume the faster he worked himself, until it was muted by the wet slapping of pre between his fingers. He tilted his head back, slipping into denial through pleasure. It was for college. It was for business. His shoulders slumped forward and he humped into his palm. There's no way it could be gay if it was a program. If anything, his seed was being used to knock up other women, and that was as straight as you could get.

Sun shone through the window behind to illuminate Tek's silhouette. His teeth were straight and white, but not too bright that they looked like veneers. The green-blue flannel of his shirt parted above smooth pectoral muscles and the contours of a hard-laboured abdomen. While his chest was mostly hairless, pubic hair bristled upward from his unbuttoned pants to his navel. A white waistband hugged around his groin, its square black lettering reading BIGBREED.

“You're one hung-ass hunk," Tek said, reaching out to Clyde's thighs. “I don't think there's anything I wouldn't do for the taste of a real athlete."

Tek's calloused palms squeezed his legs as though he were there in person. His breath was heavy. It buffeted over his tip in bursts. A musk permeated the air. It was more than the needy cock-scent of Clyde stroking and throbbing, but a sweaty musk that wafted around the closer he stood to Tek. The gasoline tones of faded cologne mingled with it, heightening the taste of his perspiration in contrast.

Clyde inhaled and shuddered. He brushed a hand through Tek's hair. It was coarse and greased as though he had spent the day in the sunshine. He cupped the side of his head where his hair was shorter, surprised to feel Tek's pulse beating as fast as his own.

His mouth was so close. It would be so easy. All he had to do was slide his hips forward a few inches. Clyde gripped the other side of Tek's hair, which doubled as the side of the donation room extractor. The extractor purred. Tek's open mouth aligned with its heated doughnut.

Clyde advanced his cock, holding Tek's head in place. His tip slid past his lips. They were slippery with saliva and hotter than expected. His mouth was as soft as Clyde was hard, moulding around the girth of his cock. It was sensual and delicate, not at all like what Clyde had imagined. Clyde closed his eyes, sinking into the slick bed of Tek's tongue.

Tek tilted his head to allow better access. His tongue meandered below Clyde's glans. It reached halfway down his length, curling around the side. He swirled the taste of pre. Under Clyde's touch, his head rocked back and forth, kissing over his cock like a long-lost lover.

Everything matched up. It felt so right, so authentic, more than anything ever had before. The part of Clyde that felt shame melted away, one lap at a time, until his cockhead graced the back of Tek's throat.

“Hhah," Clyde breathed, “Holy shit." He shook his hair from side to side and scraped a foot backwards. His upper body hunkered over the top of the extractor. Both arms bent over it for support.

The silicone of the extractor spiralled and contracted around his shaft. It tugged him in deeper, drooling its aphrodisiac lube from tip to base until it dribbled down his balls. It swallowed every thrust with a chug of its own. Clyde's shaft swelled to fill it. He clenched his buttocks, coaxed to rigidity by a ring of suction that gripped the middle of his shaft. An even stronger vacuum latched around the bottom of his glans. It teased it outward into a cylindrical chamber.

“Mrngh," Tek groaned between gulps. “Mmhm. Hmmhh."

Clyde couldn't help but hump. The tight stretchiness of Tek's mouth felt too good. Each thrust was a slobbery gulk that bent down the back of his throat. He sheathed his whole length inside, resting his balls against Tek's chin. It pinned his tongue. His upper teeth grazed over the base of his shaft between swells of saliva.

The longer Clyde held himself inside, the more intense the sensation grew. He drew his cock back, but the tip snagged on Tek's lips and forced them wider. It was even tighter to hump back in. His balls swung below his chin. Their skin darkened under saliva. The more Clyde fucked, the heavier they dropped. Every buck of his hips ploughed his length deeper inside until even Tek's moans were cut off by the wide tip of his cock.

Release was building. Clyde humped faster, rising in pace until his hips seemed to thrust themselves and his legs felt like jelly. He panted giddily.

The more he lost himself in the pleasure of face-fucking Tek, the heftier his cock and balls became. He pumped harder, realizing that he wasn't just getting hornier: he was getting bigger. It should have alarmed him, gave pause, concern – anything – but his instincts humped those worries away. When a question crossed his mind, it sunk feverishly to his balls, churning away to fill his weighty sack.

He had already gained a couple of centimetres. Before long, it would be a full inch, then another – and another. Clyde smiled wide. His teeth ground squarely against each other.

He revelled in his increasing size. His rear drew back further after each thrust. Only the fattened head of his cock remained inside, dredging through pints of lubricant and pre. He hammered himself inside, again and then again. His body ran hot. The bigger he grew, the rougher he pushed and pulled against the extractors heated grip. His chest bounced atop it, barrelling further down its length. His buttocks rounded out with swells of muscle that made it all too easy to slam his hips forward.

Hardness drove through his core. He was stronger, better, more him than he had ever been. His whole body felt erect as it stiffened and engorged. The armpits of his shirt tore and he collapsed chest-first onto the extractor, arms flexing at the side. He bred Tek's mouth without care. Every thought was of trotting and fucking, trotting and fucking, his mind running laps around itself in a recursive rut.

He couldn't even see Tek any more. He gazed slack-jawed and heavy-lidded through the window, lost in the idyllic promises of the meadow. Life would be simpler this way: mounting, breeding, galloping through the grass. His tongue lolled from the side of his mouth. He humped as naturally as he breathed the air through his bristled nostrils.

His hair draped down the centre of his back. The nape of his neck darkened with thicker follicles that disappeared below his collar. It descended with a prickly sensation that tingled between his shoulder-blades. A similar itch rose to his tail-bone from above his buttocks. Clyde rolled his shoulders and wriggled his nose. Every inch of his body was a tactile sensation that culminated between his legs and left him craving more.

“Nn-ee-hhd," he said. His lips moved slower than expected, overextending to try and form each syllable. His tongue flopped around, numbed in its attempt at coherence. “M-m-m." He mouthed the sound out sluggishly. “Neighd mmm-ore."

More. He needed more. The voice inside him that would have interjected with warnings instead sloshed within his balls. Each posit and counterpoint leaked between his legs. They served only to push his balls to capacity and fill up the machine.

“N-eigh-heigh-eighd" he bleated louder, “Mhaw!"

His balls thumped into Tek and the extractor. They swelled, struggling to contain his virility despite the leathery skin cradling them. A glossy sheen overtook them.

Clyde thrust slower but harder. His cockhead throbbed separately from the rest of his shaft. It pulsed outward from his urethra and plumped the rim of his glans. It pushed through the cylindrical chamber of the extractor to kiss against a narrower opening that was too tight for his new cock to fit into. It sucked over the centre of his tip, swallowing pre into a storage tank with tens of off-shooting tubes.

His humping was different. He wasn't fucking for pleasure. The entirety of his ringed, veined cock plunged inside with the intent to breed. His spurts of pre stopped, replaced with a cream that clung to the walls of the extractor with a klk-shluk. His balls rode against the underside of his cock. Clyde slung back his neck, buried his cock in the hole and hurdled over the precipice of climax.

“Hor-n-n-nay. Mmhr. Ngh… neigh!"

The first swells of his load surged up his shaft. His cock dragged against the ceiling of the extractor in an attempt to slap against his belly. Tek's throat stretched beyond humanly possible. He choked, a guttural grasp for air, immobilised by the enormity of Clyde's length. Seed spattered down his throat, doused his insides and glugged into his gut. Tek's groaning ceased. There was no room for gulping. He only heard the low, incessant pump of cum into pools of more cum.

Clyde's upper lip pulled back. He nickered needily. In the mania of orgasm, one shoe launched across the room with a kick. The other burst at the laces as he trampled it. The ends of his socks flopped over toes that no longer fit them. He didn't notice. He didn't care. The vasculature of his cock thrummed with vitality. Each burst of sperm flared release across his body. Every muscle was hard. Every facial feature stretched and pulled. He came, continuously, but the more gallons of seed he emptied into Tek, the bigger his balls became.

“N-Neegh-hei-heid… Mh-more!"

Glork… Gulk… Fllk… B-blk.

Cum gurgled through Tek's gullet. It pooled in his belly. Seed pumped through more seed, churning and bulging as it raced to breed. The chambers of the extractor flexed, draining its prize. Clyde's ears twitched. He smiled dumbly and unloaded his humanity. He lost himself, one thick white spurt after another, wishing for the rush to stay.

He angled his long neck to the ceiling. When he looked back down, Tek had repositioned completely. Instead of his mouth, Clyde now thrust between two soft buttocks. The extractor tensed around the base of his cock and increased its temperature. It milked him, throbbing like a heartbeat.

Clyde rutted into him, still cumming. His underbelly and chest pinned against Tek's back. He took him on all fours, fucking him into the hay pile until his cum-swollen belly bulged out from the flare inside. It was a different sensation: more primal. Clyde bred him like a cock sleeve. Each thrust knocked the air from Tek's lungs in unintelligible pants and moans.

Tek changed again the longer Clyde mounted him. His skin darkened. A ridge protruded from his shirt down his spine, followed by a pump of muscle that tore the fabric clean in two. His neck widened and his shoulders bulged like boulders. Beneath tattered flannel, a mane the same colour as his hair pushed free. His ass, rosy and bouncy, grew a dark brown coat of fur and a tail that swished to the side. The more Clyde ploughed into it, the rounder Tek's thighs plumped.

It felt so natural to breed his new stallion playmate. There were no questions or suspicions, simply the inevitable growth of his balls as they slapped into his behind. Tek's wider hips swallowed his cock. His entrance furrowed and wrinkled. A black circle of skin pushed out around it to grip his cock tighter.

They neighed at one another between pants, nickering and blowing air through their lips. Tek's cock smacked against his belly between subvocalisations. His balls hung large enough for Clyde to bump them as he fucked him. Clyde's own sack still tripled them in size, loudly purloining what remained of his critical reasoning.

There was something disconcerting about the sensations. His body was growing, almost white-hot with need, yet the VR headset only showed slight changes when he looked down at himself. The emails – the quickness of the appointment and how prepared they were to have him immediately donate – something was off. He normally would have stopped to question things, but then there was the grades situation too. There was an urgency to resolve things. He was relieved to have this opportunity.

Maybe if he had just jerked off at home this wouldn't have happened. Maybe if he had stopped at just one load. But no. Those thoughts were already long gone to the extractor, spurted into a storage tank and dripped into a conical flask for Wallace to analyse.

So many questions and hypotheticals melted down into seed and lust. All that mattered was trotting and fucking. He bucked faster, unconsciously trotting his legs in reality.

A second wave of release built inside him as the first subsided. It came fast, layered atop an afterglow to double-up on pleasure and reward his indulgence. He ground his blocky teeth together and humped so fast the veins on his thighs became visible.

“Nnngh… Nrrrrgh." He sunk into Tek. He was so close. The finish line was right there. “Neh… Nhheh."

It was Tek's climax that launched him beyond the point of no return. Tek's flare slapped against his underside and hosed down the wall with seed. The force of his climax made his rump clamp down on Clyde. Tek's rear hugged around his shaft, lubricated by his previous load. It pulled him in with each spurt of ejaculate.

It was coming. He could feel it. It crested over him from each side, colliding in the middle like the thunderclap of white horse waves.

“Nei-heigh-he-heigh!" Clyde cried out like a warhorse victorious. Sweat drenched the ridges of his elongated body. His clothing lay limp below him, lost in a murky pool of release and perspiration. With a quick whir, the headset's straps loosened. It balanced over the ridge of his snout without help.

His shaft struggled against the extractor, determined to stretch and breed. The flare of his cock fattened to a generous proportion that overfilled its cylindrical chamber. To Clyde, there was no laboratory – no college, no grades, no athletic career. In the passion of the moment, the idea of there ever having been a 'Clyde' was foreign. All that dominated his one-track mind was railing the stallion in front of him, rutting until his legs went numb and battering him with a deluge of seed.

He came unlike any release he had experienced before. His thighs ceased. He held his breath. For seconds that felt like minutes, he only heard the boom of his heart going L-lup dup. Lup dup. Lup d-dup. Lup dup.

It was dizzying and fantastic. He filled Tek's ass with seed that shot so fast it flooded back out his entrance like milk. It clung to his fur, dribbling down his legs and displacing even more cum. Clyde's cock tensed and unloaded, each jet racing to overtake the next. The extractor revved up. It accelerated its suction to minimise the loss of product, but the overflow of Clyde's seed spattered all the way up to his chest.

He couldn't even whinny. The paralysis of rut took over. His hips jerked automatically, gushing the contents of his balls into Tek's distended belly. He huffed down the stench of sex through black-rimmed nostrils. They widened in their attempt to intake air. The edges of his vision blurred. Black blobs bobbled across his field of view.

Something was wrong. He kept cumming. His upper body was heavy. He kept cumming. He collapsed onto the extractor with his arms to the side. He kept cumming. A red dot appeared in the top right corner of the headset's screen. He kept cumming. The image went static, but the sight of Tek's cum-coated hole was enough for him to keep going.

“Easy big guy, easy," said a voice running into the room. The noise-cancelling of the headset diminished. “Steady. Steady." It was Wallace.

Clyde opened his mouth to speak, but thinking words was hard while shooting seed. A cube slipped between his lips that dissolved on his tongue. It was sweet. He crunched it and walked his legs back from the extractor, still halfway inside.

“Very well done, Stud," Wallace said, feeding him another sugar cube and patting his chest. “You've done so good. I'm impressed."

Clyde smiled and stretched his chest into the rubs. He leaned his head to the side, ears tingling from the praise. The image of the headset disappeared, only to come back in glimpses. It was his vision that was fading, subsumed by the exertion of release.

“Just breathe," Wallace said. He tried to steady him. “Just you breathe."

He tried to breathe, he really did. He wanted to be good for Wallace. It was no use. His lungs played catch-up with the rest of his growing body.

Clyde fell backwards, slow at first, until gravity took him. His flare pulled from the extractor with a plup and seed flew across the room. The broadside of his neck hit the floor. He lay there, cumming far enough to paint the back of the couch.

Wallace called to him. His funny little words were muffled. Clyde kept smiling. He closed his eyes, drifting off into a dream about what flowers tasted like.