Dr. Oliver is bored as he walks down the aisle of test subjects. He adjusts his glasses slightly on his nose and glances down at his clipboard. Just this row left to do for now, and then he can go on his lunch break. He sighs, notes the time in the first clear entry on his sheet, and turns to the first subject in the row, pencil poised.
At the front of the machine is a chart indicating basic statistics about the test subject. Dr. Oliver notes it down on his clipboard—'Latino, 19 years old, sexually active since 15, time in the program: 3 weeks.' He looks up at the boy in the machine.
The chair-like metal harness into which the boy is strapped glints coldly under the artificial lights of the lab. Dr. Oliver has always found the design to be somewhat aesthetically pleasing, all silver swoops and subtle curves of metal. He leans around to the side and checks the mechanism; a metal rod exactly one inch in diameter fires repeatedly, jerking back and forth like a piston. The rod is clamped to the base of the harness in such a way that each forward thrust buries several inches of the rod in the boy's anus. It has been perfectly calibrated to stimulate the boy's prostate with each plunge. It seems to be in perfect working order, with no hitches or gaps in the motion. Dr. Oliver makes a note of this on his clipboard.
He also makes note of the speed of the thrusts, although it should be the same for everyone in this row. Still, double-checking these things is part of the job. Dr. Oliver uses his thumb to pry back the flesh of the boy's buttock and get a better view of his anus as it is penetrated. The rod slides slickly in an out of him in even, fluid thrusts; both rod and anus are well-lubricated. Dr. Oliver inspects the boy's anus for signs of tearing or other damage, but finds none. He's not surprised; the rod is fairly narrow, particularly compared to what some of the subjects upstairs experience.
Next, Dr. Oliver moves around to the front. The boy's member is encased in what appears to be a large metal sleeve, with a clear plastic vial attached to the tip. At the other end of the vial is a hose that leads to a jar at the base of the machine, collecting the various deposits of the boy's sperm.
Dr. Oliver lays a finger against the metal sleeve surrounding the boy's penis. 'No vibration for this test,' he notes on the clipboard. He reaches down next to the jar and lifts up a small console, pressing a number of buttons to bring up the boy's data.
According to the machine's statistics, the vial has recorded two orgasms since the boy was last measured an hour ago. Dr. Oliver notes the frequency, number, and duration of pulses for each on his clipboard. The second one, it appears, was mostly dry—unsurprising, given that the boy was placed in the machine early this morning; most subjects are dry by lunchtime. Dr. Oliver reaches under the metal sleeve to cup the boy's balls, giving them a perfunctory fondling and noting the feel and texture of them on his form. Then, he leans down to the jar of semen and notes the volume of the contents.
Finally, Dr. Oliver reaches up to the boy's face, using a finger to pry open one of the boy's eyes. He checks pupil reaction and snaps a few times in front of the boy's nose. 'Unconscious,' he notes on the clipboard, before moving on to the next subject in line.
This boy is not unconscious, and is making whining, whimpering noises. At least he's not pleading. Dr. Oliver hates it when they plead. It's why he prefers being assigned only to veteran subjects, boys who've been with the experiment for more than two weeks. By then most boys have generally given up and submit to the penetration. Many are downright docile.
Dr. Oliver tries to ignore the whimpers as he repeats his inspection on the new boy. He checks the smooth, steady gait of the penetration, notes the frequency and force of his orgasms, and records everything in small, neat script on his clipboard. This boy squeals when Dr. Oliver grabs his balls, and the doctor frowns. This boy has been here almost as long as the previous one. He's surprised the boy's overstimulated nerves can still garner such a response. He makes a note of it.
As he moves on to the third subject, Dr. Oliver meets an intern going down the row opposite him in the other direction. The young man looks distracted, staring off into space. Dr. Oliver clears his throat. "Mind on your work," he says sharply.
The young man—Arthur, Dr. Oliver thinks, although he's not certain; he never did get along well with the interns—jolts as he's startled out of his thoughts. He smiles sheepishly at the doctor. "Oh, sorry, sorry," he says. "I didn't mean to space out like that. I was just out front dealing with some of those human rights people."
Instantly Dr. Oliver is more sympathetic—although just a bit. He dislikes protesters even more than he dislikes interns. "You told them that all our subjects are volunteers, of course?"
Possibly-Arthur nods. "She was ranting about how they don't know what they're signing themselves up for and so on and so forth. The usual." The young man turns enough towards the doctor that Dr. Oliver catches a glimpse of his nametag: Andy. Close.
"It's all in the contract," Dr. Oliver grouses. "What do they think they're getting when they sign up for sexual testing? It's not our fault if they don't read the contracts."
"Hey, preaching to the choir," says Andy. "Anyway, I gotta finish this row up before lunch. Sorry again for spacing. They just got to me a little, you know?"
Dr. Oliver nods. "Well, don't let it affect your work. Remember: careful notes."
"Yup, I got it." Andy grins, and turns back to his row. Dr. Oliver moves to his own next test subject and reads the board. White. 17.
'Honestly,' he thinks as he pries back the flesh of the boy's buttock to watch his penetration. 'Sex is all any 17-year-old boy thinks about. What young teenage boy wouldn't want to be in a position where he gets paid to do nothing but orgasm all day?' And in a month they'd be let out with cash in their pocket and an iron-clad non-disclosure agreement. It was win-win.
As he watches, the boy in front of him crests into another orgasm, his hips shaking in their confinement, semen splattering against the inside of the clear vial at the tip of his penis. The boy's body slumps down afterward, exhausted. Dr. Oliver can see the way the boy's desperate breaths shake and heave his slight frame.
He moves on to the next subject. Only five more to record, and then he's off for lunch. Then in the afternoon, it's upstairs for the large-girth penetrations.