No, just the regular hard milker, please.

"Excellent, that's all we need. Well, then if you'll follow me." She gets up from the desk and leads you into the back. You're given a brisk medical exam, including having your height, weight, and penis length (both limp and fully erect at Alice's hand) measured and entered into a database. Your clothes are taken from you, and you're led down a short hallway through a door marked MILKING ROOM 3.

It's a small room, with the same calming blue walls and soft light as the rest of the milking salon. The middle of the room is taken up by the hard milking machine. There’s a black padded seat for you to sit in, pointed at a clear plastic tube with bumps and ridges visible. The upper half of the machine has arm restraints, and on closer inspection the bench you’ll be sitting on has leg restraints as well. You briefly wonder what you’ve gotten yourself into.

"Here we are," Alice tells you. "Your attendant today is Mrs Muhammed. You can have a seat there," she motions to a chair set along the far wall you hadn't noticed, staring at the milking table.

Alice leaves and you walk over to the chair, taking a seat and trying not to fidget. You almost jump out of your skin a moment later as another attendant walks in, the white nametag clipped to her blue scrubs identifying her as MRS MUHAMMED.

She’s tall, almost as tall as you, her curves almost totally hidden by the blue scrubs she’s wearing. She has on a matching blue hijab and thick-rimmed plastic glasses. You think under the right circumstances she could look beautiful - if her dark eyes weren’t hidden behind the thick lenses of her glasses, if her full lips weren’t pulled down into a frown, if she was wearing clothing that flattered her body type instead of hiding it behind anonymous blue fabric.

“I will be in charge of your milking today,” she tells you in a no-nonsense tone. “Go ahead and have a seat for me, please.”

You get up and meekly obey, sitting on the padded bench. Your legs are restrained, then your arms. Finally, Mrs. Muhammed pulls the collection device forward. You’re limp, but this is no problem as she stretches the opening of the device wide and swallows your cock up with it.

“We’ll begin by inducing an erection,” she tells you in the same hard voice, activating some control you can’t see. The machine springs to life with a soft buzz, the sleeve around your cock vibrating. In no time at all you’re hard as a rock.

“Acceptable,” Mrs. Muhammed notes. “I will commence to induce orgasm now.” She works the controls, the sleeve’s vibration slowly becoming stronger. You moan, resisting the urge to thrust into the collection device - you can’t move your hips anyway, restrained as your legs are.

There’s a little bit of an awkward silence - Mrs. Muhammed looks up between you and her controls, but she seems almost bored, and you’re not sure how to make small talk while she’s working a machine that’s going to make you cum.

But it doesn’t last long. Your attendant plays the machine and by extension your body like an instrument she’s long mastered, and you don’t think it’s even ninety seconds before you feel your balls tightening.

“Good,” Mrs. Muhammed notes, edging the vibration up a little more. “Go ahead and ejaculate.”

You can’t help but obey, closing your eyes, grunting and moaning as you cum into the collection device. A small vacuum at your tip activates, greedily sucking the cum out of your cock, only helping you along as you spurt and spurt into the vibrating, sucking tube.

“Very good,” Mrs. Muhammed tells you, dialing the vibration down as you hang limp in the restraints, panting. “That’s one. Let’s go for another. I’m going to add another device to help you along.”

Before you can agree or disagree she gets up, swinging two arms around your body. Each one ends in a dime-sized circle, which she carefully places over each one of your nipples. Sitting down, she uses her controls to activate what you realize are two small but powerful vibrators, which begin buzzing against your nipples.

“Does this do anything?” you manage to pant, never having had your nipples vibrated before.

“Some men find it quite pleasurable,” she tells you. “Is the vibration too much?”

This doesn’t feel bad, but you’re not sure it’s really helping - if anything, it’s kind of humiliating. Then again, you’re strapped to a milking bench getting your cum extracted - not exactly a picture of dignity. You just shake your head no.

“Very well,” she glances down at the controls. “Your refractory period should be over, so I am going to induce another orgasm.”

The vibration slowly begins ramping up again. The suction at your tip that was turned on when you started cumming the first time never turned off, but it gets stronger now, then begins pulsing.

“Do you prefer this-” Mrs. Muhammed asks, waiting a second, “or this?” She turns a dial and the vibration begins pulsing in time with the suction. You squirm in the restraints, gasping, not quite able to believe how good this feels. It hasn’t even been thirty seconds and you’re already having to resist the urge to try and fuck the collection device again.

This seems to be all the answer Mrs. Muhammed needs, as she leaves the device sucking and vibrating. She instead experiments with speed, torturing you with a slow pulse that has you whining for more, cycling over to a fast one.

“That’s it!” you gasp. “Oh shit - fuck! Fuck!”

“Ejaculate whenever you’re ready,” she tells you, and you do, the on-off vibration and sucking taking you to a powerful climax. You empty your balls into the collection device again, body shaking as you blast spurt after spurt into the collection tank.

You lean back in the machine as Mrs. Muhammed turns the milker down to the lowest setting, just enough to keep your cock hard. You’re not sure that you have a lot left to give as you watch the attendant get up and peer at the collection vessel.

“How are we doing?” you manage to pant.

“Acceptable,” she tells you as she sits down again. “Two more, I think.”

“Two?” you laugh nervously. “I don’t think-”

“We aren’t using all of the functions yet,” she tells you authoritatively. She goes around behind you and you feel her pulling the tip of a magic wand vibrator up against the underside of your balls. She turns it on, low, a pleasurable buzzing spreading through your sack.

“This time we’ll add the stroker,” she decides as she sits down at the controls. With the flick of a switch she activates the new function - a soft, flexible plastic ring that begins sliding up and down your cock. She watches your face carefully as she begins turning the vibration and suction up again, all three sensations dominating your cock as you squirm in the restraints.

Mrs. Muhammed doesn’t say she told you so, but you can see a hint of satisfaction tugging at her lips. You don’t care - all you care about is feeling good, and your cock feels very good right now. This time there’s no pulsing, just the sensation slowly and steadily increasing up to maximum as your attendant turns three dials all the way to the right.

You’ve never felt anything like this before, assaulted by the incredible suction, powerful vibration and quick stroking motions. The suction is so strong it feels like a vacuum trying to pull the cum out of your balls through your dick. The vibration buzzes insistently around your shaft and especially your head, the motor loud even from here, penetrating every inch of your cock. The stroker is going so fast it moves up and down your penis several times a second, a glance down at the device showing it as just a blur.

Any one of these would be enough to take you to a climax quickly, and all together you last even less time than the first two times you’ve cum, even though you’ve already gone off twice. You thrash against the restraints, bellowing in overwhelmed ecstasy as you finish for a third time.

Once again Mrs. Muhammed turns the stimulation down, but not off, keeping your cock hard as it’s gently sucked on, stroked, and vibrated against. She gets up and goes behind you, and you yelp in surprise as you feel something pressing against your back door.

“You did request the hard milker,” she tells you from behind, a note of amusement in her voice. “Now try to relax and unclench.”

You do your best, but still moan as she slides a pre-lubed dildo all the way up your ass. She seats it in, the tip a rounded oval that presses wonderfully against your prostate.

“I think I want to go home now,” you pant. Mrs. Muhammed’s response to this is to grab your balls in one gloved hand, weighing them up.

“You still have some ejaculate left,” she tells you coldly. “I can’t release you yet.”

“But-”

“You can plead all you like,” she goes on. “All the men do, but they all still have one to give when they start begging.”

You’re about to start begging yourself when she comes back around, sits down and activates the motorized dildo, which begins gently fucking you. You squirm against the restraits, whining for a second as it pulls back, then forward again, but your protests melt into a happy moan as the tip mashes against your prostate.

“That’s what I thought,” Mrs. Muhammed tells you, satisfied. “Now it’s time for one more. I’ll give you a countdown when we get to the end.”

She begins turning the dials up again, and you hear yourself moan as you come completely under her control, your cock begging for more of the sucking, vibrating, stroking sensation, your ass protesting as it’s fucked, your prostate demanding that the plastic cock violating you not stop each time it finishes a stroke. The tip presses your prostate like a doorbell, each press sending a hot jolt of pure joy up your spine.

Mrs. Muhammed has one last trick, and the dick up your ass begins vibrating as well. Your prostate loves this even more, and you writhe in the machine, a sweaty mess, begging for more, promising you’ll give Mrs. Muhammed everything you have as she turns the dials back up to maximum.

“Ten,” she announces. “Nine.” You don’t know if you’re even going to make it, your almost empty balls tightening. “Eight. Seven.” Your cock is assaulted with all of the machine’s tools at once, not to mention the anal unit pounding your ass mercilessly. “Six. Five.” You somehow have a little pride and try to hold out, not wanting to disappoint the attendant, even as your body tenses. “Four. Three.” Despite having your arms and legs tied down, you can’t take it any more, pathetically trying to fuck the machine that’s draining you. “Two, one, zero.”

You scream, a wordless cry of terrified pleasure as your defenseless cock gives up what little your balls have left, a few weak spurts before you’re totally dry, your overwhelmed penis frantically spasming but nothing coming out.

“There, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” she asks, turning the machine down to zero. You’re too tired to even nod as she unstraps you from the machine. Your cock feels both numb and like it’s going to be sore tomorrow, and it’s all you can do not to walk bow-legged as Mrs. Muhammed escorts you back to the front desk.

“Well, how did he do?” Alice asks Mrs. Muhammed.

“Fine. We’ll go for five next time.”

Next time? You’re too tired to even object as Mrs. Muhammed nods to you, then turns and leaves.

“I hope you’re satisfied with our service today,” Alice tells you. “Just a moment and I’ll add up your payment.” "There we are. Congratulations, you've earned $120!"

You take the six crisp $20 she hands you and stick them in your pocket - well earned, you think. With a smile she tells you to come back any time. You leave to go home, deciding to stop on the way to spend some of your newfound wealth on a few ice packs.