Going Home

Discharged felt less like a liberation and more like a parole into a strange new world. Chris walked or rather waddled out of the hospital sliding glass doors. The SEED device was strapped securely around his waist and rested heavily against his thigh. It was a matte white medical grade plastic, looking for all the world like a bulky cholesterol monitor or an insulin pump, if those pumps happened to vibrate rhythmically and hum with a quiet electric motor.

The titanium bracelet on his left wrist glinted in the afternoon sun. He looked down at it, the red caduceus symbol staring back at him. Habuerit Nimis. The doctors words echoed in his mind. It is important that you realize that this is a very serious disease. Serious enough that if a cop saw him jacking off behind a dumpster, he just had to flash the bracelet and apparently he would be sent on his merry way.

He made his way to the parking lot, fumbling for his keys with his free hand. Every step shifted the weight of the SEED, rubbing the silicone sleeve against his sensitive shaft. He had to get home. The hospital had been a controlled environment but the real world was going to be a gauntlet of visual stimuli.

His car was parked in the far corner of the lot. As he approached it, he noticed a group of women waiting near the entrance of the adjoining mall. Two girls were sharing a milkshake, laughing as they leaned close to one another. One of them wore a skirt that was precariously short, flaring out as she shifted her weight from foot to foot.

Dont look, Chris told himself, gripping his keys until his knuckles turned white. Just get in the car.

Beep.

The warning sound was soft, but to Chris it might as well have been a car alarm. The device had detected the surge of blood flow, the biological betrayal of his condition. He picked up his pace, practically power walking now. He could feel the internal mechanisms of the SEED whirring to life, the lubrication system priming itself.

He unlocked the car and threw himself into the drivers seat, slamming the door shut to create a barrier between himself and the mall. He leaned his head back against the headrest, his breath hitching. The machine was already working him, the suction ramping up slowly.

Oh god, he groaned, looking down at his crotch. The device was doing its job, efficiently milking him before the pressure could build to dangerous levels. He closed his eyes, trying to think of anything non sexual like tax returns, dead kittens, or his grandmother. The machine did not care about his thoughts. It only cared about the physical response.

The suction intensified, the rhythmic pumping drowning out the sounds of the outside world. He let out a shuddering breath, his hips bucking involuntarily against the seatbelt. The machine beeped rapidly, the distinct signal of release. He felt the surge travel through him, the massive load being extracted and suctioned away into the devices internal reservoir. It whirred loudly, processing the emission.

Chris slumped in the seat, sweat beading on his forehead. It took almost a full minute for the machine to power down into standby mode.

Okay, he whispered to himself. Okay, I can do this.

He started the engine and pulled out of the lot, keeping his eyes strictly on the road. He lived about twenty minutes away in a quiet apartment complex. Usually the drive was a chance to decompress, but now the passing scenery felt like a minefield. A billboard for a local perfume brand featuring a woman in a silk sheet caused the device to vibrate warningly. A vinyl decal of a bikini clad model on the back of a plumbers van sent it into a low speed hum.

By the time he pulled into his designated spot, he had endured three more full extractions. His body felt drained, yet strangely energized, the constant low grade ache in his testicles finally gone, replaced by a numb sensitivity.

He gathered his courage and walked into his building. The lobby was empty, thankfully. He took the elevator up to the third floor, counting the seconds until the doors pinged open. He hurried down the hall to his door, 3B, and unlocked it.

Stepping inside, the smell of his own apartment, old books and stale coffee, was the most comforting thing he had experienced all day. He locked the deadbolt behind him and leaned against the door, sliding down until he hit the floor.

He looked down at the device. It was sleek, all things considered, but undeniably alien strapped to his body. He wondered how long the batteries would actually last. The doctor had said eight hours, but he had been using it almost constantly for two. He needed to plug it in.

He pushed himself up and walked into the kitchen. He pulled the charging cable from the bag the hospital had given him, a magnetic lock that snapped onto the side of the device. As he plugged it into the wall outlet, the LED indicator on the SEED shifted from red to green.

Charging.

Just then, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out, squinting at the screen. It was a text from Sarah, a girl he had been seeing for a few weeks before the swelling incident had landed him in the hospital.

Hey stranger. Haven't heard from you in a few days. Everything okay.

Chris stared at the text. How was he supposed to explain this. Hey Sarah, sorry I ghosted you, I was diagnosed with a condition that turns me into a cum fountain and now I am attached to a vacuum pump 24/7.

He typed out a response. Hey. Yeah, just had a medical emergency. I am back home now. Maybe we can talk later.

Oh no. Do you need anything. I can bring over soup or come check on you.

Chris's heart hammered. Sarah was gorgeous, blonde, curly hair, legs for days. If she came over, if she bent over to pick up the soup container, the device beeped once, a soft anticipatory sound, as if reading his mind.

He did not know if he was ready for that. The doctor had said he needed to keep a stash of porn, implying that real world interaction was dangerous ground. But looking at the text, feeling the isolation of the empty apartment, he also knew he could not just become a hermit.

Maybe tomorrow, he typed back. Still recovering.

He put the phone down on the counter and looked at the magnetic cord trailing from his crotch to the wall socket. This was his life now. He opened the fridge and grabbed a bottle of water, chugging it. He needed to stay hydrated, the doctor had said. Fluid volume was essential.

As he stood there, the silence of the apartment was broken by a rhythmic thwump thwump thwump coming from the wall. He frowned. It sounded like his neighbor, Mrs. Gable, was hanging a picture or moving furniture. It was a dull, repetitive thumping.

Then, a scream pierced the air. Not a scream of terror, but a high pitched, ecstatic cry. Oh god, yes. Yes.

Chris froze. The walls of the apartment complex were paper thin, but usually Mrs. Gable was as quiet as a church mouse. It sounded like she was having the time of her life.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

The SEED device did not care about the source of the stimulation. It did not know that the moans were coming through drywall. It only detected the rush of arousal, the sudden stiffening of Chris's cock as the sounds of his neighbors passion filtered through the vent.

No, no, no, Chris whispered, frantically looking at the machine.

The suction kicked in instantly, harder than before. The machine roared to life, the motor whining as it ramped up to maximum speed to handle the sudden influx of biological signals. Chris grabbed the edge of the kitchen counter, his knees going weak as the device mercilessly milked him, triggered by nothing but audio.

He was trapped in his own kitchen, tethered to the wall, while his neighbors sex life forced him into yet another involuntary session. He closed his eyes, gritting his teeth, enduring the intense pleasure pain of the extraction, and realized with a sinking feeling that the doctors warning about the seriousness of the disease was the understatement of the century.

He could feel the weight of his jizz inside the machine. He went to the bathroom to empty it. Holding the combination of buttons that he was taught, the machine whirred to live and a steady stream of jizz poured out the back end. Even Chris was surprised by the volume that was generated from such a short time.