The Last American Male

My mind was reeling. I knew about the virus, knew about the massive die off, but I had no idea of the magnitude. I was one of six men on the planet?

The president stepped forward into my view. She was a sophisticated and naturally charismatic woman, her dark shoulder-length hair framing a determined jaw and intelligent eyes. She was younger than I was expecting, perhaps late forties, and she had a figure that I would have gladly worked over back in my single astronaut life. She bent down and looked me in the face. "You're a national treasure, Mr. Watson. Did you know that?" Despite the seriousness of the situation, her eyes contained a twinkle of humor and charisma.

I mumbled back through my gag, asking for freedom but unable to communicate it.

She straightened back up and faced Guilder. "So he is indeed a national treasure. Why is he bound up like this?"

Guilder's nose wrinkled. "Multiple reasons," she said. "First and foremost, when we brought him down from the space station he was initially quite compliant with our program. Enjoyed it, even." She laughed slightly. "But as the program became more involved he enjoyed it less and eventually tried to leave. Multiple times. Given his strategic importance we had no choice but to forcibly obtain his participation."

"What happened? Why did it go wrong for him?"

Yeah, I thought. Why did it go wrong? When I had first come down, life was so good. And then it all went to hell.

Guilder shifted her weight nervously. She was a few inches taller than the president, but it was clear who was in charge. "It didn't go wrong so much as the program got more efficient. Let me explain.

"When Mr. Watson first arrived, we were still working under the same system that we were using for the sailors. You know, back before they all died. Breeding-age women outnumbered men at that point by a ratio of about 50,000 to 1. We had about 100 million breeding-age women and about 2,000 men. Our program at that stage was very simple and effective. We allowed interested women to apply for breeding with the men, and we allowed the men to select the women that they wanted."

The president chuckled, along with the rest of the room.

Guilder chuckled as well. "As you can guess, we had some very happy sailors. The older ones were having sex twice a day, the younger ones up to four times a day or even more, and we could make the numbers work. We knew that the population was going to crash in the short term, but we also knew that it was not going to crash to zero. In other words, Americans would not go extinct."

Bound to my frame, my anus slippery with lubricant and my balls dangling in front of the crowd, I glowered behind my gag. That was what I had expected when I returned to earth. I thought I would be the king of a mighty harem, selecting different women to hump every night. Instead, I got this.

Guilder's voice cracked with stress. "Then the virus came again, and all of the sailors died."

The room fell silent for a second before she continued. "We studied the virus extensively. After all, it was completely harmless to women, so it was easy to study. Eventually we solved it. We can inoculate male fetuses against it now while they're still protected in the womb, so it's no longer an issue. However, there are some lingering effects, and they have profound implications. The strongest of those is that 90 percent of the births from the sailor cohort were female, and also 90 percent of the births so far from the Watson cohort."

Births? I more or less knew why I was being milked of my semen, but I'd never been explicitly told. I wondered how many children I had sired. I knew nothing about what happened to the semen once they prodded it out of me each day.

"So what is our population outlook?" the president asked.

Guilder nodded. "I'll bring Anna O'Riley up to talk about that. She's our lead demographer and also our lead milker. She will also walk you through a demonstration as we continue our work. It takes a while to harvest the semen and we've already lost some time today."

With a start, I saw the guard named Red step forward. Her name was Anna! She had a name!

"Good morning, Madame President," she said. "I'd like to walk you through our daily process and also give you some background information." She walked up toward my head as she spoke.

"Mr. Watson is our sole provider of sperm, so we have to remove it from him with maximum efficiency. As Ms. Guilder mentioned, it was a much easier process back when we had the sailor cohort. We screened women who wanted to breed, gave their profiles to the sailors, and they selected who they wanted to breed with. There wasn't really much science involved or needed.

"But with the Watson cohort it's different. We have only one sperm provider, so we need to maximize the production process. We can't just allow him to have intercourse with a few women each day and pump an overload of semen into each one of them. There's only about a 5% chance of pregnancy with any sex act, which means that he would only produce 1 baby a week if he had live sex 20 times. And keep in mind that 90% of those babies will be female. We can't repopulate America at that rate."

Sex 20 times a week. Picking my own women every day. Goddamned sailors and virus resurgence. If not for that, life would be a huge orgy for me. I growled beneath my gag.

Red continued. "Due to the small supply, we have to spread the semen out among a large group of women, which means that we have to capture the semen very carefully and parse it out among our applicants. We can't just bring them in and let him have sex with them the way we used to do it."

I closed my eyes in frustration.

"We began by simply masturbating him. That worked reasonably well, and we had a large group of women who assisted with that. Mr. Watson seemed to enjoy it, even though he was not allowed to receive intercourse or even oral sex. Instead, he received manual release from a large and diverse group of women, which kept him aroused, and we captured the semen from each act and parsed it out."

Stepping beside Greek, she reached underneath me and grasped my rigid cock, displaying her masturbation technique. I moaned behind the gag, and a roomful of women leaned down to watch.

The president giggled. "I haven't jacked off a man since the epidemic," she said. "That was always so much fun."

Red -- now Anna -- offered a note of agreement from my side. "It was kind of a win-win. But it wasn't optimum. We began running experiments. First, we gave him a special diet to increase semen production. That helped. Then we showed him pornography, which didn't increase his volume but it did increase his frequency. After some more experimentation we began offering live sex shows for him."

At that point, the door opened. Padding quietly through the crowd, self-conscious in their nudity, Diane and Jennifer returned. Having received their instructions, Jennifer lay down on the mat in front of me and Diane settled atop her in a 69 position. The two women began pleasuring each other orally as the president gawked wide-eyed.

"Don't worry, they're all volunteers. For the most part, they're conscientious objectors from the army, but we also get many private volunteers. Anyway, these things tended to increase our semen harvest." Red continued to stroke my shaft.

"Then," she continued, "we continued our optimizations. Given the severity of the problem, we were down to the microliter in our volume projections, and we discovered that harvesting via orgasm was not the most efficient way to obtain semen."

She stepped back up into my field of view and nodded. On cue, I felt one of Brunette's fingers intrude into my rectum, and Greek stepped forward again and began teasing my cock with very light touches of her fingers. I bucked forward, trying to escape the humiliation of being violated, but had no escape. I yelled and cursed behind my gag.

"Prostate massage, accompanied with intense orgasm teasing and denial, produces up to 3 percent more semen in the long run," Red said. "In this demonstration he's already aroused from the performers, so we should be getting some semen flow relatively quickly."

How did I get here? This wasn't my fault! I was bound to a frame in a room full of women. One of them had a finger, now two fingers, up my rectum massaging my prostate as another one teased my erect cock interminably. I fought the bonds, tears welling in my eyes, but I was completely helpless. It was so humiliating. My familiar pleasure and frustration returned, and semen slowly flowed into the tube as the women watched.

Seemingly oblivious to my plight, the president of the United States ducked down and studied my cock as Greek's fingers fluttered over it. She rose with a smile and a twinkle in her eye. "Gosh, ladies, am I the only one who misses riding a man's cock?"

The room exploded in laughter.

The president had a flair for public speaking. "Serious question here," she asked. "How many of you were hetero before the men disappeared? Show of hands."

I couldn't see every woman in the room, of course, but nearly all of the women in front of me raised their hand. Young Jennifer was handcuffed and pinned, so she couldn't react, and Diane slyly shrugged and shook her head, smiling as she toyed with her quarry's pussy. I couldn't help it. My brain sent an extra arousal signal to my cock. Even in an all-woman world, I loved the lesbian stuff.

The president shook her head. "We live in a different world now, and I'm sure we all love the women in our lives, but ... " she peeked down at my rigid cock and theatrically licked her lips to raucous laughter. "That statement doesn't leave the room," she warned when it died down, a big grin on her face.

Goddammit. I was living in a world full of women who were all craving cock, and yet I was not only being denied sex, but they wouldn't even let me have an orgasm.

The room fell silent for several minutes as I was worked and sexually teased and tortured. Back between my legs, Brunette had fingers up my ass in her left hand, her fingertips lightly stroking my prostate from inside, while her right hand massaged my hypersensitive balls. To my side, Greek was playing with my cock, teasing and stroking it, but without sufficient friction to make me cum. I fought them, my muscles flexing, but I was held fast. My head, pinned in viewing position, forced me to stare straight at Diane and Jennifer as they pleasured each other. I noticed Diane's fingers pushing inside Jennifer's vagina and rectum as the handcuffed young woman squirmed and licked beneath her.

"You can see his thighs and buttocks start to quiver at this point," Red explained. "Any second now, you'll see some semen begin to involuntarily flow into the collection device. Oh, there it is! It'll flow in a small but steady stream as long as the milkers maintain their efforts. Our goal is to keep him flowing without giving him an orgasm, because an orgasm will shut down collection during his refractory period and also leads to slightly lower long-term production."

The president grasped the small tube that led from my cock, looking at the whitish liquid that was now slowly traversing through it. "It's hard to believe that this is all that stands between us and extinction," she observed. "So how much do you collect each day?"

"About six teaspoons."

The president's brow furrowed. "That seems like a lot. At least, based on my memories." She again licked her lips to the retinue's laughter.

Red looked over at Guilder, who smiled sheepishly. "We collect for sixteen hours a day," she said.

"Sixteen hours a day? You're milking this poor man sixteen hours a day?" I felt the president's hands on my buttocks pulling my cheeks apart as she watched my rectal manipulation. I involuntarily clenched on Brunette's fingers.

Red nodded. "As we moved from the masturbation method to the milking method, Mr. Watson's cooperation decreased. Eventually he stopped cooperating, and indeed even tried to leave the facility multiple times, so we were forced to restrain him. We then ran mathematical models that showed that, with special diets and advanced processes and techniques, we could run the operation for sixteen hours a day without physical harm. But it is admittedly rather challenging for the donor in that situation."

My poor cock was about to explode. Greek was one of the best teasers among my guards and she always kept me on edge. Brunette had oiled up my balls and was gently rolling them as she worked her fingers inside me. I loved having my balls held, and the guards all knew it. I was whimpering behind the gag, my hips trying vainly to dry hump, but that was nothing new. It happened every day for sixteen hours.

"And a few minutes ago...did you say that he is denied orgasms during the sessions?"

Guilder nodded. "It adds to the volume of captured semen."

"So does he get an orgasm after the session is over?"

Guilder seemed embarrassed. "At the end of each session, we immediately put a chastity device on him to prevent any orgasms on his part. Every milliliter of semen is vital to the program."

The president bent down and looked into my eyes. "This poor man," she said. "A friend of mine -- I won't say who, but she was a former Senator -- used to have a very kinky relationship with her husband. She would receive oral sex from him whenever she wanted, but she kept him locked up in one of those chastity devices. You know, locked up his penis where he couldn't get to it to pleasure himself. From what she told me, he would be going crazy after about a month, and he would do anything to be released and have sex with her." She wiped a tear away from my cheek as she spoke. "And believe me, she would make him do some pretty bizarre things." She laughed heartily, and the room laughed with her.

The president straightened back up and turned to Guilder. "How long has it been since this man has had an orgasm?"

Guilder looked at Red, and Red looked at the other guards. At that point, Diane on the mat began to orgasm from the tongue of her younger partner, and everyone got distracted for a moment watching. When order was restored, there were some shrugs. "We canceled the masturbation program about 18 months ago," Red said. "I think that would have been his last orgasm."

I was bucking my hips to the extent possible, but it was pure instinct. My guards were very good at their trade, and they never slipped up. I wanted an orgasm so desperately, and the stroking on my prostate and shaft were exquisite, but I had no chance. In front of me, little teenage Jennifer was now bucking in her own orgasm, the older blonde's mouth pressed hard against her vulva.

The president tsk-tsked. "It seems to cruel to do this to him and never let him have an orgasm. Men need that."

She bent over again, looking underneath me. "Can I touch it?" she asked. "I haven't touched a penis in years."

"By all means," Guilder said.

Greek stepped away and I felt a new grip on my cock. I also felt Brunette lighten up on my prostate, taking care to minimize my chances of an orgasm. Damn her.

The president held my cock in her hands, appraising its thickness, its length. She sighed. "it's been a long time since I've had one of these. Don't tell my wife, but I miss them."

There were some knowing snickers from the crowd, and murmurs of agreement.

Her thumb moved up to my frenum, my most sensitive spot. It moved in only the slightest of motions, but enough to make me moan. "Those girls on the mat are really exuberant," she remarked. "Does he watch them every day?" On the mat, Diane now had Jennifer in in a doggy position, fucking her energetically from behind as she reached around and masturbated the teen's clit.

Guilder turned and watched for a moment. "We switch them out every day. We tested him with various stimulations, starting with dirty talk and pornography. Eventually we settled on live action, and we routinely test to see what arouses him the most. It changes over time as he sees different women and different acts and gets oversaturated, so we're always shuffling it up. For example, today you're' seeing an experienced natural lesbian dominating an inexperienced girl. It's what currently arouses him the most."

"Maximum cruelty," the president observed.

"What?"

"Maximum cruelty. You're showing him the things that arouse him the most, but you're not allowing him to have an orgasm with them."

I tried to scream my encouragement behind the gag. Yes! Maximum cruelty!

Guilder shrugged. "Maximum production, ma'am. My job is to repopulate the country."

The president's hand began slowly gliding up and down my cock. "It doesn't hurt to be humane, does it? This man is serving a great purpose for America. Let him have an orgasm once in a while."

My thighs began trembling.

Guilder shook her head. "We want to be humane, but we have to maximize production. It's a very tight window. Anna, what are the numbers?"

Red stepped forward again, as the teen brunette orgasmed loudly on the mat. The two showgirls began wrestling as the older blonde continued to masturbate her. "Too much!" she exclaimed. "Stop it!" The older blonde was stronger, though, and pinned the handcuffed teen to the mat, masturbating her briskly toward multiple orgasms as her partner thrashed and pleaded for mercy.

Red frowned slightly at the commotion, but ignored it. "With the current system, we can produce slightly more than 700 children per year by maximizing his semen production and carefully apportioning it to fertile women. Of those, about 70 will be male children that we can use to help repopulate the nation. The sailors produced 729 surviving male children before they died, so we'll have sufficient genetic diversity. We just need to increase the number of male children, and every single offspring of the Watson cohort is important."

The president's hand was moving stronger on my shaft now. Sensing my increasing excitement, Brunette subtly removed her hand from my balls, and stopped moving her fingers inside my rectum. She didn't want any part of an unapproved orgasm, even if it was from the president of the United States. I clenched my anus around her fingers.

"Will they also be milked like this?"

Guilder and Red looked at each other. "No," Guilder said. There'll be enough males in the next generation that we can go back to the selective breeding program of the sailor cohort again. The next generation of men will just screen female applicants and have sex as often as possible."

"So it's really only Mr. Watson here who will be involuntarily milked and denied orgasms?"

"Yes."

The president's hand was moving faster on my cock now. I was beginning to see stars. "Can we give Mr. Watson a day off every week as long as he agrees to have sex on that day? I hate to see him being treated like this. It's cruel."

Hope began to swell in my chest and my cock felt divine. Maybe my life was about to turn around. Maybe being the last man in America could turn back into a positive. Brunette pulled her fingers completely out of me, aware of my undulations as my muscles began flexing and preparing for an ages-overdue orgasm. Behind my gag I was gasping with pleasure, trying to keep quiet as if there was any chance that everyone in the room didn't see it coming.

Guilder nodded. "It is cruel. We concede that. Very cruel. But the numbers require it. Anna?"

Red cleared her throat. "If we gave him a day off each week, his production of male offspring would drop to around 60 per year. We would lose ground on the other countries that still have men, and particularly the Russians since they have two men producing now. Right now, we're ahead of the Russians because of the sailor cohort, but if we don't milk the Watson cohort to maximum efficiency, America will fall behind in population and eventually the entire nation will be put at risk."