"Hey, Jay... get ready."

Bleary-eyed, the white rat found his nightmares becoming reality. He was still in the spartan room with its five sides, and he was still naked saving the black band about his neck, and his testicles still ached from the most intense experience of his young life. 

Conner gave him another nudge, sitting up and looking sharp as only a shark could, his beady black eyes fixed on the opening. Their 'hosts' had come again, eyeing them from beyond the window. If they were the same four or not they couldn't tell, but they were wasting less time on judging their specimens, the door already opening.

"We gotta be quick mate, just follow me, got it?"

That had Jay sitting straighter, and he saw the same determined look as Conner’s on several other faces. He couldn't say he shared it, but the thought of getting out was better wake-up than coffee.

The would-be heroes positioned themselves a little closer to the entrance, the rest of the males backing up instead. Less brave, or less foolish, only time would tell.

The door irised open, the first wasp came in, and the shark, lunged.

He made it to within half a meter before his collar flashed as they had yesterday when ever someone attempted to fight back. When it happened then it had rendered the victim immobile. But the large Carcharodon was already carried by momentum, his powerful jaws were already open.

He fell forward, teeth bared. He made contact. There was a crunch of chitin.

Every collar lit up. Electric pain danced down spines. Blackness followed.

Jay came too an unknown time later, they all did, except for Conner, who was no-where to be seen.

***

His alien had him back at the booth from the day before. He may not have been able to tell them apart, but he was fairly sure she was the same wasp from yesterday. The way she rolled his balls was a clue; the tactile sensation of smooth, cool tips tracing his every vein was unmistakable, as she prepared him to entire the portal for his pleasure.

Jay wasn’t as quick to respond this time. Not only was he still dwelling on the events of that morning, but her tender massage wasn’t enough to conquer the tension in his overworked gonads.

She churred a few words that he couldn’t understand, before one hand left his body to retrieve the inhaler of potent aphrodisiac spray beside his station.

He shut his eyes, expecting the sudden rush of sickly sweet vapour, and the artificial invigoration to his libido that would reduce him to humping in seconds. Only instead he felt the slim little container slide into his palm. Not to his nose, into his paw, giving him the chance, the choice to say no, or to admit what he wanted.

That he wanted to repeat the sensory overload of the other day. To succumb entirely to a base need, an animal pleasure that would see him pouring a litre of white down an ineffable, and yet so devilishly delightful, device of alien origin.

Heart already pounding, Jay turned the small mister over, raised it, and filled his brain with a kaleidoscope of desires, conquering biology with chemicals. She fed him into the welcoming receptacle with a pleased sounding chirrup of her mandibles.

She didn’t need to guide him, the heady concoction was too much to resist. His prick wasn’t hiding any longer, rocketing out of its sheath, throbbing veins standing proud as blood pounded through them and made the spongy flesh almost red.

He groaned in relief, shivering from whisker to tail tip as that blissful suction enveloped him, lovingly latching on and promising to not let go till he was empty again. The walls wound tight, and rolled in a rhythm no earthly hole could reproduce.

Cool fingers found his chin, tilting his eyes up to the display in its soft colours and foreign tongue. The alien woman gestured to the symbol he knew was his quota, before counting it out for him.

"Fifteen," he groaned at the increased demand, "c-can't you, at least tell us, why?"

If she understood, she didn't show it, just taking one last long stroke of his naked tail, with all four hands, before leaving him to pant through his first taste of paradise for that session.

It was just like before:
The machine moved in perfect patterns of pleasure till he came undone.
He would have a small window of relief.
It began again, driving him to reach for the inhaler to keep up.

All around was the cacophony of climax from a dozen different throats, his own included. The only difference was the empty stall to his right, where Conner had been.

In a brief moment of lucidity, Jay turned to his surviving neighbour, looking for any stimulation that did not involve the constant ‘Shlik’ of undulating apertures, or the heady frenzy of orgasm.

The young stag was far away, his eyes unfocussed on anything in their universe. One hand was holding the divider for support, his hips in the same incessant roll of rut as Jay’s, but the other clasped his inhaler tight to a nostril. A constant stream filled his muzzle, as a smile and blush coating his features while drool splattered his chest.

"You wanna, take it easy, ngh, on that stuff?" The rat hadn't spared a thought about it till then, just using his own as part of the routine. But watching how quickly his surviving ‘Friend’ started leaning into the rush it brought had him questioning that choice.

After enough prompts, enough prodding, William finally rolled his unseeing gaze over, his body still moving to unheard music.

"Can't. Gotta keep. Pace," the deer's voice sounded slack, a drawl letting loose a line of spit. "I... it's not, not mating season, I'm... on blanks."

Jay didn’t know if that was truly the issue, or just the excuse the young scrawny stag was using. The rush the drugs brought on was enough to make anyone salivate, enough so that he wondered how much of a side-effect their euphoric qualities were.

Still, he was glad that rats didn’t suffer such limitations. He could imagine the strain it would be putting on the deer; his body shining in sweat, every muscle taught, his purse forced to produce without the signals of the breeding period. Each spurt of watery seed must have been a triumph for him, a desperate defiance of his species rather than the exultation of the flesh that Jay was enjoying.

The rat swallowed, and got back to his own unrelenting machine, worried what would happen if any of them didn't reach the required number.

***

When they were returned that... evening? The time was completely lost to them, only fatigue maintained their body rhythms. But by the nature of their work finishing, evening was a fitting label.

That evening, there was a new surprise waiting for them all.

Conner was back. He sat placidly, smiling, whistling a little tune whenever people stopped peppering him with questions. He barely answered anything, except the most banal facts about his life, with no terse tones or bravado. He was happily empty. They found out why.

Imbedded behind the gills on the side of his face, surrounded by fresh pink scars, was a black and silver device that could have been mistaken for a bluetooth set. Any attempt made to touch it provoked a sudden, animated defensiveness in the former lout, so they quickly abandoned the effort.

The shark ate when they reminded him, and he did it with the same dopey grin, entirely amused by himself. No one talked about fighting back that night.

***

"Eighteen, today?" Jay leaned back into four, soft, fluff crested breasts, looking up at the angular face and not the display. He didn't know why he continued trying to talk to her, his alien, just that he wanted some explanation for the steady increase in their labours, and she was the only one he could ask.

Her mandibles churred, hands stroking through his white fur in what might have been affection. She counted it out on her fingers, and made different sounds as she went, teaching him the words.

"Hektat?" He stumbled through the click at the ‘kt’, not having the right parts, and having the distraction of the pleasure machine closing in around his already firm and turgid member.

She made the noises he knew meant she was pleased, playing with his slowly strengthening sack a little longer. His caretaker always seemed supportive of him, massaging his body, toying with his tail, and reminding him of the instruments available without ever pushing him. He couldn't say the same for William's.

The stag’s keeper was growing irritated, often finding him addled and with work unfinished. She’d become almost violent in her punishments; pinching his ears squeezing the last few drops from his balls with a tight grip, coaxing him to climax with force while he bleated in a humiliating state of drunken rapture.

She'd started bringing him back to the holding pen later than the rest of them. And when he was cogent enough to talk about it, William said he’d gone to another room, where other machines did things to him he couldn't explain, only that he didn't feel the same when they were done.

As the demands grew larger, a few other flagging teens reported the same story. Each having been taken to what had quickly been dubbed the “Other Room”, where they were bound to a table, surrounded by machines. The feeling described differed for each telling, but they all agreed that when it was done, they felt changed, violated in a way that words couldn’t capture. They relayed a sense of physical disconnection, as if they were no longer the right shape. Perhaps their skin was slightly rougher, or their nose less sensitive. Or, in the case of a doberman called Sam, their knot was slightly thicker.

Jay had been lucky so far. His body was ramping up production, able to just keep ahead of the incremental increases so long as he continued to use the drugs when he was slowing, and pacing himself through the day. Just one more orgasm at a time, they were training them to produce more, to do more, to last longer. But he didn't know why.

Back in the moment, cool hands rolled through his coat again. He’d been drifting off as his first pulse painted his terminal’s innards in viscous white.

Snapping back, his fingers closed about her wrists, fear of the “Other Room” sparked him to action. He would need tools to escape that fate, and what better tool than knowledge? But he wasn't going to learn, if he didn't try.

"T-teach me, more, I want to know, how to speak to you," he looked up imploringly, whiskers twitching as he closed himself off to the scintillating feeling of myriad tongues licking his ridges.

He let go of one arm and lifted his fingers up, counting from one to five out loud.

His wasp relaxed, her free arms moving away from the hidden niche behind her, and she counted to five with him.

***

Slowly, their numbers began to dwindle.

The horrors of the changes brought on by the “Other Room” became clear as time progressed. The boys who went there the most started to lose themselves, coming back from their milking to suddenly spring into rut, to try and force themselves on each other in a mad tumble of sexual frenzy.

They might even get so far as to pin a victim down, stinking of male musk and rip-tight with straining muscles, utterly focussed on forcing home a distended and desperate member into any orifice they could get a hold of. It could be minutes before their collars would kick in and render them immobile, grunting through a bestial froth as their unwilling partners were caked in electrically stimulated release.

Every time it happened the perpetrator would be taken away to come back “Pacified”, like Conner had. They’d no longer go with the rest of them to their stations, but would follow any commands their captors gave them, vanishing for long periods of the day only to return with dopey grins and peaceful eyes.

Jay found his focus in his preparations and lessons. He knew the words for "Come" and "Stay", he knew their numbers, and several parts of the body. He'd tried to learn his wasp’s name, but that concept wasn’t as easy to convey with simple pointing. The word "Dzatchi" could be her moniker, or her species, or her title.

But he found a routine, a comfort in the madness. In the morning he’d learn, in the day he’d seek pleasure, and the night he’d plan and scheme. It wasn’t fun, or stable, but Jay had a sense of progress as he chipped away at the mountain of problems.

Things didn't really sink home, until William went missing.

The stag had been failing more and more, becoming altered further than any of the other males. His changes were visible; much of his fur had fallen out, thin as it already was, to be replaced by pebbly skin, smooth scaly plates about his hooves and thighs, and an ever more vacant look in his brown eyes. His cock had grown, and his balls below, turning black and jutting like the stinger of a bee, hard barbs and all. But still he couldn't keep up with the ever moving goal. So it was only a mild sinking Jay felt when he realised his last neighbour was gone.

Asking his keeper as the machine worked another, long, thick, wad of cream out of him, only got him the sound he knew as irritation, and a word he hadn't been taught yet. She directed him back to his quota, thirty that day. The numbers kept growing, but he felt like he knew just as little. How long till he couldn't keep up?

***

The answer was not much longer.

He’d tried hard to keep his focus, to not think on what had happened to the others, not rely too much on the sweet mist he'd seen rot their brain away, to focus on the perfect suction, the rolling pressure up and down his now impressive girth. But by the time the last stragglers had finished that day, he was stubbornly stuck at twenty-eight. The first time he'd ever not met a target. 

When she came for him, he sensed her disappointment. She didn't tug his tail or sooth his sack. There was no pleasing sound of her chirruping, or the loving embrace of four warm breasts about his head. Instead, the lasso was back, slipped free from some discreet hiding spot.

"Wait, I can, just a little…"

His protest was denied, the milker around his uncertain penis withdrew and practically spat him out. The length of rubbery material hooked about his neck, and he was tugged away from his booth. Down the maze of corridors with their wrong angles, pink light, and tall ceilings, away from their sleeping pen, she was taking him to the "Other room" the one that had slowly robbed William of his species by degrees.

"C-come on, we've, been getting close, right? Practically, friends. You wouldn't do anything bad right?" Desperate little squeaks, but all he got was marching orders. No playful petting, no pleased little churrs or chuffs. He was being punished, and all he could pray for was that he'd walk away from it the same rat he'd been before.

Through an irising door, into a bright and sterile chamber. A table in the centre, devices around the edge, as alien as his host. Dazzling and overwhelming, his racing heart and head couldn't keep up. The table contoured around him, cuffs on his limbs having him spread-eagled, machines clicked and buzzed into place.

A second alien joined his, a set of instruments on her belt. They talked, they examined him with cold metal wands and wandering hands. He didn't know anywhere near enough to understand them. The prick of something sharp, they took blood, he saw on the screen a rendering of himself, strings of numbers, they knew him intimately.

Hyperventilating now, dreading what the machines might do to him, he watched as his wasp, his teacher, ran a hand down his tail again. She looked him in his eyes, all four of her black pools swimming with refracted colours, before she said a word he understood.

"Begin."

The whirring machines closed ranks around him. And the last thing he felt, was a sting.