tagSci-Fi & FantasyJulien Performs

Julien Performs


"All right, Julien, you're first up tonight."

The young man stretched before stripping off his shirt and stepping neatly out of his pants before nodding at the MC. He was well-built, lithe but muscular, his tousled blonde hair long enough to sweep into his eyes: the perfect actor. Well, if you could call it that. It was a show, sure, but they had long since outlawed prostitution as a moral sin. But that didn't mean he couldn't do other things for money in this new and modern world.

He opened the door; the room was slick polished steel and bright lights. Anyone else would have thought it too cold and clinical, but to Julien, it was a familiar and tantalizing sight. Already he was starting to pant as the cold air brought goosebumps to his bare flesh. Others, even the other performers, would see it as a disgusting act. A few had been forced into it, unwilling, and they reviled him as some sort of freak. But the machine knew him better than any lover, and he was the best act the house had. Julien didn't feel much shame in it at all. There were a thousand different feeds, now, people trying to perpetuate the reality television shtick of letting the public into their boring, predictable lives - he was just doing the same. And besides, what other job paid so well and promised that he would come at least once a night?

Julien swung his hips as he entered the room properly before propping himself up on the long table standing vertical in the center. He was already panting, but it took him a moment more to showily let his eyelids flutter as he reached for himself, fondling his limp cock. But the machine was quick tonight - the metal arms reached out of the side of the table to grab at his own, and he couldn't help his startled cry being turned into something of a moan. Almost immediately his hands and feet were fastened, and he was strapped up against the table.

As he tossed his head back and forth, eyelids fluttering, he looked to the glass. It was supposed to be one-way but he could see the shadowy faces watching him - men and women both, in their own little compartments so that they didn't have the shame of looking at one another. Some had stripped completely, others had just pulled their pants down. Most of them took advantage of the complimentary computer-controlled aids - a complex bit of machinery that snugly fit against the groin to deliver stimulation (so the ads said, in the most clinical way possible). He didn't envy them. He knew he had the better machine by far.

Panting, he barely remembered to look as if he was struggling at least somewhat: that was the story he was selling, an unwilling man who quickly turns into a slut at the machine's command. He gasped and whimpered, trying to wriggle out of the way of the robotic arms as they neatly pasted electrodes over his nipples. But his body knew them and already his nipples were peaking. The short bursts of electric current made him squirm in earnest, his screams morphing to open-mouthed moans as his body responded to the sweet pain. Each pulse made his hips lift almost instinctively, and he could feel his cock growing fuller as the electricity dropped off. His chest was heaving, and as he moaned, he desperately wished it would come back.

The shackles around his ankles moved, guiding his legs up and splaying them open. This time when Julien's eyes widened it was in genuine surprise. Most audiences didn't opt for the full set - it cost extra, after all. Some even just stuck with one basic machine, and that was boringly predictable, but it had been weeks since he was last given this. Whimpering, he tried to squirm away as a sleek vibrator honed in on him; he knew instinctively that it was well lubricated at the tip but it always made him panic a little. Gasping, he tried to relax. The sensation of being entered was always a new one to him, on that delicious cusp of pain and pleasure. After a few moments of letting him get used to it, the machinery whirred and the vibration almost seemed to rattle his bones. He gave short gasping cries, throwing his head back, but his hips bucked against the device.

From the other side of the glass came a responding moan. It happened, occasionally, someone very loud in front - it wasn't completely soundproof - but Julien liked it that way. A quite handsome gentleman in front was already gripping at his armrests, the personal pleasure device working away rhythmically between his thighs to try and coax an orgasm from him; a few seats down, a woman was staring with half-closed eyes as she rolled her hips up against her own complex machine. It was a sort of power, to know that he could get such a reaction from both men and women.

As the vibrator began to slide in and out of him, he bucked against it in time, panting and moaning happily. Already he could feel his pulse in his own cock, full and growing impossibly fuller. He was sure the last phase would happen any moment now - surely it would. But instead he was merely rewarded with another shock from the electrodes; it made him groan out loudly. This wasn't part of the program. This was a private show. He looked to the dim faces, trying to spot who, but his vision was hazy. It would be over soon, on any other night, but apparently they were trying to make it draw out as long as possible.

Another shock of electricity, another gasp; the vibrator thrust harder and he whimpered. His cock twitched eagerly at both the sensations. He was so close, but there was still another step - he could see the machine lowering down now.

It was vaguely bell-shaped, clear instead of the opaque ones the male customers had, but it fitted tightly over his cock, so tightly it made him groan and whimper. Slowly - it always started slowly - the walls of the device began massaging, sucking and tugging at his cock in a way that almost felt organic, slick and warm. He had to bite his lip to keep from crying out; it was too tempting to scream or to whimper out some word or another, but they wanted no words - to keep it more accessible to the online audience, of course. The world seemed hazy and unimportant as the tempo of the machine sped up and his breath came in sobbing moans. He couldn't help but break the rule.


The tiny earpiece crackled and the MC's voice came smoothly over it. "Sorry, Julien, no can do. It's a private show." He panted desperately, unable to catch his breath as his head rolled to the side. Mercifully, the MC continued after a moment more. "They say to thrust more. You got pretty little hips, I know you can pull this off."

It was half encouragement, half pointing out an escape. Eagerly, his hips bucked between the two devices, the vibrator buzzing louder even as the machine sucked rhythmically at his cock. He cried out in mewling, moaning sobs. The thrusting didn't make it better, it made it worse - much worse. He was throbbing all over, burning up from the heat of it, so close he could almost taste it - every moment was a greater agony -

And finally he was released, the suction device pulling away to place another little electrode at the base of his cock. They had found the right nerve to strike long ago, but he knew this was the big finale; most shows let him finish in the false privacy of the machine. But he was their plaything, and he would go as long as they wanted. His back arched and he stretched against his bonds, giving a howl of a scream; the electrode buzzed with a heady energy, striking true.

Julien came hard, bucking up into the air uselessly. It was all blinding pleasure and the blood rushing in his ears, stretching on for infinity - an eternity of it, too much even. But there was something different, something more demanding. The electric current was still arcing up through him, he could tell, still striking that one nerve. He came, and then he came again - he cried out in agony against it, howling breathlessly and struggling against the bonds - but it continued, on and on, forever it seemed, until finally the last weak spurt came from the tip of his cock and it ceased.

He dropped limp against his restraints, shuddering, muscles twitching as if he had just run a marathon. The pleasure, even dulled in post-orgasmic haze, was so overwhelming he still thought he might die from it. As it was he panted, not caring about the bit of drool at the corner of his mouth.

The faces opposite him were all similarly gasping, groaning after every individual climax. Soon it would be time for them to leave - or time for them to sit and watch another show. In either case Julien knew that for the night, he was spent. He whimpered a little to himself, dizzied with the pleasure, unable to hold himself up even as the bonds loosened so he could go.

And in his ear buzzed the MC's voice: "Gods, Julien! 90% at critical point -" that was the industry-savvy jargon for the cusp of orgasm - "before you even came!"

"I think," he continued, gloatingly complimenting, "that was your best performance yet."

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