The Cockpocalypse

The year is 2050 and the scattered remnants of humanity cower behind the walls of their small, heavily fortified settlements where they attempt to eke out a living in a changed world. Beyond these small havens is a wasteland filled with roving packs of fuck-addicted cock-zombies ever seeking fresh souls to add to the moaning horde.

Jackson woke to stark, sterile light shining down from the fixture in the ceiling. Its baleful and inescapable glare bathed every square inch of the cramped room.

It was morning at Settlement HTX05 and it couldn’t have come at a worse time.

A deep voice, rich and dignified, crackled from the speakers overhead. "Good morning, gentlemen. The date is the 15th of March 2050 and the time is 0515 hours."

In another life, Jackson might have found the voice attractive in the extreme. These days, it was more of an annoyance. The herald of yet another pointless day at Settlement HTX05.

"As per usual, you have the rest of the hour to complete your morning ablutions. All are expected to report for daily inspection at 0600 hours. Failure to comply without cause is subject to disciplinary action."

It was the same spiel day after day and Jackson was just about sick and tired of it. He knew every word by heart and had started looking forward to the rare occasion the speech departed from the usual course, if for nothing else than the novelty.

The chief only ever deviated from the script to deliver news of the outside world and if there was anything Jackson had learned in the past two years—the news was hardly ever good.

"That is all for this morning’s announcements. Breakfast is at 0700 hours. Detail assignments will be available at 0730 hours. Remember to work diligently and stay vigilant. Together we can keep the threat outside the walls."

Jackson mouthed along, having memorized even the unique cadence of the chief’s speech. "As you were. Further instructions will be delivered via the PA system as necessary," he said in unison with the chief.

He sighed when the soft three-tone chime that signaled the end of the morning announcement played over the speakers.

Jackson glanced forlornly down between his legs. Tired as he was of the chief’s voice it still had an effect on him and it didn’t help that the morning announcement had interrupted one of the hottest dreams he’d had in a while.

He cupped a hand around his cock and balls. The metal bars of the cage cinched around him—cramping his erection—felt hot against his skin.

It wasn’t that the cage was uncomfortable. Indeed, compared to the cages available on the market before things went to shit, it was remarkably comfortable. It was easy to forget it was even there—as long as he didn’t try to get hard while wearing it.

The problem was that while the world outside had changed a lot in the past couple of years, men hadn’t. Not on a fundamental level, anyway. It meant that every morning was an exercise in sexual frustration.

Jackson shook his package in a vain attempt at self-stimulation that he barely even felt. His balls were heavy and full, aching for release.

He used to be a bottom—though it felt like a lifetime ago since he’d had a thick cock up his hole—but at this point, he was so horny he’d fuck anything he was told to stick his dick in just for a modicum of relief.

Not that it was ever going to happen. Sexual expression in Settlement HTX05 was strictly controlled. And as he understood it, things weren’t much better in any of the other walled bastions that now housed the scattered remnants of humanity.

Jackson couldn’t even finger himself. The people in charge made sure to check. Everyone was monitored at every hour of every day just to make sure the infection hadn’t somehow made its way into the compound.

The measures were expansive and invasive. People in the past would have never tolerated the draconic rules. These days, though, the men were just happy to have shelter they were willing to put up with an awful lot.

There were cameras in every room and nothing to hide from them with. All the men were expected to sleep naked to ensure compliance with the settlement’s regulations.

The only consolation was that the rooms were individually climate-controlled. The men could set the temperature according to their preferences.

Jackson knew it wasn’t a kindness, though. It was a way to justify the lack of blankets—again, all to ensure compliance.

The pillows were nice and soft—perfect to sleep on—but the middle part on the bottom was firmly attached to the mattress underneath. There was enough space to get an arm under for comfort but there was no way to move it around. Humping was prohibited, after all.

Even the bed linens were fastidiously secured. There were no sheets that could be removed. Instead, each mattress had a fabric case that was zipped shut around it and locked in place with a pretty heavy-duty padlock.

For someone that used to have sex on a semi-regular basis—like Jackson—it was nothing short of torture. He was so horny it was driving him up the walls but even grinding up against the concrete was strictly prohibited.

Self-pleasure of any kind was forbidden. Even purposefully shaking the cage too much was considered a violation.

If there weren’t such a risk of it leading to messy situations, Jackson was all but certain that settlement leadership would mandate that every man in residence wear a locking buttplug just in case they got any ideas. Even straight guys were bound to get desperate after losing access to their cocks for years on end.

With a sigh, Jackson swept his legs off the side of the bed and stood. He looked down at his body and brushed his fingers over his cobbled abs.

The cruel irony of the whole situation was that he’d never been sexier. Physical fitness was an important part of life in the settlement. There were weekly quotas at the communal gym.

He’d had to helplessly watch as even the most out-of-shape men in his cohort became hotter and hotter.

If he was being honest, he didn’t even care about getting unlocked, himself. He just wanted to taste cock again. Feel it inside him again.

But that wasn’t going to happen. Not until the world outside was fixed. And who the fuck knew if it ever would be? Certainly not Jackson.

He shuffled over to the en-suite and finished his morning ablutions. The straining in his cage subsided while he was at it—thankfully.

All that remained was to get dressed, but even that followed a strict protocol. Once he’d brushed his teeth, he made his way to the front of his room.

There was a small cubby beside the door—a square cutout in the wall with sliding panels on either side. It was the equivalent of a food slot in a prison cell: a way to exchange things between the person inside and a person outside without any direct interaction.

In the mornings it contained a fresh change of clothes. In the evenings, the men were expected to strip completely naked, neatly fold their clothes, and place the pile inside the cubby so the custodial staff could wash them overnight.

Jackson retrieved the day’s clothes. They were the same as always: a jockstrap to support the package, tight white shorts, and a tight white tank-top.

For how tightly the powers-that-be seemed to want to control sexual expression, the uniform was surprisingly slutty. Jackson half-expected to wake up one day with unflattering prison coveralls dyed white in the cubby.

Then again, the garments made a lot of sense from a resource conservation standpoint. They used less material and were easier to repair if they were ever damaged. The shorts he’d just pulled out of the cubby even had a small square patch right over the left butt cheek.

They were also pretty good as far as mobility was concerned. There was so little fabric it hardly ever got in the way, which Jackson supposed was important if the men were ever called up for combat.

The clothes didn’t offer much in the way of protection but armor was less of a concern these days. The enemy didn’t use weapons in the conventional sense. Though they did have impressive ‘weapons’ on them.

Jackson pulled his jockstrap and shorts on. They were snug. There was no way to sneak anything into them. He could barely stick his fingers past the waistband. Actual contraband would have no chance.

Once his tank top was on, Jackson was ready for the day. But the doors weren’t going to open until quarter-to so he figured he might as well sit on his bed and wait there instead of aimlessly pacing behind the door.

It was funny. Jackson had always been a law-abiding citizen. He’d never dreamed he’d end up in prison and yet here he was.

Officially, he and the other men lived in ‘dormitory rooms’ but none of the men bought that line. They all called their accommodations ‘cells’—at least out of earshot of the officials.

Jackson shrugged. "If it walks like a duck and talks like a duck…" he mumbled to himself.

Just then, he heard a clang. The doors were open.


"Good morning, Jackson."

Jackson smiled at the older gentleman in front of him. "Good morning, Doc, Sir," he said.

In previous years, Dr. Hayworth might have pulled on a pair of disposable gloves but such things were luxuries these days. He noted down a couple of things on the form in front of him and rolled around to the side of the desk as he beckoned for Jackson to approach.

"You know the drill, son."

Jackson nodded. "Yes, Sir." It was the expected form of address when speaking to one of the numerous staffers that ran the settlement under the direct supervision of the chief.

It grated at his nerves to have to be so deferential all the time but he didn’t mind so much as far as Dr. Hayworth was concerned. The man had the aura of a proper daddy and looked pretty good for his age. If Jackson didn’t know the doctor was caged like the rest of them, he might have jumped him out of desperation by now.

Jackson stripped off without even the slightest ounce of hesitation. Having lived in HTX05 for the past two years had desensitized him to being naked around other guys.

Dr. Hayworth rolled over to him and examined his locked cock and balls. "Any discomfort?" he said.

Jackson cracked a grin. "Only in the mornings, Sir," he said. Approaching life with a little bit of levity was one of the few things that let him keep his sanity in a world that had gone batshit insane.

"Besides that," said Dr. Hayworth with a light chuckle. "Any chafing? Tightness around the balls?"

Jackson shivered as the doctor handled his bits with a practiced touch. He was so sex-starved it didn’t take long before he was straining in his cage.

"No, Sir," he said, suppressing the urge to whine when Dr. Hayworth released him.

"Seems like everything’s good," said the doctor as he rolled his chair back behind his desk. "Though things did feel a bit backed-up. When was the last time you had a supervised release?"

Jackson grimaced. "Two weeks, Sir," he said.

"Supervised Release." It would have been funny if it weren’t so cruel. It wasn’t nearly as glamorous as it sounded—and it didn’t sound glamorous at all, to begin with.

Like many of the other men in the settlement, he’d thought it meant getting to jerk off while someone watched closely. It wasn’t that at all and, if anything, it was more frustrating than just staying locked.

Dr. Hayworth clicked his tongue. "I know some guys don’t like it, Jackson, but you have to put yourself in for one every week. We have to make sure everything’s healthy and still working, you know?"

Jackson sighed. "Yes, Sir," he said.

"Good boy," said Dr. Hayworth. "I’ll put you down for a session right after this. Now stop looking so glum. Don’t you miss the way it feels?"

Jackson blinked. "The way what feels, Sir?" he said.

"You know. Up the backside? Guys like you are into that, right?"

Dr. Hayworth was a total hottie as far as Jackson was concerned. The older guy just sometimes showed his age.

Jackson knew it came from a place of good intentions but it did often catch him off guard. He chuckled awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck. "Um. Just because a guy is gay, Sir, doesn’t mean they’re into butt stuff."

Dr. Hayworth’s eyes widened. "Oh. I see. Sorry, son. I thought that was an integral part of the whole thing."

"No, no…" Jackson smiled. "Everyone’s got their own preferences, Sir. But, um… Thank you for booking me for a supervised release. Should I—?" He gestured over his shoulder with his thumb.

"Oh. Oh, yes! By all means. Don’t let me keep you," said Dr. Hayworth.

"Thanks, Sir," said Jackson. He grabbed his clothes and walked out. He didn’t bother putting them back on as he continued down the hall.

He’d put it off for as long as he could but it was time for his "supervised release." He didn’t know whether to feel grateful or resentful for it.


The release chamber was small and bare but for a metal frame structure in the middle. It was, for all intents and purposes, a breeding bench. He’d seen plenty of the like in BDSM porn but this one came with a fresh coat of paint because apparently aesthetic was vital in the post-apocalyptic world.

The bench had one large platform along the top for a person to rest their chest against. It was apparent that dignity wasn’t at all a consideration to the designers of the apparatus as the platform was sloped downward in such a way that it forced the occupant to raise their ass into the air.

Two padded arms in the back of the bench served as places for the occupant to rest his knees. They were positioned such that the occupant would have to spread his legs apart to be comfortable, which again only added to the indignity of the damned thing.

At the very least, the designers seemed to take the comfort of the user into account. Jackson had never been able to find any fault with the padding which felt surprisingly high-quality.

"Please approach the bench," crackled a voice from the speakers positioned at the four corners of the ceiling.

Jackson sighed, setting his clothes down on the floor by the door. He approached the bench and waited for the next instruction. He knew what he had to do but he’d learned the officers of HTX05 didn’t appreciate initiative on the part of the residents.

"Please climb onto the bench. Place your chest against the top platform and your knees on the padded spaces provided for them."

Jackson did as he was told. The moment he laid down across the bench he felt exposed and vulnerable. No matter how many times he went for a "supervised release" he didn’t think he’d ever get used to the humiliation of it.

"Please grasp the front legs of the frame."

Jackson sucked in a breath and did as he was asked. The metal was cold to the touch and just a tad uncomfortable to fit the fingers around but he wasn’t about to disobey direct orders.

"Please refrain from making unnecessary movements during restraint procedure."

They were words Jackson had heard a dozen times before but that didn’t make them any less unsettling. He remained as still as he could while the room’s machine supervisors got to work.

One thing humanity had somehow managed to do while the world was falling apart was to advance technology leaps and bounds beyond what was available before the apocalypse. Metal bands extended from the frame of the bench, cinching around Jackson’s body of their own accord.

"Thank you for your cooperation," said the voice with some mild disinterest in its tone.

The restraints were snug and perfectly molded to Jackson’s body. They were as comfortable as they could be but restraints were restraints and he was far more uneasy with how much they limited his range of motion.

The straps were the worst around the hips. He could barely wiggle his ass—which he supposed was the point.

"Please refrain from unnecessary movements during the supervised release procedure. Stimulation besides what is provided by the machine supervisor is strictly prohibited."

There was a whir and a click. Panels on the floor slid open and a pair of robot arms rose from underneath.

Jackson could just about see the bases of both. One arm was directly under him. The other was behind him.

"Attempts to thrust or buck against the restraints may be considered an act of non-compliance subject to disciplinary action."

It was a standard spiel but it never failed to make Jackson feel like a reprimanded schoolboy. It was degrading. Denigrating. Humiliating. And the worst part was that it turned him on.

"Machine supervisor arms are moving into position. The procedure will begin in approximately 1 minute. Your cooperation is appreciated."

Jackson’s whole body tensed as he felt the blunt, bulbous end of the stimulating wand on the end of the rear arm pressed against his hole. Something slick and slightly warm issued from the hole in the tip, liberally coating his pucker as the rod slowly rotated to spread the lube.

The second arm was a lot more complex than the first. It had claspers that locked onto the ring around the base of his cock and balls. A small limb with a key attachment slid into the lock and released it.

The base ring and the cage were promptly removed and the sudden freedom did not escape the notice of Jackson’s cock. Already half-straining against the bars of the cage, he shot to full stiffness in record time.

The whole assembly at the end of the second arm flipped over, swiveling around a point about a foot along its length. Attached to the other end of the arm was a sleeve not unlike a classic male masturbator.

Jackson hissed as he felt the tip of his cock rub against the entrance of the sleeve. A glob of pre-cum beaded on his piss slit and smeared across the silicone.

The delicate folds of the simulated vagina at the end of the sleeve caressed his cock head. It wasn’t the kind of thing he’d ever have used himself but it wasn’t much of a surprise. Most of the men on the base still fancied themselves "straight" even though they knew they would likely never be in the same room as a living woman for the rest of their lives.

At the same time that the sleeve enveloped the end of Jackson’s cock, the rod at his ass began to push into him. He hissed, entire body tensing as his hole stretched around the wide bulb at the end.

He was so out of practice but the discomfort didn’t last long. His ring closed behind the bulb, clenching around the rod it was attached to.

Despite himself, Jackson couldn’t help but moan. He’d gone so long without getting fucked that even this sorry excuse for a dicking was enough to make him react.

The rod didn’t even thrust. It just moved back and forth a little as it searched for his prostate and then stopped, applying constant and steady pressure on the button.

On the other end, the sleeve continued to slip down his length. The silicone itself was cold but perforations in the silicone allowed for a self-warming lube to drip through onto his cock.

Jackson wasn’t the guy who would know but he strongly suspected that with the added warmth, the rubber sleeve very closely emulated the feeling of a warm cunt wrapped around a cock.

The thought might once have repulsed him but he was horny enough and so desperate for release that the fact it felt good on his cock was enough.

Slowly, inch by inch, the sleeve swallowed Jackson’s cock until it was resting against his crotch. He had always been a bottom but he was fairly well-endowed. He was thick enough that the sleeve felt tight and sizable enough that it took a good minute or so for the sleeve to slowly creep down the length of his shaft.

Once the sleeve was firmly seated, the rod in Jackson’s ass began to buzz. He wasn’t a stranger to vibrators but as far as those went, this one was pretty shitty.

It was as if the rod was on the lowest setting. It was barely stimulating. It felt good, no doubt, but it wasn’t satisfying in the same way a good fuck felt.

The sleeve started to buzz as well. It applied a light suction on his length and vibrated all around him. It felt good. It made his cock tingle. But that was it. There was nothing more.

The reason Jackson avoided "supervised release" as much as he could was because it was a fucking tease. It was a regular reminder of what he’d lost as the world went to shit.

He squirmed in his restraints but they didn’t give him much slack. He flexed his hole around the rod buried in his ass, hoping to eke out even the slightest hint of extra stimulation but it was a hopeless endeavor.

He couldn’t move his hips enough to make one whit of a difference and he had to lie there and take the woefully insufficient stimulation the machine was giving him.

"I will remind you that any attempt to achieve stimulation besides that which is given by the machine supervisor is considered non-compliance with the rules and regulations of settlement HTX05. This is your first and only warning."

Jackson gritted his teeth and whined. He gripped the metal frame so tightly his knuckles turned white. It was so difficult to not do anything.

It was a base instinct to buck and thrust. He used to love riding dick. Nothing felt better than working his hips, bouncing his ass on a fat hog until it filled him with spunk. Fuck.

"Further non-compliance will be subject to disciplinary action. Please adhere to the established rules and regulations of settlement HTX05."

Jackson bit his tongue. He knew better than to talk back. That was insubordination and also actionable by the disciplinary committee. He was left with no option but to lie there and endure.

One upshot, he supposed, of being so sex-starved was that even this pathetic excuse for a milking was sufficient, as previous experience had demonstrated. If he wasn’t so pent up and desperate, he didn’t think he’d ever cum even if he was strapped to the machine for hours on end.

Even so, there was just enough there that Jackson felt himself inexorably creep closer and closer to the edge of orgasm. It took the better part of half an hour but he knew the torment had just begun.

The rod in his ass and the sleeve wrapped tightly around his cock brought him right to the edge. He teetered on the cliff, perfectly primed to fall and bust his nut but it was precisely before the point of no return that all the stimulation ceased.

Jackson groaned, gripping tighter onto the metal beams that formed the frame of the bench. He didn’t even care about the indignity of it all anymore. He just wanted to come properly for once but knew that the machine supervisor would never permit it.

Over and over again, the cycle repeated. Each time, the machine supervisor brought Jackson closer and closer to the point of no return but always stopped short.

"Please…" he whined, clutching the frame of the bench so tightly he was afraid he might dent the metal. "Please let me come…"

There was no response—neither from the detached, professional voice that usually filtered in through the speakers nor from the uncaring arms of the machine supervisor.

On and on it went. For fifteen minutes, the machine took Jackson on a ride of the most exquisite torture, pushing him to the cliff edge and then pulling him back when he wanted nothing more than to plummet off it.

Little by little the machine primed him and then, it happened. The machine pushed him past the point of no return and then stopped.

The straps tightened, making it impossible to so much as squirm. The buzzing stopped. All the stimulation ceased in an instant and instead of the earth-shattering orgasm Jackson’s balls had been building to, the cum trickled out of his helpless cock like a weak stream of piss.

The orgasm brought no relief. There was no spurting or clenching, just leaking. And if anything, having his balls emptied in such an unsatisfactory manner only increased the frustration.

The rod slowly retreated from his ass at the same time that the sleeve pulled off of his cock. They went slow—almost excruciatingly so—just so he wouldn’t accidentally get stimulated on the tail end of the session.

The bulb at the tip of the anal stimulator slipped out of him with a wet pop. Meanwhile, the arm with the sleeve on the end flipped back over to the side with his cage still attached.

The machine gave him the better part of two minutes or so to get soft. As the release had been so profoundly unsatisfying, it took a while for his erection to go down despite having cum.

There wasn’t any mercy or sympathy in the way the machine wedged the cage back into place. He winced as its little arms tugged his balls through the base ring, and then his shaft.

Just having everything jostled around was enough to make Jackson’s cock swell a bit. But the cage went on soon thereafter, thwarting the half-erection which ended up straining against the metal bars while the lock was slotted back into place.

The machine didn’t release him until the second arm had fully retreated into the floor. The straps sprang loose and retreated to their dispensers but Jackson remained on the bench, waiting for further instructions.

"Thank you for your cooperation. You are now free to go. Please make sure to book an appointment for your regular supervised release no sooner than 7 days from today."

Jackson pushed himself off the bench and resisted the urge to grab his caged cock. He could feel the lube in his crack, making things feel oddly slippery and uncomfortable.

He snatched his clothes off the floor, stepped out of the room, and dressed in the hallway. It was standard procedure.

Facilities were limited in the settlement. Men were expected to make use of said facilities only for the absolute shortest amount of time necessary. Once they were done, they were supposed to make the room available for the next person, whatever state they were in.

None of the other men could look Jackson in the eye. Nor did he really want to meet their gazes, anyway. Waiting in line for one of the supervised release chambers was one of the worst feelings.


Jackson just about barely made it in time to the mess hall for breakfast. He grabbed a tray and got a slice of toast, scrambled eggs, and two strips of bacon.

It wasn’t the most imaginative or gourmet breakfast but it was miles better than what they used to have. The government had managed to get some semblance of food production back up and running but the first year of nothing but tasteless gruel had been tough.

Jackson slipped into his usual place opposite William "Billie" Howard Banks—one of the first friends he’d made in HTX05 and one of the only dozen or so gay guys in the entire settlement.

"Where were you?" said Billie, looking up from the palm-sized slate of polyglass sitting on the table beside his tray to quirk an eyebrow at Jackson.

Jackson managed a small smirk as he heaped scrambled eggs onto his piece of toast. "Fucking machine pussy," he said. "It was great. Fucking came everywhere. It was such a mess."

"Ugh." Billie grimaced. "I feel for you. I’m due to have a session with mistress metal on Friday."

Jackson chuckled. "Don’t look so glum, hon. She’s the best lay I’ve had in two years."

Billie rolled his eyes and went back to whatever he was reading on his phone.

"What’ve you got there?" said Jackson.

"Hm? Oh." Billie slid the phone over to the middle of the table. "New Hall of Heroes side-story is out."

Jackson picked up the polyglass slate. "Halcyon Sunset, huh?" he said, handing the phone back to Billie.

"Yeah. It’s about a team of junior heroes getting taken down by Imperious." Billie smirked as he set the phone back down. "Pretty hot."

Jackson laughed. "I can imagine." He’d seen other volumes before. If they were anything to go by, he had no doubt this one was going to be just as hot.

Shaking his head, Jackson took a bite of breakfast. "With how strict they are about everything else, I’m surprised they haven’t banned that stuff," he said.

Billie snorted. "I mean, the higher-ups gotta be getting off to something, you know?" he said. "And besides, I think it’s a good way to fund things. The comic’s not exactly cheap to read, you know?"

Jackson shrugged. "Fair enough, I suppose…"

A moment passed in silence before he spoke again. "Which detail do you think you’ll be getting assigned to today?" said Jackson.

Billie gulped, having finished his breakfast. He washed it down with a glass of water before shrugging at Jackson. "Anything but custodial duty again. I swear, man. It’s like these guys are still in denial and trying to piss standing up while caged."

Jackson chuckled. "I get that," he said. "Honestly, watch duty seems pretty laid back."

Billie shrugged. "It’s easy until it’s not," he said. "Guys on watch detail are also gonna be the first responders if anything happens, you know?"

"Guess so…"


"Jackson Kelly?" said the stern-nosed man handing out assignments.

"Yes, Sir!" said Jackson with a respectful nod. At least they weren’t expected to salute. He didn’t think he’d be able to do it with a straight face.

"The chief wants to see you."

Jackson blinked. "I-I’m sorry, Sir? I think I may have misheard—"

"The chief wants to see you. Report to command ASAP."

"Y-yes, Sir. I will do that." Jackson was flummoxed. He hadn’t the faintest idea why the chief might take an interest in him of all people.

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