Marty

Marty Part 3 - Martin Turns Sixteen

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This story is intended for adults only. It contains depictions of forced nudity, spanking, and sexual activity of preteen and young teen children for the purpose of punishment. None of the behaviors in this story should be attempted in real life, as that would be harmful and/or illegal. If you are not of legal age in your community to read or view such material, please leave now.

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Martin Turns Sixteen
(Marty, Part 3)
[by Alpenhorn, 2017]

            Glossary:
            choke the chicken - masturbate
            drawers - underpants
            jizz - semen
            loo - bathroom
            prostate - a gland; part of the reproductive system
            siesta - a short midday nap
            splooge - ejaculate
            wazoo - anus
            willy - penis

            Characters:
            Marty - age 16
            Heather - the girl he likes
            Brezhnev, Churchill, de Gaulle - at the clinic

In some places teenagers may look forward to their sixteenth birthday so that they can be licensed to drive a car. Not here in the Village of Renier. Sure, we can learn to drive. But here, we look forward to our sixteenth birthday because then we can be licensed for sex.

My dream girl was named Heather. I had been dating her for a while. She also dated other guys, which made me jealous. But I knew if I demanded that she choose one boy to date, I would not be the one.

We had fun on our dates. I know I did. I am pretty sure she did.

Sometimes I would hint I was ready for sex, but she ignored me. So finally I came right out and said it.

She laughed. ‘Martin, you are a silly boy. We are not licensed for sex.’

‘If we do it, no one will know.’

‘I would know,’ Heather explained.

‘But I love you!’ I declared for the umpteenth time. ‘Indubitably.’

‘That’t nice,’ she replied. She never, ever, said she loved me. ‘We just have to wait until we reach sixteen. Like everyone else.’

So the only sex I could do was by myself in my room. Alone, choking the chicken. Slapping the salami. Jerkin’ the gherkin. Polishing the bannister. I imagined it was pretty dull, compared to real sex with a real girl.

*

Heather’s birthday was about a month before mine. She turned sixteen. She went for the “16FL” programme at the medical clinic. Then she was licensed.

After that she didn’t date me at all. She only went with older boys, so she could do sex with them. I was going crazy thinking of it.

I made sure to frequently remind my parents to arrange for me to go and get licensed on my birthday. My pa said I could not miss school, so he reserved a spot for me on the Saturday after my birthday. That meant four extra days of no sex!

The sex licensure programme for males was called “16ML”. I would go in to the clinic early in the morning. I would be there all day, spend the night, and come home the next morning. Also, they said I have to stop choking the chicken three days in advance. Three days of torture, as far as I am concerned.

There was an on-line advance questionnaire for me to fill out. Some basic questions, but also some about sex. As usual nowadays, my answer to one question determined what the subsequent questions would be.

Preferred partner(s)
A girl your own age; a woman; a grandmother; a boy your own age; a man; a grandfather; a sheep; a dog; a warm towel; a suction machine; just your own hand; other (please specify).

A girl my own age, of course. Some of those choices I had never even heard of before!

Configuration
One partner just the two of you; multiple people at the same time.

Just the two of us.

Environment
In private; with a live audience; recorded on video. I had enough of the live audience back when I was tannerized.

Private! Definitely.

Date of first ejaculation.

How was I supposed to remember that? But my mum knew. I guess the one who does the laundry knows the secrets.

After that, I just had to wait for the big day. Impatiently. And to stop choking the chicken three days before.

*

I arrived at the clinic early in the morning.

They took me to a room. It was part medical exam room and part hotel room. There was an adjoining loo. The bed was huge - king size. (Big enough for those “multiple people” configurations, I guess.) It had some sort of plastic cover on the mattress. No sheets or blankets.

Soon there was a knock; a woman and a man came in. They were wearing white coats. ‘We are your technicians for today. I am “Churchill”. This is “de Gaulle”. At any time, day or night, if you press the blue button at the head of the bed there, one of us will respond.’

I knew “Churchill” was not her real name. She was in my mum’s book club. But I remained silent. ‘For today we are playing the roles assigned. If we know each other outside, that is irrelevant. What we do in here today is private. We will call you “Adams”, or anything starting with A. The physician is “Brezhnev” or B. He will attend you if there is a medical situation that arises. And, as I said, your technicians are C and D.’

‘You will be visited by some girls today. The same applies to them. If you know them outside, ignore that. Here, you are merely student and teacher; postulant and guru; apprentice and master. You may address any of them as “Sensei” or simply “Miss”. You are here to learn about sex, they are here to teach you.’

She went droning on for some time, but I had stopped listening. My mind was only on sex. They provide the girls! What could be better than that? But, in hindsight, I guess maybe I should have listened.

As the two of them left, she said, ‘You may get undressed. Your first guru will be in soon.’

After my time being tannerized, I was no longer surprised when anyone, anywhere, asked me to get undressed. I stripped down to my drawers. My willy was already gigantic, after waiting for three days.

*

There was a knock. A girl came in. I had seen her around the school, so I guess she was a year or two older than me. But (I remembered) I should not think of what she is outside. Today, she is the master, I am the apprentice. That’s all.

She was wearing a pretty red silk robe. With a dragon embroidered on it.

‘Good morning, Adams.’ ‘Good morning, Miss.’

She had me lie on my back on the bed.

She knelt down beside the bed. She caressed my torso. She kissed up and down my tummy and my chest. Then my face and eyes. Then on my lips. She taught me all about kissing. Mouth to mouth. Tongue to tongue. I never knew it could feel so good. Indubitably.

After the kissing lesson, she quickly pulled off my drawers. I was glad, since my hard willy had been uncomfortable in there.

‘It looks like you are ready,’ she said.

She reached over and started to stroke my willy. But my body was already at its limit. She jumped up and stepped back just in time to avoid getting hit as my jizz blasted out onto my body and the bed. Of course it was powerful - three days without doing it.

The girl immediately pressed the call button.

‘Goodbye, Adams,’ she said, bowing.

We just met, and now she is going? ‘Thank you, Sensei.’ How do you bow when you are lying down? I just waved.

As she left, de Gaulle came in.

*

‘That was quick,’ he said.

He had a sort of hand-held vacuum cleaner with him. He turned it on, and cleaned up. It had a short hose and a nozzle. It slurped up all the jizz from the bed. And from my body. He even had me stand up and turn around so he could get every drop. Because of the water-proof cover, the bed was easy to clean.

‘Three point one milliliters,’ he said, looking at a readout on the machine.

‘What’s that?’

‘Ejaculated volume.’

‘Is that good?’

‘It’s respectable.’ He opened my chart. ‘According to your questionnaire, it is 17 months since your first ejaculation. So you are right on schedule.’

‘Your next guru will be here in about thirty minutes.’
He opened the door to leave.

I asked him, ‘Here is something I wondered. Does “16ML” mean something?’

‘I guess you weren’t listening to everything Churchill told you earlier.’

‘Guilty,’ I replied.

‘Well, “16ML” means we need to collect sixteen milliliters of semen from you today.’

I’m pretty good at math. ‘That means I have to splooge five more times?’ I contemplated it. With doubt.

‘Hmmm,’ he answered. ‘Subsequent ejaculations tend to be smaller and smaller. So I estimate it would take twelve to fifteen orgasms.’

I was astounded. ‘Impossible,’ I cried. ‘I can splooge twice in a day, fine. A third time, maybe, but I will be pretty sore. Those muscles just go all out, like. But fifteen? Never.’

‘You may say that.’ He smiled. ‘But you don’t know what we can do to you.’ He closed the door.

That sounded ominous.

*

The next girl also wore a silk robe. But it was blue rather than red.

‘Good morning, Adams.’

‘Good morning, Miss.’

‘Anatomy,’ she said. ‘We know you learn all this in school. But of course that cannot replace live experience.’

Live experience? That sounded promising!

‘First let’s do male anatomy,’ she said as she whisked off my drawers.

‘Let me begin,’ I said. In fact, from my tannerizing days, I knew a lot. So I described and showed off the male anatomy. That girl was amazed at how much I knew. She didn’t have to say a thing.

‘Now female anatomy,’ she said. She took off her robe. She was naked. Wow!

So she described and showed off her own anatomy.

My body was ready to explode after that. Indubitably.

So she just stood back and said, ‘Go ahead.’

I had my second splooge - only an hour after the first.

The girl pressed the button. I would have liked her to stay a while to talk, but I guess that is not part of the programme. She took her robe and left.

De Gaulle came with his vacuum and cleaned up.

*

After twenty minuted, the third girl came in. ‘Hello. I am to teach you the basics of vaginal intercourse.’

I was surprised at such a direct approach.

‘Do you want top or bottom?’

‘No idea,’ I said.

‘OK, you’ll be bottom. Lie on the bed here.’

Just like the first two girls, she whisked off my drawers. Then she took off her robe.

‘My first bit of advice,’ she said. ‘Don’t stare like that. Take little surreptitious looks. Or if you are doing sweet things to my body, of course you are looking at it then.’

There was a supply of condoms in a drawer there. She took one out. I didn’t know how to use a condom, so first she taught me about that. ‘It is important today,’ she said, ‘because we have to collect all the semen.’

So we did “vaginal intercourse”. She taught me how to make sure it will be good for the woman, as well as for me. I had my third splooge. It was a bit painful. But I was right - a real girl is much better than choking the chicken. Indubitably.

She pressed the button. De Gaulle came with his vacuum. Wearing a glove, he removed the condom from my willy, and stuck the condom into a compartment on the machine. Then he used the hose to slurp up anything left on my willy. He said the machine would extract all the semen, then expel the condom.

*

The fourth girl arrived in half an hour.

‘Oral sex,’ she said.

She had me lie on the bed and whisked off my drawers. Again.

She got no response from my willy, though.

‘So, you need some more rest? Here, first you will do it to me.’

So she taught me how a man can please a woman in another way. Even if his willy is too tired.

Then we switched. She did get my willy to respond. Oral sex: I had no idea it was this good. Indubitably.

She expertly stopped sucking and stepped back out of the way just before I splooged, saying, ‘We have to collect every drop.’ That splooge was very painful!

The girl left and De Gaulle cleaned up, as usual.

‘I can’t splooge any more,’ I told him.

‘Yes, you can,’ he said. ‘But it is time for lunch now. I’ll bring a tray for you.’

What did he mean: Yes, you can?

The lunch was pretty good. There were also three pills. ‘Take these,’ de Gaulle said. ‘They will help you with your problem.’

*

They left me to myself for two hours. I was too keyed up for a siesta. I had brought some homework to do, but my mind was not on it.

More girls came, one ofter the other, all afternoon. They taught me more things. I guess you need to be a real expert in order to be licensed for sex. I splooged several more times. Each time more painful than the last. But the pills had indeed given me the ability.

By dinner time, I was really sore. I was doubtful that even the pills would help. Besides, the girls had already covered all the variations of sex, hadn’t they?

After a break, Churchill came in, not one of the girls.

‘You say you cannot do any more orgasms? Then it is time for the next stage.’ From the corner of the room, she wheeled over a cart with some equipment on it.

I looked at the equipment. What is this?

‘Lie down on the bed.’ She whisked off my drawers just like the girls had. There was a flexible tube connected to the machine on the cart. She put the end over my willy - it clamped down, sealing itself. Like a condom, maybe.

‘Now turn over on your side, facing the wall.’

I didn’t see the next attachment. She lubed it up and eased it into my wazoo. She aligned it with my prostate. (In my tannerizing days I learned what that feels like.)

She clicked a switch. A sort of buzzing. It was working right on my prostate. My willy was rising, despite the pain. Soon, I could feel the jizz flowing. It might even have been pleasurable if my muscles were not already so sore.

It went on and on. I panted. I grunted. Churchill and de Gaulle were both there, holding me in place as I squirmed. The pain was intense. I called out. I screamed. Then I must have passed out - I don’t remember any more.

*

When I woke up, I was in the same bed, naked. Alone. No machines attached. The clock said it was morning. My crotch was on fire. What did they do to me?

I examined the painful parts of my body. All that splooging meant muscles in pain the next morning, of course. But there was more. An incision on my scrotum. Closed with three stitches. What?

I pressed the call button in a panic. Again and again.

Churchill responded. ‘Good morning,’ she said, in a pleasant voice. ‘You may get dressed and leave whenever you like. There is breakfast available in the lobby. You may have seen it yesterday when you arrived. “Brezhnev” has prescribed these pain pills for you. The pain will last only a few days.’

I gulped one of the pills down. It was an emergency as far as my body was concerned.

‘What did you do to me?’ I demanded. I moved my willy aside and pointed to the incision.

‘That’s just the vasectomy,’ she replied.

‘What vasectomy?’

‘We went over all that yesterday.’

‘Tell me again.’

She sighed. ‘Now, you are licensed for sex. Do it as much as you want. Forget the condom if you want. Have fun. This way, the Village does not have to worry about any unwanted children.’

‘Don’t they just use abortion for that?’

She looked very stern. ‘Here in Renier, we consider all life to be precious. Abortion is strictly prohibited. Besides, it could be dangerous for the woman.’

‘But what if I do want children some day?’

‘We will keep your sixteen milliliters in the freezer here at the clinic. Whenever you want a child, just bring your wife in, and we will arrange the pregnancy. Simple as that.’

*

She said I was a “Stepford Boy” now, but I didn’t know what she meant.

(End of File)