Marcus's hand pressed between his shoulder blades, steering him past the motionless figure. Eli's eyes dragged across the sealed black shape as he moved, searching for the familiar cant of Sam's shoulders, the particular way Sam held his weight. But the figure had gone still again, face turned to the wall, and Eli couldn't tell if the stillness was patience or something else entirely.

The steel chair waited at the center of the room like an altar.

Eli had seen it once before, from the doorway, when Marcus had first walked him through the facility. Now he stood beside it, feeling the cold radiate off the metal through his rubber suit, and he understood that the distance between seeing and sitting was the whole point of the place.

"Sit."

Marcus's voice was calm, unhurried, the same tone a mechanic used when telling a customer where to stand. Eli's legs moved before his mind caught up, the suit's rubber whispering against itself as he lowered onto the chair. The seat was cold even through the latex, and he felt the chill climb his spine like a finger tracing bone.

The restraints were already waiting. Leather straps, dark with use, their buckles burnished to a dull shine. Eli stared at them as Marcus reached for the first one, and his hands curled into fists against his thighs.

"You know what these are for."

Eli nodded. The gag pressed against his tongue, the rubber filling his mouth, and he remembered how to breathe through his nose even when every instinct wanted to gasp.

Marcus lifted his left wrist first. His grip was unhurried, almost gentle, as he guided Eli's arm to the chair's armrest and laid it flat against the padded leather. The strap came around, and Eli felt the first pressure of it against his rubber-covered skin, the leather creaking as Marcus pulled it snug.

"Not too tight," Marcus said, more to himself than to Eli. His fingers worked the buckle, and Eli heard the click of it seating into place. "Just enough to remind you."

He did the same to the right wrist, and Eli felt the two points of contact anchor him to the chair. His shoulders rolled forward involuntarily, testing the give, and found only the stretch of leather against his movement.

"Ankles next."

Marcus knelt. The suit made Eli's legs feel like someone else's, the rubber slick against his skin, and he watched Marcus's dark head bend over his shin. The strap wrapped around his left ankle, over the suit's boot, and the buckle clicked. Then the right. When Marcus stood, Eli was fixed in place, wrists and ankles bound, his body a taut line between four points of leather.

"Good." Marcus stepped back, surveying his work. "Comfortable?"

Eli shook his head. The gag muffled the sound, but the shape of the word was clear enough.

"Good." Marcus's smile didn't reach his eyes. "That means it's working."

The door opened, and Dr. Lena stepped in.

She moved like she owned the room, which she did. The lab coat was pristine, the black blouse beneath buttoned to the collar, and her dark hair was pulled back so tight it looked painted on. Her hands were already gloved, the latex a second skin, and she carried a tray that she set down on a steel cart beside the chair.

"Elias." Her voice was clinical, but it lingered on his name like a taste. "You remember the process."

Eli nodded. The memory was a pressure in his gut, the phantom sensation of the machine's rhythm still coded into his nerves from the first collection.

"Good." Lena's gloved fingers moved over the tray, checking instruments he couldn't see from his angle. "We're going to take our time tonight. The engagement period requires three consecutive counts, and this is number two." She glanced at him, her brown eyes sharp. "You've been keeping yourself contained?"

He knew what she was asking. Whether the cage had done its work, whether he'd spilled anywhere except into the facility's collection cup. He nodded again, and something flickered in her expression — approval, or hunger, or both.

"Excellent." She turned to the cart and picked up a cloth-wrapped bundle. "Then we should have a very productive evening."

Marcus moved to the side of the room, settling into a chair that had been placed there like a throne. He crossed one leg over the other, adjusting the crease of his trousers, and folded his hands in his lap. Watching.

Eli tried not to look at him. He tried to focus on the machine instead — the collection apparatus with its clear cup and its tubing, the suction pump that would seal over his cock and pull at him in rhythms he already knew. The machine was the point of all of this. The money, the cage, the suit, the chair — they were all scaffolding around that single mechanical fact.

Lena unwrapped the cloth bundle, and Eli heard the soft clink of metal against metal.

He knew what was inside before he saw it. The curved dildo, the one designed to press against his prostate from the inside, to coax his body into producing more than it ever had on its own. He'd felt it before — the pressure, the impossible fullness, the way it made his cock ache even when it was locked away.

She lifted it from the cloth, and Eli's body went rigid.

The thing was longer than his forearm, curved at the tip like a hook, its surface smooth and dark. It caught the fluorescent light as Lena turned it in her gloved hand, and Eli watched the gleam travel along its length, his breath catching in his throat.

"You'll feel pressure first," Lena said, her voice calm, unhurried. "That's normal. Try not to fight it."

She stepped closer, and Eli's thighs pressed together instinctively. The rubber of the suit creaked with the movement, and he heard Marcus shift in his chair behind him, a sound that might have been amusement.

"Open your legs, Elias."

He didn't move. His body was a locked thing, every muscle tight, his heart hammering against his ribs. The gag made his breathing loud and wet, the sound filling the room, and he could feel the sweat beginning to gather under the rubber suit, trapped against his skin.

"Elias." Lena's voice hardened, just slightly. "You signed the waiver. You agreed to the process. Open your legs."

His thighs parted. The movement was slow, almost reluctant, but it happened — his body obeying before his mind could find a reason to refuse. The rubber suit made a soft sound as his legs spread, and Eli felt the cold air of the room against his groin, the way the suit's material stretched over his bound form.

"That's better." Lena's gloved hand settled on his inner thigh, and Eli flinched at the touch. Her fingers were cool through the rubber, pressing into the muscle, and she held him there for a moment, feeling the tension in him.

"You're tight," she observed. "All that cycling, all that swimming — you've built a body that knows how to clench." Her fingers squeezed, just slightly. "We're going to have to teach it to open."

The curved dildo was still in her other hand, and Eli could see it in his peripheral vision, dark and waiting. The tip of it brushed his inner thigh, and he felt his whole body lock up again, his breath catching in his throat.

"Relax." Lena's voice dropped, softer now. "The more you fight it, the longer it takes."

Eli tried. He tried to unclench his jaw, his shoulders, his thighs. He tried to remember how to breathe the way he did before a race, slow and measured, letting his body settle into the rhythm of it. But the dildo was there, pressing against his thigh, and the machine was humming, and Marcus was watching, and the figure in the corner of the room was still and silent and impossibly familiar.

"I'm going to start now," Lena said. "You'll feel pressure first. That's normal. Try not to fight it."

The tip of the dildo traced a line up his inner thigh, and Eli's hips twitched against the straps. The rubber suit was slick with his sweat now, clinging to him, and he could feel the heat building in his own skin, the way his body was starting to respond even though his mind was screaming at it to stop.

She brought the curved tip to his entrance, and Eli felt the pressure of it, the beginning of a fullness that hadn't yet arrived. His breath came in short, muffled gasps through the gag, and he heard himself make a sound — a whimper, high and thin, that he couldn't stop.

"Shh." Lena's voice was almost gentle. "It's just pressure at first. Let it in."

The dildo pressed harder, and Eli felt the rubber of the suit give, the material stretching against the intrusion. His body resisted — a clench, a tightness, a refusal — and he heard Lena make a small sound of displeasure.

"You're fighting it."

He couldn't help it. His body had spent years learning how to close, how to tighten, how to push against resistance. It didn't know how to open for something like this.

Lena's hand pressed against his thigh, firm, grounding. "Look at me."

Eli lifted his eyes to her, and she held his gaze, her brown eyes steady and dark.

"You can do this. You've done it before. Remember?"

He remembered. The first collection, the way his body had eventually given in, the pressure turning into something he couldn't name. He remembered the fullness, the ache, the strange pleasure that had built in him against his will.

"Breathe," Lena said. "Let it in."

Eli closed his eyes. He breathed through his nose, slow and deep, and he felt his body begin to unclench — just a fraction, just enough.

The dildo slid in.

The pressure was immediate and deep, a fullness that pressed against something inside him that he'd never known was there. Eli's whole body went rigid, his back arching against the chair, and he heard himself make a sound — a muffled groan, thick through the gag, that seemed to come from somewhere deeper than his throat.

"Good." Lena's voice was warm now, almost approving. "That's it. Let it settle."

Eli couldn't speak. He could only breathe, short and fast, his chest heaving against the rubber suit, his body trying to understand the thing that had just been placed inside it. The curve of the dildo pressed against his prostate, and he felt a pulse of sensation travel through him, electric and strange.

"The machine will start soon," Lena said. She was still holding the base of the dildo, feeling it settle inside him, and Eli could feel her fingers against his skin through the rubber. "The suction will pull at you, and the pressure will build. You'll feel like you need to come, but you won't be able to."

Eli's eyes went wide. He remembered that, too — the desperate, aching need, the way his body had strained against the cage, the impossible frustration of being milked without release.

"That's the point," Lena said softly. "Your body will keep producing, keep trying, and the machine will keep collecting. By the end of the night, you'll have given more than you thought possible."

She withdrew her hand, and Eli felt the dildo shift inside him, a reminder of its presence. Across the room, Marcus uncrossed his legs and leaned forward, his eyes bright with interest.

"The machine's ready," he said. "Whenever you are, Doctor."

Lena nodded. She moved to the apparatus, her gloved fingers finding the dials, and Eli heard the click of something being set. The machine's hum deepened, a sound that seemed to vibrate in his bones.

In the corner of the room, the motionless figure shifted its weight.

Eli's eyes snapped to it, his heart hammering. The black latex suit caught the light, and he could see the shape of shoulders, the tilt of a head, the particular way the weight rested on the right foot. Sam. It had to be Sam.

But the figure didn't turn. Didn't move again. Just stood there, sealed and silent, while the machine's hum grew louder, and Lena's hand approached the suction cup, and Eli felt the first pulse of pressure against his cock.