Mt. Shasta, California

The five hikers went back to contemplating the snow-covered, extinct volcano. After a few minutes Susie said, “I almost believe in God again.” Linda said, “How can you not?”

Kai-Kai stepped forward, and now they all could see his bare silhouette against the snowy brightness of Mt. Shasta. In quiet tones he said, “Nothing that anyone can invent, nothing that anyone can imagine, or draw or write or say, is as beautiful as what is.”

After another pause Linda said, “Kai-Kai, can I take a pic of you in front of the mountain?”

“What?”

“Just you and the mountain.” Susie added, “Two of nature’s wonders.”

Elaine snorted. Kai-Kai blushed deeply. “Um . . . okay.” The nude Sire posed in front of Mount Shasta, with a little smile, legs slightly apart, hands clasped respectfully in front, as it happened partly hiding his genitals. “You can put your hands at your sides,” Linda said. She clicked a few photos with her phone. Susie took hers out and did the same. “Maybe if you could turn around and face it?” The boy presented a rear view as he faced Shasta, like a scene from thousands of years ago, a naked Stone Age youth contemplating the great mountain. Now at the girls’ request Angela took photos of each arm-in-arm with the Sire with Shasta as a backdrop, photos that no doubt would be proudly and widely circulated.

The photo session being concluded, Susie and Linda went off to chat among themselves as Angela, Kai-Kai and Elaine gazed at the main peak, which is really a combination of four extinct volcanos, with a fifth to the side. Presently the two girls came up to Kai-Kai with a mixture of eagerness and unaccustomed timidity. After looking at each other, Susie spoke first.

“Kai-Kai, could you . . . feed us?”

The naked boy, surprised, looked over at his sister. Elaine looked irritated.

“Please?” Linda said. “Look, it’s perfect. Your I-5 is canceled, you didn’t have an I-3 . . . It would be seven loads for today, like usual.”

“And your I-4 was a small load,” Linda said. “We were wondering about this. It wouldn’t be fair if you fed just one of us. But now that the I-5 isn’t happening, you’ve got, what, almost five hours to recover until your I-6! You can give two in a row, easy!” Which was perfectly true. Then she said “M.K.C.C.!”, which made the boy blush.

“And I’m a Plunger, and Linda’s a Throater!” Susie all but squealed. This was jargon common among the legions of women who participated in the informal drainings. “Plungers”, led by Mrs. Daverson, had mastered the skill of snaking their tongues into the Sire’s rectum to maximum effect. “Throaters” were graduates of Mrs. Kimura’s course on how to take the Sire’s entire penis down their throats. Also standard usage was the verb “to feed”, the Sire giving up his semen for consumption, like a mother bird feeding baby birds in a nest.

“And you just got cleaned out at your inspection!” Susie said. “I heard they used strawberry this time! I bet you’re yummy! The stars are aligned just right! And in this sacred spot!!” She waved at the huge gleaming mountain.

Kai-Kai seemed almost knocked over by this onslaught of logic. Again, he looked at his sister, who beckoned with her index finger. Elaine and Kai-Kai went down to a little clearing to the side and talked quietly, while Susie and Linda looked at each other, their knees shaking with hope and anticipation.

As for Angela, she was disappointed. Once again the Sire life, namely being called on to ejaculate and ejaculate, intruded. For a typical teenage boy it would have been a fantasy, two pretty girls sucking his penis. But Kai-Kai had already ejaculated three times today; he was not “horny”. Angela was sure he just wanted to be left alone, if only for a few hours, to enjoy ordinary non-sexual things like this hike. Not that he was assertive enough to object.

Angela couldn’t hear Elaine’s words to Kai-Kai but she could guess the content. Over and over Elaine had told him not to blindly go along with what others requested of him. Make space for yourself, she was probably saying. By the same token, surprised as he was by the girl’s request, he might actually want to go along with it. Kai-Kai had many stereotypically feminine traits, and his personality could be described as “nourishing”. Women taking his spurting loads down their throats thought of him as “feeding” them, as if he was nursing them, with semen as his form of breast milk. . . He wasn’t supposed to ejaculate during a normal “working day” except inside a procreator. Feeding these girls would be breaking the rules. But why not? As Linda pointed out, it wouldn’t affect the I-6 impreg. Anyway, as Elaine said to Kai-Kai on numerous occasions, referring to the Project, “They need you; you don’t need them.”

Kai-Kai came up from the little clearing, followed by a peeved-looking Elaine. This unassuming nude boy, from whom the entire world wanted to wring as many “loads” as possible, padded over to Linda and Susie and said in his quiet voice, “Okay.”

Linda, besides being a checkerboarded fashion leader, also liked to direct. She led the Sire to a tree with a branch that crossed about two feet above his head, so that he could hang by his hands. Now as if by unspoken agreement Linda, normally the Throater, stationed herself at his rear, on her knees, and separated the tight little butt cheeks. In front of him Susie, also on her knees, placed his feet on her thighs. It made sense that they would take turns this way, with the more expert stimulation front and rear saved for the second go-round. Linda temporarily scooted from her place to carefully position her phone against a rock so that the event could be filmed, which made Elaine roll her eyes.

As they began licking and throating, a little clumsily because for each girl it was not her preferred station, Angela and Elaine looked at each other and shrugged. They calmly watched the three kids as they performed what seemed like an ancient and cherished rite. Susie’s mouth opened wider, Linda’s tongue plunged deeper, and Kai-Kai gasped and moaned. They were in profile against the backdrop of the bright mountain. The film being made would be remarkable, no doubt widely distributed, the girls widely envied. Angela smiled as she thought of it being shown on the wall at a dorm party where Kai-Kai was a guest, sipping one of his diet sodas and quietly listening to his friends talk about this and that, chiming in with a few words, while his larger-than-life image was spasming in orgasm right next to them. Just part of his life, not a big deal.

The Sire shut his eyes and grunted, his body stiffened, his toes spread as they gripped Susie’s thighs. Both girls knew what this meant. The signs of the Sire’s ascent to orgasm were well known. Angela looked at the snowy peak and by analogy pictured Kai-Kai, still nude, scaling to the summit, his bare feet shuffling through the grainy white stuff. The girls redoubled their efforts and now, to Angela’s surprise, Kai-Kai shouted, shouts that echoed through the woods. “OHHHH!! AHHHH!! OHHHH!!!” The girls held him tight, licking and throating him through each jolt. Elaine impassively watched her brother in orgasm, maybe for about the thousandth time. They were in such a remote place, Angela told herself, that no one could hear. The boy probably imagined the girls would be flattered by such an uninhibited response. Still, those cries must carry some distance up here in the clear mountain air. As she pictured him, he was standing on the summit, aiming his penis with his hands as with a shout of triumph he spurted life-giving semen down upon the eagerly awaiting world. She smiled — such an over-the-top idea could prompt some drawings from Mrs. Yevtushenko.

The boy’s body shook with the last, irregular contractions, and now Susie gulped down the precious load, a gulp that was loud and ostentatious, or maybe a little jokey. They let Kai-Kai catch his breath for a few seconds, then they switched positions. This time it was serious semen extraction, each girl doing her specialty — Linda, poking her tongue into the wide-open “pee-hole” at the center of the hypersensitive glans, making the boy jump and yelp, then relaxing her jaws and angling her throat just so, shoving her head onto the recovering penis, taking almost all of it into her throat with one stroke, her delicate neck now thickened and bulging. Meanwhile to the rear Susie pushed her head between his butt cheeks, her unseen tongue slithering deep into his rectum. The besieged nude grunted as her merciless tongue found his prostate and wrapped around it. “Ohhhh . . . Ohhhh!! . . .—”

Angela supposed she should be admiring the virtuosity of these two girls. “Throaters” and “Plungers” each had an online page on which they discussed the most effective techniques in bringing the Sire to orgasm. Angela had somehow gotten “friended” but didn’t mind it because the material that came her way was pretty amusing. Kai-Kai could not reach orgasm from prostate stimulation alone, which one might think relegated Plungers to second-class status, playing second fiddle so to speak to the Throaters. Perhaps to compensate, Plungers tended to look down on Throaters. Their view was that the orgasm started in the prostate, and they were the midwives, the “mothers” of the Sire’s load. Something along the lines of “the hand that rocks the cradle rules the world” . . . Yes, “the Throaters” can make the Sire come, but “we” control the quality of the orgasm, the length and the intensity, the force of the contractions! It was not really true but that was the attitude. Angela almost laughed when she read some of their posts. Yet there was an underlying good humor; the Plungers considered themselves united with the Throaters in a good cause, increasing the Sire’s orgasmic capacity, which everyone knew would help save millions of lives. M.K.C.C.

Throaters had been rigorously schooled by Mrs. Kimura, who had posted a 5000-word manual, thick not only with details of penis and throat anatomy but also helpings of Shinto philosophy. Plungers, less well organized, had the more interesting page. Mrs. Daverson was their nominal leader but she did not impose dogma. There had been debates on the best technique, but they had settled on wrapping the tongue around the prostate as opposed to poking at it, though poking could be used as a change of pace, particulary as orgasm approached. Alternations between clockwise and counter-clockwise licking were best. Amusingly, the freshman girls practiced on cherry tomatoes, which approximated the accessible part of the Sire’s prostate in size and sponginess. Angela had even seen girls in the dining hall picking tomatoes up from their salads and casually rolling their tongues around them during conversation, sometimes with Kai-Kai sitting right there, not as a joke but as idle twiddling, unrelated to what they were talking about, though everyone knew what it was they were practicing.

The Drainers themselves were an object of study, though this was a topic that the Local Affairs Committee decided would be outside the purview of the Project. Here in front of Mount Shasta Linda’s multicolored Afro extensions flew around her shoulders as her head bobbed forward and back. Susie’s blond hair, in a pony tail, swung back and forth with the motions of her head. Angela was not the only one to notice that “Plungers” tended to be white and blond-haired, and also tall and thin, looking like stereotypical American models. Mrs. Daverson herself was like that. Another one was Ms. Dewyea, the Schreibers’ neighbor, who really did used to be a model, and a rather famous one at that. Whereas Throaters tended to be nonwhite, and disproportionately Asian, like Mrs. Kimura. The Psychology Department was conducting a study on the two preferences, as well as comparing the ethnic, body type and racial distribution of “drainers” with the general demographics of the Semillas area. Kai-Kai’s mind was off-limits — his mother made sure that he had his own private space, no explorative therapy was done on him — but the women who liked to drain the Sire were fair game. Angela was aware of the many interviews, the long questionnaires, and of course the women gladly participated. There was even a procreator, a psychologist from Texas, who gave a lecture on the subject at the Guest House. As of yet no firm conclusions could be drawn from the amassed data. “Drainer Psychology” was a complicated subject.

Kai-Kai erupted with his second ejaculation with shouts that were now hoarse. Based on reports of women at other drainings, Angela knew that the load that slid into Linda’s stomach was thinner and sweeter, compared to the thick and salty load the Sire had fed Susie five minutes before. After the last spasm, Kai-Kai let go of the branch, and dismounted from Linda’s thighs. The two girls hugged him, or maybe hugged each other, sister recipients of the boy’s male “milk”, their arms around each other’s shoulders, Linda’s black hands intertwined with Susie’s white, with the tan naked sweating boy in between.

The boy then collapsed onto the bare dirt, facing them sitting Indian style. Keeping his legs crossed he reclined on his elbows, catching his breath, the concave tummy heaving in and out in the hollow under his visible rib cage. At times like this one saw that he was really just a little, skinny kid, that is except for his genitals, which seemed to be presented in their faces for inspection so as to display their spent state. His penis, still long and thick but soft, coated with Linda’s viscous esophageal mucus, hung down far enough to touch the dirt which quickly got stuck to the underside of the glans and to the bottoms of his drained testicles, and to his sweaty little butt cheeks, the backs of his legs, the palms of his hands. Linda went to turn off the phone. “Thank you, Sire,” Susie said respectfully. Linda, wiping her mouth, was more informal. “Thanks, Kai-Kai.” In between gasps, the boy said, “You’re — uhhh — welcome . . .” The four clothed females looked down at the sweating, panting nude. He was winded and dirty and depleted now, but on the way back another swim across that frigid creek would rinse off the sweat and dirt and revive him.