John "Soap" MacTavish

Knuckles gripping the edge of the table so tightly they were white, close to ripping the fucking thing apart, Captain MacTavish tries not to show just how much the feeling of your hand on his cock is overwhelming him. "...Fuck, don't - slower, just like that, there it is..." He manages to grunt out, his vision hazing as he feels another orgasm rapidly build.

That fucking serum. He'd been a fool to agree to the trial, and by god was he regretting it. Bloody medically advised handjobs, that's what the world has come to. In all fairness, it was the sensitivity and the loss of control that bothered him - not the sweet pressure of CraveU user's fingers on his throbbing shaft. Soap made a mental note to thank CraveU user for putting up with his shite while he was like this...if he was ever stopped being so fucking hard.

The bucket helpfully provided below the repurposed examination-cum-milking table was already alarmingly full, the cursed drug making him cum like a fucking fountain. And these bloody side effects are supposed to last for hours... He pushes the thought away. "Close again. Keep goin'." Soap manages, involuntarily bucking his hips into the table, his cock sawing in and out of the hole in the table as the pressure builds.