"Oh, Mark, before you leave for orientation-" the man started to say.
"Re-orientation," snarled the dickhound.
"Would you like to orgasm one last time?"
"How can I?" whimpered Mark.
The dickhound came up behind Mark and pushed him down on all fours, "You'll see, Marky."
Mark heard the rubberized spandex brushing against skin. Then he felt the wet cock head of the dickhound push against his rosebud. He screamed, and tried to pull away, but the man was too strong.
He was in agony. The jar in the man's hand moved as the limp cock in the jar hardened and spurted cum.
"I orgasmed, but I didn't feel anything, except pain!" whined Mark.
"Good lesson learned then. Now this goes on the shelf in the vault with the others. You'll see it in four years, unless you graduate early. Or you won't see it at all."
"What lesson?" Mark asked getting back on his feet.
"You cannot feel the pleasure of an orgasm without a manhood attached. The dickhounds on this campus serve as the proctors. You violate the rules, and this dickhound or one of his brethren will sniff you out, and punish you. The school will know during our weekly penal cleanings whether you've been made to cum or not. "
"What about wet dreams?"
"In your dreams," snickered the dickhound, "Not get to class or I'll have to punish you again."
"But I've got cum all over my ass and thighs. Can't I clean up first?"
"Of course you can, but he would just mount you again. It's part of the processing. Maximum humiliation on your first day. In fact, the only reason we had an opening is because someone backed out. According to my count, we filled everyone of the allotment of jars for this class, so I'm guessing somebody forfeited his manhood, so you could get a seat in this class," commented the man unhappily, "Do you know how hard it is to get just a single one of these special jars? They normally come by the gross."
"Class- now," growled the dickhound.