Chapter 7

Pickup (or drop) number five went smoothly; a couple of political types and their trophy wives and a fund-raiser. I can't tell you that these guys were honest, but they WERE smart. I figure that they got high marks for being savvy -- and we might need horse-traders at some point. They were only in the six point five plus to seven range, and so only merited one additional concubine; even so, the pickings were not anything I'd have looked forward to. The term 'rich bitch' applied to more than a few females present. On the flip side, these guys had a very solid handle on the implications of the change in situation; the females, ex-wife or other, found themselves very solidly under the thumb right away.

This was good and bad; the idiots had control of their women but did not appear to have the proper respect for Bet. It was either have her go three rounds with them (and their subsequent lengthy hospitalization) or supervise their initial processing myself; I chickened out and chose the latter -- although we DID provide a demonstration designed to show them the error of their ways. Basically, if a woman is a Confederacy citizen in her own right, there is a damned good reason for it -- period.

Twenty minutes after I went off-watch, Bet stuck her head in the door, "And now the next contestant..."

I wasn't up for the whole thing -- still not certain I wasn't some kind of wild animal. I opened my mouth -- and Marie sidled in.

"Hi," she mumbled. The braces were gone.

"Hi." I wasn't sure what else to say.

"Becky..."

"Becky told you I went totally wacko on her?" I confirmed.

"She said to tell you she had a great time," Marie replied, blushing.

I just sat there with my fork halfway to my mouth, nonplussed.

She stood there, looking nervous for a moment, then announced, "I'll be leaving now."

That brought me to life. "No, you're not. Have you eaten?"

"Yes."

"Let's see what we've done with you, then," I directed. "Take off your clothes."

"There, uh, hasn't been much, really," she mumbled while nervously unzipping her skirt. "Just the braces."

"Why not the eyeglasses?" I wondered aloud.

"I have to have permission, I think." The skirt hit the floor and she stepped out of it, then pulled her top over her head.

"My fault, then," I muttered. "Well, I need to do an eval. Keep going. And start wearing the stuff you can get issued -- you can at least get it washed." The issue outfit was a simple shift that barely covered a woman's ass -- not that it bothered guys.

"Yes, sir." She stood there in her bra and panties, waiting.

"Do it all, Honey," I told her. "We're just getting to the good parts."

"Yes, sir." She finished up. It wasn't a striptease, by any stretch; it was a nervous girl removing her clothes before a stranger. When she was done, she tried to cover up with her hands.

"Come on, none of that, now," I chided. "How can I see?" She dropped her hands and composed herself. If you took a twelve year old and up-sized her a bit, you'd have Marie. She was a little stocky -- not fat or anything, just thick -- and not much of that. She had a thick little furry pelt on her pubic mound and tits that sat round and flat on her chest like the yolk of an over-easy egg -- with a stiff little point, dead center on each. Sexy? Not particularly, but cute. "Turn around," I directed. The butt wasn't bad, and neither was anything else from the rear -- and the nervous way she eyed me over her shoulder was so cute! But the back side pointed up the fact that she didn't have an hourglass figure. Oh, there was a bit of an indent there, but it was more like what happens when you hold a sponge in two fingers. I crooked a finger. "Come. Sit. What do YOU think you want -- besides the eyes."

She sat, gingerly, at my side; I'd tossed some things down in the chair across from me. "Bigger breasts?"

"They'll come naturally," I told her. "No need to hurry them. Once they're here, we'll keep them up. Frankly, I don't want to change you much, right now."

"Why? Oh, I know. So my new sponsor can make his own changes."

"That assumes that you change hands," I told her. "I have three openings on MY staff; I just might keep you!"

Hope flared -- and died. "Yeah, sure."

I looked mildly insulted. "You don't like me?"

"No, that's not it," she replied. "What do I have to offer?" she waved at herself disparagingly. "As opposed to, say, Becky?"

"I can read a CAP score," I replied. "Anybody can be blonde and slutty."

"Oh." She cocked her head and opened her mouth -- but I told her, "Quiet, I'm eating." And I let her stew while I finished.

When I was done, I stood and shoved the dishes into the collection port, then turned to her. "I need a shower; come on and wash my back." I saw her blink and take on the idea; a glance behind me at the bathroom door said she was there.

Darjee had no idea why you would want to get wet if you didn't have to -- they used various other means. We had to remind them that we rode wet in our mother's uterus for nine months before they got it -- but we got showers and bathtubs in our quarters. They used separate recyclers for bath water -- some worry that they wouldn't handle drinking water properly, which was laughable, since they were recycling urine -- but we didn't complain. I fired it up and got in, then eyed her over my shoulder. "Well?"

"It's tight in there."

"You don't want to touch me? I want to touch you," I replied.

"No, that's not it..." She came in and closed the door, tucking herself against me.

I turned and she stayed behind me, so I deliberately pressed her against the wall and rubbed myself against her. "See? You can handle it."

She giggled, and I knew it was her coming back from being momentarily distressed. "Give me the soap."

Darjee absolutely refused to have anything to do with the stuff we normally rubbed on ourselves, but what they substituted worked as well or better. I handed her the odd-looking bar -- it had half-circle dents in each side to make it easy for a Darjee to hold while they washed whatever it was THEY washed with it -- and she went to work on my back. "Go ahead and do the arms and legs and stuff," I directed. When she got to 'and stuff' -- which in this case was my ass, I chided her, "You can do better than that!" when she only gave it a swipe. I know she had to be cherry red, but she did better. I spread my legs and she worked down them, carefully avoiding my balls, then came back for my arms. I turned around at that point. "Now the front." The arms went better from the front, anyway. She did them and my chest, slowly working downward over my belly until there was something there she couldn't avoid. She looked up at me for confirmation and got it and took me in hand. I was already stiff; watching her face as she went over my cock millimeter by millimeter, exploring it and my balls with that look of wonder on her face was probably one of the most enjoyable not-quite-sex things I'd done in a while. When she was done (probably the third pass) she looked up earnestly and asked, "Do I suck it now?"

"Let's get that stuff off of it, first," I told her. "God knows what it tastes like, or what it will do to you."

"Oh." She was CLEARLY disappointed.

"Besides," I added, "It's time to wash you!"

"Okay." She got going with the soap.

"Uh uh," I told her. "Gimme." I took the soap and went over her, covering every millimeter -- and making sure she enjoyed it. Halfway through, she was making excited giggles and dancing from foot to foot. She had HARD little nipples that stuck straight out and begged to be mauled; actually, her areolas were small, but her nipples were a half-inch long. And her clitty was tucked between her plump outer lips until they swelled and got pinkly flushed with need; then it was right there where a cock could rub it on every stroke.

We rinsed well and got out and dried one another -- taking extra care at certain points, obviously -- and I took her hand. "Time for bed." We got to my bunk and I pulled her close and she was ready for the kiss before I got there, head up, eyes closed, thick lips puckered in anticipation. I didn't make her wait.

Marie had needs; a pleasant romp, a swat on the ass, and "See you later, maybe," didn't fulfill them. She needed to be treated as more than a collection of fuck-holes -- and I'd had PLENTY of that in recent days. She wasn't going to get rejection from me -- or indifference. I wasn't going to just use her and park her in the hallway with "It's been fun!" -- that would crush her. No, Marie tickled my romantic bone -- yeah, I had a little romance tucked away in there, somewhere -- and she was going to get the benefit.

We kissed and fondled and caressed standing up for what must have been fifteen minutes before I pushed her back onto the bunk -- then lay entwined another endless time while I prepared her and she prepared me -- not that I needed it. At one point, she broke a kiss and asked, "Should I suck it now?"

"Later," I told her. "I don't need it -- I know you can tell. We're going straight to the main event, when you're ready."

"Okay." A few minutes later, her innocent face turned up, cherry-red, mouth slack, eyes closed as she undulated on my fingers, we both knew that the time had come. Her legs were already spread wide to allow me to work when I rolled atop her, but she lifted her knees, anyway. "Now? Now, please..." I lined myself up by touch and her hand snaked down to assist; she parked my glans against her maidenhead and hissed, "Yessss..."

There was no doing it easy, so I snapped my hips; "Uuuhh!!" she grunted, and reached out to stop further progress -- but I'd already halted.

"Sorry!" I whispered, and lipped her neck. "That was the hard part. Let me know when..."

She sniffled and nodded and clutched me to her; in a bit, one hand slid below my ass, gently coaxing, and I applied some pressure to drive forward slowly into her, allowing her to tell me how far with that hand on my ass. First, she relaxed, slowly, then she tightened up again -- but it was a different urgency. As I drifted into her for the sixth or seventh time, she let me know it was time to move on and set a rhythm; the hand pressed hard until I was buried to the hilt, then went away as she crossed her legs behind mine. I took the hint and slowly accelerated.

Less than a minute later, she surged against me, her mouth open in a soundless scream. After that, it was all gravy; she didn't really seem to come down very much, and I have no idea how many times she peaked. I know I couldn't handle it for long; her inner walls provided an almost constant rolling massage for my cock that added to my stroke to the point that control went out the window in virtually no time at all. I remember exploding inside her; her eyes popped open and stared into mine, wide, as I painted her cervix. Her channel milked me and she clutched me and we kissed feverishly as we both slowly settled back to something approximating normal.

"Oh my God..." I realized that my neck was wet where her face pressed against it. "That was so..."

"Yeah," I agreed. I wasn't going to come up with a proper description, either.

"I'm ruined," she sighed. "I'm going to be looking for that from whoever finally takes me..."

"That shouldn't be difficult," I replied, and touched my neck, where my implant resided.

"Yes?" the AI intoned.

"Marie is mine. Record it."

"Done."

Marie eyed me in mixed hope and fear. "What was that?" The other half of the conversation was, of course inaudible to her.

"Tell her."

The room speakers came on. "Miss, it has been recorded that you are now officially the concubine of one SGT Peter Griffin, CSM. Congratulations!"

Marie's eyes bugged. "REALLY?"

"Really." We were a chorus, the AI and I. "I have it," I dismissed him. The speakers clicked off. "I'd been toying with the idea for a while, but this..." I shook my head.

"You had?" Wonder permeated her voice.

"I'd have settled for you not being a dead lay," I replied, grinning.

"Oh, you!" She swatted my arm, then caught herself. "Oops! Sorry!"

"No harm done -- it's a female thing." I sobered. "You have to share me -- I already have one concubine -- and she's pregnant."

"That's the nature of things, isn't it?" she replied, eyeing me earnestly. Then she shifted modes. "What's CSM?"

"Confederacy Space Marines," I explained.

"Oh," she replied. "So you're... in harm's way."

"We all are," I retorted. "some more than others, that's all. What I'm doing right now isn't terribly dangerous."

"But you've seen worse."

I nodded. "We have a race to defend." I changed up. "Not to be a prick or anything, but I have another candidate in mind."'

"Not Beverley, surely!" Marie snorted.

"No, but I didn't evac Elle because I found her ugly..."

"How many are you allowed?" she asked, settling in with the idea.