Chapter 40

Jack:

I went to the afternoon briefing for a hundred male concubines -- and the female NCO running the show with the AI -- Chief Stewart -- made it her business to make them a hundred miserable motherfuckers. This hammer was absolutely huge -- after the augmented Marine model -- and may or may not have been a lesbian. She took no prisoners -- made them kneel at 'Attention, ' the male version requiring that the concubine's cock be tucked between their legs -- and God help the concubine who lost control of that situation and surfaced a visible erection! Actually, they were probably lucky in that there was very little to get erect about going on unless you were a total masochist...

"Okay, first," she declaimed, "you are all property of the Confederacy, not members of the military or other first-class citizens -- so I can call you what I choose -- and I choose to call you 'little wieners.' Does everyone understand? If I say 'little weiner', I'm referring to you and you and you and ... You get the idea..." She'd pointed out several males while making this remark. "Now, I've got no use at all for little wieners -- I can get what I need from REAL men! Little wieners are just a problem, because they whine and complain and they get their feelings hurt. Pussy will knuckle under and learn to keep their mouths shut and do as they're told, but little wieners get balky and whine about how their balls are turning blue and why don't I give them any attention and shit like that." She stalked up to one concubine -- a good-sized one -- and said, "Do you want my attention?" The concubine shook his head, so she went up and down the row, looking for a sucker. Finally, she whined, "Doesn't ANYONE here want my attention?" and a big black in the back raised his hand. "Why, THANK YOU, Sweetie!" she purred, stalking up to him -- and proceeded to pick him up by the neck, put an arm under him so she didn't break anything or choke him to death, and toss him bodily into three other concubines. "That's lesson one, you little wieners -- don't fuck with the troops, because WE'RE augmented and YOU'RE not! Anybody ELSE want my attention?" She wandered over to a pretty boy I thought I might have seen before and said, "You're queer, aren't you, Honey?"

The concubine's eyes got huge, but the answer was, "Yes, Ma'am."

"Queers are easier to deal with," the woman declaimed. "They at least KNOW they're little wieners -- don't you, Hon?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

"Do you know what Presentation Position Three is, Honey?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

"Assume it." The kid did as he was told, turning around and displaying his ass. "That's a nice set of balls you've got there, Honey -- are they just for decoration?" She squatted and wrapped her fingers around his scrotum.

"I ... Wh--what do you want me to say, Ma'am?" the kid stammered.

"I believe that answers the question," the woman purred. There was a general chuckle. "What are you little wieners laughing at? At least THIS little bastard knows his place! EVERYBODY assume Position Three! Hurry your asses up or I'll adjust the testicles on a couple of you with my foot!" She did, too, with one -- and it hurt to watch! The concubine involved spent probably five minutes in a fetal position, whining when he could get his breath, red in the face. After a bit she said, "I don't think I busted anything permanently, but you two take him to Medical to make sure..." The poor sod's neighbors picked him up and helped him hobble out of the room. In the interim, she got everyone again kneeling at 'Attention.'

"This is an ugly situation you find yourselves in," the woman continued. "Anywhere you go, there will be two balls too many on site -- and guess who's are expendable?" She beckoned another poor sod. "Come here, Honey. Right in front of me. Assume 'Attention' -- that's it. Don't go showing me that little tiny thing, now ... Get your tail tucked between your legs! Good. Are you queer, Honey?"

"No, Ma'am!"

"Good. Now, if I tell you to eat my skank pussy, what are you gonna do?"

"Eat it, Ma'am!"

"Very good. Unfortunately, that's the easy part -- most sponsors don't HAVE pussies! So if I tell you to suck that little weiner over there's smelly little dick, what are you gonna do?"

"I--I..."

"It's a simple question with a simple answer, Honey..." There was no missing the threat...

"I ... I'll suck it..." The poor sod hung his head.

"See? NOW we're getting somewhere! What if I tell you to assume Presentation Position Three and smile while the biggest, blackest weiner in this room slides in and out of your asshole? What are you gonna do then?"

"That's... ! You can't... !"

"Wrong answer..." She slapped him so hard he fell over on his side, and while he was floundering, she grabbed him by the balls -- and started to squeeze. The guy's eyeballs nearly bugged out and he screamed hoarsely. "Now, Honey, what are you gonna do?"

"I ... I ... I'm gonna get fucked!"

"What ELSE are you gonna do?" she pressed.

"AHHH! AHHH! GOD! I DON'T ... SMILE!" He howled.

"Yup, that's it..." she let go of the poor sod's balls. He collapsed, moaning.

Rising back up, she looked around. "Okay, you little wieners, I'm here to publicly apologize for all that -- but I needed to get your attention! The kind of crap we just talked about is probably an extreme case -- but if I was your sponsor, I'd want to know if your little head was in the right place! It all comes back to the fact that you're a poacher anywhere you go -- and sponsors don't have to put up with that shit!" She bent down and collected her moaning volunteer and carried him back to the stool she was sitting on periodically, and held him like he was a little kid while she continued, "Female concubines give it up from every hole -- why should YOU be different? I'm here to tell you that you're not! Your sponsor probably isn't homosexual and might not be bisexual -- but he's likely to put you through your paces once, just so you both know who is in charge -- so expect it! But that's not the worst of it, maybe -- I know you've been working on this, if you've got any sense, but ... How many of you little wieners are married?"

Well over half of the hands in the room shot up. "How many of you have the mother of your children staying in your room with you?" The number of hands in the air didn't reduce by much. "Okay, what are you gonna do the first time some strange motherfucker comes in and kneels her up and starts plowing away in what USED to be your field? I'm here to tell you silly little wieners that if NOTHING ELSE happens, THAT will! What are you gonna do when that same motherfucker puts your dick in a cage and says you don't get no more of that? What are you gonna do when he tells you to lick her twat so it's nice and wet for his dick -- and maybe he wants you to slobber on his dick, too? Maybe he'll want you to stick it in for him..." She sat back, still unconsciously cuddling a grown man on her lap, and said, "I'm looking around here, and I see a dozen of you who have the wrong answer in mind -- and you know what? That makes you a dozen dead little wieners!" She rocked her 'baby' for a moment, glaring, then continued, "You two came aboard together -- and you have kids together -- but that's it! She is NOT gonna belong to you! Sorry, it just doesn't happen like that! Oh, in a perfect world, you would catch some guy who has eight other women and is busy and just doesn't give a shit -- and that guy is one in a hundred -- or maybe a thousand! It's an impossible dream! If you're there and he kneels your former old lady up and shoves his meat in her holes, you get to watch -- but you DON'T get to complain, and you DON'T EVEN get to interfere! Let's say, for instance that you freak a little and jump up and try to pull him off while he's busy filling the old lady with little wigglers. What's gonna happen, you figure? You over there -- yeah, you." She pointed out some guy about three rows back. "What's he gonna do?"

"Push me off, Ma'am?" the indicated worthy guessed.

The woman looked sad. "He's gonna break your fucking neck, right then and there, Honey, then go on with his business -- which is getting the old lady pregnant. And the AI is gonna call a review board, and they're gonna take one look at your dumb stunt on video -- and EVERYTHING is on video -- shake their heads, and haul you off to be fertilizer! End of story! Or maybe he'll pull his stinger and zap you and continue to fuck while you flop on the floor in agony -- and then when he's done, he'll haul your still-flopping body out to the recycler. There are a dozen scenarios -- and YOU DON'T WIN IN ANY OF THEM!" She looked down at her burden. "Are you okay, Honey?"

"Yeah..." The guy wasn't sure.

She let him down. "Go back to where you were and do what everyone else is doing. Thank you for your assistance." The luckless sod settled painfully into the 'Attention' posture. "Okay, which one of you little wieners is Ed Evans?" A guy about halfway back on the left raised his hand. "Come on up here, Honey -- I promise not to come within ten feet of you -- you'll have enough problems."

Hesitantly, Ed came forward; the NCO, as good as her word, sat on her stool without moving. Then a door opened at the side of the room and a white female concubine walked in, followed by three blacks in crew uniforms. "Okay, Ed, this here is Crewman Harris. While we've been in class, he met your former spouse, Donna, there, somewhere -- and they've come to an agreement over sponsorship. That agreement includes you, if you care to accept it. Are you with me so far?"

"Yes, Ma'am." Ed was green at the gills.

"Now, the other two gentlemen -- well, names don't matter -- they've been invited by Crewman Harris to help celebrate his new acquisitions. I'm thinking that I probably don't have to draw you a picture, Honey -- but I should add that you've been asked to participate to show you understand what's up, here. Are we clear, Ed?"

If Ed was green before, I can't really describe where he was at this point; he was barely standing.

"Okay. Ed, Honey, you've got two choices, here. Crewman Harris is gonna keep Donna and your babies in any case. You can come up here and do whatever he wants you to do to help -- or you can go out the door at the back of the room and go back to your quarters and kiss your children and tell them you'll be by to see them occasionally when it's convenient for Crewman Harris." For the first time in the session, perhaps, she looked sympathetic.

Poor Ed looked terrible. I couldn't blame him a bit -- and I knew what was going on. The worst part of it was that this was life and death -- if Ed got stupid in this room in front of a hundred of his peers, he was a dead man. It was the nature of the lesson, after all...

The former spouse, Donna, clearly had a high opinion of her man's ability to adapt. "Come on, Baby, just do whatever they want and we can all be together..." I knew that she'd probably been led to believe that things wouldn't be too bad -- but I'd seen the scenario, and she hadn't ... Crewman Harris had been briefed to tell her that they would be taken care of -- and they would -- but they were going to put a scare into Ed first -- kind of a teaching thing. Whatever Ed did, it would be all right ... That was true, as far as it went, also -- at least as far as Donna and the kids were concerned. Ed had three choices: He could walk out, as Chief Stewart advised. He could do whatever the trio up front asked him to do -- and they were going to put him through the wringer -- or he could go apeshit and do something stupid. If he played -- or even if he walked -- Crewman Harris would honor the agreement and Ed would stay with his family -- but if he did something stupid, he would die, right then and there...

Now, the players in our little drama were VERY carefully selected. The three crewmen were carefully prepared; Crewman Harris wasn't bisexual, but he wasn't a homophobe, and he had certain verbal gifts -- like the persuasion he used on Donna Evans. Crewman Cooper and Crewman LaRue WERE bisexual -- and liked white boys. We were playing the race card deliberately, for impact -- and Donna and Ed were selected for their roles based upon their CAP card analysis. Donna had an unspoken but active interest in the whole black superman thing -- and Ed had what you might call a morbid fascination. He'd never touched a cock of any color, but he had a latent bisexual streak -- and if he was ever going to exercise it, the cock would be black. Combine that with a certain amount of fear and we were counting on a fine state of submission. We believed that Ed would either walk or he would participate -- or maybe both -- but we believed that the deck was stacked against stupidity, even though it would be the best option for an object lesson; contrary to popular demand, I didn't like killing people.

So Donna reached out to Ed and Ed staggered forward far enough that Harris could grab his hand, "There ya go! That's what I'm talkin' about!" Then he looked down and delivered the first barb, "Say, uh, Ed -- how many kids you got?"