Chapter 9

Ron:

"Ladies and Gentlemen, I apologize for any inconvenience this may cause, but this is a pickup..." I turned my head to regard the hulking bastard whose urbane tones had nonetheless filled the room -- through amplification, no doubt. "Those of you who are sponsor-class and have an interest in volunteering, would you please make your way to the bar? Those of you who are colleagues on active duty and would like to avoid seeing a circus you can't go to can meet Corporal Wiggins at the side door and he'll let you out. Everyone else may continue to eat undisturbed for now; however, it has been detected that several of you are armed. We would appreciate it if you would present your weapons to the private making the rounds. Obviously, if you should decide to use your weapon, there will be some unpleasantness..."

I drew my pistol slowly, cleared it, and even partially disassembled it in order to avoid having some jackass come get it before the Marine working his way through the room. Any question regarding whether we were all under surveillance or not was answered when some jackass made to whip his weapon out and ZAP! A bolt of something came from a small device hovering unnoticed just below the ceiling. They'd OBVIOUSLY turned out with some remotely operated drones...

The private came to me and said, "You can keep that if you like, Sir, but..." He shrugged.

"I'll get better, right?" I replied.

"Yes, Sir."

"Fine." I stood and stuck out my hand to Chet. "It's been a pleasure." I turned and did the same for Pete. "Jackson?" I beckoned him.

Jackson licked his lips. "Are you sure you don't want to..."

"We have to pick a third," I told him.

Chet had to snipe. "Whatcha been doing, Jackson? Sucking Ron's dick?"

I turned to Chet. "Thanks for living down to expectation, Chet. That makes this easier. Sorry, Pete -- I only need one back door man." Pete just nodded; he was married, and the wife wasn't present.

Stupid to the last, Chet made an ass of himself, rasping, "I KNEW it! All this time you were jerking our chains and you had it all..." He was just warming up for a good rant when the private shrugged and shot him with the same kind of weapon that the drone used.

There was one other bit of excitement. There was WAY too much silverware present, and some asshole picked up a knife and stabbed a sponsor as he went by his booth. Fortunately, he got the guy on the hip and it was merely painful. As for the attacker, he lasted about a quarter of a second after that; three bolts and a bullet -- maybe from my .45, since the private fired it -- put him away. There were a few screams, but a couple of Marines hustled the other occupants of the booth out of the room. Later, I was told that they went to interrogation to see what they knew about local Earth First activities -- and two of the three were released.

There were nine of us in the bar. The Sergeant running things took in Jackson and said, "Pre-pack?"

"Three out of four," I nodded. "My girls are waitresses here."

The sergeant nodded. "We've been holding the wait staff in the kitchen, but we're about to release everybody who wants to play for the circus. Go get them." He pointed the way and I headed for the kitchen to pick up my girls.

The private watching the kitchen knew what was going on -- he waved Jackson and me past him. Various males and females were standing there, wringing their hands. I stood in the door and looked around for a moment, picking mine out. "Come on, girls -- we're leaving."

"Ron! Omigod! I'd hoped, but we've been held in here..." Beatrice babbled. She and Bridgette broke from the crowd.

"Well, that's over, I think," I replied. The private nodded. "Come on -- I need to pick a fourth. Any recommendations?" I had to stop at that point because I had a couple of women trying to squeeze me to death! The private thumbed us out of there and began briefing the rest of the kitchen and wait staff while I chivvied the girls out.

Back in the bar with my trio, the sergeant brought us up to date. "We're clearing one of the dining rooms. We're gonna want you guys to put in an appearance in the main room while the girls make up their minds whether they want to play or not, but we'll do test drives out of sight of most of the customers after that. Any questions?" We all murmured to the effect that there were none and we wandered, escorted, into the main room. Jackson held the girls in the door, since they wouldn't be needed immediately.

The sergeant stepped out in front of us and said, "Ladies, the bar is now open. You can continue what you're doing or you can pass through into the other dining room where these gents will be conducting interviews." He waved at us. "If you aren't interested in participating, please continue your meals -- we're going to attempt to keep some kind of flow going from the kitchen."

I thought about releasing Beatrice and Bridgette to wait tables temporarily, but decided that I might want their input. There was a rustle and some arguments, but women began flowing past us into the bar and beyond.

My attention was collected by a basso rumble of, "Jemma, if you go in there, you better not come back out!" I looked over to see a black woman I'd seen several times before hopping from foot to foot and wringing her hands. The voice came from her husband, apparently, a hulking brute displaying every indication of a vicious temperament. Two kids sat watching the tableaux, wide-eyed. The woman, visibly fearful, abruptly sat. "I'm gonna kick your ass for getting..." the man began.

ZAP! A private appeared next to the man and shot him with one of those weapons at point-blank range, and the man collapsed.

"There will be no threats or coercion here!" the sergeant declared. "Men, if you don't want to know whether Momma went off to get selected, we can put you to sleep and she can tell you anything you want to hear when you wake up, if she's still here -- it's your call. If we see you communicating a threat, you'll take a nap! Ladies, if this seems to be a concern, don't hesitate to raise your hands!" There were no more disturbances. The private held a quiet conversation with the woman and she got up and slinked through the door to the bar, joining the flow. After a moment, the sergeant clearly detailed a couple of privates to keep order in the dining room, and we withdrew.

I collected my trio, murmuring, "Hang close -- I may need some advice." We filtered back through the bar and into the dining room, where there were clearly ten women for every sponsor. They were every age, size, shape, and color, too. Beatrice took a look around and said, "Ron, maybe you should dump us and pick up something else..." I turned to look at her and discovered Bridgette next to her, nodding and biting her lip.

I don't know why, but it pissed me the fuck off! I spun and waved a finger under Beatrice's nose and said, "YOU shut the fuck up! Get naked, both of you! If I wanted your opinion on whether you ought to be here or not, I'd have asked for it! Just to make things clear, though, are you gonna go with me and be my concubine? Here is where you say, 'Yes, Ron!' and that ends it!"

"Yes, Ron!" Beatrice blurted. I turned my glare on Bridgette and she nodded. "Uh huh!"

My anger already having bled away, I lifted my eyes to Jackson. "Well?"

"You want me -- I'm comin'!"

"Keep these two out of trouble," I told him. "Hang onto your undershorts until they tell us you have to toss 'em." I stopped the girls and collected each by a cheek and kissed them. "I LOVE you two idiots -- why would I want to toss you for some skank I don't even know?"

Beatrice made to come forward, blubbering, but Bridgette threw out an arm to bar her. "I want to hug you to death, but you've got business," she said, nodding at the other women, most of whom were rapidly disrobing.

"If you have any opinions, let me have them when I bring back a candidate," I told them, and moved forward to get a look at the catch.

Sylvie broke from the crowd and came forward to kneel before me. As she reached out to open my fly, I caught her hand. "Sorry, Hon. Try someone else. My opinion of you hasn't changed and I don't see us getting along." She took it like a slap in the face, but she backed off and went looking elsewhere. I looked back at the girls as they knelt there, and they both nodded, approving of my position. Bridgette got this look on her face and waved, so I went back to her.

"Do you have any problems with black women, Ron?" Bridgette asked. "That Jemma -- I've waited their table a bunch of times and her old man is a real bastard. She's not going to get a whole lot of attention in this crowd..."

Bridgette was right about that last; Jemma was in her thirties somewhere and plain in the face and a little bigger than Bridgette. There were plenty of teens and college girls and even soccer moms present who had her outgunned. She was hanging back, wringing her hands, looking around while other women swarmed the sponsor group -- I was still outside the boiling mass around the other eight, who were more or less arranged in a circle. Every one of them had a mouth on his cock at this point -- and two more waiting with their mouths open like little birds looking for a worm from Daddy.

I circled the clusterfuck, collecting a bow-wave of second-stringers trying to get my attention. Jemma's big draw was the noise made in the other dining room, but it was reason enough in my mind to give her a chance; I ignored the urgent tugs on my arms and clothing and importuning voices and parked myself in front of the woman. Glancing around at the others, I said, "Blowjobs won't cut it -- I need to see CAP cards. Get 'em out." Turning my attention to Jemma, I added, "I need to see yours."

It was there in her hand -- she offered it gingerly. "Seems like you were in some trouble in the other room," I noted as I clipped the card reader I'd been issued over it.

"Lester ... He don't mean nothing by it -- he's just hard, that's all." The scores said she was one helluva mother and loved her sex -- and that she was used to bending the neck. She wasn't stupid by any stretch, but she'd had a hard life -- and expected no better than she got. I'd take that over the entitled-looking little well-manicured blonde bitch tugging my left arm...

"Go away, Honey," I told the blonde, "I want a woman, not a department store mannequin." She took off, bawling. I beckoned Jemma forward and collected her chin in my hand, turning her face back and forth. "So how many times has Lester slapped the shit out of you, anyway? Dozens, from the looks of things..." Part of the plainness of her features was clearly the marks of her husband's abuse. There were other things, too -- faint scars on her breasts and ribs and limbs... "Don't lie -- I know you want to, out of loyalty, but I can SEE it, just like you can when you put on make-up."

"Lester don't take no shit..."

"No, I guess not," I agreed. "So why don't you show me your blowjob? I don't think I want to give you back to Lester -- why don't you give me a reason not to?"

Jemma went to her knees and shouldered aside a redhead and a brunette who had worked as a team to get my pants undone and tugged down over my cock to grip it at the root and eye it. "You got a NICE one, Mister!" she declared, then gave it a single lollipop lick before wrapping her lips around it. She whirled her tongue around the tip a couple of times, and then started bobbing, going deeper every time until the fourth or fifth had me bumping the opening of her throat. She rode it that way about six times -- and I was about to wave her off with a good grade, anyway -- when she dropped her head and extended her neck and took the rest, burying her nose in my pubes and swallowing around my glans. Jemma was every bit the expert that Bridgette was, obviously! She was happy to have me there, too, obviously -- her eyes said so as she looked up at me! She proceeded to show me that she could take me every stroke that way if that was what I wanted, too!

I grabbed her shoulder and backed her off, grunting, "Obviously, Lester trained you well..."

"Uh huh." Jemma gazed up at me, nodding agreement.

"I suppose you're a pretty good fuck..."

"I think so. Lester says so..." She paused, and I realized there was more there, but she'd stopped herself.

"What else?"

"Nobody ever complained..." she murmured, looking away.

There was some woman trying to give me a rim job; I spread my stance and let her work, but that didn't mean I was promising anything. Some other chick was worming under to lick my balls, but Jemma hung onto my cock. I ignored it all, generally, to guess, "There's a story here, right?"

Jemma bit her lip. "Lester, well, sometimes things get tight, you know? Something will happen and he'll be out of work..."

I translated this as 'He acts up and gets fired... ' "And he puts you on the street to earn a few bucks?"

"The kids have to eat..." Jemma hung her head.

"So, twenty dollar blowjobs?" I asked gently.

"Ain't no money in that," Jemma replied. "Parties, mostly. Lester's got some friends who know people..."

"So you're a gang-bang girl?"

"Yeah." She let go of my cock. "Sorry." Some brunette immediately dove on it.

"One of mine has done it all -- with black guys -- and has a kid to show for it," I replied, "Nothing wrong with being a party girl -- it broadens your horizons. You do anal?"

Jemma looked back up at me, "Uh huh!"

"Like it?"

"Yeah."

"Show me that ass." Jemma rolled over on all fours and lowered her chest to the floor -- I watched her wince and figured the floor was cold. She gazed up at me over her shoulder. It was a good-sized ass, of course ... The pussy on display below it looked inviting. "Is it much work to get in there?" I asked.

"Not a whole lot -- I do it regular. Lester likes it sometimes -- and a couple of his friends do."

I batted some heads away and moved forward. "Plug me in," I told the thirty-something soccer mom holding onto my shaft. She pressed my cock up against Jemma's anus and I think she was disappointed that it didn't hurt the black woman more. "Probably sloppy!" she spat.

"I know how to open and close it," Jemma retorted. "I bet YOU don't!"

"Slut!" the woman spat.

I turned to her. "You sound like you think that's a BAD thing!" I cocked my head. "So, is your asshole educated? Can you compete?"

"I bet I'm tighter than she is!" the woman retorted. "Besides, she's..."

"Big?" I guessed. "Black?"

"Yeah, both!"

"Neither of those things is a problem, Honey," I told her. "Run along." The woman grimaced and backed out of there.

I pumped a little in Jemma's ass, reflectively, not serious about it. I didn't try to bury my meat. When I pulled out, some woman had collected a blouse and wiped my cock with it. Jemma spun around and grabbed my hand. "No good?"

"No, it was fine -- I'm just not going nuts on it. No time." I turned to look back at the girls, who were watching intently.

Jemma took this as evidence that the interview was over -- and she wasn't the only one. Some husky chick with mouse-brown hair started trying to swallow my dick, in spite of where it had been and what it probably tasted like. Jemma tugged on my hand and gazed up at me with big, scared eyes. "Please, Mister -- Lester is likely to set me up with a street gang for this! I got two little girls! Abby, she's young but she's ready already -- Lester..."

I froze. "Your husband fucked your daughter?"

"I was out -- working," Jemma related. "He just started on her recently. He figures it's more money..."

Now, the rules had changed on this, but I figured the girl was too young. "Can she come with us?" I confirmed.

"Yes."