Author: Thinking Horndog
Title: The Academy
Part: 1 of 88
Universe: The Swarm Cycle
Summary: The Governor of the colony of Nuevo Angelino recognizes that the ad-
hoc educational system in use in his colony isn't producing sponsors -- so he
sends a team to Earth to collect some professional educators with a
Confederacy perspective. This results in a new and unusual kind of pickup...
Keywords: MF MFF FF M+F mf mF exhib humil inc ir group oral anal toys Mdom
Fdom
The Academy
Copyright © 2009 The Thinking Horndog
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyrighted with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated. Reproduction for profit
is
forbidden. Any distribution must include this note and the author's email
address. Don’t be caught attempting to make a buck off me!
Warnings and disclaimers:
This is adult entertainment! Be warned! If you’re not into graphic
depictions of sex, this is the wrong story for you! If you’re too young to
be legally reading this, move along!
This is a work of fiction. It is not intended to reflect any particular
person or persons, and the incidents portrayed exist in their current form
solely in the writer’s imagination. You get the idea.
--------------------------------------------------------------------
Author's Foreword:
This tale is written as a series of first-person narratives by the characters
involved -- something none too easy, as it turns out. As a result, a scene
may be revisited -- more than once -- each time from the perspective of the
individual involved, reflecting how he or she felt about things and what was
important -- or unimportant -- to him (or her). You may find this
repetitious in places, but I hope you enjoy the variety of responses of the
individuals involved -- that was the intent.
----------------------------------
Chapter 1
Jack:
Earth. Frankly, I never thought I'd see the home world again. I got
extracted in Year Three of the Diaspora in a classic pickup from a fast food
restaurant and transported in a thousand-pod transport to the new colony of
Nuevo Angelino, along with a shitload of other Californians (and Mexicans and
transplants from a whole lot of other places doing the whole migration to the
Land of Opportunity thing). Well, Nuevo Angelino was undoubtedly going to be
a better opportunity than anything available in East L. A. after the Swarm
hit, so I was more than pleased.
Nuevo Angelino was to be a huge naval base and shipyard. We got what
I was given to understand later was a somewhat different start than other
colonies, as the Governor, COL Sharpe, wasn't satisfied that we had the asset
base that would make us successful. One of the first things he did -- while
we were still in transit -- was to collect employment histories for every
concubine. COL Sharpe liked to come out with old aphorisms like, "Idle hands
are the Devil's playground," -- and be more or less serious about it. His
basic platform was that we had a lot of sponsor bodies, but without the
support structure -- butchers, bakers, and candlestick makers -- we were
going to have a huge bleed-off from our efforts. Concubines sitting at home
on their thumbs were a waste of assets. Therefore, he wanted 50% of the
concubines employed in colony support at any given point in time.
I had two concubines -- and first Tina, then Dottie entered the
workforce in rotation, Tina going first as Dottie was the first pregnant.
Were they super-helpful to anyone? Maybe not. Tina, in particular, was 'the
lunch girl' at the transporter station that ported the workforce to the
orbital shipyards. But you could argue the point (and the Support
Directorate chickie -- also a concubine -- who requested her for that job
did) that if the workforce didn't have to port down to grab their lunch,
there was more time for them to work. Groundside jobs tended to go to the
Support Directorate -- which was a fancy name for concubines and a few Civil
Service overseers. Anyway, a few months back things switched up and Dottie
was doing the working Mom thing as shift supervisor at a distribution center
and Tina, who was now about six months preggers, was home trying to get a
handle on motherhood by watching Jack Jr. when he wasn't at the local crèche
-- a day care for a half-dozen or so families run by a concubine next door
who has good nurturing skills.
'Families' is the proper term. Despite horror stories about
concubines being recycled into meatloaf at the snack bar and various 'you can
kill 'em as long as you don't make a mess' lectures, the bottom line was that
concubines are SUPPOSED to be your good right arm -- and need to be treated
as such. There are plenty of ways to handle personality conflicts between
yourself and your concubine short of turning her into glop -- you can get
glop anywhere. You can paddle her ass or whatever, or if she bitches, you
can pop over to Medical and shut down her vocal cords for a while. If the
whole thing just isn't flying, you can trade her to someone else or for a
Civil Service wench who knows a good thing when she sees one. Governor
Sharpe put his foot down over excesses early on and it was a good thing, in
my opinion. Oh, sure, you can still kill a concubine if you have to, but the
review board is going to go into the meeting with a bad attitude; the whole,
'You can't shoot a dog but you can shoot a concubine' thing just didn't make
sense...
Bottom line, abusing the mother of your children is counter-
productive for domestic tranquility -- and I'm a big believer in domestic
tranquility. Just about everyone I know is in total agreement with me,
too...
I seem to have drifted, some... Earth. I'd been away a bit over two
years; doing something mundane like standing in a supermarket checkout line
was sort of surreal, but I was there undercover while we conducted some
negotiations -- um, yeah, more about that later. The point was, I was living
in a hotel room and I needed supplies to take me through the next few days --
not to mention a pack of strawberry Twizzlers and some other luxuries to take
back home for replication purposes. Replicator technology had removed some
links in the economic food chain, but supermarkets were still distribution
centers for a whole lot of things, since on Earth there still wasn't a
replicator in every home -- and there wouldn't be, before all Hell broke
loose. So I was standing there, waving my debit card while the chickie at
the checkout waved things over the scanner and some girl wandered over to bag
things for me...
Real tits sag. Real women who have had real kids have had their
breasts swell up and then shrink back -- and that means they don't stick out,
unsupported, like gun turrets. Lots of real women come to that point purely
through weight gain and loss without going through pregnancy -- but a mother
is CERTAINLY going to have some droop to her bust...
Now, I know you're asking yourself, 'What the fuck...?' so I'm going
to explain myself, here. You see, the average concubine's tits do NOT droop;
through the miracles of Confederacy medicine, a young woman can have fine,
puffy, high-riding breasts of just about any shape and size her back will
allow her to carry -- and THAT, too, is adjustable. The vast majority of
concubines, fourteen or forty four, tend to look like they're somewhere
between eighteen and twenty five -- and belong on the cover of a fashion
magazine. Pregnancy changes this not a whit -- although it tends to make the
poor things look incredibly ungainly while they push around that basketball
under their navel -- because as soon as they deliver, nannites start putting
them back into the unspoiled, virginal shape they started out with.
Now, in general, this isn't the fault of the concubine; sponsors
drive it, and they're looking for the ideal woman when they do it. And we're
all naughty little boys and tend to have oddly similar concepts of feminine
perfection -- driven largely by the media, in most cases. So there are a lot
of blonde concubines out there with breastworks that don't sag a millimeter
and killer legs all the way to their asses and, well, you get the picture...
So this sweet thing bends over in front of me to bag my stuff and I
end up looking down her tank top at a pair of hooters that are definitely
being squashed a bit but are hanging and displaying a deep, soft cleavage --
and I'm all over it, moving here and there so I can track that canyon as it
sweeps back and forth...
Well, she catches me and turns a bit pink and turns a bit to the side
to rob me of my view -- and I'm standing there wondering exactly WHY I want
to climb over the counter so I can reposition...
The checkout chickie is amused; I'm making a total ass of myself for
what is clearly no good reason. I get a grip and start the payment
transaction and Sweet Thing says to the checkout chickie, "Frieda, can I thut
down theven? I need to clean it..." -- and I get this MAJOR boner! She
LISPS, for God's sake! I take a good look at her face; she's wearing braces
and her upper lip laps over her lower because she doesn't have much in the
way of a chin. She has thick, bushy, dark, reddish hair pulled back from a
wide forehead into a bushy mass at the back of her head that releases springy
little wispies at her neck. Her face is very pale (and a bit pink at the
moment, under my startled gaze) and dusted with freckles. Thick, bushy
eyebrows almost meet above muddy hazel eyes that hide behind the frames of
the glasses that sit on her nose -- which is unfortunately short enough that
turning up at the tip makes it a bit hoglike...
I gather myself and circle around to the bagging area to collect my
purchases; Sweet Thing goes around behind the counter next to Checkout
Chickie and starts digging under the counter, saying, "I need the cleaner..."
And Checkout Chickie stands there watching me as my eyeballs trace the three
inch strip of pale skin that appears above the three inch strip of flowered
cotton panties that appears above the top of Sweet Thing's jeans as she bends
over...
Now, the ass in question here was, jeez, twenty-four inches wide if
it was a millimeter. Tina could almost have been standing there twice! But
I'm ogling it and taking in the little translucent hairs that appear here and
there in an expanse so pale you can see the blue of the capillaries under
it...
So, to recap, ten days ago before I left home, I got a blowjob from a
narrow blonde supermodel (well, she's a bit misshapen from being six months
along, but the basics are still there), then fucked a curvy brunette goddess
-- both of whom belonged to me and me alone. In transit, I'd fucked two or
three similarly stunning specimens placed on board the transport for our
entertainment by the Civil Service -- but I was making a total ass of myself
over a big-assed, slack-tittied, chunky, brainless looking piece in blue
jeans and a tank top under an open jean shirt!
Sober reflection on the matter over the course of several days has
led me to understand that, to me, Sweet Thing was exotic. To the normal
North American male resident of Earth, she was a commodity, and better could
be found just about anywhere you cared to look -- Checkout Chickie wasn't
totally hot by any means, but she had Sweet Thing beat -- but I had been
looking at carbon-copy 'ideal women' for a couple of years, and her pear
shape was something I'd developed a hunger for... At the time, though, I
couldn't explain it for the life of me!
Sweet Thing backed out from under the counter to find me where I
shouldn't be, between that counter and the next, hovering over her so I could
watch that strip of bare skin at the saddle of her back pass by as she
backed. She looked at me, startled, then looked at Checkout Chickie, who was
grinning, and blushed furiously. I stood there, invading her personal space
as she slowly shifted to the vertical -- and my mouth said, "Hey, uh, you
wouldn't want to go out or anything...?"
I don't know who was more surprised -- Sweet Thing, Checkout Chickie
-- or me!
"I don't think so," she husked.
Reality intruded. I'd done the rejection thing many, many times --
or it seemed that way, anyway. Jack Version 2.0 looked twenty three rather
than thirty six, had a bit more hair, whiter and straighter teeth and a bit
more chin, but that didn't mean I should have expected much. Oh, I'm more
muscular -- but I'm Navy, not a Marine, so I didn't look like the Incredible
Hulk. Similarly, I hadn't had my cock up-sized to the length and girth of a
Tall Boy (a sixteen ounce beer can); it seemed stupid to then have to alter
my women so the damned thing fit them anywhere. I'd been packing a decent
eight inches to start with, so I opted to have the thing's recharge time
reduced, added a touch of girth, and left it at that. Dottie would describe
me as 'boyishly handsome' when she was flirting with me, trying to wheedle me
out of something -- but that didn't mean I believed it. Without the cachet
of 'sponsorship,' I was no more in demand than Sweet Thing... "Uh, yeah,
sorry -- I got carried away," I stammered, and grabbed my four bags of
goodies, tucked my head, and slithered toward the door.
The team AI pinged me with, "Are those the selection parameters for
the new concubine you are collecting, Jack Harper?" Some AIs don't seem to
have any sense of humor, but I fancied that this one had been after me ever
since I told it, "Call me 'Jack'." It had responded exactly the way Mrs.
Ratzenburger, my fourth grade teacher had, "But your records indicate that
your name is John..." Mrs. Ratzenburger had eyed me over her half-glasses
and added, "Therefore, you are 'John'," as if that ended the matter. I'd
responded to THAT as I always do -- and as I'd responded to the AI twenty-
four years later -- "Nobody calls me 'John'." Mrs. Ratzenburger had
attempted to press home a victory -- but I refused to respond when she called
upon 'John' and eventually, she relented; the AI and I had a short discussion
about the relationship between the names John and Jack. I figured it was
needling me; surely it knew such things. This time, I growled under my
breath at it...
"Mithter..." there was a pluck at my sleeve. I turned and Sweet
Thing held out a wad of register coupons -- clearly more than I would have
earned. "You forgot theeth...!"
I blinked and accepted them, muttering, "Thank you."
"I was thurprithed..." she murmured, then eyed me sidelong. "Where
would we go if I thead yeth?"
'Some where I could fuck your brains out!' my brain screamed.
Fortunately, my mouth said, "Dinner? A movie? What's your name?"
"Beth." Later, I was to learn that it was actually Elizabeth --
Elizabeth Hopkins. Ironically, she'd been stuck with a name she couldn't
pronounce. "I, um, get off at theven-thirty," she announced coyly.
I looked up; Checkout Chickie was watching us fixedly -- and had
probably been the source of the coupon gambit. Seven-thirty was a half-hour
away, and I had nothing in my clutch of groceries that required special
handling. "I'll wait at the coffee shop next door."
"Okay!" She bounced a little and I thought she was going to clap,
then she bustled off, that ass of hers rocking and rolling. Checkout Chickie
was grinning from ear to ear. I grinned back and hit the door.
----------------------------------
Beth:
I don't know how it happened; it was like those magazine people just
suddenly showed up at the door with the big check and the balloons and TV
cameras and stuff! I got up and went in to do my shift as usual -- and
everything changed...
I'm nothing special -- well, maybe for a small elephant or something.
I've got a lot of problems when it comes to trying to look hot -- too many,
actually, and that's BEFORE I have to open my mouth! I have what some people
call an underslung jaw -- and not only does it make me look TOTALLY chinless,
I don't have room in it for all the teeth that want to be there and it messed
up the upper teeth because they moved around, trying to match... And I lisp.
Maybe it's the mess in my mouth and maybe it isn't, but I talk funny. Not
funny 'ha ha' even though I get laughed at a lot -- it's more funny 'weird'
-- and guys stay away...
As for the rest of me, it's 'Yuck!' more or less. I got boobies when
I was eleven and they puffed up really big and got me attention despite
everything else for about a year, then they went droopy while everyone else's
came in nice and firm. But my ass kept growing -- and growing -- and
growing... I'm like a size eighteen now and it's mostly butt... There
aren't tons of juddering flab -- I don't have chicken wings under my arms or
anything and my belly is poochy but doesn't run to rolls... I'm not carrying
a fat innertube on my hips, even, but my ass looks like two basketballs
stuffed in a gunnysack! Well, maybe soccer balls...
What else? Let's see... I have bushy eyebrows that threaten to be a
unibrow and make me look even more like a Neanderthal and I have coarse,
muddy auburn hair that's a major fight to get to do anything, so I usually
pull it back in a scrunchy or control it with combs -- all I need is streaks
to look like the Bride of Frankenstein!
I'm not stupid, but I'm not what Papa used to call 'the brightest
bulb in the circuit.' College seemed a waste; there had to be cheaper ways
to hunt guys, and besides, I'm the oldest of four in my family; Papa couldn't
afford to give me a free ride. So I got a job at the local grocery store...
The lisp causes a lot of people to think I'm mentally challenged,
like the bag boys who have Down Syndrome -- but it's just my mouth. Still,
it took me a year and a half to get a checkout, while a half dozen REAL
ditzes came and went. Frieda, the shift leader, stuck up for me and
management finally realized that I wasn't a charity case after all. It was
just another fight -- one I won, more or less...
Anyway... That day, I went on shift at eleven-thirty. Things went
back and forth, from lines three deep to nothing at all. I bounced around,
but was mostly on register seven, and Frieda was on eight. It got slow
around six-thirty and I started thinking about shutting seven down -- then
some woman came through and dumped hamburger on the belt all tilted and got
beef blood on it and that pretty much made up my mind for me. I shut off the
light, but I still had to get permission and I still had to clean it up, so I
went over to where Frieda was checking out some dude and started bagging his
stuff.
It was all bachelor stuff -- you know, shaving soap and junk food and
soda and candy -- no real cooking food. I looked up to see what he looked
like and he was decent -- short brown hair, nice teeth, strong jaw, nice
build... He was ALSO looking down my blouse! I turned a bit to my right,
embarrassed, to get his eyeballs out of there, wondering why my saggy boobs
had generated that much interest and he moved on to swiping his debit card.
I glanced up at Frieda and said, "Frieda, can I shut down seven? I
need to clean it..." Okay, it was REALLY, "Frieda, can I thut down theven?
I need to clean it...", but the first one is what I meant... Anyway, the
guy's head snaps around and he gets the strangest look on his face! Now,
I've had every kind of reaction in the world to my little problem -- except
maybe this one. I caught it and looked away, prepared to ignore the whole
thing; instead, I moved in to dig under Frieda's counter so I could clean up
that beef blood, saying, "I need the cleaner..." I dig around and get the
spray bottle and the paper towels and Frieda isn't moving as I straighten up
-- AND THAT GUY is like RIGHT THERE next to me! So I look up at him, mildly
freaked, and he goes, "Hey, uh, you wouldn't want to go out or anything...?"
So I'm looking at him and I think my brain shut down totally, and I
sprouted chicken feathers and mumbled, "I don't think so..."
The guy looked like I hit him! Then he stammers, "Uh, yeah, sorry --
I got carried away," and he wanders off...
Frieda jumped on me with both feet! "Beth!" she hissed, "When is the
last time a hot guy asked you out? I don't know what it was exactly, but he
was INTO you -- and you just blew him off..."
"I freaked!" I defended myself. "I didn't know what to say..."
"Well you fucked it up!" Frieda snorted. "Here..." She reeled off a
handful of register coupons. "Chase him down with these..." The next thing
I know I'm tugging his sleeve, going, "Mister, you forgot these!"
The guy turns around and blinks at the coupons, and I realize that
he's not dumb enough to think he EARNED all that crap -- which means I'm
exposed -- but what ELSE was I to do? He took them and said "Thank you,"
kind of distractedly, and then he stood there, waiting...
I tucked my head and mumbled, "I was surprised..." I plucked up my
nerve and followed up with, "Where would we go if I said yes?"
He got all hot-eyed -- but he said, "Dinner? A movie? What's your
name?"
I don't think that was what he was thinking, but I wasn't giving up
at THIS point! There was always pepper spray... "Beth. I get off at seven-
thirty..." I had NO IDEA where the guts to carry on this conversation were
coming from!
He looked over at Frieda -- I'm pretty sure he realized that she was
playing matchmaker -- thought about it a moment, and said, "I'll wait at the
coffee shop next door."
I had a date! I HAD A DATE! I didn't know what to do with myself; I
almost did a cheer or something before limiting myself to "Okay!" and getting
out of there... He was gone when I looked back, but Frieda was grinning from
ear to ear. "Here!" She shoved the spray bottle and paper towels at me.
"Hurry up and shut down seven so we can work on your make-up!"
----------------------------------
Jack:
When Beth came through the door at seven-thirty (on the dot, mind
you!) I stood up nervously and discovered that she was just about tall enough
that I could kiss her on the forehead without bending any. You can see where
my head was at -- and it was dark up there... She had fewer freckles showing
and her cheeks were pinker -- but the giveaway was the eyeliner, which was
NOT subtle. That didn't matter; I was eyeballing her breastbone between her
fun bags -- and there seemed to be more of a valley there. This time, she
didn't seem to see it as being an urgent requirement to remove the view from
my field of vision, either. Still, since it was rude and counter-productive
to linger too long, I pulled my eyeballs out of the soft, shadowy darkness
and smiled at her face. "I'm new in town, so you're going to have to show me
where things are. Dinner first, or the movie?"
She blinked and might as well have said, "Both?" but recovered
nicely. "We would have to ruth to get to the movie, but the next thow is
probably around ten..."
"I'm a big boy," I grinned. "Mama lets me stay up late."
Beth grinned back. "Tho how long have you been in town?"
I cursed myself for starting this conversational thread. It was all
too likely to cause her to assume that I wasn't worth the effort because I
was going to be out of here in a week -- and the only way to disabuse her of
THAT was to commit to taking her. Since I still had no idea what the source
of the magic pixie dust that made her seem so hot was, that didn't seem
sensible. Unfortunately, that left lying... "I just got in a day or two
ago; I'm staying in a hotel until I can get organized." Even that wasn't
good -- it left her with the assumption that I moved around a lot and that
she might just be an evening's entertainment -- but it was all I had.
She went, "Oh, okay," and I waited for her to back off -- but
fortunately, she didn't.
I moved on to, "So, where is a good place to eat around here?" A
couple of minutes later, we were in my rental car and she was navigating,
replete with assurances that I would return her to the store to pick up her
car.
Getting to the restaurant didn't take long -- but I became deeply
concerned immediately that we would have to wait until after the next showing
of the movie just to get a table! The parking lot was JAMMED! "What's up?"
I asked, "This is Monday..."
Beth looked a little embarrassed. "It's a popular plathe -- there
are a lot of pickupth from this franchithe..."
"Okay, well, is the food any good?" I asked.
"Oh, yeah! There'th a GREAT thalad bar!" Beth enthused.
"Well, okay." I like salad as well as the next guy, but...
I followed her through the door; there must have been forty people in
the entryway, waiting for a table -- and seats for maybe eight. We filtered
our way through the crowd to the hostess and got her attention -- no mean
feat. There was a lot of jostling going on so I did what I would have done
to Dottie or Tina; I wrapped my arm around Beth and palmed her little belly.
When I got done ensuring that the hostess could spell 'Jack' and that her
mathematical attainments extended to the number two, I became aware that Beth
was ogling me over her shoulder, her eyes and mouth both wide open...
"Oops! Sorry!" Being a fully domesticated male who lived with a
couple of women I was thoroughly fond of -- and completely in charge of --
I'd developed habits of familiarity that didn't necessarily fly with a girl
I'd only known for a few minutes. I made to withdraw my hand.
Beth thought about it -- hard -- and collected my hand, replacing it
and holding it in place with hers. "No, itth okay..." Once she'd made up
her mind, it was all okay; she started running her hand from mine up my
forearm and back. "You thurprithed me again, that'th all..."
"I'm getting good at that," I muttered. "I just didn't want us
separated in this mess..."
"Uh huh," Beth nodded, and I got the feeling she'd have accepted just
about any excuse, but mine was better than most. "I jutht didn't exthpect it
-- and, well, I'm fat..."
I frowned, surprised, because my hand said different. "You're not
fat. If I wanted to be rude, I could point out fat all around us, but
this..." I rubbed her belly, "isn't fat."
"It ith too!" Beth argued -- but she was clearly tickled pink. "Next
you'll tell me my butt ithn't..."
"At the risk of ruining your opinion of me, I'm going to have to say
that your belly and your butt are two different propositions," I said
carefully. "But I like your butt, anyway."
Beth snorted. "What'th there to like?"
"Shhh," I replied, "This is one of those issues that there is no
right answer for -- so, if you don't mind, I'd rather avoid it."
"Okay." Beth went back to rubbing my arm. She seemed perfectly
happy to back against me -- and I was perfectly happy to bury my boner in the
split between the cheeks of the ass in question while wondering vaguely why
she didn't seem to be taking notice. Well, if I had to, I could explain away
the gallant reflex -- since it WAS gallant...
We stood around for a good forty minutes; by the end of it, I was of
a mind to tell her we should go get a burger and she shouldn't worry about a
pickup, but I held my peace. Finally, we were seated -- and I ended up
ordering a burger anyway. On the other hand, it wasn't any fast food joint
burger -- and the salad bar WAS good -- well worth the price. We made small
talk while eating, and I learned that she was the eldest of four and wasn't
married (duh!) and never had been. I didn't ask her age, for two reasons --
a gentleman doesn't, and I couldn't afford to respond. I LOOKED like I was
in my early twenties, but I'm thirty-six; the difference between the
appearance and reality would lead me to have to either lie or be unmasked.
Besides, it was an item of little or no concern; given the fact that she more
closely resembled a primitive fertility goddess than a swimsuit model and
that she was clearly under thirty, if not twenty, what did I care? Hands-on
experience had added 'cuddly' to her descriptors, too. I'd have given a lot
to get a look at her CAP scores -- but turnabout was fair play and again, I
couldn't go there.
Despite slow service -- ESPECIALLY in picking up the check -- we
managed to get out before ten and Beth directed me to the local cinema. I
let her pick the movie and stood her to her choice in snack bar selections
(she limited herself to a diet soda) and we settled in to watch a movie -- or
she did. I spent a lot of time playing the old arm on the back of the
theater seat game (without ever going so far as to try to get a handful of
her right tit) and delighting in how delicate the little loose sprigs of hair
at her neck made it look. I was totally lost -- and I STILL couldn't say
why...
Beth was... cooperative. She let me play with her arm and her
shoulder -- and even her neck -- and smiled a lot and looked embarrassed but
happy. She didn't seem to know what to do with her hands, but never did
anything overt, so I was an absolute Boy Scout -- not that I wanted to be.
Finally, the damned movie was over; I wanted it gone -- except we hadn't
really covered the kind of ground that led to her coming back to my place,
which led me to wish that it wasn't. I just didn't know how we were going to
get to where I wanted us to be...