Terran Guard - The Recruit By Bootkid (mike@bootkid.net)
This story is Copyright by Bootkid. All rights reserved. Reproduction on free websites is permitted. All other uses require the consent of the author.
Greg Bracciolini crawled into bed after a long week and a longer Friday happy hour. His team at work had just finished a very lengthy project, and his boss took them all out for drinks. A couple drinks turned into many, and as Greg stumbled up the stairs to his Greenwich Village walk-up, he pondered his life in New York. At 23, he still had most of his fratboy soccer stud build, but the late nights, fast food, and beer were catching up with him around the middle. Tossing his jacket on a chair, and stripping out of his clothes crossing the small studio apartment, he flopped into bed and passed out.
Several miles above the Earth, a computer tracked Greg's heart and breathing rates. As the computer realized he was asleep for the evening, an extraction team was notified, donned their suits, and raced to the transport hub in the space station. Moments later, the three bulky men materialized in the small apartment. Two quickly set about tagging everything in the apartment for transport. The third slapped a black rubber hood over Greg's head. Inside the hood, the breathing apparatus included a drug that ensured that Greg would remain asleep and immobile until it was removed. No sound or light would make it past the hood. He activated the transport beacon in the hood, and Greg vanished in a stream of bright light. Relieved of their quarry, the team quickly emptied the apartment of all of Greg's worldly goods.
Aboard Mars Station, Greg materialized in an assimilation pod. The room was approximately a 6-meter diameter sphere, cut across the middle at the floor. It had a bed, a plasma screen, and glowing walls. To one side was an archway tunnel through which was the bathroom and shower. The entire atmosphere of the room was controlled from outside, including whether or not the gaseous anesthetic was still mixed into the air. Quickly, Greg's recruiter entered the room, wearing a gas mask so as not to be affected by the anesthatine gas. He removed the hood from Greg's head and cut the rest of his clothes off, leaving him naked. Covering Greg with a blanket, and leaving behind a neatly folded recruit uniform, the recruiter quickly left.
Entering the antechamber, he spoke to his computer, "Assimilation program alpha, lower the mix of anesthatine gas at a rate of 20 percent per earth hour."
The computer parroted his instructions "Program alpha started, mix rate set at 200 parts per billion, automatic reduction to zero in five hours."
"Create recruit profile, notify all Terran Guard stations with pending requests for squires."
"Profile created, 32 stations notified."
"Page me if he wakes up before the five hours is up."
"Aye, aye Major."
With that, the recruiting officer left the antechamber.
In 32 stations around the globe, the recruit profile arrived at the personnel officer's workstations instantaneously. "American, of Italian extraction, speaks English fluently, some Italian and some German." With that, 15 stations clicked the REFUSE button on the screen. "Hometown: Somerville, Massachusetts. Education: Bachelor of Science, Economics, Western New England College. Sports: Wrestling and Soccer." Two more stations clicked REFUSE. "Height, 1.62m, Weight: 63.5kg, brown hair and eyes, hairy arms, chest, legs, rear." Seven more stations clicked REFUSE. "Sexual Orientation: gay, with submissive tendencies. Sexual Reprogramming category: not required." In the remaining eight stations, the profile and its associated pictures were sent off to various officers and noncoms. The Terran Guard would get into a fight over this one. Five stations in the United States, two in Canada and one in the United Kingdom all jockeyed for position.
Six hours later, Greg awoke lazily from his slumber. His expected hangover wasn't there, and he felt remarkably well rested. He was snuggled warmly in his bed, enjoying the comfort and softness of the covers and mattress. Suddenly, his mind connected the fact that at home, he slept on a lumpy futon. His eyes popped open, and he surveyed his surroundings. The room he was in was an oddly shaped half sphere. The walls glowed a soft orange. As he sat up in bed, the walls grew brighter, so that he could see around his surroundings.
"I don't remember taking my clothes off," Greg said to no one in particular. He looked down over his hairy chest, abs and legs. Suddenly he had a remarkable urge to piss, and he dashed for the opening that he hoped was the bathroom. Inside, he found a rubber covered lounge chair, a sink, and a six-sided shower cubicle. A spotlight illuminated the chair, so he figured he should get on it. As soon as he sat down, straps locked around his arms and legs, an external catheter snaked itself down on his dick, and a tube worked its way up his ass. As the tube in his ass filled him with water for an enema, he got rock hard.
"Damn, what is this place?"
"Please relax, Recruit Bracciolini," a deep male voice echoed around the room. "This will only take a few minutes." The warm water gushed into him, and then the tube inflated into a plug, holding the water deep inside. As the urge built up to dump the water, Greg struggled against the bonds. Finally, the tube quickly deflated, pulled out, and Greg was able to void himself without ever leaving the chair. At that point, his dick relaxed enough for him to piss into the catheter, which eagerly sucked the urine out of him. As the enema tube inserted itself a second time and started to fill him, the catheter started to milk his dick. Just as he thought he was going to cum, the enema tube pulled out, the sleeve withdrew from his dick, and the bonds came off. After voiding a second time, he felt warm water wash the exterior of his ass.
"The shower is ready for you, recruit," the voice from nowhere announced, startling Greg.
Greg stepped into the shower and suddenly was deluged with water from all six sides of the shower cubicle. A helmet dropped from the ceiling, and he put it over his head. At that point, Greg felt like the whole shower was vibrating around him, as the shower sprayed him with soapy water and then rinsed him off. As rubbed the soap on his body, he realized all of his hair was falling off. The soap must have had a depilatory in it. Greg had a disconnected thought that he should be getting really upset about all this, but yet he took it all in stride.
Before he could ponder that thought too much, the same deep voice spoke to him again. "Prepare for laser trim. Please close your eyes."
Suddenly, flashes of light sparked all around his head. He could vaguely feel the hair fall off his head. The helmet started vibrating and he felt it spit out shampoo and work it into a lather on his head. It had some menthol in it, and it felt cool against what was now mostly bare skin. The helmet retracted, and the shower started spraying from above, allowing Greg to wash out the shampoo and the remaining soap off his body. As he stepped out of the shower, he found a big terry cloth towel to dry himself off with. With that, he looked in the mirror and checked out his new look.
The helmet had done an amazing job of cleaning his entire head of hair, with the exception of a tuft of hair on top. There wasn't even stubble on his face or the sides of his head. It was much closer than anyone, even the best barber, could have gotten with a razor. His now hairless body showed off his muscles a little better, though it also showed his imperfections. Subconsciously, he wondered what it would take to remove the small love handles that had developed at his sides since graduation.
When he dropped the towel on the floor, the door to the bathroom slid open, and he walked out into the main room of the pod. Gone was the bed. Instead, there was a flat padded rubber table in the center of the room. It stood on a single pedestal.
"Please lie down, Recruit Bracciolini," the disembodied voice asked.
"What the fuck is this place," Greg asked loudly.
"I said, lie down, recruit!" barked the voice. Greg complied. As soon as Greg was lying down, a helmet flipped over the top and locked around his neck. Straps flew out across his body, tying him down to the table. And then, without warning, the table dropped through the floor of the room to the lower section of the pod.
As the exam table dropped, the Recruiter eyed the young Greg. This one was quite a prize, and he hoped that Greg would submit to the Guard. But before he could present Greg with his options, the Recruiter had to make sure that Greg could handle what the Guards would dish out at his future station. And so he began the exam.
First, wearing gloved hands, the Recruiter felt along all of Greg's muscles and bones, making sure none of the joints were swollen. He eyed the skin to look for blemishes, using a grease pencil to mark several of them for removal. Pressing a button on the helmet, he set the automatic vision and hearing checks to run. Then he used a gun-like machine to remove the blemishes from Greg's skin.
Greg could feel that it was a guy examining him. And not only was it a guy, he was huge and strong. Greg couldn't remember anyone having hands that big, even some of the big football players in his fraternity. He yelped as the Recruiter zapped the blemishes off his skin. It wasn't particularly painful, but it felt weird nonetheless.
The vision check finished, and the helmet beeped.
"Your vision is just a little off, we're going to correct that right now," the Recruiter said. "Please hold still, this will only take a moment."
Greg recognized the voice of his examiner as the same disembodied voice from before. He wondered just how they were going to fix his vision, and why, since Lasik surgery was well beyond the means of the recent college graduate. Flashes of light shone in his eyes, and he tried like hell not to move. In less than 30 seconds, the lights stopped.
"I'm going to rerun the vision scan just to be sure, but you should have what you call 20/10 vision now."
The helmet beeped a few times and retracted. Greg got a look at his captor for the first time. The guy had to be close to 7 feet tall, if not taller. He was big and bulky as the biggest football player. Greg could see that he had a great body, but none of the details. He was covered in a loose fitting smock. Over his head, he wore a mask and a cap, blocking all but his eyes from Greg's view. His hands were covered in some kind of black gloves. His lower body, however, was barely covered in a pair of tight leather breeches and tall shiny black boots. Greg started getting hard.
"Who are you?" Greg asked.
"That's not important right now, Recruit. We need to finish your exam. Next up is a bone scan."
With that, a machine descended from the ceiling and started scanning Greg from head to toe.
The Recruiter held a small machine in his hand that was connected to a wire. "Open up!"
Greg refused.
"Open up or I'll force it open."
Greg tried to shake his head back and forth, but the bonds wouldn't let him. His captor gripped his nose tightly, cutting off Greg's ability to breathe. Greg finally gave up and gasped for breath and the Recruiter quickly shoved the little device into his mouth and closed his jaw. It started vibrating and bouncing around his mouth.
"It's only a dental cleaner, boy." With that, the Recruiter pressed a button that caused the table to separate and move Greg's legs out in a V. A panel below his butt dropped out, and Greg was now exposed.
Pulling out a long, thin, metal rod, the Recruiter squirted some lube on Greg's dick and slid the sound deep into his urethra. Next, he grabbed a metal plug and started sliding it into Greg's ass. The plug was at least 15 inches long and bent like a banana. As he slid it into Greg, he watched a monitor above Greg's head that showed the shape and depth of Greg's rectum. "302mm, not bad," he murmured to himself. Greg moaned under the onslaught.
The recruiter slid the anal probe out of Greg's ass, and then went for another banana shaped probe. This one was more plastic, and not as long, but still pretty long. He hooked it up to a machine and slid it into Greg's ass. The machine started inflating the plug, measuring Greg's ass' ability to stretch.
"You ever been fisted, recruit?" he asked Greg.
"No Sir."
"Hmm." The recruiter made some notes on a touch pad in his hand. He touched the side of the fucking machine, and it reduced the width of the plug before starting to fuck in and out of Greg's ass. He clipped a wire onto the end of the sound up Greg's penis. "The machine isn't going to stop fucking you until you cum. The sound will activate the cutoff switch. I will be back in a while."
The recruiter left Greg at the mercy of the fucking machine and went back to his office just outside the pod. He scanned his messages for the Guard platoons that would compete for Greg. He uploaded the medical data, and requested responses from the four platoons still interested. Two agreed to compete for Greg and would send their best two men to the station. One platoon was stationed outside Boston, Massachusetts, and the other outside Toronto, Ontario.
Meanwhile, Greg let out a scream as the machine finally fucked the load out of him around the sound. The helmet closed back over his head, releasing a small amount of anesthatine gas, and Greg passed out. The recruiter returned him to his pod, lifted him off the table with a grunt, and placed him back in bed.
Greg woke up surrounded by a wall of muscle. The recruiter crawled into bed and held the exhausted boy in his arms until he slept off the effects of the exam and the gas. His enormous arms were wrapped around Greg's upper body. His big chest rested against Greg's back.
"Where am I?" Greg asked.
"You're on a space station," the recruiter replied.
"And you're not human?"
"No."
"Can you tell me what's going on now?"
"Yes, now that you've passed your physical."
"Is that what that was?"
"Son, I am a recruiter for the Spartan Space Forces."
"Spartan as in Greek?"
"That's where our name in English originates, yes, but we're not related to the ancient Spartans. We are another race and we live several stars away."
"So why do you have a space station? And what do you want with humans?"
"Several millennia ago, we were locked in a battle with a race of people called the Chentari. The Chentari are not nice people. They look for pre-stellar civilizations, land on their world, enslave the people, rape the planet, and leave it barren. Before they could attack Earth, however, we destroyed their armada. We made Earth one of our protectorates, and began to station people on your planet to protect it.
"Your first recorded history of us is the Greek Gods. They were all Spartans. Larger than life, muscles everywhere," he said, flexing one of his 27 inch arms in front of Greg's face. "We began to set up stations in many major civilized cities, choosing from among our people the ones that could hide the best among humans. The problem always was that since no Spartan is ever much shorter than 2 meters tall and usually at least 120 kilograms, we have a hard time hiding.
"The other problem we've always had is that Spartans go through several cycles of sexuality in our 200 Earth year lives. During the time of our compulsory military service, we're usually homosexual. At about 100, we start to itch to have children, and will procreate with females, but often a former soldier will keep a male companion into old age.
"We are also a very hierarchical society. The younger, the weaker, get fucked. The older, the stronger, do the fucking. If I as a Major were ever to allow myself to get fucked by a Lieutenant, I would have to trade places with him. Instant demotion, at least until I could fuck him myself. So as you can imagine, having these over built men running around attacking each other, fucking them, and breaking a whole lot of shit in the process would be a problem for Earthlings.
"Wow," Greg said, dumbfounded. The recruiter rustled his hair.
"Also, we're a telepathic people. Among our own, we can put up blocks and not let everyone into our minds. Humans, however, are open books. I know exactly what you're thinking, when you're thinking about it. I can see your dreams. I can even change your dreams, and control your thoughts. And you would never know it."
"Are you doing that now?"
No boy, I'm not. At least not more than this demonstration.
"Holy shit!"
"So we struck a deal with the major governments of the planet. They would allow us to select from among their citizens potential recruits to be squires. Most squires would serve the elite Terran Guard, and never leave the Earth. Some squires, however, are brought into the space fleet, or even to high command back on Sparta. Usually, squires who leave Earth have a reason to leave, or no reason to stay. Recruits like you, who have established lives and families, tend to stay on Earth.
"According to our agreement, we cannot use any mind control on you, except to protect our secrecy, unless you consent to becoming a squire. Until that time, you have free will."
"So why me?"
"To be a squire to the Terran Guard, you have to have several qualities. You must be between 20 and 25 years old. You must be gay. You must pass a physical to make sure you can handle the rigors of being a squire to multiple 250lb men. And usually, squires tend to be about your size. Someone a Guard can lift with one arm. See, not only are we bigger than humans, but pound for pound we are stronger. You also have manifested some submissive tendencies. And our observation of your daydreams over the past couple months lead us to believe you were ready to make a change in your life."
"That's all true, I guess," Greg said sheepishly.
"Becoming a squire is a 10-year commitment. You will serve a platoon of Guards for that period. The platoon will define your schedule, when you eat and sleep, your workouts, and who gets to fuck you. Your housing, meals, and medical needs will be taken care of by the Space Forces. You will be allowed to continue to have friends, visit relatives, and even continue your education. But you will carry a pager, and when that pager goes off, you will report back to the platoon for service.
"At the end of your 10 years, you have four choices. You can leave the Guard, and you will be paid $1 million per year for your service, tax free. You can bond to a specific Guardsman, who will keep you on as his personal squire until his enlistment is over; at which time he will take you with him back to Sparta. Or you may choose to serve on as a squire in another service to the Space Forces, be it the armada, the army, or high command. You would do that until such time as you found someone with whom to bond, and then you would serve him."
"What does it mean, to bond?"
"Hmm, I don't really want to scare you. Bonding is a permanent process. When you bond to a Spartan, your mind becomes intertwined with his. Your body becomes his possession. You would know his every whim because his thoughts would be your thoughts. Both the platoons competing for you have bonded squires. You should discuss it more with them."
"Competing?"
"Yes, son. We have a shortage of recruits like yourself. There are thirty-two platoons eligible for squires right now. Some have higher priority than others. Only two decided to compete for you. The challenge, of course, is should you lose the competition, the platoon drops to the bottom of the priority ladder. If you accept my offer to become a squire, the competition will start tomorrow."
"What happens in the competition?"
"I can't give away all my secrets, son."
"Yes Sir."
"Good boy. Needless to say, we have already done some work on you. If you decide to leave us, the medical procedures I performed are our gift to you for trying. You will always have perfect vision, and I caught several very pre-cancerous skin blemishes. If you want to return to your life, you will be released without prejudice. However, I will have to erase every memory of you ever being here. You will go back to work on Monday like nothing ever happened."
"How long do I have to choose?"
"I can give you a couple hours."
"Wow," Greg said, dumfounded.
"Roll onto your back, son."
Greg rolled onto his back. The recruiter straddled him, his arms like tree trunks planted on either side of Greg's head.
"I promise you, son, if you accept, you will be completely satisfied with your life. You will have better sex than any two humans could have. You will have the protection of the elitest of the elite, the Terran Guard. And if money is a worry, you will have $10 million dollars at the end of the enlistment. It's a hell of a lot more than you could get from the US Marine Corps."
With that, the recruiter lowered himself down on his forearms, kissing Greg deeply. As they kissed, his bright blue eyes lit up, becoming brighter. He wrapped his legs around Greg's small waist, crushing the boy in his power. Propping himself up on one hand, the recruiter used the other to rub along Greg's body roughly.
Breaking off the kiss, he said, "Think about it, son." And he went to get up.
"Is everyone as big as you, Sir?"
"Well, like I said, we're all at least 6'6" and 250. Most Guardsmen tend to be smaller than me, but no smaller than that."
"I'll do it, Sir."
"Are you sure, son? Once we start the process, there is no way to reverse it. Your life, your mind will be changed forever."
"I need to belong to someone, Sir."
The recruiter touched Greg's head, looking into his eyes deeply. Greg felt his mind being pried open. "So you do, son. So you do. I need to go get my commander who will verify your desire, and then we'll start the process of turning you into a squire!"
The moment the recruiter left the room, Greg rubbed his dick three times, and shot a load across the room.