MetaDeprivation - 6. MetaPrompts 572: Hole (MW8)

“What do you mean you are leaving now?” she asked in confusion, trying to sound dirtily seductive. She lay on her belly, her lower legs playfully up in the air.

“You know that bitch who told everyone I raped her?” His baritone was cold.

“Yea?”

“They gave me two options three months ago: it’s either Leavenworth for 20 years or this trip.” He pulled on his boxer shorts.

“You never told me!” she complained, her voice breaking.

“Honey,” he just gave her the tilted head treatment. They weren’t a couple, she wasn’t his girlfriend, she was just entertainment. He had made that clear right from the beginning, and she had agreed. No need to tell her everything.

“But … when will I see you again?”

He rolled his eyes. Women were so thick. “Maybe in 60 years,” he joked.

“Asshole!” she answered hurt.

And this was why he had never entered a ‘relationship:’ clingy women. He loved women, well their bodies, the big boobs, the delicate scent, but mostly their warm moist holes … all three of them. And he had rules when it came to women: whoever wasn’t giving up all of her holes on the third date wouldn’t join his stable. And given his looks, there were enough of women who tried to give them up.

The important word being ‘tried.’ Thanks to his beer-can-sized dick most never made the cut. And he wasn’t referring to a midget standard 330ml beer can; he was referring to the proper 1000ml beer can with 20.5cm height and 8.4cm width. He knew those sizes pretty well, as he had won more dick-comparison competitions in the Corps than the president had fucked men – and she had a reputation. While eventually, all women managed to take him the traditional way, most didn’t manage from the backdoor, and pretty none orally. That was a fate of a big bear with a bigger beer can dick with a grenade-shaped head, he gladly bore.

And given his height, bear-cub-eyes, deep voice, more muscles in his arms than most men in their whole bodies, and instant-moisturizing Space Marine uniform, they kept coming or kept trying.

Sometimes he had to ‘help’ them a bit. They might resist and shout ‘It’s too big!’ – honey to his ears, but eventually they all gave in and came back for more. With the exception of that one bitch who reported their sex as rape. Bimbo. He had all messages stored where she asked to be taken like an innocent Southern Girl by the redneck beast, hard and repeatedly. He had held up to his side of the bargain. Spring hadn’t.

“But Rory,” she tried, getting up from her bed to stop him from dressing. Her delicate pale hand nearly disappeared in the forest of his brown chest hair. She loved it. And he loved it. He had hair basically all over his body; one more reason they called him ‘the beast;’ his brothers-in-arms and the girls he took. Those girls liked playing ‘The Beauty and the Beast.’ Some of them had even tried to tame the beast, but they had failed; like they had failed to deep-throat him. Except for that one bitch in Manila, but he had the suspicion that bitch had been born as a bitch-boy.

He pushed her back on the bed and pulled his undershirt on. He made sure it was clean. Today he would have to undress again; he would travel naked. He didn’t want to look like a slob. When he sat down to pull up his socks, Samantha hugged him from behind. She licked his neck, his ears, her fingers making love to his short hair. “Rory, are you saying we will never see each other again?”

He just nodded.

She started to cry.

He hated when women cried. And they normally did when he fucked their faces.

He had tried some boys instead; those delicate, feminine boys with dyed hair, piercings in nose, ears, lips or even tongues, manliner and shitting rainbows. Some had managed not only to take his beer can after some time but also to lick his balls while suffocating themselves on him. Unfortunately, when he fucked them backdoor most of them actually enjoyed it so much, they pushed back to take him deeper, ‘assturbating’ themselves on his beast-dick; he didn’t like that, it was supposed to be him doing the fucking, not them fem boys.

So he had to put up with women crying.

“Just go back to my brother,” he barked.

Samantha burst into full tears.

He didn’t care. After all, it had been she who had cheated on her boyfriend. Some years ago when his picture-perfect brother Will was in college, and Rory had visited his family after his first tour in Africa, he had met Will’s new girlfriend: Samantha. It hadn’t taken long until she was riding his beer can like the mountain hillbilly whore she was deep inside.

Of course, those fucks had cost him the relationship with his family – especially his brother, they had kicked him out on his 18th birthday; but that didn’t matter anymore.

He finished the last touches on his uniform, when she jumped on him, begging: “Please, don’t go!”

He pried her off. He was strong. She had no chance. And threw her on the bed. “Bye, Samantha.”

“But …!” she screamed.

Only ten out of the twelve men selected for the trip showed up at the duty station in time. Of course, the pig was late; but so was their boss, Major Fink. He hadn’t expected that brass to be a coward. But he didn’t care. They took the shuttle, got the last briefing – they had been briefed so often that it had become boring repetition – and undressed to step into the Stasis Enclosures. For some reason, he got one of the two in the far back. He didn’t care. He had never been shy about his body, but everyone knew how he was built, so he didn’t have to show off, either.

When they had given him the alternative of Leavenworth versus this 30-year suicide mission, he hadn’t hesitated. When he had learned more about the mission, he had actually been looking forward to it, not only to avoid military prison. The scientist in charge of the program, Dr. McErickson-Łowca, had told him they would be ‘training’ in stasis for maybe 30 years. And the program had been designed in such a way that many aspects of his real life would be integrated. It was pretty guaranteed he would be a big guy, in the Marines, getting lots of sex, and being admired by girls and boys. In 30 years he would be close to 60 on Earth; and 20 of those years he would have spent in a windowless cell with the most sadistic DI-prison wards making every day hell for him. So this had been an obvious choice. He would fuck all the girl cunts, asses and mouths he could in 30 years.

The meds were finally taking effect as he barely saw the stasis enclosure seal itself or that gel-like substance envelop him.

With a smile, he drifted off.

When he woke up, he shook his head. He hadn’t planned to fall into deep sleep; they were in a city he didn’t know, and he was responsible for the safety of his Alpha and his Beta. But he couldn’t undo it.

Thankfully, both of them slept safely in the king-sized bed on the other side of the room. Prime was spooning Brian brotherly. In a different world, those two would have made a cute couple. However, in this world, they were as exhausted searching for their Meta as CE was.

He tip-toed to the window. It had gone dark in San Francisco. They only had planned a short nap before going out. But the wet cold and the walks up and down the streets had been tiring. Or maybe it was despair. On Monday, they would fly to Frankfurt to start looking for their Meta in Europe after 18 months traveling through North America had led to nothing. Max, the Feldwebel he had met six years ago in the sandbox, had already made fun of him, but had nonetheless volunteered to get them started; he was a helpful chap.

Prime and Brian slept deeply. CE smiled. He took a quick shower, hoping he didn’t make too much noise, and dressed for a walk through the town, maybe checking out one or two gay bars. He so hoped their Meta would be gay. And if yes, he could be in a gay bar on a Saturday evening. He hoped so many more things. That he would be honorable, loyal, strong, smart, caring, cute. Maybe that he would fuck CE until he whimpered like a little pup, repeatedly and painfully; tie him down, torture his strong body, edge him until he went insane.

But he guessed that was too long a wish list. He just hoped the Meta wasn’t a bottom because that would put CE into a troublesome situation equipment-wise.

He pulled on his jacket.

Prime had woken up in the meanwhile and was getting dressed as well, nobody had a better ass in black jeans, well maybe Brian had. “Off to South of Market?” the Alpha asked with a wicked smile.

“Yep. You?”

“Brian wants to go to some dance club where they play Seventies music.” Both looked at the blond boy slumbering peacefully.

For some reason Brian reminded him of Samantha; the girl his parents had chosen for him to marry after his 18th birthday; the girl who had ended up marrying his brother Will; he hoped she was happy. She could have done worse – getting hitched up with Rory. At least Will didn’t rape women.

“See you then.” Prime nodded his goodbye.

When CE left their hotel taking in the crisp sea air, he nearly felt like a newborn. Something told him today was the end of his previous life.