MetaDeprivation - 22. MetaPrompts 607: Varq (MW1)

“How much longer do we have?”

“They should be finished any …,” Terrence answered when a deadly shower of chilly cold descended on the canteen. As if controlled by some puppet player nearly everyone looked at the gates that swooshed open letting several men in uniform in; lead by the source of the petrifying freeze: Major Varq.

The Major seemed to ignore the sudden change of atmosphere and temperature in the hall and proceeded to the counter as if nothing had happened, making him appear even more badass than he already thought he was.

“Is that him?” Spring whispered.

Terrence nodded. Terrence wrote some of the crucial navigation software for the ship and therefore was in close contact with the military who after all led project ‘Wolf 635.’ Well, that was not the only reason he had close contact with the military on their construction space station. The main reason was his ‘tool,’ as he modestly referred to his ‘close to 30 cm’ black dick; it seemed not only the chicks in uniform were desperate for the famous Terrence treatment, but several of the guys also enjoyed ‘tool swapping.’ And Terrence, the tall, black-skinned, skinny guy was more than happy to ‘lend’ his tool to all the needy staff on the station. Why restrict your handy skills; letting one gender suffer needlessly?

“I heard he fucked the president’s son and daughter on the same day …,” Spring whispered. It was clear she was more envious regarding the daughter who was a world-famous model, while she absentmindedly fiddled some meat from between the teeth of her fork with her very skilled tongue. Or maybe she was assessing the alloy of the fork given her technical expertise. Who knew?

“… at the same time,” Hank corrected proudly. At least his name was Hank today because today he seemed to be male. Tomorrow he might be Hanna and female, yesterday ‘it’ was Hanka, and somewhere floating in the spectrum of the 154 approved non-genders. Parker had long given up on trying to keep up and avoided addressing him/her/it in person to dodge the pronoun confusion and consequent lecturing about his insensitivies. When Hank/Hanna/Hanka wasn’t busy deciding which non-gender he was for the next 24 hours, he calibrated the propulsion engines that would blast the ship to 0.99 light speed. Given his unique skill set, everyone just put up with his unclear identities. “Of course, they couldn’t pin anything on him. To avoid a scandal, they promoted him to Major and sent him to Africa to fight some of the rebels.”

The room was slowly recovering from the temperature shock, and everyone was continuing their conversations; though Parker suspected every table was exchanging gossip about Major Varq, the vanquisher of the Kongo Rebellion.

Hank did at least. “I heard that when he got hold of one of the rebel leaders, he broke one of the bones in his left pinky finger.”

The other three looked at him in surprise. While not pleasant that didn’t sound very ruthless.

Hank grinned about the expected reaction. “An hour later he came and broke the second bone in the pinky finger. And another hour later the third one. He didn’t say anything when the rebel laughed at him.”

“When did he break?” Parker asked. He was the least interesting person in their group, responsible for making sure deliveries to the station were in line with specifications and for ensuring proper storage, while his ‘friends’ dealt with software, propulsion, and material optimization. He still didn’t know why he had gotten this highly paid assignment on the construction space station. But he didn’t want to ask too many questions not raise sleeping dogs. After all, he got top class health care up here to treat his odd blood disease. And when the job was over he would have enough money to buy himself the latest edition of the ‘G.I. Joe adult entertainment system.’ That would be programmed to desire him at any moment of the day unless he wanted to be spooned in bed by it. It was fully customizable. And one reason he had found the Major’s entry so unsettling was that the space marine pretty much looked as Parker would customize his ‘G.I. Joe.’

His interest in that very human-like entertainment system was also the reason he knew a human had 206 bones, and it was only a matter of time one would crack facing 206 hours of horrendous pain – the mind fuck must be awful.

“11,” Hank answered. “If he had broken 11 bones immediately, he wouldn’t have gotten anything.”

The group nodded. They had started to call themselves the ‘LGBT group,’ with Spring representing the successful lesbian, Parker the boring gay, Terrence the generous bi, and Hank the ever variable transgender. So far, nobody else had wanted to join them to allow them to become truly ‘LGBTQQIP2SAA.’

“Well,” Spring had finished performing cunnilingus on her fork, “I heard he had one of his men rape the 16-year old daughter of one of the tribal leaders. And then another one the 15-year old one. And then …”

“We get where this is going,” Terrence stopped her.

“Well, he was in ‘negotiations’ with the tribal leader who had eight daughters, the youngest was four. – And he was there with seven men …”

“Did he himself?” Hank asked. His odd admiration for a decisive man who wouldn’t take any prisoner had quickly evolved into disgust.

“The leader changed his allegiance quite vigorously after his fourth daughter had been deflowered … so no, he didn’t …”

Parker turned around slowly. He wanted to steal a better glace at this monster who looked like his dream doll. (Un)Fortunately, the monster had taken a seat not too far from him and caught him looking – of course. Parker quickly jerked around. But the mental picture of this more than 190-cm-tall man, with a more-than-100-kg body packed into an obscenely well sitting uniform with a black space marine T-shirt that painted every muscle, with eyes as green as the proverbial gems, jaws so pronounced you could sharpen any material Spring ever could design, and ginger hair so precisely cut military-style that he was recruiting poster (or G.I. doll)-ready the moment he woke up, burnt itself even more deeply into his brain, made its way down his spine to spike – literally – in his cock.

“One of his men disobeyed an order of his claiming it was illegal,” Terrence whispered.

“Did he shoot him?” Hank asked.

“Nope, he told him to drop his pants and underwear …,” the black guy teased.

“To rape him?” Spring hypothesized.

“Nope. He told him to sit down,” Terrence teased.

The three looked at him telling him not to make them drag every word out of his mouth.

Terrence grinned. “The chair had a big hole. So the poor guy’s little balls and dick” – of course, everyone had a little dick compared to Terrence – “hung below.”

“So?”

“He then put a basket under the chair and opened it …”

“What was in it?”

“Four poisonous snakes …” Terrence whispered dramatically, the two ‘s’-es in ‘snakes’ expressed very onomatopoetically.

Both Parker and Hank quickly squeezed their thighs together shouting “Ouch.” At least that confirmed that Hank truly thought of himself as male – at least today – well, kind of.

“Worse – he had it done in front of all his men under his command …”

“So why is he here?” Parker wanted to stop the unpleasant thoughts of rape, broken bones, and poisonous snakes close to one’s small balls.

Three faces looked at him pitifully.

“What?”

“The survival of this planet is at stake – who would you send? Some super-correct touchy feely snowflake?” Hank asked with despise.

Parker lifted his eyebrows realizing Hank didn’t notice the irony but didn’t say anything. “So he’ll be in command?”

“Who knows …” Spring closed the topic. “Anyway, I have news, they successfully cleared everyone in section D of nano-infiltration, so we can go back to work …”

“Good,” Terrence put the plates and cups on his tray and went off without further words. Quickly, Spring and Hank followed him.

It took a bit more time for Parker as he pushed over his cup, spilling some water all over the table, nearly dropped his fork, and then kind of stumbled over his chair. When he tried to calmly carry his tray to the collection station, somebody got up in front of him, blocking his way.

Major Varq.

Parker instinctively dropped his head: “I’m sorry, Sir.” Of course, his eyes landed at the generous bulge of the Major.

The space marine seemed to snicker before he grabbed his own tray and marched to the station ignoring the little bookkeeper.

Of course, that put that perfectly sculptured, tastingly voluptuous, and generously hip-ed ass directly in front of him. He nearly stumbled over his own feet.

The Major looked at him with a sadistic grin and left, joking irreverently with some of his fellow space marines.

Parker noticed in a panic that some of the spilled water had landed on his crotch, which on top was slightly bulging now because of the Major’s ass. He turned red like a tomato and ran to his office, not to be seen for the rest of his shift.

At night, he fine-tuned the specifications for his order of the G.I. Joe adult entertainment system to match the looks of Varq to the last freckle.