1. All characters herein are 18 or over. This is also just fantasy. I do not support incest or mind control in any way, thank you.
2. This story is going to be very heavy on mind control as a theme, but it could belong in the "taboo" category. Be forewarned. If it's not your thing, please move on.
"Okay, I need to remind you again that this is the point of no return. This is your life you're changing here. Once you do this, it's done."
The first sergeant didn't have much of an office, and really shouldn't even have been doing this sort of paperwork. After the last mortar attack on their forward operating base, though, both men were perfectly grateful to have even this much.
Corporal Casey Barnes sat opposite the sergeant with his elbows propped up on the folding table that served as a desk. His lips twitched into a smirk, but he quickly smothered it. "Say it again, sergeant," he deadpanned. "Slowly."
First Sergeant Wu sighed. "Okay, look, I get that you figure getting discharged is gonna fix everything in your life. But will you think twice for just a moment? You know what the economy's like back home. You're throwing away some big reenlistment bonuses here."
"Sergeant," Casey said, running his hands through the stubbly remains of his brown hair, "my platoon's full of idiots and assholes. My platoon leader is an asshole, and everyone knows it. And on top of that, I'm kind of sick of this whole war thing, y'know? I mean what the fuck are we even doing here anymore?"
"Don't ask me for the big picture," Wu frowned. "I don't have that anymore than you do. But you and I both know you've saved a lot of lives out here."
"Yeah, we both know that. And you know what everyone else calls me? Corporal Snitch? Corporal Don't Shoot? You think I want four more years of this bullshit?"
"Hey, you were right on all that," Wu countered, pointedly lowering his voice. "Lotta Afghanis and, frankly, a lot of our guys still walking around because of you. And if anyone's calling you Corporal Snitch, you'd better tell me who right now and I'll handle that, 'cause that's unacceptable. That girl would've been raped if not for you.
"This is just what I'm saying. You're a good soldier, Barnes. We need guys like you.
"Tell that to Lieutenant Meeks. Or the captain. Or Colonel Banks," Casey added sourly.
Wu thought for a moment. "The other platoons treat you right, don't they? I mean they get it. Look, I put you in 3rd because I was hoping you could do some good over there. They need a level head like yours. But if it's that much of a drag—"
"I'm done, sarge," Casey interrupted. "I'm done with everyone talking shit about me. I'm done with keeping all my words down to single syllables. I'm done hangin' out with guys who can't call a woman anything but 'bitch' or 'ho.' My whole squad needs therapy, and more than that, they all need to repeat the goddamn sixth grade. Four years of this was bad enough, you think I want another go 'round?"
"They're just a bunch of young guys! It's testosterone, you know that!"
"Testosterone makes you steal shit from your fellow soldiers? You want a list of shit I've had go missing just on this deployment? And you think anyone cares?"
"That's not the whole Army. That's not even close."
"I know it isn't, sarge! I know! I'm not judging the Army on that shit. But frankly, I'm also done with being told what to wear and where to live and who to live with. You know? Maybe I should blame the Army and maybe I shouldn't. I don't know. But when we get off that plane next week, I'm done. Gone. I'm not hanging around for a party or anything."
Recognizing a futile battle when he saw one, Wu spun the paper in front of him and pushed it over to Casey. "Sign on the highlighted lines," he sighed.
"Thank you," Casey acknowledged. He'd never been so happy to sign anything in his young life.
"I know you just answered this, but I'm supposed to ask. We're having an awards ceremony three weeks after we get back. You're listed for another purple heart and another bronze. Any chance you'll be there?"
Casey glanced up from his discharge forms back to Wu's eyes. The buzz had been that Casey was up for considerably more than a bronze star. He'd seen the original paperwork. Just as he expected, though, the politics of his platoon and his company wouldn't allow for such recognition. The medal itself meant little to him; it was the fact that someone had actually gone to the effort to downgrade it. "Sergeant," he said, "I cleaned out my barracks and shipped all my personal stuff home before we even deployed. I walk off the tarmac and I'm gone."
Outside the tent, Casey found himself in the company of two of the very men he'd been talking about. Harris and Weber fell in just behind him as he trod through the dust back to his tent. "So is that it, Casey?" Harris asked. "You out?"
For the millionth time, Casey swallowed a bitter retort. Harris genuinely seemed to forget how shitty he was to Casey on a regular basis. One minute he'd call Casey names or scapegoat him in front of others, and the next he'd talk to Casey like they were buddies.
"Honorable discharge," Casey said. "Soon as we get off the plane. The day before, technically, but it's not like they could send me home early."
"So what, you gonna go to college?"
"That's the plan?"
"Live with your momma?"
"For a little while, yeah."
"I'd live with Casey's momma," Weber chuckled. "You ever seen that bitch? Fuckin' fine."
"Yeah, I have," Harris laughed. "Bitch was built to get fucked."
Casey stopped in his tracks. The other guys stopped with him. Their grins remained, but shifted in character. They'd gotten a rise out of him, and they knew it. What angered him more, though, was that they didn't even really understand why. That they were insulting his mother—foster mother, actually—was bad enough. But this was how they talked about women all the time. There were dozens of other examples of boorishness to be found among his comrades, and those were bad enough. But he'd been raised better than all this.
He was fairly sure he could take either one of them. The odds of taking out both weren't so high, but then, things probably wouldn't get very far at all before a fight was broken up. There would most certainly be charges, and either way he'd still have to make it through another week with these assholes theoretically watching his back on sentry duty, patrols and whatever else came up before they got on the plane.
"Something wrong, Casey?" Harris asked. "We're just sayin'. Momma's a slut is all."
"You're both honestly this dumb," Casey said simply. "You really think you're being clever here. Talking shit about a guy's mom. Wow. That's some seriously seventh grade thinking there. I just told Wu you needed to repeat sixth, but clearly you're smarter than I thought."
"Smart enough to know your mom's a whore," Weber smirked.
Casey turned and walked away. Punching either or both of them would feel good. Getting away from them entirely without further entanglements would feel much better.
* * *
Monica Barnes had hoped to go full-blown slut that weekend.
She'd done her blonde hair and put on her make-up with care. She had worn sexy, lacy black panties under her tiny black cocktail dress for her date Friday night. Monica had all kinds of plans for when and how to let her date take them off, and what she would do with him before and after. Mostly after. She had two days before Casey got back home, and knew she would need the release.
Once upon a time, Monica was reluctant to believe she was usually the hottest woman in the room. She didn't want to become arrogant or snotty. But over the years, and after countless affirmations, she finally accepted it. She later learned to revel in it, and knew she could use her powers for both good and wicked purposes. Tonight, she looked great. Better than great. Monica genuinely didn't look a day over thirty. Her ass looked great in that dress. So did her breasts. They'd look even better without the dress.
It was too bad, she decided, that her date wouldn't get to enjoy any of it, or any of the rest of her.
"Look, this steak is way overdone," Ben said to the waitress. He was dressed in a silk shirt and slacks, ready for a night on the town. Smooth shave. Stylish haircut. Nice, expensive cologne.
"I'm sorry, sir," said their earnest waitress, gesturing to his plate. "Would you like me to take that back for you?"
"Well, yeah, I'd like you to take it back, but I don't want to wait all fucking night for a replacement," Ben said sullenly. Monica glanced over at his plate. Ben had taken three or four big bites out of the steak, which was plainly cooked exactly how he'd ordered it, before he decided he was unhappy with it.
"I'll make sure it's taken care of right away, sir," the waitress said.
"Fine," he grunted.
"Thank you, Brooke," Monica spoke up in the kindest tone she could muster.
"Brooke?" Ben blinked. "You know her?"
"No," Monica shrugged. "But she mentioned her name when she introduced herself."
"Huh. Thought you must've read her nametag or something. But if you're wearing a nametag, nobody really cares what your name is in the first place, right?" he smirked.
That's it, Monica decided. I'm done. So done. She had, more accurately, decided against having sex with Ben over an hour before this, but now she decided that she didn't even want to be nice about it. It was all she could do not to remove his hand from her thigh when he touched her.
"Still want to go dancing after this?" he offered.
"No," she murmured, her eyes drifting across the restaurant floor to the bar section. "I want to get fucked."
Ben blinked. He hadn't expected this kind of language out of Monica. He had met her at a charity fundraiser out of town months ago. They had mostly talked about their different grad schools and art and her personal stock portfolio. Over email and a couple of phone calls, he had realized just how sharp and sophisticated she was. But after all that, to hear her say something this hot and this blunt on their first actual date blew his mind. He made sure it didn't blow his cool, too. "Oh, really?"
"Soon as possible," she confirmed. "I don't even want to go back to my hotel."
"Um," Ben grinned, "I don't want to look less than completely interested, but I'll point out that your hotel or my condo are both probably a lot more comfortable than the back seat of my car."
"There's a hotel right across the street. It's a nice chain. I'm sure they've got some nice suites available."
Ben smirked. "I haven't stayed in a Hilton since college."
Monica's eyes slid toward him. She let out a long, heavy breath as she looked him up and down with feigned appreciation. "I'm sure a smart, influential wealth manager like you could swing a room at a silly old Hilton with no worries, right?"
"Well, yeah," Ben shrugged.
"I want to get fucked, Ben, and I don't want to wait," she told him with a slow, confident voice that sent his heart racing. "I want to walk across the street and up into a room where I can have this dress literally torn off of me, and I'll worry about getting something new to wear whenever I wake up. So if you want to go over there and take care of that, I'll handle the check here."
For only a moment, Ben blinked. They were only halfway through dinner, and hell, he'd just sent his back...but then she looked at him with those eyes, and those tits in that dress looked so inviting...
Ben stood. He grinned, enjoying this little bit of spontaneity. "Back in a few minutes," he said.
He practically ran. There were, frustratingly enough, people checking in when he got to the front desk. The concierge wasn't much help, nor did anyone come out to operate a second check-in computer to help him. He had to wait through grandma and grandpa and their questions about driver's club discounts and seniors rates. Thankfully, though, they had a suite. He put it in his name, ran through the quick checks, got the keys and hustled back over to the restaurant.
He found the table occupied by a new couple by that time. Ben then turned to the bar, slipping through the working stiffs and pick-up hopefuls in search of his date. He found Monica standing near the bar, flanked very closely by two guys in slacks and shirts that they'd probably gotten at Sears, if not Penny's.
"Oh, hi, Ben," Monica said with that same mild but sexy tone. "I was just talking to these two guys here. This is Dave, and this is Gordon." Taken aback though he was, Ben nodded through the perfunctory hellos. Then he tilted his head quizzically at Monica. "Did you get the room?"
"Yeah, sure did," Ben said. He put on his most confident smile.
"Wonderful. Hey, there's a table open right over there. Could you go grab it and wait a moment? I just want to finish our conversation here."
Again, Ben was slightly stunned. He nodded and wandered to the table, though, hardly even considering an objection. Ben had a mild moment of doubt over his own behavior. This was clearly bullshit, wasn't it? She just said she wanted to go get freaky, and now that he went and arranged a decent place for it, she wanted to hang out in the bar with a couple of schlubs who probably didn't make six figures put together?
Ben sat down and ordered a beer. He took a long, deep breath and released it slowly to calm himself. Maybe this was just a test of his cool. A piece of ass that hot was worth playing around with a game or two.
They were awfully friendly, he noticed. All three of them. Lots of flirty grins and chuckles. Coy eyes. Touching. They were very touchy-feely for people who'd just met.
Gordon leaned in close, murmuring something in her ear. She naturally stepped back just a little, which backed her up into Dave. His hand went on her hip, and lower. She didn't seem to mind. In fact, her grin and her body language seemed to encourage it.
Minutes more of this passed before Monica excused herself to walk over to Ben. "Hello," she smiled as if nothing was wrong.
"Hey," he said.
"You have the room keys?" Her grin renewed his confidence.
"May I have mine?"
Ben pulled the envelope with the keys out of his pocket and laid them on the table without thinking twice about it. Monica picked up the envelope.
"Thank you for waiting while I finished my conversation there," Monica said. "Those are a couple of very nice guys. Dave's a social worker. Gordon runs an outreach program. They need to blow off some steam tonight. Lot of rough stuff they've had to deal with lately."
"Huh," grunted Ben.
"So I'm going to take them both over to this hotel room and give them the fuck of their lives tonight," she said, still completely cool and at ease. "And if they want to stick around and fuck me all day tomorrow and tomorrow night, that'll suit me just fine."
Ben's mind ground to a halt.
"I want you to know," she went on, "that you blew your chances when you were rude to the cop who pulled you over for driving like an asshole. I'll grant that it's a nice car and it's probably very tempting to drive like that, but there are other people out there on that road. The fact that you called your lawyer while he wrote you that ticket didn't really help you, either."
His mouth fell open, but he couldn't make words come out. It was almost as if something prevented him. He was also quite mindful of his horrible, throbbing erection, which only worsened as she kept speaking.
"My first clue should've been this morning. You were nice to pick me up at the airport, and the flowers were lovely, but when you offer to carry a lady's single suitcase, you shouldn't immediately just hand it over to a bellhop. I could just as easily have carried it myself. But you had to get back to work, and I understood, so I didn't make a big deal of it. Except now, well, now I see a pattern.
"Her name's Brooke, Ben. Her name is Brooke, and she's just trying to work her way through college, and she was really grateful for the tip that I left and the note I left for her manager. She'd be more grateful to know she'll never have to deal with you if I could explain to her how sure I am that'll happen, but regardless: you're never going to come back to this restaurant, Ben. And if you ever run into Brooke again, you'll kindly leave her alone. And you'll never tell anyone about tonight, or about me. Am I clear on that?"
He nodded. He didn't mean to nod. Ordinarily, he'd have told her to shove it, but he couldn't even string such a thought together right now. He wasn't sure why. He just wanted to make Monica happy.
"So I was going to fuck you tonight, and in the morning, and as much as you could handle, really. I was going to fuck your brains out and suck you off and all that," she shrugged. "Honestly, if you were a stranger off the street and I was judging you solely on your looks, I might well have my way with you anyway. But I know more than just your looks. I know you're an arrogant, elitist asshole.
"Those two guys over there, though? They're nice guys. So I'm going to fuck them, Ben. No condoms, no inhibitions, no preconditions. I'm going to take one of them in the mouth while the other goes at me from behind. If one of them wants to cum on my face or down my throat, I'm more than happy to oblige. If one of them wants my ass, he can have it. I imagine both of them will. I'm going to be a perfect whore for Dave and Gordon, and then I'm going to buy them breakfast."
She could have been talking about a nice day at the office, or shopping for clothes, or any other casual subject. Her poise never wavered.
"And they might think it's a little weird, sharing a woman. I doubt either of them have been in a threesome. But Ben, I'm such a great fuck, they won't even think twice about it. They're going to have the time of their lives with me, and I imagine they'll smile and thank me for it.
"Now you, Ben, have two choices. I imagine you'll just want to leave here and go do whatever it takes to get your mind off this and me. But if you want, you can follow us to the hotel, and you can watch for a while as long as you stay quiet and out of the way. It won't make you feel like any more of a man, of course, but at the very least it'll leave you with no doubt that everything I've said about what I'm going to do tonight is absolutely true."
She stood. "Don't worry, by the way. I'll make sure you don't get charged for the room." With that, she sauntered over to Dave and Gordon.
Ben sat and watched with shocked, wide eyes as she slipped up against one of them, then tugged on the collar of the other. Her leg slid up Dave's while her ass bumped up against Gordon's crotch. Further words were exchanged.
The three of them left, led by Monica's smile and those incredible legs.
Ben stared at the single room key left on his table for a long while.
* * *
"...and so as we celebrate our homecoming," Colonel Banks droned on at the podium, "we must also celebrate the strength and sacrifices of our families here at home..."
"Can't believe this asshole's making us stand through this," grumbled one soldier beside Casey.
"I can," Casey said, hardly even making a pretense at standing at attention. "He thinks this sort of shit is cool. How did you not see this coming?"
They stood in formation in front of bleachers set up for just this occasion. There was no joyous rush to greet family and friends as they came off the plane. There was, instead, an instant, formal ceremony of bullshit speeches and empty platitudes. Wives, husbands, mothers and fathers and all the rest had to stay in their seats and listen to officers tell them all about the men and women standing right in front of them, whom they had missed dearly since even before the battalion had shipped out.