Partings Pt. 07 - Commitment

Partings Part 7: The Commitment

What is a commitment? I wondered as I looked out in the pre-dawn darkness. We, Sergeant Meyers and I, were ordered in early this morning.

It was still dark when Sergeant Meyers and I crept down the stairs from my rooms in my home. Though we were trying to leave quietly so that we wouldn't disturb my tenant Mrs Pye. But as we reached the door, there was Mrs Pye characteristically clutching her bathrobe.

Only once in the time I knew Mrs Pye had I seen the widowed Mrs Pye dress to leave the house. Right after she sold this house in happier times to my husband Jerry and me, she wore a gown to go to my wedding in the bar around the corner. I was in ragged dungarees. Then times were much brighter. Today with the economic collapse, Jerry and I were drafted into National Service. Jerry was shipped out back in the marine corps; more fortunate, I drew a local assignment in Service Support.

"I heard you rustling upstairs with your roommate this early," Mrs Pye exclaimed in a raspy voice, "I'm worried you might not come back."

"Why worry? Hopefully, my time as a service support person in the Processing Center is winding down and I'll be released to return to school in short order. Regardless, as long as you pay your rent, the mortgage gets paid," I reminded her, "and no swat team will show up here to drag you out of your home and plant you in an old age home," I added sarcastically, "-- for your own good. Other people always know your own good better than you. Just look what happened to Jerry and me."

"Are you sure you're not being shipped out?" Mrs Pye asked, "I hear about all these young people in service support assigned locally who've been reclassified and shipped."

Hands on my hips, I sighed. "Since I got called up, I've learned the Standing Order: all that's required of you is to go where you're told to go, stand where you're told to stand and do what you're told to do. It's that simple."

"Hmm," Mrs Pye exclaimed, "That's a code as old as organized society: `Everything commanded will be done; every place sent, we will go.' That's the commitment of men -- at -- arms." Mrs Pye reflected on her own words quizzically.

Both Meyers and I smiled politely. "Right now," a tired Sergeant Meyers grumbled, "My standing order: we better get going. Mistress Front Hole, our Captain, will ream us a new asshole -- if we aren't on time." Looking at Mrs Pye's mouth agape, Meyers added, "It doesn't seem appropriate to call our Captain the old man. Calling her the 'old woman' might be taken as an eh--offense?" Meyer's voice squeaked as if she were posing a question.

Mrs Pye's eyes widened when I tenderly touched Meyer's shoulder and whispered in her ear, "Start up the eh--vehicle, dearie. I'll join you in a sec."

Chuckling to herself, Mrs Pye recalled, "I do miss hearing your love cooing with Jerry, the sounds of bodies bouncing off the floor," Shaking her head, she sighed, "Combining sex with wrestling for the upper berth, you called it..." She searched for the word Jerry and I used.

"Sex -- ercises," I declared, "I'm sure you heard plenty of beautiful music coming from upstairs before Jerry and I got those notices to report in for National Service. And we both got fucked. Jerry got shipped; I lucked out -- local assignment. Hopefully, I'll keep it."

Throwing a quizzical glance toward the door, Mrs Pye raised her eyebrows. "Have you thought what Jerry will say eh--when he comes home on leave?"

"Jerry and I took heart // pledging on our ado," I chuckled, "to spawn no spurious issue// While forced to be apart// I stick to lasses// his dart //up their asses// To survive// it's bi in the meanwhile// waiting for my guy."

"When will you be back, if I can ask?" Mrs Pye, clutching her robe, asked.

"I'm not informed where I'll end up on any particular day. Usually, Abby and I get released to return home," I replied, "Now, I must go, do and remain where told, until I'm told otherwise."

Mrs Pye was more concerned than I was. My time assigned as a service support person in the Processing Center was winding down to a couple of weeks.

This morning, I had arrived at the Induction Center with Sergeant Meyers in her issued vehicle just on time. Despite my induction, little in my life had changed. While I missed my husband Jerry who had been called up and shipped out, my situation was more like a job. I went to work, came home and slept in my own bed.

As Meyers and I parked in the lot next to the center, Meyers nudged me, "Getting short?" Smiling, she added, "mil-speak, we have only a few more days here -- until we're released to return to school toward a degree in Industrial Psychology. I'm counting on us sticking together and having you to help me through."

To relieve overcrowding in the center, Meyers had gotten permission for the two of us to live off -- the installation in my house. I was doubly pleased. Not only did I sleep in my own bed, but as one of the owners, I was paid rent money for renting rooms both to myself and to Meyers. If Meyers had replaced Jerry, her ability to navigate the system brought me many benefits. Waking in my own bed, I generally showered in my own shower before my ride to work in Sergeant Meyer's issued vehicle.

Oh, there were some sacrifices. Occasionally, I was required to shower before entering the facility. To facilitate entry and exit from the Center on such rare occasions, I wore a bubble cut like Meyers and other females assigned. Scratching my head, I supposed I could endure.

As we entered the center that morning, Meyers told me to strip to shower. I teased her, "Abby, didn't you have enough fun already this morning?"

With a warning glance, "On duty," Meyers whacked my ass as I pulled the trousers of my tan utility uniform off, "it's Gunnery Sergeant Meyers and my word is law; at home it's Abby, but it's still advisable to do what I say; in bed, you better be good. You get the idea. I said everything off. Today, you owe the Center a PT Test. You know the rules."

"I'm required to go where I'm told, stand where I'm told," I rang out the corny version of Standing Orders, "and wear what I'm told to wear."

"Or," added Sergeant Meyers as she stowed her uniform and hopped under a spigot, "wear nothing at all, if that's the uniform for the occasion. It's that simple."

"Saves on the laundry bill," I supposed.

Noticing Sergeant Angela Tucker a stunning red head, wearing the typical female marine bowl-shaped cut rip off her civies a T -- shirt and short. Pausing briefly to feel the nipples of her C -- cup breasts, before entering the shower, Tucker commented, "nothing makes you itch like your bare nips rubbing raw against a coarse fabric."

Moving over to join Tucker under a spigot, Meyer recommended, "To avoid abrasions, cover your nips with a band-aid or better yet wear a bra, Tucker. Your bouncing boobs bob when you bound about."

Laughing and running her fingers through her hair, Tucker soaked herself. "Not everyone comes here dolled up in their uniform, doffs it for a shower and dons the uniform on again."

"Show some pride in the uniform. I wear it proudly," Meyers declared. Purposefully pausing Meyers inquired, "Mistress Front Hole drag you in early too?"

Tucker's breasts heaved when she sighed. "An outbound shipment today merited armed guard. Too many, inductees and returnees are just laying down refusing to be classified. We have to teach the slackers a little lesson." Turning her back, Tucker requested, "Could you reach over and wash my back?"

Did I feel a tinge of jealousy as I watched Meyer's dark hand wring a washcloth? My eyes followed droplets of sudsy water dripping onto the floor.

Commenting, "the guys are treated too leniently" and suggesting "it would only take a couple of guys getting their hoscus clipped to send out the message," Meyers ran the washcloth from Tucker's muscular shoulders down her back to her narrow waist, wide hips and puffy white butt as Tucker swayed, joined her hands under her neck and proudly thrust out her chest.

Not 30 minutes ago, Abby Meyer and I were in the shower. Naturally Abby preferred the aggressive role. Like Jerry she preferred to take me from behind. I'd struggle with Jerry but with Abby I played the submissive. I did not resist her kisses as she ran her fingers across my nipples under my breasts and running her fingers down my belly into the trimmed hair of my mound.

As much as I enjoyed shower sex with my husband Jerry, he disliked sex in the shower. Jerry would say, "I don't get enough friction entering a soapy snatch." I chuckled thinking about shower sex with Jerry.

Watching Meyers reach around and lather Tucker's lower belly and penetrating her with the soapy washcloth, I found myself plunging a bar of soap inside me lathering my vaginal lips and clit.

Reflecting on shower sex, I figured that woman probably prefer sloshy sex over men because the dousing in sudsy water probably activates the neural circuits sending pleasing tactile sensations in electric waves from the rubbery skin to the brain. The rubbery skin makes penetration less pleasing to the male. How do we solve the problem? I wondered. Shower sex with a woman and letting the man watch?

My daydream was broken when I heard the command "at ease" ring off the rude, cracked concrete walls and broken tiles of the floor. Our Captain, standing tall in her olive uniform and boots, ordered, "Ladies," looking around and focusing her grimace on the men, "and those who are not, we need to get to work. Meyers meet me in my office in five. The rest to your posts."

I joined Tucker and Meyers by the lockers. "No need to dress just yet. You're running the PT test."

Though exposure with cold air breezing up my crack, made me feel vulnerable, no one particularly paid me mind as Sergeants Tucker and Meyers marched me naked through the corridors of the center. "Nudity is hardly remarkable. All Inductees are held naked pending classification," Sergeant Meyers commented.

"Here, I am at my post," Tucker exclaimed when we reached the caves, the holding pens where inductees were held, "I'll leave you two to say your goodbyes."

Good-byes! Those words struck me with fear. I appealed to Sergeant Meyers with soulful eyes in front of the gate to 'the cave,' holding pens where inductees were held. Most detainees were asleep, huddled together for warmth under coarse grey blankets. One or two females were standing up leaning against the cyclone fence clutching course blankets over bare shoulders looked on suspiciously as I stood by the gate. I felt my heart beating in my chest. Had I been betrayed? Was I to be shipped out?

My unvoiced question was answered by Meyers. Gently massaging my bare butt, Abby dispelled my fears, "Don't worry!" Abby promised, "I have to take the test as well, but first I must see Mistress Front hole, our Captain, for instructions." With a playful pat on my ass, she ordered, "Into the Cave."

A pig tailed blondie named Sally, one of the blanket draped inductees approached me to offer to share her blanket with me. Finding myself under her blanket hip to hip with her. My freshly shaven, smoothed legs were up against her stubble coated extremities. How long had Sally been here awaiting classification? A week, perhaps, I wondered.

"I never expected when I reported in here," Sally complained, "that they'd swipe my clothes and lock me up naked with other women. Unprotected out in the patch, eh--the exercise yard, you get sun burns in places you'd never expect. Some just lay on the ground, but if you quit, they send you to that disgusting doctor who gets his rocks off finger fucking you."

"Definitely not an officer and a gentleman," I agreed.

"And you?" my companion Sally reached around my back to draw me closer for warmth, "In raggy undies, you led PT with that Marine dyke in camouflage work out shorts." She took a breath before she dared to ask, "are you being reclassified?"

Reclassification that very word induced a visceral reaction in the pit of my stomach, fear of losing everything. I strove not to show it. I had to show a degree of imperviousness.

"After you've been in a while," I judiciously chose my words, "You learn all that's required of you is to go where you're told to go, stand where you're told to stand and do what you're told to do. It's that simple." Changing the subject, I asked her whether her guy was behind the wire across the corridor. I chuckled when I added, "The center calls the corridor `no -- man's -- land.' Do you know why?" Receiving a nod, I added, "They threaten the guys with castration for crossing the white line down the middle of the corridor."

"Still, the guys try," my companion Sally replied with a giggle, "First few times, the guards do nothing, but occasionally the guy gets taken away never seen away."

A couple of times, Sergeant Tucker passed by. Looking right through me, Tucker urged us to get some rest while we can. "Soon, enough you'll be out entertaining your guys running bare assed through the patch, the exercise yard."

"Riot of colors, these uniforms," my companion Sally exclaimed, "Grey, tan, white, blue, olive, navy blue."

"Each color identifies the membership, the function and duties assigned," I replied, "Once you qualify, you're vended to the service, humanitarian, service support, armed service, police service. Upon receiving your assignments, you are issued the appropriate uniform. Until then, you remain unclassified -- the way you reported in, in bare skin.."

"Like you?" my companion asked.

"Perhaps." I replied, "Why don't we lay down to snatch a few zzzzzzzzzzzzs before they send us out into the patch? Or do you," Looking over at naked male inductees behind the chain link fence across from us, I offered her an option, "want to see if your guy waves his wiener at you?"

We laid down together, clutching each other for warmth. "I've never slept with a woman before," my companion confessed.

"A woman?" I chuckled, looking around, "I count at least 10." Holding her close, I advised, "Out in the patch, do your best."

It seemed like a few seconds before Sergeant Meyers, in her camouflage work out shorts, banging garbage can lids together thundered in sing song, "I deem it a little capricious," the Sergeant banged the lids in cadence, "that this come to pass // I plant my whistling switches // on your soft round ass // Up, you lazy bitches// Time to compete // Up and Ready! On your feet!."

Across from us, the male inductees' cages were empty. "Off my delicate flowers, time to scour, we start your day, with your showers," Sergeant Meyers completed ditty. Putting me at the end of the line awaiting my second shower, Meyers whacked my bare bum at my turn, teasing me, "found a new friend?"

"Just keeping warm." I snickered.

"Better lead the pack out on the patch," Meyers warned.

Out on the patch, several girls, including my companion, lay on the sidelines instead of taking the test. "your funeral," I warned her.

When the test began, I ran well. When my score was tallied, I ranked only slightly behind Meyers. I demanded a recount. As the inductees were led away to breakfast, Meyers sent me through the paces a second time. At the conclusion of the run, I found the Captain, standing by, hands behind her back, stern in her expression, impervious in her demeanor, simply watching. Watching for what, I wondered? Nodding to Meyers, the Captain directed "Sergeant, carry on."

"Does the Captain always watch routine PT tests?" I asked.

"Hmm, only when we have to make a point with people who won't do what they're told," Meyers responded, "Hurry up get under the shower, lest you end up on the back of the truck: going where you don't want to go for refusing to do what you were told."

After showering down with me, Meyers returned my uniform, properly cleaned and folded. "Weren't you afraid you wouldn't get it back?" She chided me.

"I do what's required," I replied. "I go where told. I stand in the place assigned and wear the uniform appropriate to my duties."

Shaking her head, Meyers splashed some water at me, "Mistress First Hole would be proud of you."

Later that morning after we waited by a canvas covered Deuce-`n-half while eight sullen faced, naked inductees and declassified Service Support personnel, hands bound behind their backs were marched to the transport.

I looked to Meyers for an explanation. "The shirkers, the fakers who'd like to be sick, sore, lame and lazy are a flight risk," She exclaimed, "More men than women, no surprise there, refused to run the PT Test. Let them struggle to get on board before you help them."

After I watched the first inductee hands bound behind her back struggle to jump in the back of the deuce n' half, Sergeant Meyer showed me how to boost them aboard. Handing me a pair of latex gloves, Meyers signalled a female forward. It was my blond pigtailed companion Sally from earlier this morning. Turning to me with a scowl, Sally boasted, "My funeral--ha--I'll be sleeping in my own bed tonight. Do you know where you're sleeping?"

"I am headed where I'm sent, sleeping when and where I'm told," I replied coolly. "It's that simple."

When Meyers ordered Sally to bend over the edge of the bed of the deuce -- n -- half and spread her legs, Sally protested, "I'm not criminal."

Pushing her face down against the deuce n' half bed, Meyers retorted, "Article 90: Failure to obey a lawful order, Inductee." To me, Sergeant roared, "search the prisoner. We need to make sure she's clean."

"Sorry, Sally," I apologized as I inserted my thumb in her rectum and stretched the web of my hand across her perineum to penetrate her vagina with two fore fingers. My heart was racing. I could feel sweat building in my arm pits as I explored Sally's insides. Then at Meyers command I withdrew my fingers.

"Throw one leg up into the deuce n' half," Meyers commanded, "She'll be stretched as far apart as she can go. If you need to continue the exam, this would be the appropriate time."

Lifting her chest off the bed of the vehicle and turning her head toward me, Sally belligerently snipped, "You cunt."

"Proceed," Sergeant Meyers commanded.

Forcing Sally's torso against the bed of the deuce n' half, I turned to Meyers for direction. "You'll notice," Meyers instructed, "in this position, a female's pussy lips will be spread and left dangling exposing the female's insides to visual inspection." At Meyer's nod, I again plunged my thumb up her rectum and forefingers up her vaginal canal.

"OK," roared Meyers, "throw her other leg aboard the deuce n' half. Let her scramble for a spot." At Meyer's nod, I threw Sally aboard. "Next," Sergeant Meyers cried. To me, Sergeant Meyers commented in an audible whisper, "I doubt we'll have any problems with compliance from other inductees."

"All that gruff," I commented once the last inductee was pushed aboard the deuce n' half, "for a trip to the hospital for an examination prior to discharge."

Meyers shrugged her shoulders. As I turned to head to the passenger side of the cab, Gunnery Sergeant Abby Meyers grabbed my shoulder and pointed me toward the driver's side of the compartment." Ordered me to take the wheel, I was astonished, "I'm surprised, Abby. you usually jump up in the cab and ... "

"On duty," Meyers reminded me. The force of her whack pushed my ass into the cab, "it's Gunnery Sergeant Meyers or gunny; at home it's Abby; in bed ..." her voice trailed off, "You get the idea." Looking toward the Center, Abby pointed to Angela Tucker, a Marine Sergeant in the camouflage uniform toting a rifle, "We have company on this run."

I could see through the rearview mirror Meyers holding the weapon while Sergeant Tucker climbed into the back of the deuce n' half. On the passenger side Sergeant Meyers with a single thrust gracefully propelled herself into the cabin on the other side of the deuce-n-half.