WMD Ch. 01


Editing magic performed by KJ24 and Shyqash, plus contributions by the regular gang of brigands and neer-do-wells

(WMD = Winter Men's Dilemma; My own irreverent spin on the BBC mythology)


Once you go Black, you don't go back...unless you are an Amerindian, Arabic, Asian, Black, Indian, Latina, or White girl/guy who has tried Black, then found sexual fulfillment with a non-Black person and created a blissful relationship with them

Right off the bat, be warned that I'm using the 'N' words - nigger, niggah, my niggah, plus homie, thug, coon, buck, spook, spade and whatever other crude racial slurs that come to mind. This story plays to both Black and White stereotypes.

Lastly, this story is rather flippant with the entire concept of sexual assault. Those who have read my previous tales know this is not my attitude at all. For the sake of this genre I had to grapple with the concept of forcing a woman and 'making them love that dick'

Vlad ~ "You actually expect me to believe my Father, Brothers and I have the genetic capability to addict every woman we have sex with to our schlongs? That's nuts!"

Mom ~ "As opposed to thinking the color, length and girth of a phallus makes any woman lose all sense of loyalty, morality and decorum so she can become a man's sex sleeve - whore - bitch - property? Yes, I do."


(The Family)

Father - Nikolay 'Nik' Samsonov; Mother - Gayle Fonteneau Samsonov; the Triplets - Alexander 'Alex', Mikhail and Vladimir 'Vlad' (POV character)

{Prelude ~ historical stuff; feel free to ignore}

My tale begins as the Winter Man Saga 1300 years ago (~ 700 AD). One small clan of my Swedish ancestors lost a brutal feud with their neighbors. Their farms were burned, animals slaughtered and their women and children taken as slaves. Only three young brother-warriors survived, wounded but unconquered. The victors chased them high into the mountains when a terrible winter storm struck.

The three brothers were trudging across a glacier between the mountain peaks in Whiteout conditions. The lead brother stepped into a crevasse and slid to the bottom of the glacier. Not giving up on their last kinsman, the other two slid down into the darkness after him. At the roots of that glacier they found an ice cavern formed by snow that fell 100,000 years ago.

They melted the ice for water with their body heat and in doing so, unleashed a demoness (virus) that no man had ever known and survived. The three men grew very sick, but their fierce desire for vengeance kept them from succumbing. When they emerged from their icy tomb, they discovered that several of their pursuers had frozen to death in the blizzard and the rest had returned to their stolen homes and purloined lands, thinking the three brothers were dead.

In the dark of the long northern night, they snuck upon the Great Hall of their enemies. When one of the brothers saw his 'former' wife doing a slave's work, he revealed himself to her. She rejoiced at the return of her love ... physically, then brought the three table scraps to survive on. In the process, they learned that their sisters were also alive and the sexual playthings of their male nemeses.

Due to the depth of winter, stealing back their womenfolk wasn't possible. They'd all freeze to death if they didn't starve first. To repay their enemy's wickedness, one of the brother's snapped and raped one of the chief's daughters. He was possessed with an unearthly desire and held her in a stable for hours. Only when he was utterly spent did he fall asleep.

She ran to her father and returned with many warriors. So the first of the brothers was taken. He was tortured and abused. For three long nights he suffered at the hands of his captors yet refused to admit any of his other brothers were still alive. After that third night, the chief's daughter sneaked past the sleeping guards of the chained man - and raped him.

For the next five nights, while her father, brothers and husband slept, she raped and raped and raped that brother. On the fifth night, a sister-in-law caught her at it. The daughter pled for the other to spare her ~ that the man's sexual prowess had ensnared her. She even challenged her kinswoman to sample the 'fruit' before turning her in. Five women later, the brother cracked and told the women how to find his brothers.

The night after the Spring Equinox Celebrations, the women of their enemy rose up and slaughtered all their adult menfolk at the behest of the three brothers - on the conditions that their youngest sons be spared and that the men continue to share their favors with all the womenfolk (who were not their kin).

The isolated region of the land of the Swedes kept my ancestors out of contact with the wider world for some time. Many generations later, a son of that clan came to lead a band of (female) Finns. His Swedish name is forgotten. The Finns called him Sami (the Exalted One - no shit). He and this band took to fur trading along the Eastern tributaries of the Volga.

In time, this group became identified with the Varangian. The Sons of Sami intermarried with the Slavs, becoming Slavicized and the Sons of Sami became Samsonovs. They followed the Rus expansion into the eastern tributaries of the Volga reaching Nizhny Novgorod in the 10th century.

Then came the Mongol Conquest, the Tartar Yoke, Rus reunification and the Russian drive across Siberia. The Samsonovs remained tightly clannish and uncomfortable in urban settings. That wanderlust led them across the Bering Straits into Alaska where their genetic abnormality, the gift of that ancient demoness (virus), slumbered in isolation and monogamy.

After a thousand years, the tales of mass orgies with strange women and protective female war bands faded into obscurity. Then my Mom, the brilliant, driven eccentric came along. Once she became enraptured with her own Samsonov lover, she had to know the secret of Samsonov men's sexual prowess.

With her burning intellect and educational background, she eventually figured it out. She was also amoral enough to keep the knowledge to herself and vengeful enough to plan to use our curse as a weapon.


The lives of my family took an unexpected detour in the spring of this year. My great-aunt Matilda (Mattie) died and willed her estate to Mom. I had never met the woman while she was alive yet in death she would have a profound effect on all our lives. Mom's family was a mess; a crowded dingy with a madhouse of odd characters.

Lionel was my eldest maternal uncle. He was a Big, Bulging Brain working as a Chief Technical Advisor for NASA; a solitary crusader for all Mankind. What was he a technical advisor for? If anything left terra firma for more than fifteen seconds, he knew every detail about it. That included volcanic eruptions too. When we were younger, he invited us to various volcanoes (both above and beneath the waves). Great guy.

Cassius, my second uncle, was serving time in Indonesia for piracy. Mom said he was meaner than every saltwater crocodile that ever lived. The two times I'd met him, he'd been a lean, happy laconic kind of guy with a love for military history. Mom said he was a charismatic rebel who was possessed by an obsession to defy authority in all its forms.

Dido was child number three; my Mom's older sister, married to an Evangelical Televangelist in Nebraska under an assumed name - Paula Richmond. She also had a MD in Psychiatry and a Master's in Public Communications (under her real name), which she kept secret from the fundamentalist congregation. The few times we met ... she was the perfect mother. Secretly, we three sons wished she'd been our mother instead of our real mother. Mom said Aunt Dido was a master manipulator and wielded a cruel whip ...

Then there was Mom's twin, Uncle Theo, who never lived in one place, traveled all around the globe and had every law enforcement agency in the civilized world looking for him. We always receiving presents from him during all the normal holidays ... like Michaelmas, Holy Week, the start of Lent, Martinmas (his favorite) and our birthdays ... which arrived at random, unrelated times of the year and never from the same location.

He was the only one we'd never met, but the one Mom loved the most. Dad suspected he was a narco-trafficker while Mom insisted he was too paranoid to be considered reliable for that line of work. Mom told us he'd spent his formative years killing people for Uncle Sam until one day he simply walked away from Fort Bragg and became an independent contractor.

The Defense Department sent some fine, brave men from JSOC to talk to Mom every few months. They made sure not to trip over the CIA and Homeland Security types who occasionally staked out our house. We boys guessed they came around every time Uncle Theo assassinated people. Mom taught us how to appreciate them in an elaborate ritual she called 'April Fool's, which became an 'any day of the year' activity.

My Mom's father (I never met the guy) was a leader of a cult in Nevada. He went down, guns blazing during a DEA raid. Apparently his interests included both harems and marijuana production.

Mom's mom? She left my Mother outside a dive bar in San Diego and was never seen again. She had doctorates in Biology and Physics as well as the reputation for being a certifiable Space Cadet. Mom insisted her mom hadn't abandoned her - she'd simply forgotten where she left her youngest daughter who was 15 at the time.

After five days, Mom decided to join an Alternative Rock band instead of looking for the lady yet again. Seven years later, she was declared legally dead ... though all her offspring believed she was still alive ... somewhere ... doing something.

Then you had Dad's family. We had some characters on that side of the family, just not like Mom's. For starters, Samsonovs were bred for law enforcement. We'd been arresting bad guys since the 1500's. We'd been doing that in Alaska since the time of the tsars. When the Alaskan Territory was sold to the United States...well, my ancestors simply started writing their reports in English instead of Russian.

Over the centuries, we had bagged serial killers, smugglers, poachers, drug dealers, domestic abusers and thieves. Mostly they arrested drunks and wackos. My Great Grandfather Petrov was a law enforcement legend in Alaska. Alone, he ran down a pack of murderous robbers in the dead of winter before they made it to 'safety' in the Yukon Territory.

In the spring, they found them frozen solid, him leading five men - he recorded in his journal he'd killed the other three while apprehending the gang - back in chains. That pretty much defined the nature of my Father's family - no too many stellar geniuses, but always relentless past all norms of endurance and reason. The moment females were allowed in law enforcement, the womenfolk joined the profession.

My Aunt Iliana was in the Coast Guard - that made her the 'Black sheep' in this clan. Taking the law out to the high seas was about as wild as Dad's family got. Dad was pretty much the standard issue for my kin. Big - Dad was 6' 5" and 290 lbs. - and about as imaginative as a glacier. Why Mom married Dad had long been a mystery to his sons.

Don't get me wrong. I loved my Dad, but the man used a grand total of twenty different sentences his entire life. The fewer words he had to speak, the happier he was. He was a nice guy, never drinking too much and I'd never seen him lose his temper. He smiled, was unerringly polite and had always been helpful and playful with us kids from our earliest memories.

Grandpa, my great-aunts & -uncles, my aunts, uncles and cousins by blood were the exact same way. I mean that quite literally. We all pretty much looked alike as well. Those who married, married eccentrics. In our regular family get-togethers that translated over to the blood kin in one room saying and doing nothing (we were already cluing into some sort of primitive telepathy) and being very happy that way, while the married relations were in another room packing on the lunacy.

There was no middle ground; you were either a silent, brooding peak in the Samsonov mountain range, or the aurora borealis. That left me and my brothers - we were triplets, in a precarious position. We looked like smaller versions of our Dad (we were still growing) yet were totally at the mercy of our Mother most of our young lives. Recall what I said about eccentrics and lunatic behavior. Mom was the Queen of the Asylum.

Mom quickly fell in love with 'things' and she loved doing those things with family. Since Dad worked long hours, family meant my brothers and me. We could make passable pottery by age seven. Krav Maga? Screw this 'driving to some dojo in Anchorage' crap. Mom signed us up for a two week course in Israel and online lessons for a year. Archery - check. Rewiring our house and refitting all the plumbing - check.

The three of us were SCA squires at age 12. Pleading to Dad was pointless. He'd smile, mess up our hair and remind us these excursions made our Mother happy aka he wasn't going to help us have normal lives. We had some ex-Green Beret guys teach us outdoor survival skills in Wyoming. We could pull wool, make thread and knit a set of pants and sweaters.

I and my brothers had to memorize 1200 medically useful plants before we could get our Christmas presents when we were 14. We free-climbed mountains, ran 10Kms, kayaked, were proficient seamen on a sailing ship and learned how to navigate by the Sun, Moon and stars. Around the age of 15, we figured out that Mom had a ton of money squirreled away. There was no way Dad, with his civil servant's salary, could afford all this crazy shit.

By the age of 18 we had such a crazy patchwork set of skills, we weren't sure what we would end up doing with our lives ... though tracking down Uncle Theo and living a life on the run was looking more attractive every month. What we didn't have were great social lives. We all had girlfriends at one time, or another, but they never lasted.

Right before any of us were about to get serious with any girl in high school, my Mom dragged us off ... to things like a five day course on Renaissance artwork in Milan ... that's Italy. We had to learn to speak Italian in three days, plus during the flight over. Mom made it easy for us. We could only speak Italian the entire time. Doing that at school was 'fun'. Dad? He smiled and said nothing for three days.

{Welcome to the Fonteneau House, Kingston, Arkansas}

Anyway, Mom's Great-aunt Mattie kicked the bucket and left her vast fortune in northwestern Arkansas to my Mom. The old bird hated the rest of the nutjobs in the clan, but adored my Mom (and Theo). Upon receiving the news, my brothers and I began thinking the same thing: banjo lessons, redneck stunts and girls in Daisy Dukes. By 'fortune' we were thinking a ramshackle Ozark shack sitting on a mountain top.

Nope. Great-aunt Mattie was loaded. In fact, Mom's whole family had tons of money. They'd made a killing, quite literally, during the White expansion westward using various despicable means. They'd even been cursed by an entire Indian Tribe for bilking them off their land. Mom's family blamed that malediction for their bizarre behavior.

That Arkansas home was actually the summer residence for the Fonteneau clan from a hundred years ago. Along with the palatial residence came thousands upon thousands of acres spread over a quarter of the state (and some land in Texas, Missouri and Oklahoma too).

Tara, or the Biltmore estate, it was not, but it certainly had pretensions. It was a wide and roomy, rambling Victorian structure. The house proper (there were two barns, a stable, storage sheds, two garages [one attached and the other stand-alone], semi-attached servant quarters and four outlying hunting lodges) abutted the Kingston town limits.

The place was big enough to require Mom to employ six staff;

Phineas Cobb III, an angry, sullen old White guy and his carbon-copy son, Phineas IV, were our two Wardens. That meant they took care of the outlying property which included hunting down poachers, interlopers and moonshiners (the competition, no doubt) and seeing to the upkeep of the various lodges, roads, trails and bridges around the place. Phineas III and Mom ... well, he cried and hugged Mom when he saw her, so we didn't know what to think of him and his son.

Bebe Marston worked the stables and the twelve horses therein. She was a college dropout, White and 21; a woman at one of life's crossroads. Great Aunt Mattie brought her on a few months before she passed on. Bebe was a bit shy and distant around the menfolk. Mom treated Bebe like her long lost daughter; they got along fine.

Thomas Freeman was the groundskeeper. Thomas seemed nice enough - a polite and somewhat deferential older Black man. I liked him. Mom fired him the moment the lawyer finished reading Maggie's Will. She believed the man was a back-biter, liar and a thief.

Kamika Perry was the cook. She was a largish, plump Black woman with a large family in town. She was a tyrant in the kitchen but friendly and out-going everywhere else. She knew Mom from before ~ before what, we didn't know. She was close to Mom's age and was the niece of the former cook. She and Mom were cordial yet a tad formal.

Nefertiti Cooke was the upstairs maid. She was a whip-tin attractive Black woman in her late-20s and joined Thomas heading out the door. Mom discharged her due to Nefertiti's sour attitude and general unwillingness to adhere to a work schedule.

Anita Turner was our downstairs maid and overall manager of the other servants. Like Kamika, she knew Mom from her previous stay at the house, though Anita was already part of the staff back then. They acted like old friends though they understood the mistress-servant dynamics of their relationship.

Mom solved our labor shortage by bringing in Mexicans (Hondurans actually). The two families divided up the nine rooms in the detached servants' quarters with Bebe, since Anita and Kamika lived in town and the Cobb's had their own cottage somewhere on the property.

Hector Martinez became our new groundskeeper. He had a wife - Maria. Mom enrolled her in some online college courses so she could get a teaching license. They were both pretty young.

Consuela Castro was our new upstairs maid. She was a single mother with a son - Gustavo (10) - and a daughter - Isabo (6); they went to the local elementary school in town. Both families were very nice to us and seemed happy with their current circumstance. Since this job was their first go at being domestic servants, Mom told us to be patient and respectful while they learned the ropes from Anita and Mr. Cobb (only Mom could call him Phineas without pissing him off).

My brothers and I, our Father, the Martinez's and the Castro's couldn't have predicted the shit-storm Mom was creating between our house and the dominant Black populace of Kingston along the great racial divide. The Hondurans had spent half their lives learning to keep their heads low when faced with discrimination. We didn't, nor did we know that Mom was acting with deliberate malice of forethought at that time.

To help appreciate our understanding of the situation, we triplets had known a grand total of four Black people well enough to call them by their Christian names our entire lives. One was a crazy, older guy who had been a sniper at some point in his military career. By crazy, I meant he'd go off on tangents in mid conversation, or just stopping entirely. We all liked the guy.

He and Granddad Samsonov were real tight. They'd served together in Vietnam and we boys suspected something bad had happened to them both - something which scarred and bound them together closer than brothers. He and Alexander went hunting all the time back in Alaska. All I knew was Morris (Grandpa's comrade-in-arms) was treated like family.

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