Date: Thu, 30 Dec 2004 22:59:40 -0500
From: mike@bootkid.net
Subject: Terran Guard - The Recruit - bd, mm, mc, sf

Terran Guard - The Recruit
By Bootkid (mike@bootkid.net)

This story is Copyright by Bootkid.  All rights reserved.  Reproduction on
free websites is permitted.  All other uses require the consent of the
author.


	Greg Bracciolini crawled into bed after a long week and a longer
Friday happy hour.  His team at work had just finished a very lengthy
project, and his boss took them all out for drinks.  A couple drinks turned
into many, and as Greg stumbled up the stairs to his Greenwich Village
walk-up, he pondered his life in New York.  At 23, he still had most of his
fratboy soccer stud build, but the late nights, fast food, and beer were
catching up with him around the middle.  Tossing his jacket on a chair, and
stripping out of his clothes crossing the small studio apartment, he
flopped into bed and passed out.
	Several miles above the Earth, a computer tracked Greg's heart and
breathing rates.  As the computer realized he was asleep for the evening,
an extraction team was notified, donned their suits, and raced to the
transport hub in the space station.  Moments later, the three bulky men
materialized in the small apartment.  Two quickly set about tagging
everything in the apartment for transport.  The third slapped a black
rubber hood over Greg's head.  Inside the hood, the breathing apparatus
included a drug that ensured that Greg would remain asleep and immobile
until it was removed.  No sound or light would make it past the hood.  He
activated the transport beacon in the hood, and Greg vanished in a stream
of bright light.  Relieved of their quarry, the team quickly emptied the
apartment of all of Greg's worldly goods.
 	Aboard Mars Station, Greg materialized in an assimilation pod.  The
room was approximately a 6-meter diameter sphere, cut across the middle at
the floor.  It had a bed, a plasma screen, and glowing walls.  To one side
was an archway tunnel through which was the bathroom and shower.  The
entire atmosphere of the room was controlled from outside, including
whether or not the gaseous anesthetic was still mixed into the air.
Quickly, Greg's recruiter entered the room, wearing a gas mask so as not to
be affected by the anesthatine gas.  He removed the hood from Greg's head
and cut the rest of his clothes off, leaving him naked.  Covering Greg with
a blanket, and leaving behind a neatly folded recruit uniform, the
recruiter quickly left.
	Entering the antechamber, he spoke to his computer, "Assimilation
program alpha, lower the mix of anesthatine gas at a rate of 20 percent per
earth hour."
	The computer parroted his instructions "Program alpha started, mix
rate set at 200 parts per billion, automatic reduction to zero in five
hours."
	"Create recruit profile, notify all Terran Guard stations with
pending requests for squires."
	"Profile created, 32 stations notified."
	"Page me if he wakes up before the five hours is up."
	"Aye, aye Major."
	With that, the recruiting officer left the antechamber.

	In 32 stations around the globe, the recruit profile arrived at the
personnel officer's workstations instantaneously.  "American, of Italian
extraction, speaks English fluently, some Italian and some German."  With
that, 15 stations clicked the REFUSE button on the screen.  "Hometown:
Somerville, Massachusetts.  Education: Bachelor of Science, Economics,
Western New England College.  Sports: Wrestling and Soccer."  Two more
stations clicked REFUSE.  "Height, 1.62m, Weight: 63.5kg, brown hair and
eyes, hairy arms, chest, legs, rear."  Seven more stations clicked REFUSE.
"Sexual Orientation: gay, with submissive tendencies.  Sexual Reprogramming
category: not required."  In the remaining eight stations, the profile and
its associated pictures were sent off to various officers and noncoms.  The
Terran Guard would get into a fight over this one.  Five stations in the
United States, two in Canada and one in the United Kingdom all jockeyed for
position.

	Six hours later, Greg awoke lazily from his slumber.  His expected
hangover wasn't there, and he felt remarkably well rested.  He was snuggled
warmly in his bed, enjoying the comfort and softness of the covers and
mattress.  Suddenly, his mind connected the fact that at home, he slept on
a lumpy futon.  His eyes popped open, and he surveyed his surroundings.
The room he was in was an oddly shaped half sphere.  The walls glowed a
soft orange.  As he sat up in bed, the walls grew brighter, so that he
could see around his surroundings.
	"I don't remember taking my clothes off," Greg said to no one in
particular.  He looked down over his hairy chest, abs and legs.  Suddenly
he had a remarkable urge to piss, and he dashed for the opening that he
hoped was the bathroom. Inside, he found a rubber covered lounge chair, a
sink, and a six-sided shower cubicle.  A spotlight illuminated the chair,
so he figured he should get on it.  As soon as he sat down, straps locked
around his arms and legs, an external catheter snaked itself down on his
dick, and a tube worked its way up his ass.  As the tube in his ass filled
him with water for an enema, he got rock hard.
	"Damn, what is this place?"
	"Please relax, Recruit Bracciolini," a deep male voice echoed
around the room.  "This will only take a few minutes."  The warm water
gushed into him, and then the tube inflated into a plug, holding the water
deep inside.  As the urge built up to dump the water, Greg struggled
against the bonds.  Finally, the tube quickly deflated, pulled out, and
Greg was able to void himself without ever leaving the chair.  At that
point, his dick relaxed enough for him to piss into the catheter, which
eagerly sucked the urine out of him.  As the enema tube inserted itself a
second time and started to fill him, the catheter started to milk his dick.
Just as he thought he was going to cum, the enema tube pulled out, the
sleeve withdrew from his dick, and the bonds came off.  After voiding a
second time, he felt warm water wash the exterior of his ass.
	"The shower is ready for you, recruit," the voice from nowhere
announced, startling Greg.
	Greg stepped into the shower and suddenly was deluged with water
from all six sides of the shower cubicle.  A helmet dropped from the
ceiling, and he put it over his head.  At that point, Greg felt like the
whole shower was vibrating around him, as the shower sprayed him with soapy
water and then rinsed him off.  As rubbed the soap on his body, he realized
all of his hair was falling off.  The soap must have had a depilatory in
it.  Greg had a disconnected thought that he should be getting really upset
about all this, but yet he took it all in stride.
	Before he could ponder that thought too much, the same deep voice
spoke to him again. "Prepare for laser trim.  Please close your eyes."
	Suddenly, flashes of light sparked all around his head.  He could
vaguely feel the hair fall off his head.  The helmet started vibrating and
he felt it spit out shampoo and work it into a lather on his head.  It had
some menthol in it, and it felt cool against what was now mostly bare skin.
The helmet retracted, and the shower started spraying from above, allowing
Greg to wash out the shampoo and the remaining soap off his body.  As he
stepped out of the shower, he found a big terry cloth towel to dry himself
off with.  With that, he looked in the mirror and checked out his new look.
	The helmet had done an amazing job of cleaning his entire head of
hair, with the exception of a tuft of hair on top.  There wasn't even
stubble on his face or the sides of his head.  It was much closer than
anyone, even the best barber, could have gotten with a razor.  His now
hairless body showed off his muscles a little better, though it also showed
his imperfections.  Subconsciously, he wondered what it would take to
remove the small love handles that had developed at his sides since
graduation.
	When he dropped the towel on the floor, the door to the bathroom
slid open, and he walked out into the main room of the pod.  Gone was the
bed.  Instead, there was a flat padded rubber table in the center of the
room.  It stood on a single pedestal.
	"Please lie down, Recruit Bracciolini," the disembodied voice
asked.
	"What the fuck is this place," Greg asked loudly.
	"I said, lie down, recruit!" barked the voice.  Greg complied.  As
soon as Greg was lying down, a helmet flipped over the top and locked
around his neck.  Straps flew out across his body, tying him down to the
table.  And then, without warning, the table dropped through the floor of
the room to the lower section of the pod.
	As the exam table dropped, the Recruiter eyed the young Greg.  This
one was quite a prize, and he hoped that Greg would submit to the Guard.
But before he could present Greg with his options, the Recruiter had to
make sure that Greg could handle what the Guards would dish out at his
future station.  And so he began the exam.
	First, wearing gloved hands, the Recruiter felt along all of Greg's
muscles and bones, making sure none of the joints were swollen.  He eyed
the skin to look for blemishes, using a grease pencil to mark several of
them for removal.  Pressing a button on the helmet, he set the automatic
vision and hearing checks to run.  Then he used a gun-like machine to
remove the blemishes from Greg's skin.
	Greg could feel that it was a guy examining him.  And not only was
it a guy, he was huge and strong.  Greg couldn't remember anyone having
hands that big, even some of the big football players in his fraternity.
He yelped as the Recruiter zapped the blemishes off his skin.  It wasn't
particularly painful, but it felt weird nonetheless.
	The vision check finished, and the helmet beeped.
	"Your vision is just a little off, we're going to correct that
right now," the Recruiter said.  "Please hold still, this will only take a
moment."
	Greg recognized the voice of his examiner as the same disembodied
voice from before.  He wondered just how they were going to fix his vision,
and why, since Lasik surgery was well beyond the means of the recent
college graduate.  Flashes of light shone in his eyes, and he tried like
hell not to move.  In less than 30 seconds, the lights stopped.
	"I'm going to rerun the vision scan just to be sure, but you should
have what you call 20/10 vision now."
	The helmet beeped a few times and retracted.  Greg got a look at
his captor for the first time.  The guy had to be close to 7 feet tall, if
not taller.  He was big and bulky as the biggest football player.  Greg
could see that he had a great body, but none of the details.  He was
covered in a loose fitting smock.  Over his head, he wore a mask and a cap,
blocking all but his eyes from Greg's view.  His hands were covered in some
kind of black gloves.  His lower body, however, was barely covered in a
pair of tight leather breeches and tall shiny black boots.  Greg started
getting hard.
	"Who are you?" Greg asked.
	"That's not important right now, Recruit.  We need to finish your
exam.  Next up is a bone scan."
	With that, a machine descended from the ceiling and started
scanning Greg from head to toe.
	The Recruiter held a small machine in his hand that was connected
to a wire.  "Open up!"
	Greg refused.
	"Open up or I'll force it open."
	Greg tried to shake his head back and forth, but the bonds wouldn't
let him.  His captor gripped his nose tightly, cutting off Greg's ability
to breathe.  Greg finally gave up and gasped for breath and the Recruiter
quickly shoved the little device into his mouth and closed his jaw.  It
started vibrating and bouncing around his mouth.
	"It's only a dental cleaner, boy."  With that, the Recruiter
pressed a button that caused the table to separate and move Greg's legs out
in a V.  A panel below his butt dropped out, and Greg was now exposed.
	Pulling out a long, thin, metal rod, the Recruiter squirted some
lube on Greg's dick and slid the sound deep into his urethra.  Next, he
grabbed a metal plug and started sliding it into Greg's ass.  The plug was
at least 15 inches long and bent like a banana.  As he slid it into Greg,
he watched a monitor above Greg's head that showed the shape and depth of
Greg's rectum.  "302mm, not bad," he murmured to himself.  Greg moaned
under the onslaught.
	The recruiter slid the anal probe out of Greg's ass, and then went
for another banana shaped probe.  This one was more plastic, and not as
long, but still pretty long.  He hooked it up to a machine and slid it into
Greg's ass.  The machine started inflating the plug, measuring Greg's ass'
ability to stretch.
	"You ever been fisted, recruit?" he asked Greg.
	"No Sir."
	"Hmm."  The recruiter made some notes on a touch pad in his hand.
He touched the side of the fucking machine, and it reduced the width of the
plug before starting to fuck in and out of Greg's ass.  He clipped a wire
onto the end of the sound up Greg's penis.  "The machine isn't going to
stop fucking you until you cum.  The sound will activate the cutoff switch.
I will be back in a while."
	The recruiter left Greg at the mercy of the fucking machine and
went back to his office just outside the pod.  He scanned his messages for
the Guard platoons that would compete for Greg.  He uploaded the medical
data, and requested responses from the four platoons still interested.  Two
agreed to compete for Greg and would send their best two men to the
station.  One platoon was stationed outside Boston, Massachusetts, and the
other outside Toronto, Ontario.
	Meanwhile, Greg let out a scream as the machine finally fucked the
load out of him around the sound.  The helmet closed back over his head,
releasing a small amount of anesthatine gas, and Greg passed out.  The
recruiter returned him to his pod, lifted him off the table with a grunt,
and placed him back in bed.

	Greg woke up surrounded by a wall of muscle.  The recruiter crawled
into bed and held the exhausted boy in his arms until he slept off the
effects of the exam and the gas.  His enormous arms were wrapped around
Greg's upper body.  His big chest rested against Greg's back.
	"Where am I?" Greg asked.
	"You're on a space station," the recruiter replied.
	"And you're not human?"
	"No."
	"Can you tell me what's going on now?"
	"Yes, now that you've passed your physical."
	"Is that what that was?"
	"Son, I am a recruiter for the Spartan Space Forces."
	"Spartan as in Greek?"
	"That's where our name in English originates, yes, but we're not
related to the ancient Spartans.  We are another race and we live several
stars away."
	"So why do you have a space station?  And what do you want with
humans?"
	"Several millennia ago, we were locked in a battle with a race of
people called the Chentari.  The Chentari are not nice people.  They look
for pre-stellar civilizations, land on their world, enslave the people,
rape the planet, and leave it barren.  Before they could attack Earth,
however, we destroyed their armada.  We made Earth one of our
protectorates, and began to station people on your planet to protect it.
	"Your first recorded history of us is the Greek Gods.  They were
all Spartans.  Larger than life, muscles everywhere," he said, flexing one
of his 27 inch arms in front of Greg's face.  "We began to set up stations
in many major civilized cities, choosing from among our people the ones
that could hide the best among humans.  The problem always was that since
no Spartan is ever much shorter than 2 meters tall and usually at least 120
kilograms, we have a hard time hiding.
	"The other problem we've always had is that Spartans go through
several cycles of sexuality in our 200 Earth year lives.  During the time
of our compulsory military service, we're usually homosexual.  At about
100, we start to itch to have children, and will procreate with females,
but often a former soldier will keep a male companion into old age.
	"We are also a very hierarchical society.  The younger, the weaker,
get fucked.  The older, the stronger, do the fucking.  If I as a Major were
ever to allow myself to get fucked by a Lieutenant, I would have to trade
places with him.  Instant demotion, at least until I could fuck him myself.
So as you can imagine, having these over built men running around attacking
each other, fucking them, and breaking a whole lot of shit in the process
would be a problem for Earthlings.
	"Wow," Greg said, dumbfounded.  The recruiter rustled his hair.
	"Also, we're a telepathic people.  Among our own, we can put up
blocks and not let everyone into our minds.  Humans, however, are open
books.  I know exactly what you're thinking, when you're thinking about it.
I can see your dreams.  I can even change your dreams, and control your
thoughts.  And you would never know it."
	"Are you doing that now?"
	No boy, I'm not.  At least not more than this demonstration.
	"Holy shit!"
	"So we struck a deal with the major governments of the planet.
They would allow us to select from among their citizens potential recruits
to be squires.  Most squires would serve the elite Terran Guard, and never
leave the Earth.  Some squires, however, are brought into the space fleet,
or even to high command back on Sparta.  Usually, squires who leave Earth
have a reason to leave, or no reason to stay.  Recruits like you, who have
established lives and families, tend to stay on Earth.
	"According to our agreement, we cannot use any mind control on you,
except to protect our secrecy, unless you consent to becoming a squire.
Until that time, you have free will."
	"So why me?"
	"To be a squire to the Terran Guard, you have to have several
qualities.  You must be between 20 and 25 years old.  You must be gay.  You
must pass a physical to make sure you can handle the rigors of being a
squire to multiple 250lb men.  And usually, squires tend to be about your
size.  Someone a Guard can lift with one arm.  See, not only are we bigger
than humans, but pound for pound we are stronger.  You also have manifested
some submissive tendencies.  And our observation of your daydreams over the
past couple months lead us to believe you were ready to make a change in
your life."
	"That's all true, I guess," Greg said sheepishly.
	"Becoming a squire is a 10-year commitment.  You will serve a
platoon of Guards for that period.  The platoon will define your schedule,
when you eat and sleep, your workouts, and who gets to fuck you.  Your
housing, meals, and medical needs will be taken care of by the Space
Forces.  You will be allowed to continue to have friends, visit relatives,
and even continue your education.  But you will carry a pager, and when
that pager goes off, you will report back to the platoon for service.
	"At the end of your 10 years, you have four choices.  You can leave
the Guard, and you will be paid $1 million per year for your service, tax
free.  You can bond to a specific Guardsman, who will keep you on as his
personal squire until his enlistment is over; at which time he will take
you with him back to Sparta.  Or you may choose to serve on as a squire in
another service to the Space Forces, be it the armada, the army, or high
command.  You would do that until such time as you found someone with whom
to bond, and then you would serve him."
	"What does it mean, to bond?"
	"Hmm, I don't really want to scare you.  Bonding is a permanent
process.  When you bond to a Spartan, your mind becomes intertwined with
his.  Your body becomes his possession.  You would know his every whim
because his thoughts would be your thoughts.  Both the platoons competing
for you have bonded squires.  You should discuss it more with them."
	"Competing?"
	"Yes, son.  We have a shortage of recruits like yourself.  There
are thirty-two platoons eligible for squires right now.  Some have higher
priority than others.  Only two decided to compete for you.  The challenge,
of course, is should you lose the competition, the platoon drops to the
bottom of the priority ladder.  If you accept my offer to become a squire,
the competition will start tomorrow."
	"What happens in the competition?"
	"I can't give away all my secrets, son."
	"Yes Sir."
	"Good boy.  Needless to say, we have already done some work on you.
If you decide to leave us, the medical procedures I performed are our gift
to you for trying.  You will always have perfect vision, and I caught
several very pre-cancerous skin blemishes.  If you want to return to your
life, you will be released without prejudice.  However, I will have to
erase every memory of you ever being here.  You will go back to work on
Monday like nothing ever happened."
	"How long do I have to choose?"
	"I can give you a couple hours."
	"Wow," Greg said, dumfounded.
	"Roll onto your back, son."
	Greg rolled onto his back.  The recruiter straddled him, his arms
like tree trunks planted on either side of Greg's head.
	"I promise you, son, if you accept, you will be completely
satisfied with your life.  You will have better sex than any two humans
could have.  You will have the protection of the elitest of the elite, the
Terran Guard.  And if money is a worry, you will have $10 million dollars
at the end of the enlistment.  It's a hell of a lot more than you could get
from the US Marine Corps."
	With that, the recruiter lowered himself down on his forearms,
kissing Greg deeply.  As they kissed, his bright blue eyes lit up, becoming
brighter.  He wrapped his legs around Greg's small waist, crushing the boy
in his power.  Propping himself up on one hand, the recruiter used the
other to rub along Greg's body roughly.
	Breaking off the kiss, he said, "Think about it, son."  And he went
to get up.
	"Is everyone as big as you, Sir?"
	"Well, like I said, we're all at least 6'6" and 250.  Most
Guardsmen tend to be smaller than me, but no smaller than that."
	"I'll do it, Sir."
	"Are you sure, son?  Once we start the process, there is no way to
reverse it.  Your life, your mind will be changed forever."
	"I need to belong to someone, Sir."
	The recruiter touched Greg's head, looking into his eyes deeply.
Greg felt his mind being pried open.  "So you do, son.  So you do.  I need
to go get my commander who will verify your desire, and then we'll start
the process of turning you into a squire!"
	The moment the recruiter left the room, Greg rubbed his dick three
times, and shot a load across the room.